The Rancher's Christmas Princess by Christine Rimmer Page B

here.
We’ll find a nice one and cut it down.”
    She got her legs under her. They were strangely shaky. Holding
the banister for support, she rose to her feet. “Hear that?” He gazed up at her.
What she saw in those summer-sky eyes of his made her knees go weak all over
again. “Silence. Sweet, sweet silence. I do believe that Ben is ready for his
bath.”
    He rose. And then he just stood there, gazing down at her as
she gazed up at him.
    She wanted to reach for him, to pull that dark gold head down,
until his lips touched hers, to thread her fingers in his hair. She yearned to reach for him. That yearning rose, like a
tide. It spilled upward, overflowing the boundaries of her heart.
    He asked, so gently, “Belle?”
    She didn’t answer. Couldn’t answer.
Resolutely, she turned and led the way back to Ben’s room.

Chapter Six
    W hen Belle opened the door, Pres looked in
and saw Ben sitting quietly in his crib.
    Belle asked, “Are you ready for your bath now?”
    The kid seemed to actually consider the question. And then he
nodded. “Bath. Yes.”
    So she went on into the room, scooped him out of the crib and
took him to the bathroom, where she filled the tub, helped him out of his
clothes and into the warm water.
    Ben was subdued. Almost as though he felt guilty for being such
a pill. More likely, though, he was just plain exhausted after a hectic day.
Plus, he’d expended some serious energy having that tantrum. That had probably
worn him out, too. He sat in the tub and yawned and halfheartedly poked at a
couple of floaty toys Belle had put in there for him.
    The blue-tiled bathroom was good-size, with both a shower stall
and a tub. Plenty of room for Pres to hang out near the door, out of the
way.
    Belle knelt on the bath mat, soaped up a cloth and washed Ben’s
face. She sudsed up his little body. Pres watched her, thinking how much he
liked her brown hair with its streaks of red and gold. He liked the way she held
her back so straight and proud, even on her knees beside a bathtub.
    He’d wanted to kiss her, back there at the top of the
stairs.
    He’d wanted it bad.
    And he would have done it if she’d given him the slightest
encouragement. He knew she was right not to, but that didn’t make him want to
kiss her any less.
    Ben yawned again. He slumped his soapy shoulders and let out a
long sigh. Then he frowned and all at once, he seemed to be seeing Pres. Really seeing him, standing there by the door. “Hi,”
he said, suddenly bright and alert. “Hi.”
    “Hey, there, Benjamin. How are you doin’?”
    Was that too many words? Ben looked at him kind of puzzled. And
then, finally, he said, “Hi,” again.
    “That’s your daddy,” Belle told him, simple and direct and
straight-ahead as you please. Pres’s heart ached—a good ache—and his throat felt
tight. She dribbled water over those fat little shoulders, rinsing off the soap
bubbles. “Can you say that? Say, ‘Hi, Daddy.’”
    Ben looked at her and laughed. “Belle.” He put his little hand
over her mouth. “Belle...”
    She kissed his fingers. “Say, ‘Hi, Daddy.’”
    Ben laughed again. And then he got serious. He looked directly
at Pres and said, “Hi, Da-da.”
    Now, there was a moment worth waiting half a lifetime for, a
moment a man holds in his heart for all of his days. “Ben,” he replied, his
voice only cracking a little bit. “Hi.”
    * * *
    The next day, Wednesday, Silas and Preston had work that
couldn’t wait. They were up and gone before Belle and Charlotte brought Ben
downstairs.
    Preston had left Belle a note under a magnet on the
refrigerator.
    “Here,” said Charlotte. “Let me have that handsome boy.”
    “Shar-Shar...” Ben reached for her.
    Belle handed him over and took the note off the
refrigerator.
    Charlotte put Ben in the high chair. She sent Belle a
questioning glance. “Anything important?”
    “Preston says he and Silas will be back in by early afternoon.
And if we go into town this morning,