A Holiday For Healing

Jackson Stone will always be grateful to the Lamberts, who took him in when he was just a kid. But since the accident that killed his foster brother, Brock, he stays away from the family at Coffee Creek Ranch. Especially now that Brock’s former fiancée, Winnie Hays, is back in town with her little boy.

The simmering attraction between them may surprise Winnie, but Jackson fell for her at first sight years ago. Loyalty and guilt require he keep his distance…even as their feelings blossom into love. In the end, it’s his own conscience Jackson must master. But with the help of the Lamberts, can this Christmas be a time of healing and a new beginning?

Jackson went to open the driver’s side door for her, but she didn’t get in. Instead, she surprised him by placing a hand on his shoulder.

“I’m glad you were at the dinner tonight. I wasn’t sure you would be.”

“I didn’t want to be,” he admitted. “Corb pretty much twisted my arm.”

“Was it because of Olive that you didn’t want to come? Or me?”

“A little of both.”

“Ouch. Brutally honest, aren’t you?”

“I didn’t say that to hurt your feelings.”

“Oh. So it was a compliment then?”

“Damn it, Winnie. It’s complicated.” She couldn’t know how hard this was for him. If only he could see her the way he saw Laurel, or Cassidy, or even B.J.’s new wife, Savannah. They were all beautiful women, too.

But only Winnie set his blood on fire. And it was so, so wrong. It had been wrong when Brock was alive. And it was just as wrong now that he was gone.

Dear Reader,

Welcome back to Coffee Creek, Montana, where the Lamberts—a family of ranchers and cowboys—own the largest spread in Bitterroot County, all controlled by matriarch Olive Lambert. Winnie Hays and her new baby have just returned to town and they’re about to attend the double wedding of Cassidy Lambert and Dan Farley (Her Cowboy Dilemma) and B. J. Lambert and Savannah Moody (Promise Me, Cowboy).

Eighteen months ago Winnie’s fiancé was killed in a car crash while he was on his way to their wedding. Winnie has spent a year and a half grieving, but now it’s time for her to resume her life in Coffee Creek—and to introduce her son to his father’s side of the family.

Dreading Winnie’s return is the Lamberts’ foster brother, Jackson Stone. He’s never told anyone about his secret passion for his deceased brother’s woman—a passion that makes him feel all the more guilty for having been the driver during the accident that killed him.

This is the last of my four-book Coffee Creek, Montana series. As a writer it’s always difficult to leave behind a community of families and friends who’ve begun to feel so real you want to send them cards at Christmas! But with the latest developments between Olive and her estranged sister Maddie, it just feels like the right time to close the door on the Lambert family…and await the next writing adventure.

If you’d like to see the pictures that inspired my Coffee Creek, Montana books, visit my boards on Pinterest—my account is named CJ_Carmichael. To find out what I’m working on next, check my blog on my website: www.cjcarmichael.com. I’ve posted a map of Coffee Creek there, too.

Happy reading,

C.J. Carmichael

Big Sky Christmas

C.J. Carmichael

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Hard to imagine a more glamorous life than being an accountant, isn’t it? Still, C.J. Carmichael gave up the thrills of income tax forms and double-entry bookkeeping when she sold her first book in 1998. She has now written more than twenty-eight novels for Harlequin and invites you to learn more about her books, see photos of her hiking exploits and enter her surprise contests at www.cjcarmichael.com.

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Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Excerpt

Chapter One

Winnie Hays looked up at the white church and hesitated. She couldn’t believe she was here, back in Coffee Creek, Montana. This was her last chance to back out. Everyone would understand if she did.

Since when is wimping out your style? Is that the kind of woman Bobby needs as his mother?

Since the death of her fiancé, that was how she had found the strength to go on. By thinking of their son. And putting his needs before hers.

Still, it was impossible not to recall the last time she’d been here. Wearing a long white gown. Expecting to leave a married woman.

Eighteen months had passed since then, a relatively short period of time marked by the most major events of Winnie’s life: the death of her fiancé and the birth of their son seven months later.

She checked her cell phone, making sure it was set to vibrate so she’d know if Bobby’s babysitter called. Not that she was worried. Eugenia Fox had raised a son of her own, and had worked for Winnie at the Cinnamon Stick Café since it had opened several years ago.

No, Eugenia and Bobby were going to be fine.

It was herself she was worried about.

If she hadn’t been so late, she wouldn’t be forced to enter the church alone. Her best friend, Laurel, and her new husband, Corb Lambert—the brother of Winnie’s late fiancé—had planned to be by her side for moral support. But they must have given up on her. Decided she’d chickened out.

And she still could. There was no one around to see if she just about-faced and scurried home to the sweet toddler who was the center of her universe.

She sighed.

It was precisely because of Bobby that she needed to attend this wedding. This was his father’s family. Her son’s family. And it was time she faced them.

Still, she paused one last time before entering the church, glancing over her shoulder at the small town of Coffee Creek.

The November day was sunny, crisp and cold. A dusting of snow had decorated the day nicely for the wedding party, the silvery-white crystals contrasting vividly with the blue Montana sky. Olive Lambert, control freak that she was, would be pleased.

Be nice, Winnie. No catty comments about Bobby’s grandmother, please.

She grasped the handle, took a deep breath then pulled open the door.

The sound of the organ music almost did her in.

At least it was a different song than the one that had played a year and a half ago. Beethoven was a genius, but she never wanted to hear “Ode to Joy” again.

She peeled off her gloves and tucked them into the pocket of her red wool coat. An usher appeared then, a young man in a cheap suit that didn’t fit him well. Winnie remembered him as a cousin on the Lambert side.

“Hi, Adam. Sorry I’m late.”

His eyes went wide as he realized who she was. “No problem.” He hung her coat for her, then offered his arm. “Come on, I’ll show you to your seat.”

Winnie schooled herself to look only straight ahead as she walked the length of the aisle. Oh, why had she arrived so late? Now everyone was watching her and there were so many people. Of course there were. The Lamberts owned the largest ranch in the county. They mattered. And her son was one of them. So she couldn’t break down and cry, she just couldn’t. Not even one little tear.

Adam stopped and gestured for her to take a seat in a pew that already seemed to be full. But room was made and she slid onto the wooden bench, not taking note of the person beside her until after she was in position, purse tucked at her feet, tissue palmed discreetly...just in case.

