A Montana Christmas. Kristine RolofsonЧитать онлайн книгу.
of the family and, at eighty-two, Uncle Joe was proud of his longevity and his skill with cards. He’d arrived the week before Thanksgiving and, declaring he was lonesome, moved into the enormous ranch house “until the New Year,” he’d declared. “Or until you kick me out.” He knew Jenna would never do such a thing, but it was a little joke between them. Uncle Joe liked his little jokes.
“You’ve got no reason to be nervous, honey. Christmas around here is always one hell of an occasion, thanks to you.” Uncle Joe pulled out a chair and sat down at the long worktable that had been at the ranch for four generations. “And Will was only in Washington for six weeks. He couldn’t get serious about no young woman, not that fast.”
“I don’t know about that.” She would fix a cup of herbal tea, Jenna decided. “My sons have big hearts, though Jared tries to hide it more than Will. And I sure wouldn’t mind having a daughter-in-law. I’d about given up hope of ever having another woman for company around here.”
“Bitty doesn’t count?” The old man shot her an evil grin.
“Aunt Bitty’s in a class by herself.”
“Where is the old bat, anyway?”
“Uncle Joe—” she began, ready to admonish him again to be nice to her husband’s aunt.
“I know, I know.” He held up a gnarled hand as if to ward off her words. “She’s an in-law and you can’t do anything about her. I don’t mind her radio shows, but that barking rat of hers is too much for a man to ignore.”
Jenna couldn’t help her smile. The “barking rat” was Bitty’s ancient Maltese, a nine-pound dog who was never out of his devoted owner’s sight. Fluffy did everything but eat his meals at the dinner table, and Jenna had no doubt that if she allowed it, that’s exactly where he would perch. “Fluffy doesn’t bark that much.”
“He isn’t ‘fluffy,’ either,” Joe grumbled.
“I’m sure his thyroid medication will kick in one of these days.” She looked again at the clock and wished she’d told Jared to call her when he left Havre. Her eldest didn’t think much of cell phones; he grudgingly kept one in his truck’s glove compartment, but rarely used it.
“You spoil us all, Jenn,” he declared, taking another sip of coffee. “Like you’ll spoil Will’s girl, once she gets here. You get that painting done?”
“Yesterday.” She hoped Melanie Briggs liked lilac.
“And dinner smells good.”
“Yes,” she said, taking the kettle off the stove. “I cooked a roast earlier, so no matter what time they arrive dinner will be ready.”
“You think of everything,” the old man declared, beaming at her. He plucked a deck of cards from his shirt pocket. “You want to play a hand of gin rummy, just to make the time pass quick?”
“Sure.” Between Joe’s cards, Bitty’s radio programs and Fluffy’s constant begging for treats, Jenna hoped she wouldn’t have time to worry about her sons.
2
SO WHAT IF SHE WAS ONE of the most beautiful women he had ever seen? Oh, there had been some rodeo queens in his past, and that one summer seven years ago when he’d dated the first runner-up for Miss Montana. But there was something about Melanie, a softness that urged him closer though he knew he should stay well away. After all, she had been invited to the ranch by his brother, who was probably head over heels in love with the woman.
And she had a small child, which meant there was an ex-lover or ex-husband somewhere in the picture to complicate things. There was a lot more to Melanie Briggs than met the eye and Jared hoped his little brother knew what he was getting himself into.
He glanced over and saw that her eyes were closed. He knew if he started a conversation she would sit up and attempt to take part, just to be polite. There would be plenty of time to ask questions tomorrow, but he wouldn’t be asking them of his houseguest, that was for damn sure. Will’s plane was due in at 5:38 and there would be plenty of time on the drive home to find out what was going on.
Another thirty or so miles passed before he woke her.
“Do you want some coffee or tea or something?” Jared slowed the truck and took the exit that led to a large café. Its lights looked welcoming in the dark and a number of semis and pickups filled the parking lot. Snow swirled around in the wind and hit the windshield, but it was nothing serious. Just flurries so far, but they had another hour or so to go before they were home.
“If you’re getting some,” Melanie said, but she sounded pleased that they were stopping. The baby let out a couple of noisy complaints after hearing her mother’s voice.
“Do you want to come in or wait here while I get it?” He pulled the truck into the lot and found a space near the side entrance.
“I’ll come with you. Beth’s starting to fuss.” She unbuckled her seat belt and leaned over the seat to check the child. Sure enough, the baby wailed again as if she wanted something.
“What do you do for that?”
“Change her, feed her, talk to her.”
She made it sound simple, but Jared had a good idea that keeping a baby happy wasn’t so easy. He’d nursed enough calves and foals back to health to know that babies of any species were demanding creatures.
Before he could offer help, Melanie opened the door and hopped out, then fiddled with the lever to move the seat forward so she could climb in back with the baby. A blast of cold air burst into the truck, but Jared got out and made sure both doors were shut so the baby wouldn’t catch cold.
“Holler when you’re done,” he told her, and stood by the door, his back to the wind, and waited for Melanie to finish wrapping up the child. Jared shivered but didn’t bother to zip his down jacket. Babies and winter didn’t go together. Cows at least waited until spring to drop their calves, even though “spring” in Montana was a loose interpretation of the season.
He turned when he heard the woman fumble at the door, and he found himself taking the baby from her so she could climb down unimpeded. The child’s face was covered with a pink fuzzy blanket and once again she was wrapped up in a thick bundle. “Are you sure she can breathe in there?”
“I need to keep the wind out of her face.” Melanie reached for her child, but Jared—who had a good grip on the kid—hurried toward the door of the restaurant. He was in no mood to stand outside a second more than necessary, and besides, he didn’t want to drop the baby while handing her over to her mother.
“Breakfast 24 Hours” read a blinking neon sign beside the door, which made Jared think of pancakes and eggs and an extra side order of bacon. He pushed open the glass door and they were soon inside the stuffy warmth of a large bright room filled with orange booths, metal chairs and Formica-topped tables. A row of black stools lined the counter and a tired-looking waitress said, “Sit anywhere you like, folks.”
He turned to Melanie, who reached out to take the flap of blanket away from the baby’s face. The baby’s blue eyes stared up at him as if she’d never seen a rancher before. Then she screwed up her face and let out a scream of dismay that caused a couple of truckers to look up from their steak and eggs.
“Here, give her to me,” Melanie said, and this time Jared was happy to do just that. “Don’t take it personally. She doesn’t like being wet.”
“Oh.” He watched as Melanie unwrapped the wad of blankets with gentle hands, then cooed at the little girl.
“You’ll feel much better in a minute, sweetheart, I promise.”
“I’ll get a booth,” Jared said, backing up a step.
“Can you take these? I’ll be right back.” She handed Jared the blankets and put the screaming child