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Christmas On The Ranch: The Rancher's Christmas Baby / Christmas Eve Cowboy
Arlene James
Lois Richer
Cowboys for ChristmasThe Rancher’s Christmas Baby by Arlene JamesThe quiet holiday season Dixon Lyons had planned is abruptly derailed when his long-absent mother appears at his doorstep with a baby and stunning beauty, Fawn Ambor. Soon, Fawn’s generous heart and endearing belief in the strength of family and forgiveness have him wondering if it might just be the Christmas he needs.Christmas Eve Cowboy by Lois RicherDr. Elizabeth Kendall moved to Snowflake, Montana wanting nothing more than a fresh start for herself and her daughter Zoey. But when handsome local rancher Brett Carlisle convinces Elizabeth to lead the kids’ Christmas Eve choir, she discovers the idyllic town has a lot more in store for her—and her heart—than she ever imagined.


Cowboys for Christmas
The Rancher’s Christmas Baby by Arlene James
The quiet holiday season Dixon Lyons had planned is abruptly derailed when his long-absent mother appears at his doorstep with a baby and stunning beauty Fawn Ambor. Soon Fawn’s generous heart and endearing belief in the strength of family and forgiveness have him wondering if this might just be the Christmas he needs.
Christmas Eve Cowboy by Lois Richer
Dr. Elizabeth Kendall moved to Snowflake, Montana, wanting nothing more than a fresh start for herself and her daughter, Zoey. But when handsome local rancher Brett Carlisle convinces Elizabeth to lead the kids’ Christmas Eve choir, she discovers the idyllic town has a lot more in store for her—and her heart—than she ever imagined.
Praise for Arlene James
“Warm, rich details combine with Southern charm and hospitality in this touching story about healing deep emotional wounds.”
—RT Book Reviews on Second Chance Match
“Arlene James has an exquisite way with words and…the characters and intricate plot will resonate long after the last page is turned.”
—RT Book Reviews on To Heal a Heart
“Ms. James’s multilayered characters, along with a richly textured story line, takes the reader on an emotional roller-coaster that will have you reaching for the nearest tissue.”
—RT Book Reviews on Mr. Right Next Door
Praise for Lois Richer
“Lois Richer delivers a touching, evocative, wonderful story of selfless love.”
—RT Book Reviews on A Cowboy’s Honor
“A wonderful, emotionally heartwarming story about loss and love.”
—RT Book Reviews on Twice Upon a Time
“Lois Richer pens an excellent story.”
—RT Book Reviews on
Spring Flowers, Summer Love
ARLENE JAMES has been publishing steadily for nearly four decades and is a charter member of RWA. She is married to an acclaimed artist, and together they have traveled extensively. After growing up in Oklahoma, Arlene lived thirty-four years in Texas and now abides in beautiful northwest Arkansas, near two of the world’s three loveliest, smartest, most talented granddaughters. She is heavily involved in her family, church and community.
LOIS RICHER loves traveling, swimming and quilting, but mostly she loves writing stories that show God’s boundless love for His precious children. As she says, “His love never changes or gives up. It’s always waiting for me. My stories feature imperfect characters learning that love doesn’t mean attaining perfection. Love is about keeping on keeping on.” You can contact Lois via email, loisricher@gmail.com, or on Facebook (loisricherauthor (https://www.facebook.com/pages/Lois-Richer/561316647223284)).
Christmas on the Ranch
The Rancher’s Christmas Baby
Arlene James
Christmas Eve Cowboy
Lois Richer


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Table of Contents
Cover (#uf04b7624-67e4-5b87-8c96-b1f500934e8e)
Back Cover Text (#u03651322-1c23-5526-9efa-1b81e203e04b)
Praise (#u6155845f-9eec-5dee-920d-bcf043293483)
About the Authors (#u6c62b343-f4ee-5b9f-96cb-e6d4233ded02)
Title Page (#u123148bd-9d91-58b2-a9fa-804f0a1e2ab9)
The Rancher’s Christmas Baby (#u572fda55-6e62-574d-a213-6fbc2ebbf943)
Dear Reader (#ubf9929b2-3a0c-5acd-a41b-94f11b3371a7)
Bible Verse (#u6ea1b825-da7d-5c76-8796-70a68d7fb674)
Chapter One (#u3c053a5f-f91a-5f7d-92d2-973d0a1d58cd)
Chapter Two (#uc280bd98-a36d-5202-98b5-43dcc6887c69)
Chapter Three (#uc02efa83-6044-591e-948e-ba2eabd664f5)
Chapter Four (#u29ee7ce4-7046-5294-9c09-f7a0208697a8)
Chapter Five (#u86723200-8f51-500e-82cd-d9dd7752f529)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Christmas Eve Cowboy (#litres_trial_promo)
Dear Reader (#litres_trial_promo)
Dedication (#litres_trial_promo)
Bible Verse (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Two (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Three (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
The Rancher’s Christmas Baby (#ue7056940-6668-57ed-a224-d6854caee1d9)
Arlene James
Dear Reader (#ue7056940-6668-57ed-a224-d6854caee1d9),
Resentments can color our lives and steal our joy in many ways. Even when hostility and resentment are founded in fact, we often don’t know the full story. A young child, such as Dixon was, simply can’t understand until the emotional storm is long past, for instance. That’s why it’s always best to simply forgive and go on. But when the person who hurts us is someone close, that can be so very difficult—unless God intervenes.
Thankfully, God is patient and loves us too much to let us harbor resentment forever. He’ll give us opportunities to put our resentments behind us, but we must take them. The harder and longer we resist, the more extreme His measures may become.
Forgiveness brings blessings that we can’t imagine while we’re sulking in our resentment dungeon. Like Dixon, however, we can find peace and unimagined love through forgiving others.
God bless,


Blessed are those who find wisdom,
those who gain understanding.
—Proverbs 3:13
Chapter One (#ue7056940-6668-57ed-a224-d6854caee1d9)
“Sorry, Dad,” Dixon said into his cell phone. “You’ve got to get the plumber back in here before I can set these kitchen cabinets. Water’s running down the outside of this pipe.” Dixon listened to the expected complaints. He shared his father’s frustration. They’d hoped to have this old house completely renovated before Thanksgiving and rented by the end of November, but the first week of December had now come and gone, and the kitchen cabinets weren’t even installed.
Dixon blamed himself. Carpentry wasn’t his only occupation, and not since he’d inherited his maternal grandfather’s small ranch some eight years earlier had he experienced so much sickness in his herd as recently. These days it seemed he was constantly leaving the job to tend to some ailing cow. He had an injured heifer in the barn now, and he might as well get home to take care of it because he sure wasn’t going to get anything more done here today.
Fitting his brown beaver cowboy hat to his head, he briefly considered stopping in at the War Bonnet diner for an early dinner, but he was more tired of the diner’s meager offerings than he was hungry. Not that he had many choices. Like many small towns in Oklahoma, little War Bonnet’s options were severely limited. He decided he’d open a can at home. After all, he’d worked long and hard to update the kitchen in the 1970s-era ranch house. Might as well make use of it.
The hour hadn’t reached 5:00 p.m. when he turned his pickup truck onto the red dirt drive of the home place, but it was dark enough to see that he’d left lights on in the house. That wasn’t like him. He’d lived alone since before his twenty-first birthday and had learned long ago what it took to keep the utility bills in line with the budget. At just weeks shy of his twenty-ninth birthday, he prided himself on his ability to budget and manage his money. He wouldn’t have been able to remodel the house otherwise, let alone invest in rental property.
As he drew closer, he saw a small, battered, dark-colored sedan parked in front of the house. Obviously, he had a visitor, someone who felt they didn’t have to wait on the front veranda but could just go inside and make themselves at home. It had never occurred to him to lock up the place, even after he’d remodeled, painting the orange brick white and replacing the dark shingles on the low roof with red metal. The house had a Spanish flair now, which he felt suited the long, lean lines, with a red front door and red shutters flanking the wide front windows.
Dixon couldn’t imagine who would let themselves into his house. Unless... But surely not. She’d left right after Dixon’s eighteenth birthday and had been back only for Grandpa Crane’s funeral. He hadn’t seen her in over eight years. Some letters had come, none of which he’d answered, and he’d taken a few short calls from her, but that had been it. Must be two or more years since he’d last heard a peep from Jackie.
Still puzzled, he pulled his truck into the inner bay of the carport that he’d added to the end of the house after he’d converted the garage into a game room. The new parking placement allowed him to quietly enter the house via a mudroom off the kitchen. Still wearing his tan canvas coat and brown felt hat, he carefully walked to the kitchen door, which had been pushed aside on its trendy barn door rolling hinge.
