The Rancher's Christmas Princess by Christine Rimmer

changing.
His life hadn’t really been what anyone would call normal for months now. He
needed consistency and routine. He needed them badly.
    When he started throwing cooked carrots, she realized the meal
was through.
    “Excuse me,” she said. “I think it’s time for a bath....”
    “No!” exclaimed Ben. “No, no, no!” He threw another carrot. It
hit Marcus on the cheek. Belle rose then and quickly wiped his hands, as he
fussed and wiggled and made his displeasure known.
    “I’ll take him,” Charlotte volunteered.
    “Thanks,” Belle said. “Don’t get up. I’ve got him.”
    “He’s a feisty one,” said Silas, with what actually sounded
like approval. “We McCades are a feisty bunch.”
    “Oh, are you, indeed?” Charlotte asked Preston’s father in a
tone that could only be called flirtatious.
    Silas gave her a look. A very warm, appreciative look. “Yes,
ma’am. We most certainly are.”
    Charlotte and Silas? Surely not...
    Ben wailed as she scooped him up out of the chair. “No. Belle,
no! No, no, no!”
    She left the dining room in a hurry, Ben flailing in her
arms.
    Upstairs, she took him to his crib and put him into it.
    “No. No, Belle, no, no...” He cried and shook his head and
waved his little fists.
    “I am sorry you are so upset.”
    “No, no, no, no, no!”
    “I am going to leave the room now, Benjamin.”
    “No! No, no, no no...”
    “I will return when you are quiet.”
    “No, no, no, no!”
    Resolutely, she turned and left the room, his wails and “no”s
ringing in her ears. With a sigh, she shut the door and sagged against it. His
cries were muted now, but no less hard to bear. She knew that such behavior was
not the least out of the ordinary for an almost-two-year-old. But still, it
wasn’t easy to let him cry it out, especially given that he’d lost his mom such
a short time ago.
    “Could you maybe use a little support?” Preston. He stood down the hallway, at the head of the stairs.
    She blew out a slow breath and smoothed the front of her
sweater where Ben had gripped it in his angry fist. “Support is most welcome.
There’s nothing as exhausting as a tired, frustrated toddler.”
    His mouth had a wry twist to it. “I think I’m going to need a
nanny.”
    “Yes.” She straightened from the door and went to join him.
“I’m sure you will. You can’t run a horse ranch and be with Ben all day.”
    He dropped down to sit on the top step. “But not right away. I
want him to...know me, to come to trust me first, before he gets attached to a
nanny.” He patted the empty space at his side.
    “That makes complete sense to me.” She sat next to him, her
ears tuned to the sounds behind the closed door, her mind on those moments in
the attic, when she had yearned only to kiss the man beside her a second time.
“You’ll need to hire someone by the time I leave, though....” He wore a blue
shirt that matched his eyes and he smelled of soap and some bracing,
clean-scented aftershave.
    “Yeah,” he said quietly. “I get that. Will do.”
    From behind the door, the nos were becoming less frequent, the
wailing distinctly diminished. She tipped her head, listening. “He’ll be ready
for his bath in just a few minutes.”
    “Is he...is he all right? I mean, Dad said not to get my long
johns in a twist over a little temper tantrum. But is that all it is? It can’t
be easy for him, losing his mom, his whole life turned upside down...”
    “He is all right,” she promised.
“Your father’s advice is sound. But yes, it doesn’t hurt to be extra aware of
Ben’s moods now, to be sure all his needs are addressed. Losing one’s mother is
terribly painful and difficult at any age.”
    He made a noise in the affirmative. “Yeah.”
    “But you know that,” she said softly.
    He stared out over the foyer. “It was a long time ago, when my
mom died. I hardly remember her. But I do kind of remember that it was bad, that
there was...an empty place. A big one that