Snowed in With the Rancher Read online

  Josh’s eyes rounded. “Really? Like on TV?”

  “Just like,” Tate assured. “I’ve never put my head under water before because when I swim in that pond, it’s muddy, and I don’t want to end up eye-to-eye with a catfish.”

  Josh giggled.

  “But here, the water is so clear, it’s like being at the aquarium.”

  Josh’s gaze narrowed in suspicion, but Tate kept the momentum going. “Want to try it with me?”

  Josh considered a few more seconds. “Were the fishes big or little?”

  “Little. The turtles were bigger, and they had flippers.”

  Finally, little Josh nodded his agreement, and Tate helped him flip his mask down and position the mouthpiece. Then, holding hands, both ducked their faces under the water and floated. Under the water, Tate could see Josh’s excitement as colorful fish zoomed around below them, and when a small turtle went slowly by, Josh gestured and pointed excitedly.

  When they surfaced, both Olivia and Josh’s mom applauded, and Tate ruffled the boy’s wet hair.

  “Now,” he told Josh. “You can help your mom do it, and then when she says it’s time to go back to shore, you make sure and do as she asks, right?”

  Josh nodded, a grin on his small face.

  “High five,” Tate said, holding out his hand.

  “High five!” Josh yelled as he slapped Tate’s much-larger hand.

  * * *

  “Do you have nieces or nephews?” Olivia asked. Wrapping his arm around her waist to settle comfortably along her hip, Tate relished the feel of her sun-kissed skin beneath his palm. The ship had docked for the night, and they were walking along the beach adjacent to the beachside town.

  “Nope,” he answered. “I’m an only child.”

  “You were so good with that little boy, I wondered if you’d had practice.”

  He laughed, his head tipped back before he turned to smile at her. “No. I don’t even have any friends with kids. It’s probably just my natural immaturity.”

  Olivia laughed now as well. “It seems like it would be hard to be immature when you’re running a ranch. I mean, you’re responsible for all those animals, all that property, plus the employees.”

  He looked down at her, wondering what she was thinking, but then he stopped walking and turned toward her, cradling her cheeks in his big palms.

  “That’s a sweet thing to say,” he told her. “Really perceptive. Thank you.”

  Then he kissed her, and when she kissed him back, he felt his heart melt. This was dangerous, he knew it, but he couldn’t seem to stop the train that was gathering speed with every moment they spent together.

  When they finally broke apart, he put his arm around her shoulders and turned them back the way they’d come. “We’d better get back, or we’ll miss that dinner reservation.”

  “Well, the good thing about you helping little Josh today is that if you do ever have kids, you know you can handle them.”

  He cleared his throat awkwardly, and he hoped she’d think the redness he felt spreading across his cheeks would be mistaken for too much sun.

  “I, uh, never thought about it, really.” He looked out at the sky that was fading from burnt orange to lavender as the sun set. “But you know, with a property as big as my family’s, a few extra ranch hands wouldn’t be such a bad idea.”

  They both laughed before she glanced down at her wristwatch. “Oh!” she squeaked. “Our reservation is in five minutes.”

  “That calls for drastic measures,” he said before bending and hoisting her over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry.

  She screamed as he carried her at a jog down the beach, her head hanging over his back. The train had left the station, and he hoped Olivia would hold on for the ride.

  Five

  It was past midnight when Tate heard movement in the kitchen. He’d been lying in bed for hours, trying—and failing—to fall asleep. His mind kept replaying their history. The moments on the ship, the feel of her in his arms, the way she’d seemed to shine light and joy on everything they’d done. He tossed, he turned, he ached. He remembered how, after everything they’d discovered together, Olivia had left the ship two days after the snorkeling lesson without a word of explanation. She hadn’t told him she was going. He found himself clenching his teeth hard enough to make his jaw ache as he reminded himself that she couldn’t even be bothered to leave him a note.

  They’d never gotten around to trading last names, they’d never talked about making plans for the future, and when he’d disembarked at the end of the cruise, he’d had no way to contact her. To all appearances, she’d walked off that ship, cutting her cruise short, and never looked back. He’d finally had to put the memories aside and move on with his life, never admitting even to himself that her abandonment had well and truly broken him. He’d never had any desire to get involved with someone after that.

  In essence, he’d come home and dug himself even further into the trench of solitude. Deep down, he knew that if anyone could have altered the course of his life path, Olivia was the one. But that had been five years ago. His road was well-paved now, and he was comfortable on it.

  But the sound of the refrigerator door opening and closing sent him out of his bedroom and into the kitchen.

  “Hey,” he said as he stood in the dark, watching her rummage in the pantry.

  “Oh!” She jumped and spun, her hand over her heart.

  “Sorry,” he said, holding out his hands to indicate he was no threat.

  She huffed out a laugh. “Oh, no, I’m sorry. I think it’s everything that went on today. I’m just a little jumpy.”

  He nodded, moving into the kitchen, making sure to maintain some distance between them. Her presence still did things to him, things he didn’t want to acknowledge.

  “Are the girls all right? Can I get you something?” he asked.

  She gave him a tight smile. “They’re sleeping like the dead.” She blinked. “Would it be okay if I made some tea?”