At his stainless-steel stove stood a petite young woman with warm brown skin and very long, ink-black hair caught at her nape by a big silver clasp. She wore brown suede boots, plain, snug jeans and a simple top of black knit with pushed-up sleeves, a belt of silver links riding low on her slender hips. As if sensing his presence, she suddenly turned. On some level he registered the baby snuggled in the bend of her left arm, but a far larger part of his consciousness reeled in shock at the sheer perfection of her face. From the delicate roundness of her chin and the dusky rose of her lips to the straight line of her nose, the piercing blackness of her exotic eyes and the gentle slashes of her brows beneath the sweep of thick hair that framed all that loveliness from a loose, haphazard center part.
“Hello,” she said, but he was too dumbfounded to return the greeting. She tilted her head, studying him as if he were a bug pinned in a display case. He wanted to feel his jaw to see if he needed a shave, but of course he needed a shave; he’d last taken care of the chore before daylight and despite his medium brown hair, he had an unusually heavy beard. By the end of most workdays, he looked like a vagrant.
A movement to his right pulled his attention toward the breakfast nook, where a tall, painfully thin woman slid around the corner to lean against the wall. Her dark blond hair, streaked liberally with gray, had been pulled back from her face in an apparent attempt to disguise its thinness. She looked familiar, but she had so many lines in her face that he didn’t immediately recognize her. Then she gave him that saucy grin, showing off the false teeth that he remembered her husband, Harry, had bought her to help hide the ravages of her meth addiction, and he knew without a shadow of a doubt what he had been trying not to see. Jackie. The very last person he wanted to find in his house. Grandpa Crane’s will had made it very clear that she had no claim to ownership.
“I really like what you’ve done with the place,” she said in a husky voice, glancing around the room.
Dixon sighed and got right to the heart of the matter.
“What are you doing here, Mother?”
* * *
“Well, that’s a nice greeting,” Jackie said, managing to toss her head.
“You expected a parade?” he asked.
“Some welcome would be nice.”
“Some notice would’ve been nice.”
Listening to this exchange, Fawn bounced the baby gently and reached for the bottle she’d been preparing. Dixon Lyons was not what she’d expected. He was more man than boy, though Jackie constantly referred to him as “my boy.” Also, he was amazingly attractive. She didn’t know why she’d never considered that possibility, but her concern for Jackie and the baby was so great that she hadn’t stopped to think about anything other than Dixon’s willingness to accept them into his home, and a lovely home it was. Jackie hadn’t stopped talking about all the improvements he’d made or what good taste he had—until he’d arrived. Now the woman had suddenly become defensive and snide, not at all like the brave, stoic Jackie whom Fawn knew.
“Uh, you did say that Dixon was unaware of Harry’s passing,” Fawn reminded her older friend. At that, Jackie bowed her head.
“Something happened to Harry?” Dixon asked, sounding both concerned and shocked.
Jackie nodded, wobbling slightly. “Highway accident.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know. When did it happen?”
“Almost eight months ago.”
“Eight...” He lifted his hat and ran a hand over his short, thick hair. “And you’re just now letting me know because...?”
“It’s been a difficult time,” Jackie muttered, swaying on her feet.
Fawn hurried over and pulled out a chair at the round table with her right hand. “Sit down before you fall down.” Like most of the furniture in the house, the dinette was older but of good quality.
Jackie sank down onto the chair just as Dixon glanced at Fawn. “Maybe my mother and I should speak in private.”
“No,” Jackie insisted. “Fawn has a stake in this conversation.” She smiled wanly. “If not for her, I wouldn’t be here.”
“I’m Fawn Ambor, by the way,” Fawn introduced herself, holding out her right hand. Dixon merely glanced at her then at the baby before turning back to his mother. As if realizing she had been snubbed, the baby started to fuss.
“Give her to me,” Jackie said, holding out her thin arms. Not even the long sleeves of her cotton blouse could disguise her frailness.
“No, no. You rest a few more minutes,” Fawn said. “I’ll take care of her.”
Jackie nodded and pushed up from her chair. “Maybe you’re right. I do feel weak.”
Fawn went to get the bottle and give it to the whimpering baby.
“So what happened?” Dixon asked, coming to lean against the rust-and-gold granite countertop. “Harry throw her out before the accident?”
Fawn turned to find Jackie standing, stiff-backed, in the wide, cased doorway. “No! Why would you think that?”
Dixon didn’t so much as glance in his mother’s direction. “She’s back here, isn’t she?”
Lifting her chin, Jackie slowly made her way into the other room. Fawn leaned closer, holding the baby to the side, and demanded softly, “Are you always so disrespectful of your mother?”
“She’s never given me any reason not to be,” he answered bluntly.
“She gave birth to you,” Fawn told him. “That should be reason enough.”
“Yeah, well, you weren’t here when she was the talk of the town, running off to anywhere and everywhere she could find a party and her drug of choice.”
“No, I wasn’t here then,” Fawn conceded softly, “but did you ever ask yourself why your mother did those things?”
He lifted a rather heavy eyebrow, his clear gray eyes coldly impassive. “Little boys don’t ask why their mothers are zonked-out druggies. Instead, they blame themselves. Until they grow up and figure out personal responsibility.”
Slapping his hat onto his head, he walked out through the same door from which he’d entered. Shaken, Fawn turned and followed Jackie from the room. She found her friend snuggled into an oversize armchair in front of the cold fireplace, a fuzzy blanket over her legs.
“Think you can hold her while she nurses?” Fawn asked, handing the baby and bottle down to Jackie.
Jackie’s face lit with delight. “Of course.” She smiled down at Bella Jo. “Hello, sweetheart.”
“I want to make a phone call before I start supper.”
Jackie nodded, cooing to baby Bella. Fawn paused to watch Bella grin around the milky nipple of the bottle. This was a new trick for the four-month-old, one she employed often with great success.
Slipping down the central hall to the bedroom that Jackie had pointed out to her, Fawn pulled her cell phone from the hip pocket of her jeans. Little remodeling had been done in here. The yellowed walls hadn’t seen a fresh coat of paint in years, and the hardwood floor badly needed polishing, not to mention a throw rug. At least the twin-size bed, which boasted neither head-nor footboard, had sheets on it. The room could have used a bedside lamp. And a table to set it on.
Fawn dropped down onto the bed and punched in the familiar numbers. Within moments her grandmother answered the phone.
“Auweni?”
“It’s Fawn, Grandmother.”
“Mamalis!” Grandmother exclaimed, using Fawn’s Lenape name. “I am happy to hear from you. I have prayed to Jesus for your safe trip. How is Jackie?”
“She is tired and weak, Grandmother, and her son is not what I expected. Your prayers are appreciated.”
“He is kikape?”
“Yes, he is single,” Fawn confirmed. It had been one of their fears. Unattached men did not respond well to illness. Or infants. Or anything that hampered their freedom. A married man who had given up his freedom willingly would have been more inclined to open his heart and home. He would also have had help.
“But that’s not the problem,” she continued. “Things are worse between him and his mother than I realized. He’s very resentful.”
“I remember two girls with much resentment toward a parent.”
“A drunkard who kills himself and your mother is a little different from a woman who deadens her pain with drugs,” Fawn pointed out.
“Is it?” Grandmother asked. “Seems to me the only real difference is an accidental house fire.”
Fawn bit her lip. “Perhaps you’re right.”
“My daughter’s husband was a habitual drunk,” Grandmother said calmly, “but he meant no harm, Mamalis.”
“He meant no harm,” Fawn pointed out softly, “but they are both dead. Besides, it’s been years since Jackie used illicit drugs.”
“But does her son know this?”
“I’m not sure,” Fawn admitted. “Apparently, they’ve been estranged for a long time.”
“Patience,” Grandmother counseled. “Patience—”
“And prayer,” Fawn said for her, smiling. It was Grandmother’s prescription for every situation.
Her kmis, or elder sister, was not so sanguine. Though older by only sixteen minutes, Dawn took her position as kmis very seriously. Those slim sixteen minutes might as well have been sixteen years, given how protective Dawn could be with her twin. She had not been in favor of Fawn undertaking this mission before Christmas.
Both Fawn and Grandmother had argued that putting it off until after the first of the year would be unwise, given the precarious state of Jackie’s health. They thought it best to settle the matter and hopefully give Jackie a peaceful, happy Christmas, especially considering that it could be her last.
Dawn got on the phone as soon as Grandmother and Fawn ended their conversation. Obviously she’d been near their grandmother, listening in on every word.
“You knew Dixon Lyons could be single,” Dawn pointed out, skipping right over the greeting, “so what’s the real problem?”
Fawn mentally sighed. “Like I told Grandmother, he’s more resentful than I expected.”
