Читать книгу A Daddy for Christmas - Laura Altom Marie - Страница 10

“Mommy? Is he dead?” Ashley poked her thumb in her mouth and grasped Jess’s hand.

“No, hon, Mr. Moore’s fine. Just sleeping.” Six in the morning on Christmas Eve, freezing rain clattering like a million dimes on the barn’s tin roof, Gage Moore was sound asleep in Honey and Buttercup’s stall, using a hay bale for a pillow and a saddle blanket for warmth. The air in the barn was more bearable than outside, but still cold enough to see your breath. It took a good man to sleep in conditions like this just to look after a horse—it was something her husband would have done.

“Thought he was leaving?” Lexie asked, arms crossed, shooting their guest her customary glare. Jess’s stomach tightened. What was she going to do about the girl? She used to be all smiles and full of life. Now, she was sullen and argumentative and wielded her pout like a weapon.

“Sweetheart, he is leaving, but the roads are a mess, so he can’t exactly get to Texas. Not only that, but it’s almost Christmas. Don’t you think the charitable thing to do would be to at least be polite? After all, he did come here to help us.”

“We don’t need help.”

The girl’s demeanor softened when she knelt to stroke Honey’s muzzle.

Buttercup neighed.

“Hey, girl,” Jess crooned, keeping her voice low so as not to wake Gage. “Your baby’s looking much better.”

“Mommy?” Ashley asked.

“Yes, hon?”

“What’s chair-it-abble mean?”

Jess patted the mare’s rust-colored rump. “When someone does something nice for someone not because they have to, but because they want to.”

“Oh.” The little girl took off her coat, lightly settling it over Gage.

Whereas moments earlier, Jess’s stomach had been knotted with worry for her eldest daughter, her heart lightened at her youngest girl’s good deed. Though her green coat barely covered the large man’s shoulder, the generosity of the child’s good intentions filled the whole barn.

“You’re lame,” Lexie said, standing and heading for the door. “Because of him, our Christmas is ruined.”

Jess sighed.

Why was it that just when she thought everything might be all right, something—or, in this case, somebody—brought her hopes crashing down?

“We should just cancel Christmas.”

“Lexie, stop. Just stop, or Santa’s bringing you nothing but a bag of switches.”

“Good. Because I don’t even believe in Santa.”

“He’s real!” Ashley shouted.

“Shut up!” Lexie shouted back.

Gage shifted and groaned. “What’s going on?”

“Lexie Margaret Cummings,” Jess said, hands on her hips, “that’s enough out of you. Apologize to your sister, then march straight to your room.”

The girl’s apology consisted of sticking out her tongue before taking off for the barn’s door.

“Lexie!” Jess shouted. “Lexie! Get back here this instant, before—”

“Let her go,” Gage said, stepping up behind her.

Ashley had her thumb back in her mouth as she quietly watched her sister go. “Mommy?”

“Yes, sweetie?”

“How come Lexie hates me?”

Jess pulled her youngest into a hug. “She doesn’t hate you, pumpkin. I think she hates—” Chest aching from bearing the weight of both of her girls’ emotional pain, Jess couldn’t go on. Not here, with Gage looking on. What her daughter hated, but was too emotionally immature to vocalize, was most likely every man on the planet for living when her daddy had died. How did Jess make Lexie see it was all right for her to go on with her life? To be happy again and run and skip and play jump rope? But then how did she teach her daughter all of that when Jess didn’t begin to know herself?

Behind her, Gage cleared his throat. “Honey made it just fine through the night. He’s a scrapper, Jess…. Just like your little girl.”

With everything in her, Jess wanted to fight him, this virtual stranger. After all, what did he know about her daughter or anything else? But he had spent the night in the frigid barn, sleeping alongside the dearest of colts. That kindness deserved something, even if all she had in her was to bite her tongue.

She swallowed hard. “Thank you.”

“It’s the truth. Lexie’s just going through a phase that—”

“I meant, thank you for staying with Honey. Lexie’s my problem. I appreciate your advice, but—”

“Mind my own business?” His mouth’s grim set told her that once again, where he was concerned, she’d gone too far. She didn’t mean to be short with him, but couldn’t seem to help herself.

“I’m sorry,” she said to Gage, squeezing Ashley’s hand. The girl was staring up at her, big brown eyes taking everything in. “Hungry?”

“Starved,” he answered. “It’s been a while since Georgia’s chili.”

Jess summoned a cautious smile, then said, “I’m not half as good a cook as my mother, but if you’re feeling brave, I’d be happy to whip up something simple like pancakes and bacon.”

“MMM…” GAGE SAID with a groan, pushing back his plate. “Your mom lied,” he said to Ashley. “She’s a good cook.”

Cheeks puffed with an oversized bite of pancakes, the girl nodded.

He hadn’t had much of an appetite lately, but something about Jess’s welcoming country kitchen made him want to eat, and it felt good having his belly full.

