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“I doubt that. I’m guessing he’s good company. And that the two of you get along quite well together.”
Preston looked at her levelly then. “Yeah, you guessed right.”
She thought of her cousin Charlotte, her companion, who was back at their lodgings, with Ben. She counted on Charlotte in so many ways. They’d been together for four years. And they did well together, she and Charlotte. She imagined that Preston’s relationship with his father might be somewhat the same.
He was watching her.
She met and held his gaze. It was so easy to do, to look at him. And it felt...good. Warm and exciting to be here with him. She hadn’t expected this. To be so attracted to him. As a rule, she was a down-to-earth, practical person, not prone to flirtations or easy infatuations.
It probably wasn’t a good thing to be so taken with him, when you came right down it. It was hard enough to be calm and objective about the task before her without these sparks flashing back and forth between them.
He said, “You’re so quiet, all of a sudden....”
“Sorry. Just...thinking.”
“About?”
“I was...” Tell him. Tell him now. But her courage deserted her. “...wondering if you have this big house all to yourself?”
“I do. My dad moved across the yard when I got back from college. He said it was a fine thing that I wanted to work with him. But the house would be mine one day and I might as well lay claim to it. He said the smaller house suited him. Doris, our longtime housekeeper, used to live in. But she remarried last year and moved to her new husband’s place. He’s got five acres not far from here. She comes in Monday through Friday to clean—here and across the yard at the old man’s place. She also cooks for us.”
“How many hired men do you have here?”
“We keep two hands on year-round, and then hire at least two more in the spring. There’s another house, the men’s cabin, with a living area downstairs and an open sleeping loft that holds six beds.”
She remembered. “The cabin near the barn?”
“That’s right. Doris cooks for the hands, too, Monday through Friday. Weekends, we play the meals by ear. It works out fine.”
He would need a full-time nanny. Ben would change his life completely. He had no idea....
In her mind’s eye, she saw him, suddenly, sitting in Anne’s lap, his blond head tipped back to smile at her adoringly, in those last days before she grew too ill to sit up.
Anne.
A sudden, hard wave of loss rolled through her. Her stomach knotted, her throat clutched and tears welled. She swallowed them down, blinked the moisture away.
“Belle?” He was rising from his chair. “What happened? What did I say? What’s wrong?”
She put out a hand. “No. Sit down. Please. It’s...all right. I’m all right. Honestly.”
He sank back to the chair. “Why don’t I believe you?”
Tell him. Tell him now. She opened her mouth to break the news.
Chapter Three
But Belle’s leaden tongue refused to form the words. She pressed her lips together over the silence.
Preston was watching her, looking concerned as he waited for her to explain what the matter was.
She got up and went over to the big window that looked out on the wide front porch. Outside, the sky was clear now. A light dusting of snow sparkled under the quarter moon. “The clouds are all gone. The sky is so beautiful, so thick with stars....”
“That’s how it is in Montana. We’re closer to heaven here.” He said it so softly. And he was on his feet again. She heard him come toward her, his tread quiet but nonetheless charged with great energy, with purpose. He stopped close at her back. She felt his presence there acutely. A sense of that steadiness he possessed, of the density and power in his strong male body.
She turned to him, her breath snagging in her throat at the look in his eyes. So tender. So...intent.
How to tell him? How to say it? How to lead up gracefully to the moment when she handed over that final letter to him? It had been tucked within the letter Anne had written to Belle, in an envelope with his name on it. She hadn’t opened the envelope. That wouldn’t have been right. But she hoped whatever Anne had written to him, it might help him understand. She had it with her now, in the pocket of her skirt. All she had to do was bring it out, hand it over....
But then, really, maybe it was too soon. Maybe she should wait a little, give herself more time to...
To what? Any excuses she might have had not to tell him had dried up and blown away like dead leaves in the wind. She liked him. He seemed a fine man. His ranch looked to her like a good-size operation. The house was perfectly livable. And anyway, there would be plenty of money from Anne’s estate. Even if Preston’s personal finances were shaky—which they did not appear to be—Ben would never want for anything. His mother had left him everything she owned.
She opened her mouth to tell all.
And he said, “Tell you what. Let’s go outside. I’ll show you the stables and we can look at the stars without a window in the way.”
Belle realized she’d been holding her breath and let it out slowly. “I would love to see the stables.”