“No. I don’t buy it. You were prepared to deal with a single man. There’s something more.” Fawn could almost feel the thoughts churning in her twin’s mind. “He’s hunky, isn’t he?”
Fawn plopped back onto the bed. “He’s gorgeous,” she admitted. “But he can see that Jackie is ill, and it makes no difference to him.”
“Bring Bella and Jackie and come home,” Dawn ordered. “We’ll be her family. We—”
“Petapan,” Fawn interrupted, using Dawn’s Lenape name. “We should at least give him a chance to do the right thing, don’t you think?”
After a long silence, Dawn said softly, “Whatever happens, remember our mother.” Then she ended the call.
As if I could forget, Fawn thought. As if a daughter could ever forget her mother’s mistakes.
Chapter Two (#ue7056940-6668-57ed-a224-d6854caee1d9)
How dare she? Dixon fumed, letting the wind suck the door closed behind him. Pretty little Fawn Whoever obviously didn’t know his mother very well or she wouldn’t have lectured him like that.
Giving birth to you ought to be enough.
He mimicked the words in his head as he skirted between the front end of the pickup and the storage room at the end of the carport.
What did this Fawn person know about it? She’d never seen his mother sleep around the clock after one of her benders or heard the whispers at the grocery store. Fawn had never watched some strange man literally drop her loopy mother in the front yard and drive away while she reeled toward the house. He’d always wondered what was so wrong with him that she couldn’t stay home and sober—until he’d realized that his grandmother was right. What was so wrong was Jackie.
So why was she here now? After all those years when all he’d wanted was for her to come home and settle down, now all he wanted was for her to go away before she ruined everything good in his life. He finally had a healthy relationship with his dad, worked for the family business, a plan for the future, a family, and that hadn’t been easy, given the animosity toward his father from his maternal grandparents, who had raised Dixon.
His grandparents and his dad had tiptoed around each other for years after Gregory Lyons had returned to town following an eight-year stint in the army. At twelve, Dixon had barely even remembered his father, despite many letters and photographs and a few visits. Greg had a new family by then, a wife, Lucinda, and a baby son. Jackie had gone into a tailspin upon Greg’s return, partying for days at a time. Dixon’s grandparents had feared that Greg would sue for custody, so they’d kept him at arm’s length. Greg and Lucinda had soon enlarged their family with a second son, but Dixon’s time with his dad and his dad’s family had remained limited until Grandma Crane died in a fall when Dixon was twelve.
With Jackie spending more time partying than with her son, Grandpa could no longer find excuses to keep Dixon away from his Lyons family, who had proved remarkably accepting of him. They’d even asked him to live with them, but he couldn’t leave his grandfather alone with Jackie, and that had caused some awkwardness on all sides until he’d turned sixteen and could drive himself over to his dad’s place whenever he’d wanted. He’d really gotten to know his brothers then, and he’d started to learn his dad’s trade, building. Dixon had turned out to be a more than fair carpenter.
Jackie had barely waited for Dixon to turn eighteen before she’d taken off with Harry Griffin. After his grandfather’s death a couple years later, Dixon worked for his dad, and they’d done well together.
Dixon had been surprised when Jackie had actually married Harry. Loud, stout and bald as a pool cue, Harry had stood a good head shorter than Jackie. Assuming that his mother was just using the affable trucker to get her teeth fixed, because her drug use had destroyed her once beautiful smile, Dixon had expected her to return to War Bonnet after she’d gotten what she’d needed from the man, but she’d claimed to be happy and had always described Harry as a “fine man.” Dixon had always privately supposed that Harry either had money or was more indulgent of Jackie’s partying ways than her parents had been.
From the looks of her, she hadn’t mended her ways over the years. She looked closer to sixty-four than forty-four. And he really did not need her reappearing after all these years with some unmarried mommy and baby in tow. No matter how stunningly beautiful that little mother might be.
A brisk wind rattled dead leaves across the crisp brown grass surrounding the house. Dixon turned up his collar and hunched his shoulders to protect his ears as he descended the gentle slope that led him the fifty yards or so to the barn, deliberately turning his attention to the waiting livestock and away from his unwanted guests.
The red sheet metal structure loomed dark and large in the cold, windy night. Newly oiled, the door hinges merely whispered as he pushed the narrow panel inward and stepped over the sill. Three horses and the restless heifer snuffled and shifted in the loamy blackness. The body heat of the livestock warmed this corner considerably, but if the outdoor temperature dropped much further, the heaters he’d installed last year would cycle on.
Reaching up, he switched on an overhead light and swung it to illuminate the nearest stall, where the heifer awaited his attention. He’d haltered and hobbled her, as the local veterinarian, Stark Burns, had suggested, to keep her from opening the stitches that ran from the dew claw to midhock of her left hind leg. She was not a happy patient. Using the pill pusher, he got the medication down her then unwrapped the leg, applied the prescribed salve and put on a new bandage, while avoiding the vicious swipe of an angry tail.
The wound was still fresh, and he couldn’t see any improvement yet. Worse, the heifer appeared to be losing weight. That could be disastrous for a pregnant cow. Dixon tipped extra feed into her trough and mixed a few sugar cubes into it to tempt her before leaving her to go see to the horses.
He took care of the geldings, Jag and Phantom, first. Both were big, powerful cutting horses that he’d dearly love to show professionally. The stallion, Romeo, was meant to be his ticket to competing with the other two horses. The sleek chestnut bay had the bloodlines of cutting horse royalty, but he’d been born early and extremely small. Dixon had taken the chance that he would grow to a suitable size, and he’d been right. By spring Romeo would be old enough to start training. Then all they needed was one good showing at competition. After that, Romeo would get a chance to prove he could produce—or, more accurate, reproduce. The stud fees should allow Dixon to try his hand at cutting horse competitions without risking the ranch or his normal income. It was a long-range plan that his dad fully endorsed, and Dixon had worked patiently to bring to fruition.
As was his habit, he spent some time with the skittish stallion, gentling and grooming the animal. While he worked with his hands, his mind worked over his problems, specifically his mother. He couldn’t deny that at times he felt lonely living out here on the ranch by himself, but he had plans and a purpose for his life, and he wasn’t about to let Jackie throw a wrench into all that. The Bible told him to honor his mother, and maybe Jackie had given birth to him, but she hadn’t raised him, not really. His grandmother had been his real mother. He wasn’t at all sure that he owed Jackie honor or anything else.
Resolved, he put away the curry brush, turned out the light and left the barn for the house. He’d tell Jackie that she and her friends could stay the night, then he’d take a shower and figure out something for dinner. Surely they could manage one difficult night without resorting to ugliness. He prayed about that as he trudged up the slope to the house.
The wind felt bitterly sharp, as if the temperature had dropped ten degrees in the hour or less he’d been in the barn. He let himself into the welcomed warmth of central heating and immediately caught the heady aroma of sizzling steak, his stomach growling. Frown in place, he stepped into the doorway of the kitchen even as he shucked his coat, his hat still on his head. Pretty Fawn stood at his stove turning a slab of chicken-fried steak in his biggest cast-iron skillet. Evidently they’d brought groceries because he certainly hadn’t had that steak on hand. Before he could comment, he heard Jackie playfully say, “Boo!”
A quick glance showed her playing peekaboo with the baby, who sat in a carrier on top of the table, waving her arms excitedly while Jackie draped a soft blanket over her little face and quickly pulled it away.
“I see you, Bella Jo. Peekaboo!”
Instantly, Dixon flashed back to an early memory, one he had almost forgotten.
He crouched behind his grandmother’s easy chair, quiet as a mouse. Suddenly his mom popped over the top, reaching down to tickle him.
“Boo! I found you, Dixon Lee. Mama always finds her boy.”
She scrambled around to sit on the floor with him, hugging and tickling. They were both laughing when his grandmother came in to say that she was going into town.
“Wait a minute. We’ll go with you,” Jackie said eagerly.
Grandma made a face and shook her head. “No, Jackie. It’ll take too long, and it’s way too much trouble for a quick trip to the store.”
“But I haven’t been out of the house in days except to work.”
“Well, whose fault is that? You should’ve thought of the consequences of your actions a long time ago.”
Setting him aside, Jackie stiffly rose. “I made a mistake, and I’m never going to stop paying for it, am I?” she choked out.
His grandmother looked at him then, and Dixon thought, Me. I’m the mistake. His grandmother rolled her eyes, then turned and left the room. A moment later his mother also left the room, slamming the door angrily behind her and calling for his grandfather.
How long had it been before he had seen her again? It had seemed like weeks, but he knew it had probably only been days. To a boy of three, days might as well have been weeks, though. The old bitterness welled up in him.
