The Rancher's Christmas Princess by Christine Rimmer

could we stop at Colson’s Feed and Seed and
pick up an order that should be waiting there.”
    Charlotte filled Ben’s sippy cup and gave it to him. Then she
grabbed an apple from the fruit bowl. She got a paring knife from a drawer.
Already, she seemed to know her way around the McCade kitchen. “Shopping, hmm?
What do you think? I know you have plans for Ben’s room.”
    “Yes,” Belle agreed, holding the note that Preston had written,
trying not to imagine what it might be like, to get notes like that from him all
the time, to have a day-to-day life with a good man like him—and Charlotte was
watching her, a funny, knowing look in her eyes. Belle quickly folded up the
note and stuck it in her pocket. “We, ah, might as well get started. Ben’s room
is not going to paint itself.” She went to the coffeepot, which was half-full,
and poured herself a cup. “Also, I spoke to Preston about church. We’ll all be
going on Sunday. They’re of the Catholic faith.” Both she and Charlotte had been
raised Catholic.
    “Lovely,” said Charlotte.
    “And as for the holidays, Preston has said there are
decorations in the attic, which he will bring down. And they have plenty of
trees to choose from right here at the ranch.”
    “You have it all in order, I see,” Charlotte remarked as she
set apple slices on Ben’s high chair tray. “I do like him,” she added in a
thoughtful tone. “He’s honest and kind. And very handsome, your Preston.”
    Belle stiffened. “Charlotte, he’s not mine. Not in any way.”
    Charlotte wore the most innocent expression. “Excuse me,
dearest. I don’t know what I was thinking. Of course, he’s not yours. ”
    Belle felt ridiculously defensive—which was probably why she
asked, “And by the way, is there something going on between you and Silas?”
    Charlotte chuckled. It was a very knowing chuckle, an almost sensual chuckle, which meant it was a completely
un-Charlottelike chuckle. Charlotte, after all, had spent her life eradicating
all things daring, bold, sensual and dangerous from her personality. She came
from a disgraced branch of Belle’s mother’s family. Charlotte’s father had been
French, a penniless count, a complete wastrel, and her mother an American
showgirl known to have had tempestuous affairs with any number of notorious
playboys before marrying the count. Poor Charlotte had spent her life living on
the fringes of the aristocracy, working as a governess and companion. She was
forever upright and serious in an ongoing effort to live down her parents’ awful
reputations.
    But she didn’t seem so very serious now. “What could possibly
be going on between Silas McCade and me?” she asked in a voice that came across
as both teasing and a little bit naughty.
    “Charlotte, what’s got into you?”
    “I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about, dear.”
    “Well, last night, you seemed downright flirtatious with
him.”
    “Was I?” She sliced a banana onto Ben’s tray.
    “Yum,” he said, “‘nana...” And shoved a slice into his
mouth.
    “Yes,” Belle said strongly. “And now, well, Charlotte, I think
you are teasing me.”
    “I? Teasing you?” Her cheeks were pink. And her slight smile
was completely charming.
    Belle knew for a certainty then. There was something going on between Charlotte and Ben’s grandfather.
    And really, was there anything the least wrong with that? Not
that Belle could see. If Charlotte was finding a little romance in her life at
last, Belle couldn’t find it in her heart to be anything but happy for her.
    She gave her dear friend an approving nod. “Well, whatever
you’re not doing with Silas, enjoy every moment of
it.”
    “I assure you, I shall.”
    Doris came in a few minutes later. Marcus joined them. The
housekeeper whipped them all up a quick breakfast of blueberry griddle cakes and
eggs. When she learned they were driving into town, she had a few staples she
wanted them to pick up.
    At a little