the looks of her, she hadn’t mended her ways over the years. She looked closer to sixty-four than forty-four. And he really did not need her reappearing after all these years with some unmarried mommy and baby in tow. No matter how stunningly beautiful that little mother might be.
A brisk wind rattled dead leaves across the crisp brown grass surrounding the house. Dixon turned up his collar and hunched his shoulders to protect his ears as he descended the gentle slope that led him the fifty yards or so to the barn, deliberately turning his attention to the waiting livestock and away from his unwanted guests.
The red sheet metal structure loomed dark and large in the cold, windy night. Newly oiled, the door hinges merely whispered as he pushed the narrow panel inward and stepped over the sill. Three horses and the restless heifer snuffled and shifted in the loamy blackness. The body heat of the livestock warmed this corner considerably, but if the outdoor temperature dropped much further, the heaters he’d installed last year would cycle on.
Reaching up, he switched on an overhead light and swung it to illuminate the nearest stall, where the heifer awaited his attention. He’d haltered and hobbled her, as the local veterinarian, Stark Burns, had suggested, to keep her from opening the stitches that ran from the dew claw to midhock of her left hind leg. She was not a happy patient. Using the pill pusher, he got the medication down her then unwrapped the leg, applied the prescribed salve and put on a new bandage, while avoiding the vicious swipe of an angry tail.
The wound was still fresh, and he couldn’t see any improvement yet. Worse, the heifer appeared to be losing weight. That could be disastrous for a pregnant cow. Dixon tipped extra feed into her trough and mixed a few sugar cubes into it to tempt her before leaving her to go see to the horses.
He took care of the geldings, Jag and Phantom, first. Both were big, powerful cutting horses that he’d dearly love to show professionally. The stallion, Romeo, was meant to be his ticket to competing with the other two horses. The sleek chestnut bay had the bloodlines of cutting horse royalty, but he’d been born early and extremely small. Dixon had taken the chance that he would grow to a suitable size, and he’d been right. By spring Romeo would be old enough to start training. Then all they needed was one good showing at competition. After that, Romeo would get a chance to prove he could produce—or, more accurate, reproduce. The stud fees should allow Dixon to try his hand at cutting horse competitions without risking the ranch or his normal income. It was a long-range plan that his dad fully endorsed, and Dixon had worked patiently to bring to fruition.
As was his habit, he spent some time with the skittish stallion, gentling and grooming the animal. While he worked with his hands, his mind worked over his problems, specifically his mother. He couldn’t deny that at times he felt lonely living out here on the ranch by himself, but he had plans and a purpose for his life, and he wasn’t about to let Jackie throw a wrench into all that. The Bible told him to honor his mother, and maybe Jackie had given birth to him, but she hadn’t raised him, not really. His grandmother had been his real mother. He wasn’t at all sure that he owed Jackie honor or anything else.
Resolved, he put away the curry brush, turned out the light and left the barn for the house. He’d tell Jackie that she and her friends could stay the night, then he’d take a shower and figure out something for dinner. Surely they could manage one difficult night without resorting to ugliness. He prayed about that as he trudged up the slope to the house.
The wind felt bitterly sharp, as if the temperature had dropped ten degrees in the hour or less he’d been in the barn. He let himself into the welcomed warmth of central heating and immediately caught the heady aroma of sizzling steak, his stomach growling. Frown in place, he stepped into the doorway of the kitchen even as he shucked his coat, his hat still on his head. Pretty Fawn stood at his stove turning a slab of chicken-fried steak in his biggest cast-iron skillet. Evidently they’d brought groceries because he certainly hadn’t had that steak on hand. Before he could comment, he heard Jackie playfully say, “Boo!”
A quick glance showed her playing peekaboo with the baby, who sat in a carrier on top of the table, waving her arms excitedly while Jackie draped a soft blanket over her little face and quickly pulled it away.
“I see you, Bella Jo. Peekaboo!”
Instantly, Dixon flashed back to an early memory, one he had almost forgotten.
He crouched behind his grandmother’s easy chair, quiet as a mouse. Suddenly his mom popped over the top, reaching down to tickle him.
“Boo! I found you, Dixon Lee. Mama always finds her boy.”
She scrambled around to sit on the floor with him, hugging and tickling. They were both laughing when his grandmother came in to say that she was going into town.
“Wait a minute. We’ll go with you,” Jackie said eagerly.
Grandma made a face and shook her head. “No, Jackie. It’ll take too long, and it’s way too much trouble for a quick trip to the store.”
“But I haven’t been out of the house in days except to work.”
“Well, whose fault is that? You should’ve thought of the consequences of your actions a long time ago.”
Setting him aside, Jackie stiffly rose. “I made a mistake, and I’m never going to stop paying for it, am I?” she choked out.
His grandmother looked at him then, and Dixon thought, Me. I’m the mistake. His grandmother rolled her eyes, then turned and left the room. A moment later his mother also left the room, slamming the door angrily behind her and calling for his grandfather.
How long had it been before he had seen her again? It had seemed like weeks, but he knew it had probably only been days. To a boy of three, days might as well have been weeks, though. The old bitterness welled up in him.
“You can’t stay,” he announced baldly, the words out before he even thought them. Jackie looked up, surprise and dismay on her lined face before she carefully masked her emotions. He lifted off his hat, steeling himself, and plunked it onto the hook beside the door before tossing aside his coat and actually moving into the other room. “You are not going to ruin my Christmas,” he said, trying to sound reasonable, “and we both know that’s what will happen if you stay.”
“I’ve never wanted to ruin anything for you, Dixon,” his mother said softly, sitting back in her chair, “but we have nowhere else to go.”
We? Dixon shook his head. So, it was a package deal. He turned his attention to Fawn. Did Jackie think dragging along this young beauty and her kid would soften him, make him more apt to open his home? What an opinion she must have of him, of men in general.
“And where’s your husband in all this?” he demanded of the dark-haired beauty. If they were asking him to take them in, he had a right to know. Didn’t he?
She looked stunned, standing there with a plate of chicken-fried steaks piled one on top of another, her dark, tip-tilted eyes wide. “I beg your pardon?”
“Your husband,” Dixon repeated. “Why isn’t he taking care of y’all?”
Blinking, she shook her head. “I’m not married.”
No, of course she wasn’t. Why was he not surprised? He slid his mother a disgusted look and stomped out of the room.
Going straight to his bedroom, he made short work of getting clean and dressed again. He was not—not—in any way pleased or relieved or even curious about how or why the woman