Only then did she notice the masculine thigh pressed next to hers. Looking up, she met Jackson Stone’s dark blue eyes. Jackson had lived with the Lamberts since he was thirteen, so he’d been like a brother to Brock, Corb, B.J. and Cassidy. If she’d married Brock, he would have been a de facto brother-in-law to her.

But that didn’t mean she knew him well.

Compared to his foster siblings, Jackson was quiet and reserved. Brock had speculated that hardships from Jackson’s childhood and early teens had left scars that time might never heal.

And that may well be the case. But at least the man was handsome, with thick dark hair and bone structure good enough to be a model. Weathered skin and the rough look of his hands made it plain, though, that he was a working man.

According to Laurel, Jackson blamed himself for the accident, since he’d been driving, with Brock in the front seat next to him and Corb in the rear. One of the missions Winnie had set for herself on returning to Coffee Creek was to help Jackson see that there was no rational reason for him to feel guilty, and that she, certainly, bore him no malice.

But this wasn’t the place for that conversation.

“Hi, Jackson.” She smiled and gave him a one-armed hug, which he awkwardly returned.

“Winnie.”

He’d never been a big talker. “Big day, isn’t it? Double wedding and all.”

“Yup.”

“Can hardly contain your excitement, huh?”

Jackson’s lips curved up a little. “Weddings aren’t my thing.”

Not hers, either. At least, not anymore. She scanned the line of attractive men standing at the front of the church. There was the local vet, Dan Farley, a solid, muscular guy with sharp cheekbones and dark, almost black eyes. Farley was marrying Cassidy Lambert today.

Cassidy’s brother B.J. stood next to Farley. Taller, thinner, he was the only Lambert who didn’t share the blond hair and green eyes that Brock had had.

B.J. was marrying Bitterroot County’s sheriff, Savannah Moody. Dark haired, sultry-eyed Savannah had been the one who had come to the church to let them know about the accident.

She’d been on duty then. Though she’d been B.J.’s high school sweetheart, she hadn’t been invited to the wedding, due to a longstanding rift between them.

But with the solving of an old case involving arson, theft and murder, they’d resolved their differences. And now they were getting married.

It was an amazing story, and one Winnie had heard secondhand from her friend Laurel as Winnie had still been living in Highwood with her parents at that time.

Moving back to Coffee Creek had been a recent development. So much was the same. And yet so much had changed...

Winnie squeezed the tissue, suddenly wishing she’d brought more. She didn’t know how she was going to handle watching Savannah walk down the aisle today. But she had to.

“This must be difficult,” Jackson whispered.

Had he noticed her nerves? She nodded.

“Imagine you’re at the rodeo.” She could feel his breath on her hair as he leaned in to whisper, “Everyone’s in regular clothes. The guys are in the chutes, waiting for their ride.”

“And the organ music?”

“That’s just the fans cheering.”

He was being silly. But it was working. She could feel her muscles relaxing. She closed her eyes, picturing the scene that Jackson was laying out for her. She’d been to countless rodeos over the years; in fact, that was how she’d met—

Brock.

Her eyes flashed open. Her heart began to race and her body went rigid. If he hadn’t died in that crash on his way to the church, he would be sitting beside her right now. They’d be man and wife and—

The music changed then, became a march. Everyone shifted in their seats, and after a second, so did Winnie.

“Rodeo princesses are making their entrance,” Jackson said softly as the crowd gasped. He placed a steady hand on her shoulder.

Her nerves calmed at his words, his touch.

“Imagine they’re on horses,” he added.

Not hard to do, since the first bride was Cassidy, and she was never happier than when she was riding. The golden-haired woman with her sunshine smile had a degree from the University of Montana but she worked at Monahan’s Equestrian Center now, doing what she’d been born and raised to do—train horses.

The normally taciturn Farley beamed as his bride—no, rodeo princess—gave him her hand. The look they shared was so sweet that Winnie’s heart tumbled a little, but she set it right again by turning to look at the second bride.

Fortunately, Savannah didn’t look anything like a sheriff today in her fitted white dress and delicate shoes, her long dark hair falling in gentle waves down her shoulders. The crowd gave her a second appreciative gasp, but she didn’t seem to notice. Her smile and gaze were just for B.J.

As the congregation settled down, Winnie focused on her hands clasped in her lap.

“Family and friends,” intoned the minister, “We are gathered today to celebrate the marriages of two very special couples—”

A tear dropped onto her hand. She hadn’t even realized that she’d started to cry. She blinked, and a second one followed.

Suddenly a large hand covered both of hers. She felt the rough calluses first. The warmth second.

She glanced up and saw such a tender look in Jackson’s eyes that she almost started crying again. Thank goodness she’d been smart enough to forgo eye makeup. She had to get a grip here. Listening to the minister had been a mistake. She had to take Jackson’s lead and pretend she was somewhere else.

In her mind Winnie started going over all of Bobby’s milestones. The first time he rolled over. His first smile. His first tooth. Gradually she could feel her muscles relaxing, and Jackson must have felt the same, because he gave her hands a pat, then returned his hand to his own thigh.

The fact that he was being so kind to her made her feel even worse about the suffering she knew he’d been going through this past year and a half. She should have called him sooner. Maybe they could have helped one another through their grief, rather than dealing with the sadness and loss on their own.

Once the ceremony was over, they would talk. She’d invite him for coffee. Make things right.

* * *

JACKSON STONE WAS in agony. Of all the people in this church, why had that damn kid sat Winnie Hays next to him?

If only they weren’t squished in so tightly that he could feel her warm thigh up against his. The contact was the sweetest form of torture he could imagine. There were at least a dozen reasons why he shouldn’t find her so attractive, but he did.

And he had from the first time Brock had brought her home to meet the family.

He’d never met a woman before with such sparkle in her eyes, such sass in her smile. He’d watched her shake hands with Olive, Cassidy, Corb and B.J. and when it came time for his turn, he’d half expected sparks to ignite when her palm met his.

And they had.

But only for him.

That was when he knew that he had to keep as much distance between himself and Brock’s girlfriend as possible.

And he’d done it.

But it hadn’t made his life easy. And it had become a true nightmare on the day of their wedding.

Jackson still had terrible dreams about the crash. He hadn’t seen the moose in time to avoid a collision. There had been a curve in the road, then the stand of aspen and willows.

And suddenly the huge body of a bull moose coming up from the right...

