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The main house had been built higher, perched into a grove of pines with a view of the flat-topped mountain locals called Square Butte. The home was a beautiful log structure, built Montana style with four bedrooms and a large kitchen and family room on the main level. It would have been a comfortable place to raise a big family. But it must feel rather empty to Olive now that she was alone.
To the left, barely visible through a large stand of aspen, was Cold Coffee Lake, where Bob Lambert had built the cabins for his sons.
We’re going to raise our children here, darlin’, Brock had told her. Live our lives and grow old together.
In a movie, music would have foreshadowed the impending tragedy before them. But there had been a romantic country song on the radio at the time and it hadn’t crossed Winnie’s mind that Brock’s prophecy wouldn’t come true.
She wiped a tear from her eye. “Well, Bobby. Ready to meet your grandmother?”
He glanced up again at the sound of her voice, then started gnawing his favorite push car. An incoming molar was Bobby’s preoccupation today. Fortunately he was too young to share her apprehension for the evening that lay ahead.
It would be a smallish gathering today, since the newlyweds were on their honeymoons. Fortunately Laurel, Corb and baby Stephanie would be there, so they wouldn’t have to face Olive alone.
And maybe Jackson? As an honorary member of the Lambert family, he was usually on hand for family occasions.
* * *
THE MINUTE WINNIE stepped in the front door, Olive’s arms were out for the baby. Thank heavens Bobby didn’t make shy. Fascinated with the chunky necklace his grandmother was wearing, he went easily into Olive’s clutches.
Um, embrace.
Be nice, Winnie. How often would she have to remind herself to behave tonight?
But it was difficult not to recall her first visit to the ranch, when Olive had flashed her eyes disdainfully over her bargain-basement sundress, mentioned an old girlfriend of Brock’s twice and barely glanced at the diamond on Winnie’s fourth finger when her son gave her their big news.
Winnie rubbed the ring now, hoping this evening would pass much easier than that long ago one had. Laurel kept telling her that Olive wasn’t so bad. Maybe she’d grown softer and more understanding in the wake of Brock’s death. Not that Winnie had seen any evidence of that so far.
No, more likely easygoing Laurel brought out the best in Olive, while she did the exact opposite.
“Good to see you back here at the ranch.” Corb was the first to give her a hug, and Laurel was right behind him. They led her to the family room where Stephanie, two months younger than Bobby and not yet mobile, was playing on a quilt spread over the hardwood floor.
“Gosh, she’s so cute.” Winnie crouched to give the little girl a kiss. Stephanie glanced up at her, smiled then went back to stacking her colored plastic blocks. “I remember the days when I could put Bobby in one place and he’d stay put.”
Laurel nodded. “It’s nice. I’m not at all anxious for her to learn how to crawl. Corb’s gone crazy baby proofing the cabin. I swear he’d put in rubber walls if I let him.”
“Might start a new decorating craze,” Corb said.
Winnie and Laurel looked at each other, then laughed.
“It could happen,” Corb insisted. “I have other great ideas, too, but before I get to them would anyone like a glass of wine?”
Both Winnie and Laurel said yes, but Olive shook her head. She still had Bobby in her arms. She’d given him a tour of the family room and was now showing him a picture on the fireplace mantel.
“This is your Daddy. Can you say Dad-dy?” Olive broke the word into two syllables and repeated them several times. Bobby stopped gnawing on his toy and stared at her, but he didn’t make a sound.
“He doesn’t talk much yet,” Winnie said. “Just a few words. Mama and go are his favorites.”
Olive didn’t acknowledge this, just went back to chanting, “Dad-dy. Dad-dy. Dad-dy. Can you say Dad-dy, honey?”
Corb, Laurel and Winnie exchanged uncomfortable glances.
“Sure smells good in here.” Winnie supposed Jackson wasn’t coming after all. The dining room table had two high chairs and four place settings.
“Bonny made a chicken stew and biscuits,” Laurel said. “It’s ready in the oven. We’re just waiting for Jackson.”
Olive’s head snapped up. “I didn’t invite him tonight.”
“No. But I did.” Corb casually added an extra plate and flatware to the table, then pulled up another chair.
The veins in Olive’s neck tightened. “I wish you hadn’t, son.”
“Mom, I know you’re upset that he went to work with Maddie. But he’s still part of our family.”
