Read Online The Rancher's Christmas Princess by Christine Rimmer - Free Book Online Page B

seat was already in Pres’s truck,
so Belle put Ben into it. Pres assumed she’d be riding in the back with him.
    But she took the other seat in front. She buckled herself in
and sent him a companionable glance. Her eyes were shining. Like they were on
some grand adventure together.
    He couldn’t help giving her a smile. Maybe he was as bad as
Larry, when you came right down to it. One look from those amber eyes of hers
and he was a goner. He knew he needed to watch himself.
    She was here to help him become a father to his son. And then
she would go back to her country on the coast of France, back to living in a
palace and jetting around the world to disadvantaged countries, where her mere
presence brought funds for much-needed medical supplies and raised awareness of
people struggling and in need.
    Her smooth brows drew together. “Preston, is there something
the matter?”
    “Not a thing,” he baldly lied. “Ready?”
    She nodded. “Let’s go.”
    He put the truck in gear and off they went.
    * * *
    “’Scuse us, Belle.”
    “Oops.” She stepped clear of the doorway. Preston’s father and
Marcus came in, carrying Ben’s crib between them. She pointed. “How about on
that wall?”
    They carried the crib over there, extended and locked the legs
and then left again to get the rest.
    Belle lingered. The upstairs room was nice and large with a
couple of big windows to let in plenty of light. It was one door down from the
master suite where Preston slept and there was another bedroom on the other
side. Belle planned to take that room for the next month.
    There was a child’s desk in the corner, a bookcase and two
full-size chests of drawers. And a single bed with a brown bedspread. The walls
were covered in faded green-and-white stripes and the curtains were of a dull
brown. The room could be perfect for a little boy—with some paint. And some new
curtains and blinds. And maybe some wall stenciling or even a mural.
    Preston came in with the collapsible changing table.
“Where?”
    She pointed. “There.”
    He put it where she’d indicated and opened it up. “How’s
that?”
    “Wonderful.”
    He was watching her. “Then why are you frowning?”
    “The bed needs to go. And I have to start making a list of
everything else that needs doing in here.”
    “Hey.” He raked his hand back through his thick golden-brown
hair. “That was my bed when I was a kid.”
    “You can bring it back in when Ben is ready for it.”
    “And when will that be?” he asked.
    Outside, the sky had cleared again. Thin winter sun slanted in
the window near where he stood. It brought out more of the gold in his hair. His
shoulders went on for days. And it wasn’t only that she liked looking at him. He
was a fine man, in his heart, where it mattered, someone who would always do the
right thing.
    A wry smile curved his lips. “You are a thousand miles
away.”
    She shook herself. “No, I am right here, in this nice, big room
that cries out for fresh paint and new curtains.”
    He folded his strong arms across his broad chest and gave the
room a once-over. Slowly. “Okay, you may have a point.”
    “Good. It’s so nice when we see eye to eye.”
    He laughed. It was a slightly rusty sound, as though he didn’t
laugh often. “I think that’s my job, isn’t it? To make sure I see eye-to-eye
with you on all things Ben-related.”
    She mirrored his pose, folding her own arms across her middle.
“It shouldn’t be difficult. Because I know whereof I speak.”
    “I love the way you talk. Whereof. Nobody uses whereof anymore.”
    A little shiver went through her. Because of the light in his
eyes and the teasing curve of his mouth. “Oh, yes, they do. I just used it.”
    “You didn’t answer my question about the bed. When will Ben be
ready for a real bed?”
    “Soon. Six months. A year, perhaps...”
    “How about this? We leave the bed here. He gets used to having
it around. Maybe he sees that other people sleep in beds