The Rancher's Expectant Christmas. Karen Templeton
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gosh. About eleven years, huh?”
“Yep.”
Only once had Emily and her parents visited the ranch after Deanna’s mother’s death, the summer before Deanna turned fifteen. Why, she never had figured out, since it’d been no secret Aunt Margaret thought her sister insane for hooking up with “that cowboy” after—or so the story went—Deanna’s grandparents had taken their two daughters skiing at the nearby resort, and there’d been a dance, or something, where the twenty-one-year-old Katherine Alderman had met a handsome, older rancher and fallen in love. And then chose to live in the middle of nowhere. So to say that last visit had been unexpected was a gross understatement.
In any case, her thirteen-year-old cousin immediately crushed on the sixteen-year-old Josh, following him around like a puppy dog. And Josh had been the epitome of patience and kindness, which had melted Deanna’s heart—even as it drove her aunt straight to Crazyville, clearly panicked that her daughter would somehow suffer the same fate as her baby sister. But although Deanna had rolled her eyes—since Emily was an eighth-grader, for heaven’s sake—considering her own feelings about living on the ranch, and what she remembered of her mother’s chronic wistfulness, she sympathized with her aunt’s concerns more than she might’ve otherwise.
She therefore could only imagine Aunt Margaret’s relief that Emily was now engaged to a senator’s son, thus realizing the proper happy-ever-after so rudely snatched from her younger sister.
“Anyway,” Deanna said, “I need to go—” Literally, before she peed right there in the chair. “So I’ll be back a week from Sunday, I’ll take a taxi in—”
“Like hell. I’m coming to get you. And don’t even think about arguing with me.”
Deanna smiled. She really did love her cousin. Even if she was...Emily. The poster child for impeccable social graces and never putting a foot wrong. Then again, Emily put up with Deanna, too, so there you were. “Fine,” she said, laughing. “I’ll see you soon—”
“That designer from Santa Fe is here,” Gus said from the office door, not even trying to hide his disgust. As far as the housekeeper was concerned, designers and decorators and their ilk were for outsiders who wanted to make sure their ridiculously overpriced houses looked authentically Southwest. Gus thought the place was fine as it was. Gus thought she and Josh were nuts to hire someone to fix something that didn’t need fixing.
But mostly, Gus was ticked as hell they were selling. In fact, he’d barely spoken to either her or Josh for a good twenty-four hours after they told him. Yes, they. Since even though Deanna tried to take blame for the decision, Josh insisted it was mutual. Never mind that more than once over the past couple days she’d catch him staring at the mountains, or one of the paddocks or barns, with a pensive expression that pulverized her heart. And if she hadn’t had this baby to think of—if she wasn’t the only person to think about the baby—maybe she would’ve rethought things.
But not only was she her little girl’s only champion, she’d let her heart rule her head for far too long. So this time, it was about being logical. Practical. A grownup. And Josh was a big boy, he’d land on his feet. Or someplace even better than the Vista.
If there was such a thing.
“I’ll be there in a minute,” she said. “Did you offer her coffee?”
“Since I didn’ fall down a well in the last little while,” Gus said in his heavy New Mexican Spanish accent, “yes, I did. You wan’ me to call Mr. Josh? I don’ think he’s far.”
“Please. Thanks. Since the Realtor should be along any minute.”
The old guy tromped out on bowed legs that attested to his many years as a ranch hand before opting for inside duty, and Deanna felt a rush of affection for the man who’d done his fair share of mothering her, too, once her own was gone. Another, much sharper rush of feelings followed, as it occurred to her once she left she’d probably never see him again.
Then, as she came out of the powder room she caught Josh in the entryway, brushing fresh, light snow off his shoulders, and she realized she’d probably never see him again, either. Which logically shouldn’t’ve bothered her, considering how little she’d seen him, anyway, in the last several years. Hadn’t even thought about him all that much, to be truthful. But in the past few days...
Deanna released another breath. Just another hyperemotional preggo, nothing to see here, move along. Sure, being back had stirred a lot of memories—how could it not? And she was vulnerable and shaky and more grief-stricken than she probably even realized, and not only about losing Dad, although that would’ve been enough by itself. And dammit, Josh was about to sacrifice something for her that obviously meant the world to him—
“Dee?” he said, frowning. “You okay?”
“You bet,” she said, girding her achy loins. And back. Lord, if the kid would move, already, that would be good—
The doorbell rang. Josh let the Realtor in, shaking his hand, polite as hell. Even when the man’s cold blue eyes swept over the great room with the practiced ease of a lion checking out the savannah for prey. Honestly, the dude was practically licking his chops.
The designer—a dark-haired beauty swimming in suede and turquoise—stood as they entered, grinning for the Realtor, who’d actually recommended her. “Toby!” she said, opening her arms for the much taller man to walk into. “So nice to see you!” Then, still smiling, she turned to Deanna, and something in her deep brown eyes put Deanna immediately at ease. Unlike her sidekick whose presence sent chills down her spine.
“Ohmigoodness,” the other woman said after introductions were made, her gaze landing on Deanna’s middle before lifting again. “We don’t have much time, do we? Before the baby comes?”
“Oh. No. I mean, yes, she’s due soon. But I’ll be home long before that happens—”
“And I don’t mean to rush you folks,” Toby said, making Deanna blink in the glare of his too-white teeth. “But unfortunately I’ve got a showing at eleven in Taos, so if you don’t mind...?”
The smile lit on Josh, standing off to one side with a scowl so deeply etched it took a full two seconds to let go of Josh’s face. At which point he smiled—not as brightly, thank God—and gave a little nod. “Of course. Right this way...”
* * *
An hour later, his head spinning with words like comparables and resale value and vintage charm, Josh sank onto the sofa in the office, his arms tightly folded over his chest and his mood the darkest since the day he watched Jordan walk out to her truck without even looking back.
On a sigh, he leaned into the cushions to glare up at the hand-forged chandelier, half wishing it would drop on his head and put him out of his misery. Out in the hall he could hear Deanna and Tessa the designer softly laughing. The gal seemed nice enough, and at least she hadn’t wanted to “update” every damn thing in the place, although she did have some valid suggestions to make things look a little less like you might find Billy the Kid’s bones behind one of the doors. Even if he was gonna stay, he’d probably go along with most of her suggestions.
The Realtor dude, though...jeebus. Like a villain right out of a Disney cartoon, complete with dollar signs in his eyes. Said he’d have an appraiser come give them an accurate number, but the ballpark figure he’d suggested was even more than Josh had figured on. No wonder the man was practically drooling. Hell, maybe Josh should ditch the horse business and take up selling real estate. At least houses didn’t kick if they got pissed at you.
Finally he heard the front door close; a moment later Deanna joined him in the room, carefully lowering herself into a wingback chair a few feet away.
“That went pretty well, don’t you think?”
Josh grunted.
Deanna tapped her fingers on the arms of the chair for a moment, then said, very gently, “At least they didn’t think