LITMIR.BIZ

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gift of her life. “Does this mean I’m finally a grandmother?”

      “I wouldn’t know,” was all she could think to say. Jenna looked so disappointed that Melanie almost felt as if she should apologize again. “Will and I—”

      “There you are!” An elderly white-haired gentleman, a wide grin splitting his tanned face into a thousand wrinkles, burst into the room. He clapped Jared on the back, peered at Beth over Jenna’s shoulder, and then eyed Melanie with an expression she could only interpret as sympathetic. “You must be Will’s friend from Washington. Glad to meet you.”

      She took the hand he offered. “And you must be Uncle Joe.”

      He nodded, releasing her fingers after giving them a gentle squeeze of approval. “That’s right, darlin’. Tell me something, do you play bridge?”

      Before Melanie could answer, Jenna spoke. “Let the kids sit down and eat. You can arrange your card games over supper.”

      Melanie saw Jared peer into another room. “Where’s Aunt Bitty?”

      “Having a nap, I guess,” Joe declared. “With that idiotic dog of hers.”

      “We’d better wake her up and tell her you’re here or she’ll have a fit,” Jenna said.

      “She can’t hear a damn thing with those headphones on,” the older man grumbled.

      Jenna handed the baby to Melanie. “What’s her name?”

      “Beth.”

      “Well, bring Beth over here to the couch and get her settled. I know I have a cradle up in the attic Jared can get after supper, but for now we’ll make do with pillows, all right?” She led Melanie past a round pedestal table set for supper to the other end of the room, where an overstuffed couch sat against a wall. A fuzzy brown afghan was spread over its back and blue towels covered the cushions. “I keep this old thing here so the men don’t have to change their clothes in the middle of a workday when they want to sit down for a bit,” she explained. “I saw a show on television explaining how to make slipcovers but I haven’t tried it myself. What do you think for fabric, blue brushed corduroy or tan? I bought both because I couldn’t make up my mind.”

      “Either one would work,” she said, visualizing the old couch covered with new fabric. “You could do the couch in tan and then make pillows with the blue, if you wanted to bring that color into the room.” Melanie sat down and laid Beth on her back on the middle cushion. The baby blinked at her as if to say Where am I now? “You’re on a ranch,” she told her. “No more trains or trucks for a little while.”

      “You poor thing. You must be exhausted and I’m rattling on about decorating.” Jenna leaned over and helped unwrap Beth’s blankets. “Let’s get this little sweetheart settled.”

      “I could help you,” Melanie said. “I worked for an interior designer for a couple of years after college, so I love talking about fabric and I’m a pretty good seamstress. Do you have a sewing machine?”

      “Yes, but—”

      She smiled at Will’s mother. “Good. I may not have made you a grandmother, but I can make you a slipcover.”

      JARED STAYED by the door, then reached for his coat. He needed some air, especially after witnessing his mother’s brief euphoria over the thought of having a grandchild. “I’m going back out to get the rest of Melanie’s things.”

      “You need help, son?”

      “I’m all set.” The last thing he wanted was for Joe to catch pneumonia, though the man was as tough as any forty-year old he’d ever met. Still, there was no sense taking chances. “Just open the door when you see me coming.”

      Joe looked out the window at the falling snow. “Boy, we’ve got ourselves a white Christmas now, for sure.”

      “Yeah. I wish Will was here, though. If this keeps up he might have trouble getting home tomorrow.” Which was not something Jared wanted to dwell on.

      His uncle stepped closer and lowered his voice. “What’s she like, this Melanie girl?”

      He shrugged on his coat but didn’t bother to zip it shut. “Nice enough, I guess.”

      “You spent hours with her and that’s all you have to say, ‘nice enough’?”

      “What do you want me to say?” Every protective urge I never knew I had has rushed through my body and clogged my brain and I want to carry that woman up to my bed and make love to her until she smiles at me again? He wondered what his eighty-two-year-old uncle would say to that. Ready to make his escape, Jared kept one hand on the doorknob.

      “I dunno. Maybe reveal a little conversation. You must have learned something about her.”

      “Not really.”

      “Do you know anything about the baby’s father?”

      “You’re asking questions of the wrong man, Uncle Joe. You’ll have to save them for Will.” He turned away, but Joe wasn’t finished talking.

      “She’s a pretty little thing.” Joe seemed to be waiting for Jared to agree with him, so he nodded before turning back to open the door.

      “Yes. If you like the type.” The snow had covered the truck already, but he could still see their footprints leading to the porch.

      “The type? What the hell does that mean? Young folks,” Joe grumbled, waving him away. Jared stepped outside into the storm. He would get Melanie’s suitcases and check on the horses before supper. All he needed was some fresh air and he would forget the ridiculous urge to take Melanie Briggs into his arms.

      3

      IT ALMOST WORKED, TOO. Until dinner, that is, when he made the mistake of touching her.

      Jared hoped no one noticed when Melanie dropped her napkin and he, seated on her left, bent over to pick it up at the same time she leaned to get it herself. Her head hit his shoulder, her soft hair brushed his face, her fingers grabbed his arm when she thought she’d lost her balance.

      “Oops,” she said, righting herself. “Sorry.”

      “I’ve got it,” he grumbled, trying real hard to ignore his physical reaction. He felt the heat in his face and didn’t look at her when he handed her the square of white cloth. For some unknown reason his mother had stopped using paper napkins. He made a pretense of reaching for the salt shaker and caught a glimpse of Uncle Joe’s hawk-eyed interest, but ignored it.

      His mother cleared her throat.

      “Jared,” she began, forcing him to look up from a mound of mashed potatoes. “After dinner, could you go up in the attic and find our old cradle? I think there might be a playpen up there, too, but I’m not sure.”

      “I’ll look,” he said, forking another chunk of roast beef. He’d noticed that Melanie was close to cleaning her plate, which was impressive. She looked like one of those women who consumed nothing but carrot sticks, and yet she ate like a trucker.

      Jenna turned to her left, where Aunt Bitty was busy slipping pieces to Fluffy. The dog knew enough to be quiet and stay close to Bitty’s chair, and Jenna knew enough to ignore the subterfuge. “Aunt Bitty, do you remember that cradle? I think your father made it.”

      “Not my father,” Bitty said, wiping her fingers on her napkin. “Raymond didn’t know a handsaw from a piece of sandpaper. He’d rather have worked with horses than with wood, that’s for sure.”

      Uncle Joe nodded. “I remember that. He had quite a knack, too. Melanie, honey, can you pass me those rolls? And the strawberry jelly, too, if you would.”

      Bitty slipped another piece of meat under the table and continued. “It was Jared’s grandfather who liked building things, but he didn’t

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