They put their coats and gloves back on and he took her outside. The icy snow crunched under the heels of their boots as they crossed the yard, past the barn to the stables, which were large and clean and well-maintained. He explained his breeding program and the supplemental lights that made the stable bright enough to read the small print of a newspaper even at that time of night. The point was to trick the mares’ reproductive cycles into thinking it was spring come January. That way, the foals were born early the following year. And because all foals’ official birthday of any given year was January 1, a foal born early had significant advantage over foals born later in the year when it came to competitive activities like racing.
His horses were healthy and beautiful. She admired his way with them, could see that he treated them well, noted the way they chuffed and nuzzled him, responding eagerly to the sound of his voice. She saw how they sought the touch of his hand.
“You’re like my sister Alice,” she said as they were leaving. They stood under the bright lights suspended from the ceiling beams, the smell of hay and horses all around them. “Her horses love her.”
“I read about your sister.”
“On the internet, you mean?”
He nodded. His eyebrows were burnished gold in the light from above. “I read that she raises Akhal-Tekes.”
“Yes, she does.”
“The most ancient breed on earth, a breed prized by Alexander the Great and Genghis Khan.”
She was impressed. “You know the legend of the Tekes?”
“I know horses. The Nez Perce Indians are currently breeding them with Appaloosas, did you know that?” She did know, but she kept quiet, hoping he might continue. And he did. “It’s an effort to replicate the legendary Nez Perce horse, which is believed to have originated from Akhal-Teke stock brought to the New World by Russian traders.” He touched her hair, the lightest breath of a touch. “A Teke is a loyal horse,” he said. “A sensitive, one-owner horse.”
Belle watched his shadowed face so closely as he spoke. Why, oh why did she find it so difficult to tell him? Beneath the tough exterior he needed to make a life in such a rugged land, he truly was a fine man, a sensitive man. He would be a good father.
Her throat was tight again, her eyes brimming. Because she knew what held her back.
As soon as she told him, she would be out of time. Out of hope. Any faint dream she might have nourished in her secret heart that Ben could somehow stay with her...that dream was dying.
She didn’t need to wait for any private investigator’s detailed report. Just being around him had told her all that she needed to know. He was a good man and he had a father’s rights. And once he knew, once he got over the shock and the disbelief that Anne had never said a word to him, never made any attempt to contact him after that one night they spent together, once he knew the truth at last, he would set about claiming what was his.
She was going to lose Ben as she had lost Anne. There was absolutely no doubt about it now. She had known from the moment Preston walked into the diner that morning. It was just taking her poor, battered heart a little while to catch up with her mind.
“Belle?” He looked stricken. “What did I say? I swear, I don’t get it. Whatever it is, whatever you want from me, you only need to say it.” He reached for her. She knew he would touch her tear-wet cheek.
“Don’t.” She shoved his hand away, swiped the traitorous tears from her face. “Please. I...let’s go. Back to the house. We’ll talk. I’ll...explain.”
He was silent. His expression changed, grew harder. Closed to her. He didn’t understand.
But how could he? She’d told him nothing. Yet.
Unspeaking, they turned for the stable door. He pushed it open for her. She went through, her head lowered, steps dragging. He followed, pausing, turning to secure the latch.
She was aware, for a moment, of the ever-present Marcus, silent and watchful in the shadows not far away. But only for a moment.
Because magic happened.
Magic happened and the crushing weight of her unhappiness, of her terrible obligation, of her loss—all of that was lifted. She raised her head and saw the miracle that waited overhead.
The sky was alive with melting, pulsing, vivid color. A concert of color.
“Preston...” She didn’t even stop to think about the confusing mishmash of signals she was giving him. Automatically, she reached for his hand.
“The northern lights.” He said it softly, with reverence, his gaze turned upward to the sky. And his warm, strong fingers closed around hers. The distance she’d put between them moments ago vanished. It was gone as though it had never been.
There was only pure beauty lighting the heavens. And the two of them, together, hand in hand, watching the wonder unfold.
Red, yellow, green, blue, a purple as deep as the heart of the night, a pink like the blush on the cheek of an angel, the colors moved and slid and dipped and danced across the giant canvas of the sky. Alive, rhythmic, majestic, otherworldly—perfect notes in a silent symphony.
Preston pulled her closer as they watched, until she stood tucked up against him, his arm around her shoulders. She didn’t think to resist. Why should she resist? How often in a lifetime did magic like this occur? She’d been born in a palace, seen the wonders of the world. But a concert of pure color pulsing above her, filling the endless star-scattered darkness of the sky?
Never, until that night. Never in her life before.