No. He couldn’t let himself go there. Not now. If this was hard for him, it had to be four times more difficult for Winnie. Last night at the rehearsal dinner Laurel had confided to him that she expected her friend to bail out of the ceremony.

“She’ll come to the reception,” Corb’s redheaded wife had said. “But not to the church.”

“Yeah. That’s probably the best thing,” he’d said.

He’d wished he could skip the ceremony, too. But he’d lived with the Lamberts since he was thirteen, and B.J. and Cassidy were like his own siblings. He didn’t want to miss their special day because of his own weakness. And he did see it as a weakness—that he couldn’t seem to get past that day.

Diversions helped. Things like work, Maddie Turner’s illness and the financial challenge of turning around the fortunes of the Silver Creek Ranch.

But occasionally a guy had to stop and just be.

And that was when the bad memories would sneak in. Sometimes he envied Corb, who’d sustained serious brain trauma in the accident and remembered nothing.

He wished he could have been unconscious, too. Then he wouldn’t have the pictures of the awful aftermath in his head.

The split second when he’d seen the moose. Then the crash and the screams. Followed by silence.

The moose had taken out the roof of the truck and sunshine had beamed directly on his head. He’d been pinned to his seat by the airbag at first. Stunned.

The first thing he noticed was the sunshine, warm on his head. Birds were singing. He said a prayer before turning his head.

But the prayer hadn’t been answered. Because all he’d seen was blood. And when he’d called out to the others, to Brock and to Corb—no one had responded.

Chapter Two

Olive Lambert was making a toast, welcoming her new son- and daughter-in-law into the Lambert family. All the wedding guests were gathered in the dining hall of Monahan’s Equestrian Center. The room was spacious and well-appointed, with windows looking out at rolling hills and distant mountains, a huge river-rock fireplace and a large dance floor next to the bar.

Winnie was enjoying her glass of champagne, which she’d already raised three times for earlier speeches. First Dan had toasted his bride, then B.J. had done the same for Savannah.

Corb, as best man, had spoken next.

And now, Olive.

Winnie tried to remember the last time she’d had champagne. It must have been at her and Brock’s engagement party. Unknown to her at the time, that had been when Corb had fallen in love with her best friend, Laurel Sheridan, who’d flown in from New York so she could be Winnie’s maid of honor.

The visit had been planned to last one week.

But after Brock’s accident, Laurel had extended her stay so she could look after the Cinnamon Stick while Winnie recuperated on her parents’ farm in Highwood.

“...I remember when you were just a boy, hanging out with B.J., Corb and Brock,” Olive was saying, her gaze on Dan Farley, who had taken over his father’s vet practice several years earlier. “You were over so often, it was like you were a member of the family. Now it’s official, and I couldn’t be more delighted.”

“To Dan.” Winnie raised the delicate crystal flute and took another sip.

“And of course I want to welcome Savannah to the family, as well,” Olive concluded.

Thud. Winnie glanced around to see if anyone else had noticed Olive’s lack of enthusiasm toward her new daughter-in-law. Laurel caught her eye, then winked.

Winnie struggled not to laugh. She finished her champagne, set down the glass then moved closer to her friend.

“I guess Olive was hoping B.J. would do better?” asked Winnie. Which, in Olive’s mind, meant marrying a local ranching girl whose father owned lots of land.

Laurel was in a forest-green sheath that showcased both her slender figure and her gleaming red hair. “Yes. Savannah is an amazing woman and a terrific sheriff. But her parents had some troubles—financial and otherwise—and Olive doesn’t approve.”

“Bad bloodlines, huh?”

“Yup. Olive thinks she should be able to control the breeding lines of her children, the same way she does the quarter horses.”

Winnie chuckled. Laurel was great at seeing the humorous side of almost any situation. When she was in the early stages of her romance with Corb, Olive had actually invited one of Corb’s old girlfriends to dinner, hoping to divert his attention. Winnie would have exploded in a similar situation, but Laurel had somehow dealt with it.

“It’s crazy, but I guess Olive gets her way sometimes. Witness Cassidy and Dan Farley.”

“That almost backfired on her,” Laurel whispered back. “Didn’t I tell you about the ranch getting quarantined?”

“Probably. I’ve been so sleep deprived lately, my memory is shot.” She searched the crowds until she found Jackson. He was talking with a couple of local ranchers, but as soon as she spotted him, his gaze met hers.

She felt the oddest warmth steal over her. Quickly she glanced away. “What’s up with Jackson? Why didn’t he bring a date?”

“Who would he bring? He’s been all work, no play since—”

Laurel didn’t finish. She didn’t need to.

“Do you think it would help if I talked to him?”

“You can try. Most everyone else has. Except Olive, of course. She’s the only one in all of Coffee Creek who really does seem to blame him for what happened.” Laurel rolled her eyes at the unfairness of it all.

Before Winnie had a chance to reply, the band started playing and Corb claimed his wife for a dance.

Winnie watched the pair walk off, hand in hand. They were so good together. Would she and Brock have been as well suited? She’d never know.

Winnie turned and headed to the bar to get a glass of cranberry and soda. There were still a few people she ought to talk to, then she’d go home. She’d told Eugenia that she wouldn’t be out very late.

Once she had her drink, she swiveled back toward the dance floor—and found herself face-to-face with Olive.

The matriarch of the Lambert family was looking her best tonight. Her silver hair was beautifully styled and her trim figure looked sharp in a vintage Chanel suit. Olive always managed to look like a lady—even when she didn’t act that way.

“I haven’t had a chance to welcome you back to Coffee Creek.” The words were nice, but Olive’s eyes were cold.

Winnie accepted the tepid hug Olive offered, catching a hint of classic Chanel No. 5 perfume as she did so. “Thanks, Olive. I was wondering if you’d like to pop in at the café next week to meet Bobby.”

“My grandson, you mean.” Olive’s green eyes glittered with affront. “I must say I was surprised—and hurt—that you never sent us a birth announcement.”

Trust Olive to make an issue of this, here, in public. “I did call,” Winnie said.

“Your message said nothing about having a baby! We had no idea you were even pregnant.”

Winnie pulled every inch she could out of her spine. This woman had intimidated her at one time, but no longer. “Well, you would have if you’d returned my earlier call, after Brock’s funeral.”

Olive’s eyes dulled. “That was a terrible time. I wasn’t up to talking on the phone.”

