A Fortune's Children's Christmas by Barbara Boswell, Lisa Jackson, Linda Turner Page B

up his heels, long, spindly legs flashing in the afternoon sunlight.
    “Yeah, bein’ as he lived here.”
    “Wait a minute.” Her attention was suddenly riveted on Ray. “He didn’t live here. I thought he ranched in Wyoming and Western Washington and—”
    “He did. But he was raised here.” Ray’s eyebrows drew together thoughtfully, and he took a long pull on his filter tip. “His folks owned this place.”
    “Zeke Fortune was his father,” she said, wondering why she’d never made the connection. She knew Chase was related somehow to Zeke, of course, but there were so many branches of the Fortune clan that she had never put two and two together and Aaron never spoke much about Zeke Fortune.
    “You didn’t know?”
    “He never mentioned it,” she said, stung. Why? Yes, Chase was a guarded man, a man who valued his own privacy, but they’d become so close, and this was not just any little topic he’d avoided.
    “Well, I can’t say as I blame him. A lot of bad memories here for him.” Ray pointed a finger toward the north field where the grass was growing long and green as it climbed up a ridge. “That spot up there is where the tractor that killed Chase’s twin brother overturned, pinning poor Chet beneath it.”
    Lesley’s stomach turned over. She thought she might be sick. “I had no idea.” Her heart twisted painfully.
    Shaking his head, Ray smoked for a few minutes. “That was the beginning of the end for Zeke’s family,” he thought aloud. “Once Chet died, the rest of the family fell apart at the seams.”
    Lesley felt as cold inside as all of winter. Only on a few occasions did Chase mention his family, and whenever he did, it was in broader terms that included his great-aunt and various cousins.
    “Well, I’d best be gettin’ along. I just wanted to see how you and that baby of yours were doin’.”
    “We’re okay,” she said automatically. “Angela’s down for her nap right now, but she’s growing like a weed.”
    “They all do.” Stomping out his cigarette with the toe of his worn boot, he eyed the small herd of horses grazing near the barn. “Let me know if you ever want to sell any of your stock. I just might be interested.” His gaze narrowed thoughtfully on her bay broodmare. “Matter of fact, I could use three or four.”
    “I’m not interested in selling,” she said, refusing to give in just yet. Sure she had bills and a mortgage that didn’t seem to quit, but her horses were the reason she stayed here. She planned to sell off a few, of course, maybe later in the summer, but not yet, not when she was feeling the pinch of desperation tug at her wallet.
    “Fair enough. When you are, just give me a jingle.”
    Lesley watched him climb into his old truck andleave, but she wasn’t thinking about the plume of blue exhaust that followed Ray’s pickup or his offer of buying some of her horses.
    Absently she pulled on her gloves and dropped dried corn into the freshly turned earth. She worked by rote, not having to concentrate, her thoughts instead turned toward Chase.
    They’d been lovers for three months, and though she felt lighthearted whenever she was around him, she’d suspected that something was bothering Chase. Something important. He hadn’t said a word, been more than attentive, but beneath his smile, he was guarded. Lesley had told herself she was being sensitive, that he was just working hard to turn his ranch around, that he seemed distant because of his worry about his bargain with Kate, but deep inside she felt it was something more, something deeper, something to do with her.
    She’d convinced herself she was imagining things, but now she wasn’t so sure. She looked around her ranch and saw it through new eyes. Aaron hadn’t bought the life insurance he’d promised, and Lesley had been making payments to the bank on the mortgage rather than keeping up with repairs. The farmhouse needed a fresh coat of paint and new gutters, the barn could be