How long did it last? Minutes only. Minutes that seemed to her sweetly, enchantingly, perfectly endless.
But then the brightness began to fade. She sighed when she saw the end coming after all. The bands of color were losing brightness and form. Much too soon, it would be over.
And he was gazing down at her. She saw the magic reflected in his eyes. He touched her chin, brushed that rough, warm hand across her cheek.
She didn’t stop him. She couldn’t, not right then. And even if she could have, she wouldn’t have. She wanted what happened next.
He lowered his golden head. His fine lips touched hers. She sighed again and turned her body into him. It was wrong of her, and she knew it. But for that moment and that moment only, wisdom was silenced for the sake of a kiss.
For that moment, it was the most natural, the most right thing—to press her lips to his under the last pale and fading echoes of the aurora borealis.
And it was a beautiful kiss, as magical as the sight they had just witnessed together. She forgot everything—the bodyguard waiting close by, her duty to her lost friend, even the precious child she would soon have to surrender to him.
Finally, he lifted his head. He stared down at her, bemused. “Belle...” The way he said her name required no answer. He raised her hand to his mouth. She shivered at the touch of his lips. It wasn’t with cold. “Come on. Inside...” He still had his arm wrapped around her. She let him hold her, let him guide her. Together they turned for the warmth of the house.
In the foyer, he took her coat. She gave it reluctantly. She knew what came next and it was not going to graceful or pleasant.
She turned to Marcus, who had followed them in. “Will you wait in the car, please?”
Marcus frowned, but he did as she bade him. He went out the front door, closing it quietly behind him.
Preston said nothing. He’d grown watchful again.
“Could we perhaps...sit down?” she asked, the words carefully measured.
He gestured her ahead of him. They went into the living room. As before, she sat on the sofa, in the same spot she’d taken earlier.
He offered, “Coffee, maybe?”
Perhaps a little false courage. “I don’t suppose you have any brandy?”
He went to the cabinet in the corner, got out a crystal decanter and a proper brandy snifter. He poured her the drink and brought it to her.
She thanked him and took a larger sip than she should have. Brandy, after all, was meant to be savored. It burned going down. And when it spread its warmth in her belly, she felt no braver than she had before. She set the glass on the low table in front of her.
He settled into the easy chair. “All right, hit me with it. Why are you here in Elk Creek, Montana, at Christmastime, Belle?”
Where to start? “Do you...happen to remember a certain archaeology student named Anne Benton? She came to Elk Creek three summers ago.”
He frowned. “Why do you ask?”
“I’m getting there. I promise I am. But could you just...” She sighed, shook her head. “Do you remember Anne?”
He stiffened. And he looked at her steadily for several awful seconds. But then he shrugged. “Sure I remember her. I liked her. Why?”
* * *
Pres had no idea why they were suddenly talking about Anne Benton.
He’d hardly known the woman, though he had liked her. She’d told him she was getting a doctorate in anthropology. A couple of times he’d gone riding out near the caves where she and the others in her group were working, cataloging the artifacts and pictographs in the caves, they said. Pres would stop. Visit a little with them—and with Anne especially. He remembered she was friendly, with an easy, open way about her.
It hadn’t been anything romantic. He’d just liked her, that was all.
He’d rested his elbows on the chair arms, his hands folded between. He looked down at them. “I...spent an evening with her once, just before she left town.” He hadn’t realized he would say that out loud until he heard the words coming out of his mouth.
“Spent an evening?” Belle prompted softly.
Pres didn’t like this. Not one bit. He ought to be the one asking the questions—and she should be coming up with the answers.
But somehow, she brought out the truth in him. She made him want to open up to her, to tell her all the things he’d never told a living soul. “It was a bad time for me that summer. I was going to get married. My fiancée dumped me for another guy.”
Belle made a low sound, of sympathy. “Oh, Preston...”
He went on, “She married that other guy on the second Saturday in September, which was right at the end of Anne’s stay in Elk Creek. I ran into Anne that night, at a certain roadhouse not far from town.”
Belle drew in a slow, careful breath. “You were with Anne on the night your fiancée married another man?”
“That’s right. I was trying to drown my sorrows. Anne was with her scientist friends, celebrating the end of their dig. She was drinking, too. Almost as heavily as I was. I’m ashamed to say, I drank enough that my memory of that night is pretty much a blur. I didn’t go home. I wasn’t safe to drive. I got a room in the motel adjacent to the roadhouse. I think I remember Anne being there, in the motel room, with me. But maybe I just imagined that.”