“It wasn’t a great time for me, either.” And yet she’d made the effort to get in touch with her fiancé’s mother, even though she knew Olive didn’t like her. She’d hoped they could come together in their shared grief over Brock’s death. And she’d wanted to break the news about her pregnancy in a more personal way, not through a generic birth announcement.

But Olive hadn’t called back. And a month later Winnie had tried again, with a similar result.

“You could have written. Or sent word via Corb or Laurel.”

“I could have,” Winnie agreed. “But you may have guessed by now that I have a stubborn streak.”

She met Olive’s glare without backing down. The honest truth was she still resented Olive for being so cold toward her. She knew—because Brock had told her—that Olive had tried to talk him out of marrying her. Olive had thought that her youngest, and favorite, son was making a mistake in marrying a simple farm girl from Highwood. Brock had laughed about it later, when they were alone.

But she hadn’t.

“I was trying to save you and Brock both a lot of heartache. You weren’t suited for each other.”

Winnie’s heart raced. This woman was unbelievable. Like a snake, she struck quickly with her venom. “You can’t know that. He loved me. And I loved him, too.”

A drop of soda spilled onto her foot. Realizing her hands were shaking, she put her glass on a nearby table. She wanted to leave. But Olive had her cornered.

And she wasn’t finished.

“You don’t have any idea what it takes to be a rancher’s wife. You couldn’t have—”

Suddenly Winnie spotted a familiar figure, a man in a dark gray suit. He was headed for the bar, but he didn’t seem to have noticed her. She put out her arm and managed to snag a bit of his sleeve.

Jackson turned.

“You wanted to dance? We’d better do it now, since I have to go home early.”

Jackson’s gaze went from her to Olive. The widowed mother of four children—three, now that Brock was gone—had two spots of red burning on her cheeks.

“We aren’t finished here, Winnie,” Olive said.

“If you want to meet my son, then I think we are.”

Winnie kept her hold on Jackson and pulled him toward the dance floor. Sensing his reluctance, she figured he didn’t like to dance.

“Sorry to drag you out here,” she said, once he’d swung her into his arms with surprising finesse. “Olive was in attack mode and I needed to escape.”

“No one does attack mode quite like Olive.”

Jackson was two-stepping like a pro—why didn’t he like dancing when he was so good at it?

She glanced up at his handsome face. His gaze was fixed across the dance floor, almost as if he didn’t want to look at her. “You two don’t get along, either, do you?”

According to Brock, when his father decided to take Jackson in under the foster-care program, Olive had been opposed to the idea.

Dad almost never went against her wishes, Brock had said. But that time he did.

“No, we don’t. It’s one of the reasons I decided to go work on Silver Creek Ranch,” Jackson allowed, swinging her out, then pulling her back in.

“Holy cow, you’re good at this.” He led with assurance and moved perfectly with the beat.

“So are you.”

“It’s easy when you have a good partner.”

Jackson’s eyes narrowed. He glanced away again.

“So tell me about Silver Creek Ranch.” She needed to distract herself from how nice his hands felt on her waist and her shoulder. Silver Creek was owned by Maddie Turner, Olive’s sister. The two women had been estranged for decades, since the death of their father.

“It’s in tough shape. Maddie is a good person, but a terrible businesswoman. I had to sell some land to raise enough money to begin restocking the herd. Fences need mending, and the barn could use some work, too. But I’m taking it one step at a time.”

He didn’t mention anything about the promise Maddie had made to him. Winnie knew the details thanks to Laurel. Maddie was suffering from terminal lung cancer and she’d told Jackson that if he came to live with her on the ranch and invested all his savings, she’d leave him everything.

Given that Maddie had no children of her own, it wasn’t such an outlandish proposition. But according to Laurel, Olive was furious. She felt the land ought to be going to one of her children. Never mind the fact that she hadn’t allowed any of them to speak to their aunt when they’d been growing up.

“I’m sure you’re very busy. But do you have time to come in to the café for coffee one night next week?”

For the first time Jackson’s step faltered. He recovered in the next second, found the beat and pulled her with him back into the rhythm.

“I’m not big on coffee.”

Was that why in the past he’d come so seldom into the Cinnamon Stick?

“Or cinnamon buns, either, I assume.” The buns were the specialty of her café, baked fresh every morning by a former cowboy and recovering alcoholic who’d turned over a new leaf in his sixties, Vince Butterfield.

“Not much of a sweet tooth,” Jackson agreed.

“Well.” Was he just making excuses? “Maybe you could drop by just to talk, then?”

He swung her out, gave her a twirl and then swirled her back a little, just as the song ended. A few people dancing near them clapped.

“Nicely done, Jackson.” Corb had Laurel in his arms and they were both grinning.

Yes, nicely done, Winnie had to agree.

Jackson walked her off the dance floor, then dropped his arm. “Thanks for the dance, Winnie. I’m sure I’ll be seeing you around.”

And that was it? “What about next week?”

He looked off in the distance for a few seconds before meeting her gaze. “I know what you’re trying to do here. You want to tell me you don’t blame me for what happened to Brock.”

“That’s right.”

“It’s nice and charitable of you, Winnie. But can you really look at me and not think, there’s the guy who was driving when my fiancé died?”

His blunt words stole her breath. Before she could recover, he was leaning in to say some more.

“Last thing I want is to cause you more pain. Let’s just leave it at that, okay?”

And then he was gone, walking toward the exit. She wanted to run after him, but Corb and Laurel were watching, as were several other couples. Better not create a scene.

So she forced a smile and tried to look as though she and Jackson had parted on friendly terms.

But man, was Laurel right. That guy had a serious chip on his shoulder. And the last thing she was going to do was let him leave it there.

* * *

JACKSON WANTED TO LEAVE, but he knew it was too early and his absence would be noted. He stood in the stairwell of the back exit, his body pressed against the wall of cool concrete.

What was wrong with him? Why did he feel this way?

Holding Winnie in his arms, dancing with her, had been the worst form of torture.

He’d tried thinking about cattle prices, the weather, anything except the beautiful, dark-haired woman who was following his moves so perfectly it was almost like having sex.

He groaned.

Sex and Winnie Hays should never be in the same sentence. Brock had been like a brother and a best friend all rolled into one. And here Jackson was lusting after the woman he had loved.

“Hey, cooling down?” Corb had found him. “I’m not surprised. You and Winnie sure worked up a sweat in there.”

