Free The Rancher's Christmas Princess by Christine Rimmer Page B

with the others downstairs. I
thought maybe I could help.”
    It was a job he could have easily managed on his own. But
still, it was nice of her to offer a hand. “I warn you, it’s dusty up
there.”
    “A little dust is not going to hurt me.” She wore gray wool
pants and a tan sweater and a pair of low-heeled dark boots and she had her hair
swept up, a few curls loose along her cheeks.
    He wanted to reach out, catch one of those curls, rub it
between his fingers, to bend close and breathe in the tempting, heady scent of
her. But he only shrugged. “All right, then. This way...”
    The attic door was near the back stairs. He pulled the chain to
lower it and extended the stairs to the floor. He went up, with her behind him.
At the top, the light string dangled from the rafters. He gave it a tug.
    Bare bulbs glowed along the roofline. He stepped clear of the
ladder. She climbed the rest of the way up and then followed him as he made his
way, half-crouched, to where the stuff of his childhood was stacked. He pulled
off one tarp and then the other, revealing old toys and a couple of trunks and a
few pieces of furniture, including the wooden high chair with the back carved
with teddy bears twined in ivy. The tray was also of wood. It lifted on a simple
hinge.
    “A rocking horse,” she marveled, touching the big toy’s white
head, the curling golden mane. She set it to rocking. “It’s a beauty. I haven’t
seen one of these in years and years.”
    “Paint’s a little faded, worn in spots...”
    “Was it yours?”
    “And my dad’s before me. And I believe my grandfather’s before
him. I think some long-lost great-great-uncle made it. A carpenter, I think he
was.”
    “Oh, and look. A rocking chair...” She rocked it as she had the
horse. It creaked just a little. It was plain, of dark wood. He didn’t remember
it. Had his mother used it when he was a baby?
    He had no idea. “Don’t tell me. You want me to bring both of
them down, along with the high chair.”
    Her eyes gleamed at him through the dusty dimness. “The rocker,
right away, yes. It’s nice to have one, especially for reading to him before
bed. The rocking motion helps put him to sleep.”
    “I’ll bet.”
    “They grow so fast. Soon, he’ll be too old for rocking to
sleep....” Her voice trailed off on an echo of sadness. And then she seemed to
shake herself. She said brightly, “And you must promise me that you’ll bring the
horse down for him when he’s a little older.”
    He was doubtful. “Do kids even care about rocking horses these
days? Don’t they have Nintendos and iPads and all those other electronic toys to
keep them busy?”
    “Yes. And electronic devices are wonderful, but so is a rocking
horse. Especially a fine one with a golden mane and a gilt-edged red saddle and
flaring nostrils like this fellow.”
    God, she was beautiful. It wasn’t fair, wasn’t right. How
beautiful she was...
    “Preston.” She said his name so softly.
    He remembered to breathe again. “Yeah?”
    She only looked at him as he stared back at her. For a long
time. Too long, really. They both knew it, as they stood there between the
rocking horse and the high chair, in the light of the bare bulb a few feet
away.
    He never should have kissed her last night. He realized that
now. If he hadn’t kissed her, he wouldn’t know what he was missing. It was
probably not a good idea for any man to get a taste of paradise. What man could
live with just a taste?
    She glanced away. He wanted to reach out, turn her face to him
again, pull her close, cover that soft, fine mouth with his.
    But he didn’t. He resolutely kept his yearning arms at his
sides.
    And at last, she looked at him again. Now that golden gaze was
careful—and a little too bright. “Well, shall we carry the high chair down?”
    “You go ahead. I can manage it.”
    * * *
    Belle wasn’t surprised when Ben grew fussy during
dinner.
    It had been a hectic day. And his world just kept on