“You can’t stay,” he announced baldly, the words out before he even thought them. Jackie looked up, surprise and dismay on her lined face before she carefully masked her emotions. He lifted off his hat, steeling himself, and plunked it onto the hook beside the door before tossing aside his coat and actually moving into the other room. “You are not going to ruin my Christmas,” he said, trying to sound reasonable, “and we both know that’s what will happen if you stay.”
“I’ve never wanted to ruin anything for you, Dixon,” his mother said softly, sitting back in her chair, “but we have nowhere else to go.”
We? Dixon shook his head. So, it was a package deal. He turned his attention to Fawn. Did Jackie think dragging along this young beauty and her kid would soften him, make him more apt to open his home? What an opinion she must have of him, of men in general.
“And where’s your husband in all this?” he demanded of the dark-haired beauty. If they were asking him to take them in, he had a right to know. Didn’t he?
She looked stunned, standing there with a plate of chicken-fried steaks piled one on top of another, her dark, tip-tilted eyes wide. “I beg your pardon?”
“Your husband,” Dixon repeated. “Why isn’t he taking care of y’all?”
Blinking, she shook her head. “I’m not married.”
No, of course she wasn’t. Why was he not surprised? He slid his mother a disgusted look and stomped out of the room.
Going straight to his bedroom, he made short work of getting clean and dressed again. He was not—not—in any way pleased or relieved or even curious about how or why the woman cooking in his kitchen could show up with a baby and no husband. This itchy, nervous, supersensitive feeling was nothing more than concern.
He wondered what to do with himself, only to determine that this was his house and he’d be hung before he’d be relegated to his bedroom by a pair of unwelcome interlopers and an infant.
After stomping on his boots, he headed back to the kitchen, but at the last moment he derailed into the vacant living room, where he plopped down onto the sofa and prayed for...something. Strength, wisdom, the right words. Kindness? He didn’t know what to ask for. He just knew that he needed help.
* * *
“You’re crying.”
Fawn hadn’t seen Jackie cry since Harry had died, and God knew she’d had plenty of reasons to weep. She’d been strong for so long now, but her weakened physical state was obviously wearing on her.
“I knew he’d be bitter,” Jackie whispered raggedly, “but...” Shaking her head, she wiped at her eyes and focused on the baby. “It’ll be okay.” She managed a wobbly smile. “Despite everything, this has always been my home. It’ll be okay.”
Fawn didn’t know if Jackie was trying to convince herself, comforting the baby or sending up a prayer of faith. Turning back to the stove, Fawn took a plate from the counter and filled it. She carried it to the table for Jackie then poured a glass of water and laid a knife and fork next to it, along with a paper napkin.
“Do you need me to cut the steak?”
“I’m not that far gone.”
Smiling grimly, Fawn went back to the stove and filled another plate, this time with full portions. She poured iced tea into a tall tumbler, pocketed napkins, laid the knife and fork onto the plate and carried everything from the room in search of Dixon Lyons. Thankfully, she found him in the living room, sitting on the couch with his head in his hands. He had showered and changed, but even with his head bowed she could tell that he hadn’t shaved. She was glad because she had the feeling that he would be wildly attractive clean-shaven, and she didn’t need that distraction.
“I brought your dinner.”
He jerked, as if he hadn’t heard her approach. For an instant he glared up at her, but then his gaze softened and he reached for the plate, nodding.
“Thanks.”
Parking the heavy stoneware plate on his thighs, he picked up the knife and fork and began to eat. When the steak cut easily, he lifted an eyebrow. He hummed when he began to chew but otherwise said nothing.
Fawn passed him the napkins and sat cross-legged on the floor in front of him. He shot her a glance but continued eating without comment. While he ate, she took the time to pray, asking for the words to make him understand the situation and face his responsibilities. When she was done, she decided that bluntness would suit this man best. Taking a deep breath, she said, “Your stepfather is dead, and your mother is dying.”
Dixon dropped his fork and looked up at that. “What did you say?”
Fawn met his gaze squarely and said as kindly as she could, “Jackie is dying. It’s her heart. They’ve recommended her for transplant, but for many reasons she’s low on the list, so it’s not likely she’ll live long enough to receive a new heart.”
After placing his knife on the plate, Dixon carefully set the plate aside. “You’re telling me that my mother’s heart is so bad she’s literally dying.”
“Yes. And because Harry was an independent trucker, what insurance they had barely covered his debts. He left her destitute. She tried to work after his death, but her pregnancy wouldn’t allow her to continue, so—”
“Whoa.” Dixon held up a hand, palm out, gray eyes wide. “Pregnancy? Her pregnancy?”
“Of course. Apparently, she already had heart damage, but no one realized it. She was tired all the time, sick and weak a lot, headaches, nausea, various pains and swelling... They were seriously talking about ovarian cancer. When they first found out she was pregnant, we thought that explained it all. We didn’t know until after Harry died that her heart was bad. And the pregnancy just wrecked it.”
Dixon stared at her as if she’d spoken in a foreign language. “You’re saying my mother was pregnant when Harry died?”
“Obviously.”
“How is that obvious?” he demanded, spreading his hands.
Shrugging, Fawn braced her hands on her knees. “I’d think that Bella makes it obvious.”
“Bella! Bella?”
It hit her then with the force of a slap that he really didn’t know, hadn’t put it together at all. Her head jerked to the side as the implications registered. “Oh, how stupid I am.” No wonder he’d asked about her husband! What he must think! Shaking her head, she tried to set it all straight. “The baby is your sister.”
If his eyebrows had risen any higher, they’d have disappeared into his hairline. “What?”
“Bella Jo is your sister.”
“But...” He couldn’t seem to form words for several seconds. “Her hair...”
“Is dark like Harry’s,” Fawn supplied. “Or like Harry’s was before he started going bald and shaving his head.”
Still, Dixon stared blankly at her. “I don’t understand.”
Fawn went to her knees, reaching for his right hand. She gripped it tightly with hers. It was a strong hand, long-fingered and square-palmed, calloused with much use.
“Dixon,” she said carefully, “Bella is your mother and Harry’s daughter.”
His gray eyes plumbed hers. “Not yours?”
“No.”
He gripped her so hard that Fawn feared bruises, but she showed no response.
“My sister.” Suddenly, he dropped Fawn’s hand and bowed his head, pressing his temples with his fingertips. “My sister.”
“Yes. Born the last day of July.”
He looked up again, obviously doing the mental math. “She’s barely four months old.”
“That’s right.”
“My mother’s forty-four! How did this happen?”
Fawn sat back on her heels, trying to find a suitable reply to that. “The usual way, I imagine. I know it took them both by surprise, but they were happy about it, ecstatic. Especially Harry. He was only forty, you know.”
Dixon looked at her then as if she’d suddenly grown an extra nose. Lifting his hands to his head again, he fell back against the couch. “Oh. My. Word.”
Fawn thought about trying to point out the ramifications in light of his mother’s health issues, but he was obviously struggling with these fresh realizations, so she kept quiet. After a moment, confident that he finally understood what had brought them here and why they could not simply leave again, she quietly rose to her feet, picked up his plate and left him alone with his thoughts.
Chapter Three (#ue7056940-6668-57ed-a224-d6854caee1d9)
His sister!
A four-month-old sister. Bella. Bella Jo.
Dixon could barely believe it, but evidently it was true. At forty-four, Jackie had given birth to her second child. His sister. In addition, Jackie was in ill health, but dying? He had much more difficulty believing that than everything else. He set it aside for the moment.
He hadn’t known Harry Griffin at all, but apparently Jackie had been happily married to the man, who turned out to have been a few years her junior. Dixon recalled the times his mother had urged him to get to know his stepfather, and now he regretted that he hadn’t found a way to do that, but he simply hadn’t seen any reason to do it. Until now. Now that it was too late.
Unsure what to say, think or do, Dixon found himself in prayer for the third time since he’d arrived home that evening. The only words his whirling mind could come up with were, Lord, help. I could really use some help.
One thing about being Jackie Jo Crane Lyons Griffin’s son, though, was that a fellow learned to stand up and take life like a man early on. It was either that or cower in shame. Dixon didn’t cower any better than his mother did, so after a few minutes he got up, squared his shoulders and walked back into the kitchen.
His mother still sat at the table, cradling Bella Jo in her arms. Jackie pulled the nipple of a bottle from the baby’s cupid’s-bow mouth and tilted Bella up onto her shoulder. She’d barely landed the first pat before the baby belched like a twelve-year-old boy trying to impress his buddies.
“Always the lady,” Jackie quipped, lowering Bella to her lap. “Just like your mother. Poor thing.”
Dixon couldn’t help a sudden fascination with the infant and went to look over his mother’s shoulder. “Can’t believe I have a sister.”
“I don’t know why not,” Jackie said brightly, holding up the baby for him to view. “She looks just like you.”