Another layer of guilt settled in the pit of Jackson’s stomach. Soon he’d have no space in there for anything else.

“She looks good, doesn’t she?” Corb handed him a beer.

“I guess.”

“I think Mom resents it. She’d have Winnie dressed in black, withered to the bone and miserable for the rest of her life.”

“Wouldn’t be much of a mother to Brock’s son if she did that.”

“Winnie never could do anything to please Mom.” Corb shrugged. “But she’s done her share of suffering.” Corb looked at him pointedly. He didn’t have to say anything more for Jackson to know what he was thinking. Ever since the accident the Lambert kids had been trying to tell him he had no reason to feel responsible for what had happened.

He appreciated their intentions.

But none of them had been in the driver’s seat, so they couldn’t really understand.

“You liking the work at Silver Creek?”

“It’s a challenge,” Jackson allowed, glad that Corb had changed the subject. “But we’ve sold a parcel of land to Sam O’Neil. Come spring I intend to buy a hundred head of cattle and build from there.”

“This Sam fellow. Did you meet him? B.J. says he put in an offer for Savannah’s land, too.”

Jackson shook his head. “Not face-to-face. He’d already signed the papers when I took Maddie to the title office.”

Corb finished his drink, then pushed the door open. “We better get back. There’ll be a lineup of ladies waiting to dance with you now that they’ve seen what you can do. Where’d you learn to two-step like that, anyway?”

Jackson smiled. “My mom taught me. Haven’t danced in years. Funny how it all came back.”

“Your mom taught you?”

Jackson didn’t speak of her, usually. All the Lamberts knew was she’d gone to jail when he was thirteen. And died a few years later while still incarcerated.

“She wasn’t all bad.”

“I’m sure she wasn’t. She had you, didn’t she?”

It was a nice thing to say, but then Corb was a damn fine man that way. A lot like his father had been.

“Keep talking so sweet to me and Laurel will be getting jealous.”

Corb laughed, then shoved him in the direction of the dance floor, none too gently. “Laurel knows who gets my motor running. Now get. The ladies await.”

Chapter Three

“Who’s Mommy’s little boy?”

Bobby giggled as Winnie tickled the bottoms of his feet, then pointed his chubby finger at his own chest.

“That’s right.” She touched her nose to his. “You are my little boy.” Were all babies this cute? Winnie didn’t believe it. Bobby was special. She put on his socks and his adorable sneakers, and as soon as she was done, he started toddling out of her reach.

She sighed. He was such a going concern now that he’d started walking. She chased after him, scooped him into her arms and he giggled again.

She’d lined up a babysitter for weekdays from ten to two, a friend of Eugenia’s whose children were grown and out of the house, but not yet married with families of their own.

They were headed to Linda Hunter’s now.

She tucked Bobby into his new winter snowsuit, then grabbed the diaper bag she’d prepared earlier that morning. She left her apartment, which was above the café, through the back door and down the fire escape. More snow had fallen on Sunday and again last night, and Bobby wiggled in her arms. He wanted to play with all that cool white stuff.

“Later, honey.” Now that he was mobile, she needed to buy him boots, which would mean a trip to Lewistown. If not for the wedding this past weekend, she would have taken him shopping on Saturday.

A black Ford pickup truck turned onto Main Street. She recognized the vehicle even before she spotted Jackson behind the wheel. He had on aviator sunglasses and a dark brown cowboy hat. He slowed as he passed by, but didn’t stop.

She’d thought a lot about Jackson since Saturday night. His kind attempt to distract her during the ceremony. How much fun he’d been to dance with. But most of all, she’d thought about his parting words to her. Can you really look at me and not think, there’s the guy who was driving when my fiancé died?

He hadn’t given her time to answer. But if he had, she would have said, Of course I can. She’d never thought of him as the man who was responsible for Brock’s death. But that was obviously how he thought of himself. How could she change his mind about that when he seemed determined to avoid her?

A lot of locals made a point of stopping by her café when they came to town, but Jackson rarely had and she knew he wouldn’t today, either. She didn’t buy the excuse he’d given her at the wedding. Maybe he didn’t have a sweet tooth. But she had yet to meet a cowboy who didn’t love his coffee.

She turned and watched as his truck made a right on Grave Street. He must be headed to either the Lonesome Spur Bar, Ed’s Feed Supply or the cemetery. Odds favored the feed supply store. Maybe, just maybe, he’d surprise her and drop in for a coffee when his business was done.

Bobby placed his hands on her face, forcing her to look at him. “Mama go.”

She grinned. He’d just strung together his first two-word sentence. “You’re a smart boy. Yes, Mama should get going. Linda will be wondering where we are.”

She chatted to him about his new babysitter as she walked. She always talked to Bobby as if he could understand everything she said, and who knew, maybe he did.

Linda lived in a ranch-style bungalow on Aspen Street, and she must have been watching for them out the window because she had the front door open as soon as they arrived. Besides her warm, smiling face, they were greeted with the aroma of fresh-baked bread. Linda’s brown hair, only slightly streaked with gray, was pulled back with a clip and she was dressed in jeans and a pale pink sweater.

She didn’t make the mistake of reaching for Bobby too soon. Instead she said hello and smiled, then pointed to an area where she’d set out some simple building blocks, cars and board books.

Bobby strained to reach them, almost tumbling out of his mother’s arms. With a laugh, Winnie set him on the floor.

“I’ve childproofed this room,” Linda told her. “And I have my neighbor’s old high chair so I can feed him his lunch. Will he want a nap after that, do you think?”

“He usually does. But I’m hoping to pick him up early since this is his first time at your place.” Winnie handed over a sheet with Bobby’s schedule that she’d printed last night. Then the diaper bag. “All his food is in here, as well as diapers and a change of clothes if he needs them.”

“We’ll be fine,” Linda said, reassuringly.

Winnie smiled her gratitude, unable to speak because she was suddenly teary. It was hard leaving her baby with a sitter. But she knew Laurel—who’d taken over at the Cinnamon Stick after Brock’s death—was ready to hand the reins back to her. Laurel had enough to do taking care of her nine-month-old daughter, Stephanie, helping Corb around the ranch and writing her blog.

Winnie didn’t make a big deal out of saying goodbye to Bobby, and Linda eased her transition out the door by distracting him with a super-cool dump truck.