The blue linoleum floor was peeling in the corners, and the whitewashed cabinets might be in as desperate need of paint as the home’s exterior, but the yellow flowered curtains covering fogged-over paned windows were ruffled and feminine and pretty, and the abundance of thriving houseplants told him that despite the home’s shabby appearance, it was indeed a home. Gut feel told him Jess was an expert at transforming life’s lemons into sweet lemonade. If only he’d learned the same.

Jess had taken Lexie a plate to her room, leaving him on his own alongside Ashley at the round oak kitchen table.

“Guess what?” she asked, half a canned peach in her chubby fingers. The syrup dripped down her wrist.

“You might want to—” He gestured for her to use her napkin.

Instead, she licked the dripping mess.

Gage winced.

“What’s wrong?” the girl asked. “I haven’t even told you what I was gonna tell you yet. And it wasn’t awful.”

“Oh,” he said, striking a solemn pose. “Sorry. Please, carry on with what you were about to say before I so rudely interrupted.”

Her grin warmed him more effectively than Jess’s fragrant coffee.

“Okay,” Ashley said, “did you know a brakeeo-sore-us is as long as two school buses and tall as four buildings?”

“I did not know that. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Here—” She plopped a second peach half on his plate. “I’m full, so you can have this.”

“Um, thanks.” Though the fruit swam in a sea of buttery syrup, and Gage had never been big on mixing his foods, seeing how Ashley stared at him expectantly, he went ahead and forced a bite. “Mmm…Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” She pushed back her chair and leaped to her feet. “See ya.”

“Where are you going?”

“I’ve got to work on my pictures for Santa. Daddy always said if you left cookies and some pretty drawings for Mrs. Claus’s ’frigerator, he’d leave more toys.”

“Your dad sounded very smart.”

“He was. I loved him lots.” She pushed her chair in and took her plate to the sink. “Bye.”

Just as Ashley went out, Jess headed back in. “I hope she didn’t yak your ears off.”

Chuckling, he checked if his ears were still attached. “All good.”

She laughed, a really heartfelt laugh that made him feel funny inside. Not ha-ha funny, but strange as it sounded even to him, proud to have made her smile. “Is she off to work on her pictures for Mrs. Claus?”

“Yes, ma’am.” He rose, grabbing his plate and the butter dish before heading for the sink. “Cute custom.”

“I love that she still believes.”

“Yeah. It is nice.” Gage used to believe in magic. Then he’d urged Marnie into taking up with Deke, and nothing had ever been the same.

“You don’t have to do that,” she said, stopping him halfway to the sink and reaching for his dish.

“I know I don’t have to,” he pointed out, “but the rule in my house is that whoever cooks doesn’t have to clean.”

“I think I like your house,” she said, backing away. “By all means…go for it. The scrub pad and soap are under the sink.”

“Not that I’m complaining,” he added while Jess refilled her coffee mug, “but what’s gotten into you to actually accept help?”

She grimaced. “Have I sounded that bad?”

“Pretty much.”

“Sorry.” Jess sat at the table, munching a piece of bacon she’d snatched from a plate on the counter by the stove. “It’s just with Lexie’s mood swings and Ashley’s penchant for mischief—not to mention Honey’s—I’ve been snappier than usual.”

“No biggie. Especially after what you’ve been through.”

“Don’t,” she said quietly.

“What?”

“Make excuses.” She sipped her coffee, taking her time finding just the right words. She was tired of coming across as bitchy when there was so much more behind her needing him to leave. There were Lexie’s issues and her own need to make the ranch as perfect as she and Dwayne had always dreamed it would be. Moreover, deep inside, when she was alone in her bed in the cold still of night, only then did she acknowledge the terror she felt at the thought of depending on anyone ever again.

Hugging her fingers around her mug, she said haltingly, “I-I hate when everyone blames my every problem on my husband’s death. Dwayne died last fall. I should be over it, you know? Not that I ever want to forget him, just that my never being able to fit enough work into any given day shouldn’t have anything to do with his being gone.”

“Sure,” he said, rinsing and then drying the frying pan. “I get it. But—and please, don’t take this the wrong way—you’re a damned fool if you think you can handle an operation this size on your own.” He reached for a plate to scrub. “Truth is, you could really use a few more men…or women. I don’t get why you feel this compulsion to run this place all by your lonesome.”

How many times had her parents and Doc said the same thing? How many times had Jess tried telling them she didn’t know. Only she did. And telling anyone would make him or her believe her certifiable.

“You’re right,” she confessed. “I do need help, and plenty of it. But so far, the ranch hasn’t profited like I’d hoped. Once we’re out of the red, I’ll hire lots of hands. But now…It just isn’t feasible.”

ISN’T FEASIBLE?

A couple hours later, scooting across the ice rink that had become her yard with socks over her sneakers to help with traction, Jess wished she had an extra leg with which to kick herself. How dumb had that sounded? Especially in light of the fact that Gage’s services were already paid for.

With both girls and the dog sharing a rare moment of unity over cookies and milk and a Disney movie, Jess was midway to the barn to check on Honey when she got a little too cocky with her speed and her feet went out from under her.

