you,” she said, rising from his bed, slipping on her cap, tucking it low around her ears. How could a grown woman manage to look so adorable?
“No problem.”
“What time do you eat breakfast?” she asked, having almost reached the door.
“Usually around seven, but—”
“I’ll have something fixed for you by then.” The vulnerability she’d earlier shown had been replaced by an impenetrable mask. The chilly set to her mouth made the night’s brutal cold seem downright balmy.
“Don’t go to any trouble.”
“I’m not.”
She’d opened the door on the howling wind and stepped outside when he called, “Jess?”
“Yes?” she asked, tone wary.
“I am sorry.”
“About what?” Her cheeks and nose were already turning pink from the cold.
“Your daughter. Your husband. Your colt. You’ve had a rough time of it, and—”
“Mr. Moore, please don’t.” The wind swept hair in front of her eyes, and she impatiently pushed it away. “The girls and I got along fine before you got here, and we’ll be fine long after you go.”
“Did I say you wouldn’t be fine? All I said was—”
“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be rude, but I really should get back to the house. Thank you for agreeing to check in on Honey.”
He nodded, but he could’ve saved himself the effort as she was already out the door.
What was it with her always running away? Why wouldn’t she talk to him? Why was she shutting herself off from the very practical fact that if she were going to run any kind of successful ranch, there was no way in Sam Hill she could ever do it on her own? And what was she planning on doing about her kid? Lexie. The girl was obviously in a bad way.
Catching his reflection in the dresser’s mirror, he scowled. “What’re you doing, man?”
Too bad for him, the stranger looking back at him had no more clue why he cared about Jess Cummings or her little girl or her ranch than he did.
Chapter Three
“Mommy? Is he dead?” Ashley poked her thumb in her mouth and grasped Jess’s hand.
“No, hon, Mr. Moore’s fine. Just sleeping.” Six in the morning on Christmas Eve, freezing rain clattering like a million dimes on the barn’s tin roof, Gage Moore was sound asleep in Honey and Buttercup’s stall, using a hay bale for a pillow and a saddle blanket for warmth. The air in the barn was more bearable than outside, but still cold enough to see your breath. It took a good man to sleep in conditions like this just to look after a horse—it was something her husband would have done.
“Thought he was leaving?” Lexie asked, arms crossed, shooting their guest her customary glare. Jess’s stomach tightened. What was she going to do about the girl? She used to be all smiles and full of life. Now, she was sullen and argumentative and wielded her pout like a weapon.
“Sweetheart, he is leaving, but the roads are a mess, so he can’t exactly get to Texas. Not only that, but it’s almost Christmas. Don’t you think the charitable thing to do would be to at least be polite? After all, he did come here to help us.”
“We don’t need help.”
The girl’s demeanor softened when she knelt to stroke Honey’s muzzle.
Buttercup neighed.
“Hey, girl,” Jess crooned, keeping her voice low so as not to wake Gage. “Your baby’s looking much better.”
“Mommy?” Ashley asked.
“Yes, hon?”
“What’s chair-it-abble mean?”
Jess patted the mare’s rust-colored rump. “When someone does something nice for someone not because they have to, but because they want to.”
“Oh.” The little girl took off her coat, lightly settling it over Gage.
Whereas moments earlier, Jess’s stomach had been knotted with worry for her eldest daughter, her heart lightened at her youngest girl’s good deed. Though her green coat barely covered the large man’s shoulder, the generosity of the child’s good intentions filled the whole barn.
“You’re lame,” Lexie said, standing and heading for the door. “Because of him, our Christmas is ruined.”
Jess sighed.
Why was it that just when she thought everything might be all right, something—or, in this case, somebody—brought her hopes crashing down?
“We should just cancel Christmas.”
“Lexie, stop. Just stop, or Santa’s bringing you nothing but a bag of switches.”
“Good. Because I don’t even believe in Santa.”
“He’s real!” Ashley shouted.
“Shut up!” Lexie shouted back.
Gage shifted and groaned. “What’s going on?”
“Lexie Margaret Cummings,” Jess said, hands on her hips, “that’s enough out of you. Apologize to your sister, then march straight to your room.”
The girl’s apology consisted of sticking out her tongue before taking off for the barn’s door.
“Lexie!” Jess shouted. “Lexie! Get back here this instant, before—”
“Let her go,” Gage said, stepping up behind her.
Ashley had her thumb back in her mouth as she quietly watched her sister go. “Mommy?”
“Yes, sweetie?”
“How come Lexie hates me?”
Jess pulled her youngest into a hug. “She doesn’t hate you, pumpkin. I think she hates—” Chest aching from bearing the weight of both of her girls’ emotional pain, Jess couldn’t go on. Not here, with Gage looking on. What her daughter hated, but was too emotionally immature to vocalize, was most likely every man on the planet for living when her daddy had died. How did Jess make Lexie see it was all right for her to go on with her life? To be happy again and run and skip and play jump rope? But then how did she teach her daughter all of that when Jess didn’t begin to know herself?
Behind her, Gage cleared his throat. “Honey made it just fine through the night. He’s a scrapper, Jess…. Just like your little girl.”
With everything in her, Jess wanted to fight him, this virtual stranger. After all, what did he know about her daughter or anything else? But he had spent the night in the frigid