Fifteen minutes later, Winnie was at work in the café’s kitchen, chopping vegetables for her chicken-curry soup recipe. At the sound of the door chime she looked up, wondering if she’d see Jackson. But it was Straws Monahan, the owner of the impressive equestrian center where the wedding had taken place last Saturday. The center, about ten miles from town in the opposite direction from the Lamberts’ ranch, was one of the county’s main employers. Which made Straws, recently widowed and in his sixties, one of the area’s most important men.

Dawn Dolan, a young blonde who still lived at home while she took correspondence courses to upgrade her high school marks, asked him in a cheerful voice how he was and what could she get him.

Winnie smiled, pleased with Dawn’s friendly approach. She’d hired Dawn, Eugenia and their baker, Vince, years ago when she’d first opened her café, and they’d all proved to be hardworking and loyal employees.

Winnie knew she’d never have been able to keep her business afloat the past eighteen months if it wasn’t for all of them and Laurel.

Dawn and Eugenia had both agreed to work longer shifts during that time. Laurel had left her dream job as an editorial assistant in New York City to relocate in Coffee Creek. And Vince had kept making the cinnamon buns, muffins and fresh breads that kept her customers coming back for more.

Most people were shocked when they discovered that the Cinnamon Stick’s delicious baked goods were made by a member of the Cowboy Hall of Fame, but that was one of the things Winnie loved about Coffee Creek. People here just pitched in and did what needed to be done.

She transferred the carrots she’d been dicing into the industrial-size soup pot on the stove. Just as she was reaching for the celery, she heard someone new entering. Hoping again it might be Jackson, she glanced up with a smile.

And had to work to keep it there when she saw Olive Lambert. Bobby’s grandmother was dressed in “work” clothes today—pressed jeans, clean boots and a tailored sheepskin jacket. She nodded at Straws. “Good day.”

“Sure is. All recovered from the big weekend?”

Olive sighed with satisfaction. “My daughter made a beautiful bride. She and Farley left yesterday for Maui.”

“Our sheriff was quite the bride, too,” commented Straws, who’d also been at the wedding. “She and B.J. are going to Australia for their honeymoon, aren’t they?”

Olive’s smile dimmed a little. “They are. Taking an entire month off.”

“Well, November is the time to do it.”

“I suppose.”

“Here’s your order, Mr. Monahan.” Dawn passed him a to-go cup and a bag with his pastry, then turned to Olive. “What can I get you, Mrs. Lambert?”

“Nothing. I’m here to speak with Winnie.”

Hands already washed and dried in anticipation of this, Winnie stepped out from the counter. “Hello, Olive. Why don’t we sit down?”

She led Olive to an empty booth at the back. Relax. Stay calm, she advised herself. It would be easier, she hoped, to deal with Olive here than it had been at the wedding.

Her café was a warm, welcoming place, painted and decorated in the colors of the foods Winnie loved most: caramel, chocolate, vanilla and, of course, cinnamon. The booths were nestled up to wooden-framed windows that overlooked the picturesque Coffee Creek for which the town had been named.

In the spring and summer, the water had a translucent topaz color, which some more prosaic types likened to the color of weak coffee.

In the winter, though, ice and snow crept up from the banks of the creek, and the cold streaming water looked more gray than brown.

“I was hoping to meet my grandson today,” Olive said, without preamble. “Finally.”

“I’m sorry if I wasn’t clear. Afternoon is the best time for visits. Around two-thirty, after I finish work.”

“So where is he now?” Olive glanced around as if expecting to see him.

“At Linda Hunter’s. She’s his new babysitter.”

Olive frowned. “The whole town is going to have met that child before me.”

“What are you doing later today?”

“I’ll be at home, going over the accounts, probably.”

“I could bring him out to Coffee Creek Ranch for a visit.”

Olive’s eyes narrowed. “Maybe you could stay for dinner?”

Winnie forced a smile. “Sure. When would you like us? We can come anytime after four.”

“How about five, then? We’ll eat early so you can get Bobby home at a decent time.” Olive started to rise, then hesitated. “Maybe you could take a look at Brock’s cabin while you’re at the ranch. I was thinking it might make a good home for you and Bobby.”

Winnie had heard rumors that Olive wanted her and Bobby to live on Coffee Creek Ranch. Years ago Bob Lambert had built three cabins alongside a small lake on the ranch for Brock, B.J. and Corb.

Since Brock’s death, his cabin had been vacant—but moving in there had very little appeal to Winnie. “That’s a very kind offer. But my apartment is fine for now. Nice and close to work and Bobby’s babysitter.”

“Corb, Laurel and Stephanie are very comfortable in their cabin. And I’m sure you’d love living so close to them.”

That part was true. But it was living near Olive that had her worried.

“Trust me, your son will be a lot happier growing up on a ranch than he would be in town. Don’t you think it’s what Brock would have wanted?”

Winnie didn’t know what to say to that. Olive had a point. Brock probably would want her and Bobby to move to his cabin.

“In fact—” Olive’s eyes sparkled as an idea struck her “—why don’t I ask Bonny to freshen up the place today and then Corb can drive his truck into town and help you pack? I bet we could get most of your belongings moved tonight.”

Tonight.

Tonight?

“But—” Winnie floundered.

“I’ll stop in at Molly’s Market and pick up some groceries to stock your cupboards and the fridge. And I’m sure—”

“Wait,” Winnie finally said. “This is such a kind offer. But may I think about it a few days?”

“What’s to think about? I’m not just offering you a place to live, Winnie. I plan to sign over the papers. The cottage will belong to you, free and clear.”

It was incredibly generous. And yet, to Winnie, it still felt like a trap.

Olive placed her hand over Winnie’s. “You’re a mother now. And mothers put their children’s needs before their own. I’m sure it’s convenient for you to be close to your work. But think about Bobby. Your apartment is just too small. I’ve had three sons, so I know what boys need, and that’s space. Room to play and run and explore.”

Winnie stared mutely at Brock’s mother. In the back of her mind she registered the fact that the ladies in the booth beside them had left and some new customers had come in. But she didn’t look up to see who they were, or if Dawn needed help.

Right now all she could focus on was Olive.

The older woman had hit a nerve when she’d said a mother had to put her child’s interests first.

Was she being selfish by not taking Olive up on her offer?

“Maybe when Bobby’s older we could move into Brock’s cabin,” she finally said. “But he’s still small. My apartment is fine for now.”