“He sure isn’t acting like it. After all the years we housed and fed that boy, don’t you think he owed me more loyalty than going to work for the one person he knows I can’t tolerate?”
“You and Dad did a lot for Jackson, it’s true. But he worked hard for us when he lived here. I’d say he’s settled that score.”
“Really? I wonder if Winnie can be so magnanimous, given that Jackson was the one driving when—”
“Mom. Don’t. Don’t even say it.” Corb’s voice was so sharp that Stephanie started to cry. Bobby’s lower lip trembled, too, and he reached for his mother. When Laurel moved to comfort her child, Winnie was glad of the excuse to reclaim her son from his grandmother’s arms.
No one said anything for the next few seconds. And then a knock sounded at the front door.
Talk about perfect timing. Or was it? Winnie eyed Olive apprehensively. Was she going to make a scene? Maybe even tell Jackson he wasn’t welcome?
Corb must have been wondering the same thing. The normally good-natured cowboy shook his head at his mother as he moved toward the foyer.
“Be nice, Mom. As far as I’m concerned, Jackson is my brother. That’s how Brock felt, too. And he wouldn’t want us to shut him out.” He glanced at Winnie, who nodded.
“Corb is right,” she said. “Brock wouldn’t have blamed Jackson.” She hesitated. “And I don’t, either.”
Olive had no opportunity for a rebuttal, because Corb opened the door then and Jackson stepped in, carrying a large poinsettia. He nodded to the group, his gaze resting on Olive. “They were selling these in Lewistown. Fund-raiser for the Eagles. I thought you might like one.”
Winnie held her breath, worried how Olive would react to the thoughtful gesture.
The older woman hesitated for a second, then said, “Thank you, Jackson. You can place it on the table by the window.”
By the time Jackson had done this, Corb had a beer opened.
“Here, buddy.” He clasped Jackson’s arm as he passed him the drink.
“Thanks.” Jackson said hello to Laurel and Stephanie next. Then he finally turned to Winnie...and the toddler in her arms.
His chest expanded as he drew in a deep breath. “So this is Bobby.”
Only then did Winnie realize that while she and Jackson had seen each other several times since her return to Coffee Creek, this was the first time he’d met her son.
Brock’s son.
“Hey there, little guy.” Jackson’s voice was so tender, Winnie felt a lump forming in her throat. “You’re pretty darn cute, aren’t you?” he added.
“He looks just like his father,” Olive said proudly.
Jackson nodded. “But he has his mother’s eyes.” As he said this, he looked at Winnie, and she felt a moment of connection. This is as hard for him as it is for me.
“I’m sure his eyes will lighten up as he gets older,” was Olive’s comment. Winnie glanced at Laurel, saw her fighting back a smile and she had to do the same. Subtle, Olive was not.
This was Brock’s baby, and that was that. Not even his eyes were allowed to be like his mother’s.
“Well, now that everyone’s here,” Corb said, “how about we dive into the chicken stew? Mom, sit down and relax and let us men do the serving.”
Olive, not a fan of kitchen duties, didn’t have to be asked twice. Once the stew, biscuits and salad had been placed on the table, Jackson and Corb took their seats between Winnie and Laurel. For most of the meal, the talk was of cattle prices and auctions. Olive doted on her two grandchildren, feeding them mashed chicken stew and biscuits, leaving her own dinner practically untouched.
Winnie tried insisting that Olive eat. “Let me worry about Bobby now. Your food is getting cold.” She should have known better.
“I can always eat later. My grandson and I have a lot of catching up to do.”
After the meal and the pumpkin pie that followed, Olive excused herself from the table. A few minutes later she was back with two huge bags full of baby gifts. Only one small package was for Stephanie. The rest were Bobby’s.
“Wow. That’s a lot of presents.” Winnie was beyond overwhelmed.
“Like I said, I have a lot of catching up to do.”
Winnie didn’t miss the sharp look of annoyance in Olive’s eyes when she said this. But she chose to ignore it.
She and Laurel set Bobby and Stephanie on the floor and the family gathered round for the big unwrapping. The babies were too young, though, and Winnie and Laurel ended up tearing off most of the wrapping paper.
Winnie’s own mom and dad had been generous when Bobby was born. They’d bought her his car seat, as well as a crib. But Olive must have spent at least as much money. There were dozens of outfits, as well as a snowsuit, boots, hat and mittens perfect for the Montana winter.