Dixon narrowed his eyes at the plump-faced infant. “No, she doesn’t.”
“She does,” Jackie insisted. “Except for the dark hair, she looks just like your baby pictures.”
“And your baby pictures look just like your mother’s baby pictures,” Fawn put in from the sink, which was full of suds.
“I have a dishwasher, you know,” he pointed out, aware that he sounded surly but unable to help himself.
She shot back with, “It’s full.”
Surprised, he lifted an eyebrow. It took him days to fill up the dishwasher. Looking back to his mother, he asked, “Is that true? Are my baby pictures that much like yours?”
“Why do you think your father tried to name you after me?”
Now that was a surprise. “Dad wanted to name me Jack?”
She nodded. “We settled on my mother’s maiden name and his middle name. I think he did it partly to curry favor with her. If I’d been a boy, she’d have named me Dixon. So, Greg decided you would be my mom’s Dixon. Didn’t matter. She still hated him.”
“Hate is a strong word,” Dixon muttered, but it wasn’t far off the mark. His grandmother had been the driving force keeping him from his father. She’d always said it was to protect him, but Dixon could never figure out what she’d been trying to protect him from. Greg was a solid citizen, never missed a child support payment, attended church regularly, kept his nose clean and ran a successful business. Yes, he’d gotten her daughter pregnant too young, but he’d married her and tried to be a good parent, which was more than could be said for his mother.
Jackie lifted Bella onto the edge of the table, holding her there in a sitting position. “Would you put her into her carrier, son? She’ll need a dry diaper soon. Then she’ll go down for several hours.”
“I haven’t handled many babies,” Dixon hedged, wiping his palms on his jeans.
“Just pick her up under her arms and lay her in the carrier,” Jackie said with a chuckle. “She holds her head up well now.”
Dixon wiped his hands once more then placed them just above his mother’s. He lifted gently and was shocked by how little the baby weighed. “She’s light as a feather!”
“Duh. She’s a baby.”
“What does she weigh?” he asked, gingerly laying the infant in her padded carrier seat.
“A little over fourteen pounds.”
“That’s all?”
“Well, she only weighed five pounds when she was born.”
“Was she early?”
“About three weeks.”
“But she’s healthy,” Fawn said.
“Perfectly healthy,” Jackie confirmed, smiling.
Bella kicked a foot, and Jackie pretended to gobble her toes, which made the baby smile, her eyebrows dancing.
“She’ll be laughing before long,” Fawn predicted.
“Remember when I used to do that with you?” Jackie asked Dixon. “You used to howl with laughter.”
“I remember you called me your mistake,” Dixon blurted, quite without meaning to.
Jackie’s face registered shock, and she twisted around in her chair. “I did no such thing.”
“You did,” he insisted quietly. “Well, as good as.”
“I don’t know what you heard,” Jackie insisted, “but I never would have said that.”
He told her then exactly what he remembered, and she shook her head sadly. “Son, son. You weren’t the mistake. Yes, I got pregnant and married too young, and it was much more difficult than I thought it was going to be, just as my parents predicted, but that wasn’t the mistake. My real mistake was divorcing your father.”
“But...you hated Dad as much as Grandma did!”
“No. No, no.” Jackie shook her head, smiling sadly. “I was heartbroken when Greg came home married to Lucinda. Frankly, Dix, until Harry, I never thought I’d love again.”
“I...I don’t understand any of this.”
She sighed. “Pride and pain make us do foolish things, Dix. I have no pride left, and Harry took care of the pain. He was a good Christian man. He forgave all my mistakes, loved me in spite of them and made me happy, even though I didn’t have you with me.” She looked at Bella, smiling. “We never expected to have a child of our own. He thought he couldn’t. Imagine our joy last Christmas when the doctors told us we were expecting.”
“I confess I’m surprised,” Dixon said, looking at his now drowsy-eyed baby sister. “I wouldn’t have thought you even wanted more children.”
Jackie looked up, obviously surprised. “Why would you think that?”
“It’s not like you were around a lot,” Dixon pointed out. He didn’t say that some folks would have called her neglectful. His grandmother had.
“I needed to work to help pay the bills, Dixon, and that meant either driving long distances on a daily basis or moving you away from your grandparents, which was exactly what your father wanted me to do. That was our main problem, actually. Eventually he gave me an ultimatum. And I made the wrong choice. He left, and I stayed here with you, which meant that I had to work even more, and that just made your grandmother even more critical. Eventually she was raising you, and I was...inconvenient.”
Dixon hadn’t realized that she’d felt that way, but he could see now how she might have. His grandmother had been a strong-willed woman of firm opinions. He didn’t doubt that she’d loved him, but her love had been a rather possessive sort.
“How is Greg?” Jackie asked lightly, too lightly, interrupting Dixon’s thoughts.
“Fine,” Dixon answered in the same vein.
“Still married?”
“Yep.”
“That’s good.”
Something about the way she said that set off alarm bells in Dixon’s mind, which made him say, “Lucinda and the boys are fine, too.”
Jackie smiled knowingly. “Your brothers must be all grown up.”
“Sixteen and fourteen.”
“That’s quite a group of siblings,” Jackie mused. “Twenty-eight, sixteen, fourteen, and four months.”
“Almost twenty-nine,” Dixon corrected. “I’ll be twenty-nine this month.”
Jackie beamed. “Yes. My two Christmas gifts. I found out about your sister on the nineteenth, the day before your twenty-eighth birthday.” She laughed. “I thought they were going to tell me I had cancer. They told me I was pregnant!”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked, sincerely puzzled.
She sighed. “I guess I was afraid you’d say what everyone else did, that having her was foolish. Harry and I were going to bring her together to meet you as soon as she was born and able to travel, but then...” She bowed her head. “God had other plans.” She looked up once more and said, “You do think I was foolish to have her, don’t you?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Greg would probably agree with you.”
“I didn’t say that,” Dixon repeated more firmly.
“Your grandparents would certainly agree.” She chuckled sourly. “That would probably be the first time Greg and your grandparents agreed on anything.”
“No one has said you were foolish to have Bella,” Dixon told her.
“Well, I don’t care,” she went on as if he hadn’t even spoken, her fingertips brushing over Bella’s tiny foot. Dixon realized that the baby had dropped off to sleep while they were talking. “She’s worth it. You’re both worth it.”
Feeling eerily as if his mother had somehow slipped away, Dixon murmured that he was going up to the attic for some things they might need. Tossing aside a dish towel, Fawn asked if she could help. He wanted to wave her away, but he doubted he could move down the necessary items alone.
Nodding, he led the way to the game room and pulled down the hinged attic ladder. It was the one feature from the garage that he had elected to leave in place. After climbing the ladder, he switched on the attic light and went straight to the farthest corner. Fawn scrambled up after him. The white crib, with its yellow and green trim, stood collapsed against the wall, with the metal spring platform behind it and the mattress, wrapped in plastic, in front.
“What do you think?”
“That’s good,” Fawn said. “Bella can’t sleep in her carrier for long.”
They moved all three pieces to the hole in the floor then let each one down.
He got some rags while Fawn located an appropriate cleaner, and together they wiped down everything. As they worked, he considered what to do next. Obviously, he couldn’t put his ill mother and baby sister out in the cold, but he worried that he didn’t know the whole story yet, and he feared that Jackie might resent his father and vice versa.
Over the years, every time anything about his mother had come up, his dad had always quickly changed the subject. Not once had he expressed an opinion or a thought about her, though the man had to feel something for her. They were once married, after all, and had a child together. Dixon assumed that Greg’s feelings for Jackie were mixed at best and most likely negative, given that few divorced couples thought highly of each other. Jackie, on the other hand, might well resent Greg and Lucinda’s successful marriage and family, which could lead to some truly appalling episodes.
The best course at present seemed simply to say nothing to his father about his mother’s presence. After Christmas—if Jackie stayed around that long, because Dixon had his doubts on that score—he would decide what to tell his father. They saw each other almost every day at work so it wasn’t like Greg dropped by the ranch very often. Dixon reasoned that he’d surely know more about the situation by Christmas and know better what was what. He accepted that she was ill, even seriously ill, but she couldn’t be actively dying. Could she?
Meanwhile, there was a baby in the house, and someone had to make sure that she had everything she needed. That included the best possible care. If it just so happened that care came in the best-looking package he’d ever seen, who was he to complain?
“If Jackie’s as ill as you say, should Bella be in Jackie’s room?” Dixon asked.
“Jackie’s her mother,” Fawn replied simply, “and we have a baby monitor, so whenever Bella wakes, I hear her.”
That made sense, especially if Fawn slept in Dixon’s old room, which he had vacated long ago. First, he’d moved to his mother’s old room. Then, after his grandfather’s death, he’d remodeled the master suite and moved in there.