Olive must have been so sure she was winning her case. Now her brow furrowed with consternation. “Are you serious? But isn’t it a one bedroom?”

Winnie didn’t want to answer. Because she knew Olive was right, that she needed a bigger space. There had to be another solution. If only—

And then, suddenly and unbelievably, Jackson was standing by their table. Winnie gazed up from his boots, to his worn jeans, his open jacket, his guarded face. He touched the tip of his hat. “Olive.” He nodded to the older woman, then to her. “Winnie.”

“Hello, Jackson.” Olive’s greeting was clipped. She clearly wasn’t pleased at the interruption.

But Winnie sure was. “Hi there, Jackson. Why don’t you sit down while I bring you both some coffee and cinnamon buns?”

“I didn’t come for food,” Jackson said quickly. “Just wondered when you wanted me to start work on that second bedroom for the apartment.”

She stared at him blankly. But only for a second. And then she smiled. “The sooner, the better.”

“This week is looking good. If I got some measurements now, I could have the supplies by Friday.”

“Sounds perfect.” Winnie turned back to Olive. “Bobby and I are going to be okay for the time being. But I do appreciate your offer. And I will definitely keep it in mind.”

Olive gathered her purse, then stood. Her gaze flickered sharply from Jackson to Winnie, then back again. She wasn’t a woman who liked losing. And Winnie could tell she wasn’t ready to throw in the towel yet.

“We’ll talk about this some more over dinner tonight.”

It wasn’t a question. It was a demand.

* * *

“WHAT A HERO. Thank you.” Winnie gave Jackson a grateful smile after Olive left the café. “Let me at least get you a coffee for the road.”

“It was nothing. Don’t bother.” She looked so pretty today in a soft blue sweater and jeans. He liked the way she wore her clothes. They hugged her curves without being so tight they looked like they’d shrunk in the wash. Suddenly remembering he shouldn’t even be noticing, he raised his gaze and followed her back to the kitchen.

“How did you guess that Olive had me cornered?”

“Been there myself, far too many times.”

“That was a brilliant cover story. Wish I could think so fast on my feet.” Ignoring his refusal, she poured coffee in a to-go cup, snapped on a cover then tried to hand it to him.

“I don’t—”

“—like coffee,” she finished. “Right. You’re forgetting I know you. I’ve seen you come in from the barn and head straight to the coffeemaker in the Lamberts’ kitchen. Black, right?”

“No thanks,” he insisted. Avoiding this place had always taken an enormous amount of willpower on his part. He had a feeling that once he tasted her coffee it would be even harder. “By the way, I wasn’t just blowing smoke with that offer.”

She put a hand on one of her curvy hips. “What do you mean?”

“I mean I can make you a second bedroom up there.”

She looked puzzled. “You can? But have you even seen the apartment?”

She’d invested an inheritance from her grandmother into the building several years ago, after she and Brock were engaged. The charming brick house on Main Street had seemed perfect at the time. She’d opened her café on the main floor and planned to live in the second-floor apartment until the wedding, after which she’d move to the ranch with Brock and find a renter for her apartment.

Things hadn’t worked out that way. But that had been the plan.

“Brock showed me around once, before you moved in. There’s an L-shaped living room, right?”

She nodded.

“Well, if we built a wall, you could have a separate room for Bobby. It would be small. But then, so is he, right?”

“Are you serious? You’d really do this for us?”

“Sure.” He didn’t believe he could atone for Brock’s death. But he could help his son—not to mention the woman who had been left standing at the altar. In fact, he felt obliged to do so. “It won’t take long. A few weeks. And I’d time the work for when you and Bobby are out.”

That would be a key part of the arrangement. The last thing he was trying to do here was spend more time with Winnie.

“I’m planning to work every day from ten to two. Bobby will be out at his babysitter’s.”

“Perfect. I’ll come by after morning chores and be back in time for the evening ones.” Luckily, being November, there wasn’t that much going on at the ranch. And he’d still have evenings to spend with Maddie. The sickly woman was no longer able to go out, and he usually made them supper, after which they played a round of cribbage then watched the news.

It was a simple, unexciting existence. But he felt good, knowing that his presence made a real difference to Maddie Turner’s life. Plus the older woman was pleasant company, undemanding even in her poor state of health.

“Let’s take a quick look right now. If you have time?”

He hesitated only a second. “Sure.”

They went up the back set of stairs to a small landing with a single door. It wasn’t locked, and soon they were in Winnie’s cheery apartment. Unlike the café, which was decorated in the warm, muted colors of autumn, this space had been painted white. Bright turquoise, tangerine and yellow cushions, and some framed posters on the walls added vivacity and made the space seem very much hers.

It didn’t take long for Winnie to show him around.

And it took even less time for him to realize that the space really was too small for her and her son. The problem was all the baby paraphernalia. There was a high chair in the kitchen. One of those baby jumping contraptions in the arched hallway. And toys everywhere.

“Sorry.” Winnie picked up a fire truck and placed it in a large plastic tub. “We were rushed this morning and didn’t have time to tidy up.”

“Maybe you should consider Olive’s offer. You’d have a lot more room in Brock’s cabin.”

Winnie glanced around the apartment, then sighed. “It is pretty crazy, isn’t it? But can I be honest with you?”

His heart thudded, warning him of potential danger. But he nodded, all the same.

“I loved Brock very much and a part of me probably always will. But I’m twenty-eight years old. I may be a single mother, and that adds complications, but eventually I’m going to want to date again. Who knows, I may even fall in love.”

She glanced at her hands, and for the first time Jackson noticed that while she still wore Brock’s ring, it was on the other hand now. “I could even get married,” she added softly.

Jackson could well imagine all of the above happening. And a dark envy for this unnamed man filled him with a wave of anger. He waited for the emotion to recede. “I’m sure none of the Lamberts expect you to grieve for Brock forever.”

“Besides Olive, you mean?”

He grinned.

“I’m sure you’re right. They’re good people. And Olive is making a generous offer. The cabin is gorgeous and I’d be next door to my best friend.... But can you imagine me inviting a new man out there? How could I possibly start dating right under the eyes of all those Lamberts?”

“I get it.” And he did. For as wonderful as the Lamberts were, they could also be overpowering. If she moved out to the ranch, he could well see Winnie’s social life being dominated by family events and gatherings.