And toys. So many. Most of them related to farming and ranching. Stephanie, too young to feel jealous, or even understand what was going on, reached for one of the plastic horses. Bobby watched placidly, then turned back to the mountain of gifts. His eyes lit up as he spied something special. He crawled over to the miniature Stetson, planted his butt on the floor then stuck the hat on his head.
“Look at that,” Corb chuckled. “He even put it on the right way.”
When everyone laughed, Bobby beamed then toddled to his mother for a hug and a kiss.
Olive’s expression grew pensive. “Look at him. Walking already. I’ve missed out on the baby stage entirely.”
Winnie bit back the sharp comment that almost slipped off her tongue. “My coffee could use a refill.” She escaped to the kitchen before she said something she might regret later.
* * *
JACKSON WATCHED WINNIE retreat to the kitchen with her spine taut, eyes shining much too brightly. He didn’t often find himself siding with Olive, but this one time, he did. Winnie’s secrecy about her baby had him puzzled. Why had she waited so long to share her good news with Brock’s family?
Thinking he might just refill his own coffee and see how she was doing, he started for the kitchen, but paused when Laurel started defending her friend.
“Olive, I know you feel like you’ve missed out. But try imagining what the past year and a half have been like for Winnie. The day of Brock’s funeral, she had bad abdominal pain and bleeding. She was in and out of doctor’s appointments for the next week, and for a while it looked like she was going to lose the baby.”
The words hit Jackson with a mighty punch.
Those first few weeks after Brock’s death had been hell for all of them. And to think Winnie had been dealing with so much more. And he hadn’t had a clue.
“She tried calling you, Olive,” Laurel continued. “She might even have driven down and forced you to talk to her. But she couldn’t. Her doctor had her on bed rest for most of her pregnancy.”
Olive’s eyes flickered. She glanced down at her hands, then toward the window. “I’m sorry. I wish I had known. But after the baby was born...”
“Why didn’t she tell you then?” Laurel’s voice was more gentle now. “It wasn’t an easy birth. And then Bobby had colic. It’s taken a long time for Winnie to recover...mentally and physically. Let’s not forget that she was also grieving the loss of the man she loved throughout all of this.”
Jackson couldn’t listen anymore. He left the room, went for the coffeepot then froze. Winnie was still standing there, her mug empty in her hands.
“What’s Laurel saying out there?” she asked.
She hadn’t turned to look at him, and he studied her profile, the straight line of her nose, the full lips, her small but firm chin. She was such a beautiful woman, and she was strong, too. Much stronger than he had realized.
“She’s telling us what you’ve been through since Brock died.” He cleared his throat. “I had no idea you had such a struggle to keep the baby—”
He stopped talking as Winnie turned to him. Her eyes, normally sparkling with good humor, were dark and sad. She glanced from his face to the empty cup in his hand. Automatically she reached for the coffeepot.
He’d been intending to have a refill. Inexplicably he changed his mind and placed the mug in the dishwasher. Laurel joined them, then. It seemed like a good time to make his escape. He wasn’t sure what to say, anyway. That he felt badly for her? That he wished he could have helped in some way?
As if anything he could have done would have made a difference.
* * *
LAUREL SIGHED AS she reached for the coffeepot. “I had to say something. I couldn’t take listening to her badger you anymore.” She refilled her mug, then Winnie’s.
“Nice of you to try,” Winnie said. “But it won’t make any difference. Olive is always going to blame me for this. In a way, she’s right. But I just didn’t have the strength to handle one more thing.”
As she spoke, Winnie watched Jackson head back to the family room, where he took a chair near Corb. She wondered what he’d been about to say to her. Jackson so rarely voiced an opinion that when he did, it was worth taking note.
But he’d left the kitchen now, so she’d probably never know what he’d been thinking.
“Olive is Olive,” Laurel concluded the point she’d been making. “At least she’s a good grandmother. I’ll give her that.”
“She sure spoils them with gifts. I’m not sure I’m going to be able to fit all that new stuff in my apartment.”
“Maybe you should rethink moving to the cottage. Corb and I would love to have you living next door.”
“That part would be fun,” Winnie admitted.
“Bobby and Stephanie could grow up playing together.”
Winnie groaned. “Stop tempting me.”
“Then move in. You know how much I worried about missing New York. But I love it here.”
“Sure you do. You’re married to Corb. And this is his place.”
“Bobby’s a Lambert, too.”