He and Fawn carried the crib into the front bedroom, the one nearest the living room. Jackie used to complain about the noise, but since he’d moved the television into the game room, it should be quieter. Now, with a baby in the house, he was glad of that.
When he went back through the living room into the game room for the metal bedspring, Fawn followed and took up the mattress, which weighed next to nothing. They carried both back to the bedroom. Then Dixon ran to the storage room behind the carport for tools. He was bolting the metal spring platform into the center of the crib frame when he asked Fawn why she was doing all this.
“She’s my friend,” Fawn answered simply, tearing the protective plastic from the mattress. “My coworker. What was I supposed to do when her husband died and she fell so very ill?”
“What about your job?”
Fawn shrugged. “I can always find another job waiting tables.”
“That’s what you do, wait tables?”
“That’s what I do right now.”
“How do you plan to manage in the meantime?”
“I have a little income from my late parents’ estate, and my sister and grandmother will help as needed. That’s where Jackie and Bella have been until now, with us at my grandmother’s.”
Dixon stopped what he was doing. “I didn’t know.”
“She didn’t want you to know until Bella was born.”
Did she really think he’d have tried to talk her out of having the baby? She didn’t know her own son very well. He shook his head and went back to work. “Can you hold up that corner over there?”
Fawn did as asked, keeping the platform level until he had the other three corners securely bolted in place. He set the fourth bolt and tightened everything down then took out his pliers.
“There’s some sag in the middle, but I think I can tighten it up. How’s that mattress?”
“Seems fine.”
“Doubt we can find any crib sheets.”
“I can make a twin work.”
“Those are in my old room.”
“I’ll find them.” She nodded toward the dresser, adding, “I suppose we should move that down and set the crib in the corner.”
“Seems right. You get the sheet. I’ll move everything.”
She didn’t argue, just went out to do as he’d directed. He couldn’t help watching her. She moved with more grace and ease than any woman he knew. And he was mooning over her like a twelve-year-old.
Irritated with himself, he removed a few drawers, then picked up a suitcase and set it on the bed before sliding the dresser down the wall. As he was putting back the drawers, he accidentally knocked the suitcase off the bed. The top of the hard case popped open, and several items spilled out. One was a small, thick photo album. He put everything back inside and placed the suitcase back on the bed, but then he picked up the photo album and opened it.
The very first picture was that of a tiny, scrunched-up infant tucked into a large Christmas stocking. That had to be him. The next page was a more formal photo, labeled, “Six Mos.” He wore a tiny suit of baby blue with short pants and satin shoes. The page opposite was a picture of Bella Jo, looking like a doll in frilly pink. He saw it then, the family resemblance, though she had more hair and looked smaller, younger. His sister.
His grandmother had been quick to point out that Bass and Phillip were his half brothers, but he wondered if she would feel the same about Bella. He hoped she wouldn’t, but he didn’t know. He loved Bass and Phil. He supposed he would love Bella, too. She was a sweet little thing. He wondered who she’d take more after, Jackie or Harry.
He hoped it was Harry. Then he wondered what Fawn would think of that. And just the fact that he might care about her opinion made him wish that he’d never laid eyes on the dark-haired beauty.
Chapter Four (#ue7056940-6668-57ed-a224-d6854caee1d9)
Nothing more was said about their leaving. Or staying. Fawn thought about pressing Dixon for clarification on the matter, but after he set up the crib, he made himself scarce for the rest of the evening. Exhausted, Jackie followed the baby to bed shortly after 8:00 p.m., but Fawn watched television until Bella woke at ten for a bottle. As usual, the baby woke again about five in the morning and went right back to sleep after her bottle, but Fawn always found sleep elusive after that early-morning feeding. After making coffee, she sat down at the kitchen table with her Bible and daily devotional.
She had just finished reading when Dixon walked in. Freshly shaved, he looked younger and strikingly handsome. He went straight to the coffeepot and took down an insulated travel mug from the cabinet above it.
“You’re up early.”
“Your sister likes breakfast early.”
“Let me guess who fixed the bottle.”
“Bella can’t fix her own.”
He filled the mug and screwed the top onto it before turning to face her, leaning his hip against the counter. “My mother is so unwell she can’t manage a bottle of formula?”
“Yes.”
He nodded and sipped his coffee, his gaze carefully averted. Then he broke off a banana from a bunch on the counter and began to peel and eat it.
“I’ll gladly make your breakfast,” she offered, starting to rise from her chair.
Waving her back down, he shook his head. “No time.” He went to the refrigerator, took a packaged sandwich out of a box in the freezer and carried it to the microwave. A minute later he tossed the banana peel, plucked the sandwich from the microwave oven and grabbed his travel mug. “Gotta go.”
“You work on Saturday?”
“Yep.”
“Uh, Dixon, I was wondering...”
He paused in the doorway to the mudroom. “Yeah?”
“A Christmas tree for the house would be fun and really cheer up Jackie.”
Shrugging, he turned. “We usually just cut a red cedar. I’ve tried to eradicate them on the range, but there are a few around the house. I really don’t have time for cutting one right now, though.”
“Do you have ornaments?”
“Sure. Up in the attic.”
“Okay. Now, about the fireplace. Jackie loves a fire. Would you mind if I brought in some wood and—”
“Yeah,” he interrupted, “I do. Since it’s a propane fireplace. Just flip the switch on the side of the mantel.”
“Ah.”
“Now, I gotta go.” He turned away.
“One more thing.”
Sighing, he turned back. “Make it quick. I have to doctor an injured cow before I can get to work.”
“How can I reach you? In case of an emergency.”
For a moment he merely glared, but then he barked out ten digits. She whipped out her phone and quickly tapped them in, repeating them aloud. A second later his phone started to ring.
“Now you have my number, too.”
Nodding, he turned and walked into the mudroom, the phone in his hip pocket still ringing. After a moment she tapped the icon that ended the call. She heard him pulling on his outerwear and mere seconds later he left the house. She returned to her chair and sat down to think, then called her sister. Dawn didn’t have any more experience with men than Fawn did, but Grandmother was already at work, and Dawn was far more careful and suspicious of the opposite gender than Fawn. Surely between them they could safely discern Dixon’s likely reactions if Fawn did what she was contemplating.
Dawn answered groggily. “I’m the sister who sleeps in. Remember?”
“Your alarm goes off in five minutes.”
“Then this had better be a five-minute-long conversation.”
Chuckling, Fawn told her twin what Dixon had said about the Christmas tree. Dawn agreed that he, conveniently, hadn’t told Fawn that she couldn’t cut down a tree herself and likely wouldn’t be upset if she spared him the effort.
“Send me a pic when you get it decorated.”
Fawn promised, but privately she was more concerned about pleasing Dixon Lyons. She told herself that it was because he hadn’t committed to taking care of Jackie and Bella yet, but she feared that the reason was more personal, and that frightened her. Was she more her mother’s daughter than she knew? Even when he was being contrary, she liked Dixon. Was she ignoring the warning signs, as her mother must have done with her father? When Dawn’s alarm went off, Fawn felt a sense of relief. If her overprotective sister ever suspected how strongly Fawn was attracted to Dixon, she’d be on the road to War Bonnet within the hour to judge him and the situation for herself.
After changing, feeding, bathing and dressing the baby, then getting her down for her nap and making Jackie comfortable, Fawn found it was late morning before she was able to go out in search of the tree. Thankfully, Dixon didn’t seem to lock anything, and she found the tools she needed, along with a wheelbarrow in the little shed built into the end of the carport. The task was more laborious than she’d imagined, and to make matters worse, the tree fell on her. It wasn’t large enough to do any damage, but cedar needles proved surprisingly sticky and itchy.
Lunch had to be handled and the baby and Jackie seen to again before Fawn could decorate. Desperate for a shower, she worked quickly, getting the tree into the stand in front of the living room window, stringing the multicolored lights, hanging the ornaments and threading wide, wired, red ribbon through the branches. Finding no angel for the top, she used a tinsel star that had seen better days. All in all, she thought it turned out well. Sitting in front of a cheery fire, Jackie seemed to agree.
“That really takes me back. So much has changed around here, but that really takes me back.”
Fawn snapped a picture with her phone and texted it to her sister, then rushed off to shower and change her sticky, itchy clothes just in time to start dinner.
Dixon came in as she was getting the bread ready for the oven. “That smells good.”
“Homemade chicken noodle soup and my grandmother’s biscuits. They’ll take about twenty minutes if you want to shower first.”
“That’ll work. Took care of that stubborn old heifer on my way in.”
“What’s wrong with the heifer?”
“Nasty cut on her rear leg. It’s been stitched, but it doesn’t look good.”