Much the way his own had been before he moved to Maddie Turner’s.

He realized then that he had to make this work for her. He surveyed the room again, then nodded. “We’ll put the wall here.” He demonstrated with his hands. “And the door here.”

Winnie narrowed her eyes. Visualizing. “Yes. I like that idea. Are you sure it won’t take too much of your time?”

“Pretty straightforward job, actually.”

As long as he kept his distance and didn’t start imagining himself as the man she might start dating.

Chapter Four

As Winnie drove over the cattle guard on her way to the Lamberts’ ranch later that afternoon, the car shook and rattled. She glanced at her son, buckled into his car seat in the back. His eyes were huge, his face serious. “That was fun, wasn’t it?”

He returned her smile, obviously reassured that nothing was wrong.

“Those bumps keep the cows from getting off the ranch,” she explained. “Now we drive over a bridge and the car will shake again.”

The wooden bridge crossed over one of several unnamed creeks on the property. She drove up the final rise, then stopped the SUV and looked down at the snow-covered ranch, remembering the first time Brock had brought her here.

They’d just returned from a camping trip to Yellowstone, where he’d surprised her with a romantic moonlit proposal. He’d been anxious to make an official announcement to his family, but he’d taken the time to stop in this very spot.

“Your daddy was so proud of this place.” In her mind she could hear Brock’s voice. This land has belonged to our family since the mid-1800s.

Winnie had been impressed. Then and now. She’d grown up on a modest farm where they’d had a house, a barn that housed three milking cows, a shop and a shed for the tractor and farm equipment. But Coffee Creek had at least a dozen buildings, all painted white with green metal roofs. The network of outbuildings, pens, chutes and pastures filled the hollow of the wide valley.

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.”

“Yes, but he’s my son, not my husband. I’m not even thirty years old.” She hesitated, then added, “One day I might start dating again. Can you imagine how weird it would be for my boyfriend to have to drive out to my deceased fiancé’s ranch in order to pick me up?”

Laurel wrinkled her nose. “True enough. Darn. I was really hoping I could talk you into this. But it’s cool you’re thinking of dating. Who’s the guy?”

“There is no guy. I’m speaking hypothetically.”

“There are some awesome single cowboys in the area. I met several when I was working at the café.”

Winnie felt not even a spark of curiosity. She’d only brought up the possibility of dating again so her friend would stop pushing her to move out to the ranch.

“Speaking of the café.” She grasped the opportunity to change the subject. “I want to thank you again. If you hadn’t kept the Cinnamon Stick running while I was laid up at Mom and Dad’s, I’d be out of business by now.”

“Hey, I would have done it for free. And you insisted on paying me a salary.”

“Well, of course. It was the least I could do.”

“You’ve always been there for me when I needed you. And I’m glad I could finally do the same for you.”

Laurel was talking about the years when they’d been young girls on neighboring farms in the Highwood area. Laurel had been only eight when her mother died. Left alone with a cool, distant father, she’d been unofficially adopted by the Hays family. The two girls had spent so much time together they were like sisters—except they rarely fought.

“Tell me. Do you think Jackson’s doing okay?” Winnie had her eyes on him as she asked this. While he was listening to Corb talk, he was watching Bobby. What was he was thinking? She’d noticed how moved he’d been when he’d met her son earlier. Was it the likeness to Brock that got to him?

Laurel sighed. “Corb’s worried about him. We hoped moving to Silver Creek Ranch and working for Maddie Turner might help. But he seems as withdrawn and sad as ever.”

“Did you see how choked up he got when he met Bobby?”

“Yes. But so was Corb. And Olive can’t take her eyes off him, either.”

“I’m a little worried that people are going to expect Bobby to be exactly like his father as he grows up.”

Laurel nodded thoughtfully. “I see what you mean. I hate to say it, but maybe you’re right to keep a little distance between your son and Coffee Creek Ranch.”

And by Coffee Creek Ranch, they both knew she meant Olive.

* * *

WHEN THE EVENING was over, Jackson volunteered to load Bobby’s gifts into Winnie’s car. He wasn’t looking for opportunities to be alone with Winnie, but Laurel and Corb had left five minutes earlier when Stephanie started fussing for her nighttime bottle. And he couldn’t leave Winnie to manage alone.

The babies had managed to make quite a mess and it took him a couple of trips to get everything in the trunk. By then Olive had said her farewells and Winnie had her son strapped into his seat. By the angle of Bobby’s head, Jackson suspected the little guy was already asleep.

Winnie was wearing a red coat that looked great with her dark, wavy hair. The night was clear, the air cold and crisp. Already the tip of Winnie’s nose was turning pink.

She waited until he’d emptied the last of the packages, then closed the trunk. “What a lot of loot. And it’s still six weeks until Christmas.”

“She’ll spoil him then, too,” Jackson predicted.

“God, I hope not. I don’t think I have enough room for all of this, let alone more.”

“Maybe I should build in a storage unit in the new bedroom?”

“What an awesome idea.”

He went to open the driver’s-side door for her, but she didn’t get in. Instead she surprised him by placing a hand on his shoulder.

“I’m glad you were at the dinner tonight. I wasn’t sure you would be.”

“I didn’t want to be,” he admitted. “Corb pretty much twisted my arm.”

“Was it because of Olive that you didn’t want to come? Or me?”

“A little of both.”

“Ouch. Brutally honest, aren’t you?”

“I didn’t say that to hurt your feelings.”

“Oh. So it was a compliment, then?”

“Damn it, Winnie. It’s complicated.” She couldn’t know how hard this was for him. If only he could see her the way he saw Laurel, Cassidy or even B.J.’s new wife, Savannah. They were all beautiful women, too.

But only Winnie set his blood on fire.

And it was so, so wrong. It had been wrong when Brock was alive. And it was just as wrong now that he was gone.

“I’ll come by the café tomorrow afternoon to start work on the new bedroom.”

“Are you sure? If seeing me is such a chore, maybe I should hire someone else to do the work.”

“Hire? I wasn’t asking you to pay me.” He sighed. Somehow this conversation had gone completely sideways. “Brock would want me to do this. For the baby. For you. So please let me build you the extra bedroom, Win.”

She looked at him as if there was something missing, something she wanted but couldn’t find.

He was relieved when she finally turned away.

“Okay, Jackson. I won’t say no. You can start the work whenever you want. And I promise to stay out of your way.”

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