Her resulting yelp echoed across the frozen yard.

She tried scrambling back onto her feet, but only ended up sliding.

Lying back, she stared up at the gray sky. Swell. Just swell.

“Need a hand?” called an all-too-familiar masculine voice from the barn.

“I probably do,” she conceded to Gage with a weary smile, “but I’m not all that sure you can make it out here.”

“I s’pose I could throw you a rope.” He was leaning against the doorjamb, a grin tugging at the corners of his lips.

“Don’t do me any favors,” she sassed, scrambling to her knees, surely resembling a drunken crab.

He snorted, making a valiant stab at reaching her. At least until he fell, too.

“Holy crap, that hurt,” he complained, rubbing his backside.

“You okay?” She was back on her knees, crawling toward him.

“Yet again, I’m thinking everything but my pride will be fine.” He tried getting to his feet, but this particular stretch of the drive was sloped and enough snow had fallen during the night to create a drift. More freezing rain had coated it, transforming an already bad situation into a disaster.

“Here, let me try getting to you.” She made it, only to start sliding.

“Give me your hand.”

Jess did, and he caught her just before she started sliding into the icy abyss—well, really more of a dip, but considering how cold the ice felt seeping through the seat of her jeans, she preferred not to be outside a second longer than necessary.

“Hang tight and I’ll pull you up.” Gage tugged her arm, pulling her along the ice, and for a split second it hurt, but then she was laughing and he was laughing and she was resting against him, clinging to his jacket, relishing his warmth…his strength.

“Th-thanks,” she said, teeth chattering.

“Come on, let’s get you inside.” He hammered his boot heels into the ice, then pushed up with his powerful legs. His arms cinched her to him, and while she should’ve been put off by his proximity, what she really felt was safe. Protected. And for the fleeting moments it took to reach higher, flatter ground, she rejoiced in the emotions. But then Gage released her and struggled to his feet. Ever the gentleman, he offered her his gloved hands and for the briefest of seconds, she accepted them, telling herself it wasn’t a tingle of awareness flooding her with heat, but the barn’s warmer air.

“That was, um, good thinking,” she said, once again stable on her feet now that they were on the barn’s dirt floor. “Thanks again.”

“No problem.”

As Gage headed for Honey’s stall, Jess watched him. The breadth of his shoulders under his coat. The smattering of ice and snow clinging to his hair. He smelled fresh and clean, like the straw he’d spent the night on. But there’d also been a trace of the bacon they’d had for breakfast. The syrup. The coffee. The smells of normalcy—it seemed a lifetime since she’d last experienced them.

Frustration balled in her stomach, building into a wall of panic she wasn’t sure how to break down. Gage Moore had to go. Now. This second. Only it was Christmas Eve, and judging by the clatter on the tin roof, additional freezing rain had arrived instead of Santa and his reindeer.

“You’re a sweetheart,” she overheard Gage croon to Honey’s momma.

Jess rounded the stall’s corner to see him stroking the mare’s mane. Gage seemed so gentle and kind. Responsible. Hardworking. Exactly the kind of hand she’d want. So why, why couldn’t she take a gamble on letting him stay? So what if he took off? It wouldn’t be the end of the world. He would just be a hired hand. She would find another.

“This little fella’s looking better,” Gage said, turning his attention to the colt. “Doc called my cell while you were refereeing the girls. Gave me a list of warning signs to watch for, but he looks good.”

“How long have you known Doc?”

“Long as I can remember,” he said, coming out of the stall for a handful of oats he fed the mare. “When my parents lived here, I guess they were friends with Doc and his wife. Over the years, they kept in touch.”

“That’s nice,” Jess said, stroking Honey. “My parents have a few couples they’ve known forever. Every so often, they get together. Meet up for fun weekends in Dallas or Kansas City.” He grabbed a pitchfork, and scooped manure into a wheelbarrow. “You look like you’ve done that before. Been around horses much?”

“All my life.” After spreading fresh straw on the floor, he moved on to the next stall. “Well, all of my life, that is, save for recently.”

“Right. I remember you saying you live in Dallas. But does your family still have a ranch?” She grabbed a second pitchfork so she could help.

“Yep.”

“In Texas?” Jess probed.

“Uh-huh.”

“So that’s where you learned to work with horses?”

“Yep.”

They both moved on to other stalls.

“How come you’re not with them for Christmas? Your family?” Despite the barn’s chill, beneath her heavy coat and sweater she was already working up a sweat.

“Long story.”

“Thanks to the weather, looks like we’ll be together a while.”

“Ha-ha.” He jabbed his pitchfork in the wheelbarrow’s rapidly growing manure pile.

When Gage made no further conversational attempts, Jess prompted, “Well? Christmas? Your family?”

“Truth is, if it’s all right by you, I’d rather not talk about it.”

“Fair enough.” She jabbed her fork alongside his. Lord knew, she had plenty of her own issues she’d rather not discuss. Still…Who voluntarily left their loved ones this time of year? “But why aren’t you still working for them?”