“I can ask my grandmother what she recommends.”
“Your grandmother’s a vet?”
“No, a nurse, but she has a healing way with all living things.”
“Huh.”
She’d seen that skeptical look before, but she made no comment. Neither did he, not then and not after he walked into the living room and pointedly looked at the Christmas tree. In fact, he must’ve noticed it when he’d driven in. The lights would undoubtedly show through the front window, but he simply walked past the fireplace and into the hallway without a single word.
When tears of disappointment sprang to her eyes, Fawn felt like kicking herself. Or him.
* * *
Dixon told himself that it was foolish to feel disappointed that she hadn’t waited for him to cut down the tree and help decorate it. The last couple years he hadn’t even bothered with a tree because he lived alone and knew he’d be spending the holiday with his dad and the rest of the family. Still, he’d felt an unexpected warmth when he’d spied the glowing lights of the Christmas tree in the front window. It was nice not to come home to a cold, dark house, even if what awaited him inside was a lot of problems. If it had only been Fawn waiting for him... But he dared not think like that.
Then memories had assailed him as he’d taken in the tree, years past when he and his mother and grandparents had made a whole evening out of putting up the Christmas tree. He’d suddenly longed for what had never truly been, wondering why it was so easy to forget the good times and so difficult to forget the bad.
He had suddenly wished that they had never come; yet the idea that decorating this tree tonight with Jackie and Fawn would have banished bad memories had washed over him. He felt robbed, especially if Jackie was dying, as Fawn insisted. He turned off the thought.
Like his dad said, worry didn’t add a single day to anyone’s life. Prayer, on the other hand...
Lord, if it’s true that she’s as sick as Fawn says, have mercy on her.
He left it at that and swiftly cleaned up. When he returned to the kitchen, it was to find Fawn carrying food into the formal dining area. He’d removed the wall between the old formal dining room and the living room to make it one large open space with cased openings that gave good lines of sight from the kitchen into both areas. The Christmas tree, however, stood in the central window, the one space that would be difficult to see from the breakfast nook where he normally took his meals, so Jackie requested that the meal be served in the dining room.
Dixon had no quarrel with the arrangement. With the fire blazing and the tree twinkling, he felt the first real stirrings of Christmas spirit. He certainly had no complaints about the food. The soup was hearty and delicious. The bread, though, was the stuff of dreams—high, airy, flaky. He’d have made a real pig of himself if Fawn hadn’t said she’d make gravy with breakfast if enough biscuits were left over.
As the meal progressed, however, he felt more and more uncomfortable, so he escaped to his room and watched a movie on the TV there. All the while, he wondered what Fawn and Jackie were doing, but when he slipped out after the movie, all was quiet and dark, so he turned in for the night.
He tried very hard not to be too impressed when he walked into the kitchen the next morning to find a skillet of thick, fragrant sausage gravy steaming on the stove and a plate of warmed biscuits waiting for him. As it was Sunday, he came in dressed in his darkest jeans, white shirt, blue tie and his best sport coat.
Fawn wore her usual boots, jeans and loose top, this one plaid with a collar and cuffs. She’d braided her hair and left it swinging in one long plait between her shoulder blades, slender tendrils twining with the chunky turquoise orbs dangling from her dainty earlobes. He didn’t know how she managed to look so stunning with such casual ease. She seemed as kind as she was beautiful, too. How many people would do what she was doing for Jackie and his sister? He realized suddenly that he would very much like to be her friend.
For a moment he thought about inviting her to attend church with him, but then he’d have to ask Jackie, too, and take along Bella, all of which would require some explanation. Given that he had yet to mention any of them to his dad’s family, he couldn’t very well just appear in public with them. So he said nothing, just thanked her for the breakfast as he rose from his chair. She looked faintly startled.
“Uh. You’re welcome. I’ll have lunch ready by noon. BLTs and potato skins. Your mom really likes both, and she doesn’t eat enough.”
He really liked both, as well, and Fawn was an excellent cook, but his stepmom almost always invited him over for Sunday dinner, so he said only, “I’ll keep that in mind,” as he headed for the door.
“Is it the tree?” she asked.
He paused, trying to decide what to tell her. Finally, he shook his head. “No.”
“I didn’t mean to upset you. Since you were so busy, I thought I’d just take care of it. I hoped it would cheer up the place, bring in a little Christmas spirit.”
“Yes,” he said. “It does. I didn’t realize how much it would until I saw it. Then...” He shrugged. “I guess I suddenly wished I could’ve taken part.”
“Oh.” She looked down at her toes. “Well, I wasn’t trying to keep you out. It just never occurred to me. It’s been a while since I’ve been around a man much. I don’t remember my grandpa, and my father died when I was eight.”
“Aw, I’m sorry. What happened?”
“He was a drunk,” she said flatly. “He set the house on fire accidentally. My mother tried to pull him out. They both died.”
He stared at her for several seconds, at a loss for words. Finally, he said, “That’s awful.” Then he felt he had to add, “I’m sorry. For everything.”
She smiled tentatively. “Me, too.”
Nodding, he headed for the door, guilt dogging him every step of the way. He hated the anger and resentment that he felt for his mother and the way it had splashed over onto Fawn in the beginning. He hated that he was ashamed of his own mother and that he didn’t want to be seen with her or tell the rest of the family about her. He hated that strangers showed her more understanding and kindness than he could. He told himself that he couldn’t have handled the situation any other way, however, and when he joined the rest of the Lyons family in their customary pew, he felt mainly relief at not having to tell them about his mother’s presence or the existence of his baby sister. Still, when Lucinda invited him home with the rest of the family for Sunday dinner as usual, Dixon couldn’t quite make himself agree. So he came up with an excuse.
“I better not. That old heifer of mine’s not doing too good. I need to give her as much attention as I can today.”
His father clapped him on the shoulder. “Let me know if you need help, son.”
Dixon smiled. “Will do.”
Then he took himself home, irritated by how much he anticipated Fawn’s cooking. And just the sight of her. Why’d she have to be so wonderful, anyway? He kept trying to find some flaw, but not only was she lovely to look at, she was selfless, kind and caring. She had the most beautiful face he’d ever seen. Her hair couldn’t have been any blacker or more lustrous, and though she stood at least a foot shorter than he did, she was perfectly proportioned, with skin that looked like caramel silk. He was finding it increasingly difficult not to touch her just to see if it was as smooth as it looked. He didn’t like being so drawn to his mother’s champion.
The meal did not disappoint, and with Bella awake and charming everyone with her gurgles, squeals and smiles, he couldn’t help enjoying himself, which just added to the guilt he already felt.
He escaped to the barn at the earliest opportunity, only to find the cow in a very foul mood and that the wound on the heifer’s leg still looked red, angry and swollen. She couldn’t kick, so she tried to squash him between her body and the stall fencing while he attempted to rewrap her wound.
“I’d flatten you, too, if you kept me tied up like that.”
Surprised that Fawn had followed him and managed to enter the barn without his knowledge, Dixon dropped the unrolled end of the bandage in the dirt. Irritated, he balled up the whole thing and tossed it over the rail before pushing up to his feet. She stood there in a big canvas coat, the cuffs rolled back. The coat was obviously a man’s and much too large for her but looked warm. If she had gloves, she wasn’t wearing them.
“Sorry about that,” she said.
Dixon pointed at the cabinet fixed to the wall just inside the door.
“Bring me another bandage.”
She went to the cabinet, rummaged around and found the right packet. When she returned to the stall, instead of simply handing over the bandage, she let herself inside and went to the cow’s head, frowning. “She’s on too short a halter.”
“I’ll loosen it when I’m done here.”
Fawn patted the cow then sidled around it, keeping a hand on the rough black hide.
“She’s pregnant.”
“Yep.”
“You should untie her back legs.”
“It’s to keep her from breaking open these stitches.”
Shaking her head, Fawn said, “Too stressful and uncomfortable for her. Remove the hobble. She’ll calm down.”
“She’ll kick me!” Dixon exclaimed before emphatically holding out his hand for the bandage.
Fawn gave him a droll look. “You’re not smart enough to keep from getting kicked by a haltered cow?”
Dixon glowered, but something told him that she was right. He dropped down to his haunches and gingerly removed the hobble. With Fawn at her side, the heifer didn’t so much as swish her tail, and when the hobble dropped away, the cow immediately shifted, blew and lowered her head. Fawn came and peeked at the wound before digging something out of the pocket of her coat and handing it to Dixon. It was a plastic baggie filled with a yellowish paste.
“Will you try this on the wound? Grandmother says it draws out infection and reduces swelling. It won’t hurt, I promise.”
Frowning doubtfully, Dixon opened the baggie and sniffed, catching hints of honey and something sharpish. He removed a tube of ointment from his own pocket and held it up. “The vet gave me this.”
“So use that, too. For all the good it seems to be doing.”
He uncapped the tube and squirted a line of the goo all along the wound. After replacing the cap, he returned the tube to his pocket. Wisely, Fawn passed Dixon the bandage and moved back to the cow’s head without further comment. Dixon squatted there on his haunches for several heartbeats, the baggie in one hand and the bandage in the other. He looked at the jagged, inflamed line of the wound and thought, Why not?
Opening the corner of the baggie, he squeezed out the paste, laying it in a line alongside the prescription gel. He closed the bag and quickly ripped the paper package protecting the bandage to begin wrapping the bandage around the animal’s leg.
While he worked, Fawn spoke softly to the cow, patting the animal as if it was a pet. Dixon didn’t recognize any of the words she used, the language unlike any he’d heard. As swiftly as possible, he molded the self-adhering mesh around the wounded limb. To his surprise, the heifer barely moved. He glanced at the head of the stall to find Fawn feeding the cow from her hand.
“What are you giving her?”
“Crackers. Cows like them because they’re salty.”
“Obviously. She’s not been eating. I’ve been trying to tempt her with sugar, but she’s not been cooperating.”
“She’ll eat now,” Fawn said, lengthening the halter rope. As he finished off the bandage, she crumbled crackers into the feedbox. When he went to add more grain, the cow already had her nose buried deep in the box, her tail swishing happily.
Dixon took the hobble and let both himself and Fawn out of the stall. “Where’d you learn about cows?”
“My grandmother has a milk cow. And chickens and rabbits. How come you don’t have chickens?”
“Too much trouble. With the cattle and horses, I have my hands full.”
“You have a good place for a chicken coop,” she said. Then, abruptly, she asked, “Why do you have three horses when you can only ride one?”
“The two geldings, Phantom and Jag, are cutting horses, very useful on a ranch. The stallion, Romeo, is a moneymaker, or will be once he’s trained and shown.”
She tilted her head, a sign, he had come to realize, that she was thinking. “Do you always name your horses after expensive automobiles?”
Dixon chuckled. She was quick. “Caught that, did you?” He moved to Romeo’s stall and hung his forearms on the top rung.
“Rolls Royce Phantom, Jaguar and Alfa Romeo.”
He nodded. “Yep. The point is, I’d rather have these guys than those cars.”
Laughing, she said, “Clever and appropriate.”
“I thought so.” He cut her a curious look. “What was that you were speaking earlier? It wasn’t English.”
“Well, it’s primarily Unami. Some call it Lenape, though that word means man or people. My mother was almost full-blood Leni-Lenape, what you would call Delaware Indian.”
“Then you’re Native American.”
She smiled. “Mostly.”
“No wonder you’re so beautiful.” She looked as shocked as he felt, the words slipping out completely unintended. “I mean, no wonder your hair and eyes are so black and your skin is so...smooth.”
Her “Thank you” came out in a strangled voice, but then she quickly said, “I’d better get back to the house.”
Dixon muttered, “Gonna work the horses.”
She hurried away, and when he finished mentally kicking himself, he determined to do his very best to keep his distance.
He put his hand in his coat pocket and felt the half-filled baggie there.
Clearly the woman was dangerous to his good sense. If nothing else.
Chapter Five (#ue7056940-6668-57ed-a224-d6854caee1d9)
No wonder you’re so beautiful.
Those unexpected words haunted Fawn—and apparently drove Dixon away, because she saw him only at breakfast and dinner for the rest of the week. With the baby, he made faces and silly noises, perfectly pleasant, but he ignored Fawn and Jackie. He did, however, eat and eat plenty. Once, Fawn asked how the cow was doing.
“Getting along,” he muttered, not even looking up.
She didn’t ask again.
By Friday, the pantry and the baby were nearly bare, so Fawn did what her grandmother had taught her to do: she took stock, devised a menu, made a list, estimated the cost of every item and counted out the cash. What little disability and survivor’s Social Security Jackie and Bella drew monthly was currently entrusted to Fawn’s care, and she was careful not to pay her own expenses from it. The shopping list and the cash she left on the breakfast table next to Dixon’s plate. When he came in to eat, he couldn’t help seeing it, and he wasn’t happy.
“You sure make yourself at home, don’t you? Guess you think you’re just going to take over around here.”
Stung, she turned her back to him and began scrubbing the countertop. “Actually I think I’m going to clean the kitchen.”
Jackie shuffled in a few moments later, the fussy baby in her arms. Fawn began rinsing and drying her hands.
“Someone woke up early,” Dixon commented, sounding pleased.
“Rather, she slept late,” Jackie corrected, yawning. “She slept through until just now.”
“I have a bottle ready for her,” Fawn said, coming to take the baby so Jackie could sit down. “Did you change her?”
“I did. We’re running low on diapers, by the way.”
Fawn said nothing to that. She could always take Bella to town with her and do the shopping, but she hated to leave Jackie alone. It had been too long since Jackie had seen a doctor, another matter Fawn needed to take up with Dixon soon. Feeding Bella took precedence, however. She picked up the waiting bottle and slipped the nipple between the baby’s quivering lips.
“I think it’s warmer in the living room,” Jackie murmured, but before she could turn away, Fawn stopped her.
“Sit down and eat while your breakfast is still hot.” She carried the baby back to Jackie and waited for the older woman to take a seat at the table before handing the infant to her. Jackie cuddled her daughter close while Fawn quickly removed Jackie’s breakfast from the warming oven. She placed the food on the table and took Bella back.
“This looks good,” Jackie said, picking up her spoon and casting a careful glance at her son.
“It is,” Dixon confirmed, surprising Fawn with the compliment.
No wonder you’re so beautiful.
Flustered and confused, given his combativeness that morning, Fawn turned away, gently rocking the baby, who finished the bottle in record time. Fawn lifted Bella to her shoulder, got the expected hearty burp and tucked the little one onto her hip while she continued wiping down the counters.
“You seem to have ample experience with infants,” Dixon commented after a few minutes.
The words flowed over Fawn in a series of tiny shocks, but she neither turned nor flinched.
“I started babysitting when I was eleven. Besides, Lenape women are raised to multitask.”
“I thought Lenape meant man.”
“Or people,” Fawn reminded him.
“In this case, it means the people,” Jackie put in. “The Delaware are a matriarchal society, you know. They produce very strong women.”
“That explains a lot,” Dixon commented drily.
Fawn could feel her blood pressure rising. She worked to tamp down her ire for several seconds before she could say, “I’m doing laundry today. Do you want me to do your laundry? Or am I not supposed to use your washer and dryer?”
Chair legs scraped on the tile floor. Not trusting herself to fully face him without completely losing her temper, she half turned, glancing over her shoulder, the baby cradled against her side. Dixon stood in front of his chair, poking the shopping list into his shirt pocket.
“Use whatever you like,” he retorted, heading for the mudroom, “but I do my own laundry.” The money, she saw, remained on the table. He turned in the doorway and looked at his mother. “I’ll be home early.”
Fawn shot a look at Jackie, who appeared to be hiding a smile behind a spoon.
“My boy growls,” she said as the outside door closed behind him, “but he always does the right thing in the end.”
Fawn said nothing to that. Truth required no comment, and if, in the end, Jackie’s faith in her son proved false, well then Fawn would do what was necessary.
* * *
Guilt had become Dixon’s constant companion. He felt guilty for resenting his mother, who was so obviously ill. He felt guilty for not telling his dad about her presence and for telling no one about his sister. Most of all, he felt guilty for enjoying so very much the benefits of having Fawn around. It irked him, in fact, that she was so easy to live with, so easy to like, so easy to talk to, not to mention easy on the eyes.
His dad maintained that not all women were as difficult to live with as his mother and grandmother, but Dixon’s experience proved otherwise. Every girl he’d ever dated had been more trouble than she was worth in the end, always yapping at him about something, never saying exactly what she meant, expecting him to decipher hidden meanings in everything. He’d about decided that he was going to stay single for the rest of his life, especially given the slim pickings in the War Bonnet area.
Fawn was a quiet one, tranquil somehow even when busy. He’d rattled her this morning, but he’d had to work at it, and if he was honest, he’d enjoyed himself. To a point. He liked having her in the house. It was nice not to come home to a cold, empty building, and he’d never eaten better.
The baby was no bother, either. His mother, on the other hand, was easy to ignore. Too easy. In fact, he wasn’t entirely sure who was ignoring whom. Whenever he entered a room, Jackie seemed to shortly leave it. In some ways, it was almost as if she was neglecting him all over again. As contradictory as it seemed, even as he sought to avoid her, he resented that she seemed to avoid him.

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