  He nodded and pushed the button on the electric kettle his stepmother had gotten him for his birthday. “Take your pick,” he said as he opened the cupboard that held a decent selection of teas. He was sort of partial to tea himself.

  A few minutes later, he sat on one of the stools at the breakfast bar and watched as Olivia dipped her tea bag into the steaming hot water in her mug. Outside, the snow continued to fall, and a strong wind shook the trees.

  “There’s something we need to talk about,” she said suddenly, breaking him out of the strange, maudlin emotions that were cycling through him.

  “Sure,” he said easily, although his stomach knotted with warning.

  She didn’t suggest that they go into the living room, nor did she move to take the seat next to him at the breakfast bar, seeming to prefer to keep the big expanse of tiled countertop between them.

  “The girls are going to be five in March,” she said, looking at him intently.

  “So they’ll start kindergarten in the fall?” he asked, proud of himself for knowing enough about kids to realize they started school at five.

  “Yeah.” Her voice was flat. “They were conceived in June.”

  He looked at her. He was missing something, but he didn’t know what.

  “June, five years ago,” she added.

  His brow crinkled in confusion.

  “We were on that ship in June, five years ago,” she finally divulged.

  It was as if the world stopped spinning for a moment, screeching to a halt as he stared at her pale face in the low light provided by the kitchen range hood.

  He tried to take a breath, feeling as if he’d been kicked in the chest by a mule. His mouth opened, then shut again, and he tried to inhale.

  “Breathe,” she said softly, and his breath came rushing back.

  He coughed sharply before his lungs kicked back into action, then he stood, his heart racing. “You can’t be serious,” he said. His voice was too loud. He shook his head at him
self.

  She looked at him sadly, finally taking the bag out of her mug and throwing it away. “I’m afraid so.”

  He ran a hand through his hair in agitation. What the hell? This wasn’t some soap opera. Women you’d known for a few days didn’t suddenly show up years later with fully formed children, claiming you were their father.

  “Why am I just finding out about this now?” he demanded, cringing at the rancor in his own voice but seemingly unable to control it.

  She patiently looked at him. “Tate from Montana. I still don’t know your last name.”

  He stared at her, incredulous. Then he realized he didn’t know hers, either.

  “Jesus,” he said, the agitation suddenly oozing out of him as he stumbled to his feet and began pacing around the kitchen.

  She nodded. Taking a deep breath, her hands tightening on her mug of tea, she began to tell him a story. She told him why she’d left the cruise before the ship reached its final port, what she’d discovered a few weeks later, how her life had been changed forever, and what she’d done to try to find him.

  As he listened, Tate found himself slowly releasing a breath he hadn’t even realized he was holding. It wasn’t her fault. It wasn’t his, either. It wasn’t anybody’s fault, except for maybe the semi-truck driver that had plowed into her parents’ car, killing them instantly.

  The longer the tale continued, the worse he felt. His feet had long since stopped wearing a path in the floor as his mind spun with the implications of it all. For years, he’d looked back on his time on the cruise with a feeling of bitterness that hardened more with each reiteration. She’d left him. She didn’t care. The memories were so bittersweet, he’d still be able to taste it on his deathbed. But their encounter had been just that—a memory. Now it was standing here, staring him in the face. Now she was so much more real than she’d ever been on that ship. And she was even more impressive. She’d held three lives together entirely by herself: no family, no husband, no help.

  As her story wound down, he felt nauseated. All of it was all wrong. Kids deserved a father—one that actually wanted them. A woman like Olivia deserved a partner. But how could someone like Tate be that person? He’d spent most of his life alone in one way or another. First, his mother had left him, then his father had become…pleasant and distant. A good man who had tried his best but never connected with Tate the way his mom had. Then, the one woman who’d been able to break through his shell had abandoned him as well. No, Tate had spent far too many years alone to be the kind of man who could give Olivia what she deserved.

  Yet here he was, facing all of it—what had happened to her and to the girls, what he’d missed, and most of all, what he was supposed to do with it now.

  “I tried to find you,” she said as the story wound down. “The ship—”

  “Wouldn’t give you my information,” he finished. “I tried to find you, too,” he said gruffly. “I didn’t have anything nearly as earth-shattering to say.”

  She laughed softly, and it broke the tension somewhat.

  “Can I tell you something?” she asked.

  He nodded, his blood thrumming with panic. What the hell else could she have to tell him? It couldn’t get much worse, could it?

  She finally stepped around the counter and walked toward him where he’d been pacing the area between the kitchen and the dining table.

  “I think this is fate.”

  He raised an eyebrow in question.

  “Me getting this job here. Jackie falling into that ravine. You getting the call to find us. I mean, how could it be anything other than the universe making sure you finally knew about the girls?”

  No, he thought immediately. Because no universal force would have handed him kids. The universe knew he wasn’t father material. Knew he was meant to be exactly what he was—alone.

  “They haven’t asked about their dad much—”

  Tate’s throat felt tight at the use of the word dad.

  “But whenever they did, I told them he owned a ranch and was a real live cowboy, but he didn’t know they’d been born, and I didn’t have a way to find him. They don’t know how babies are made, so there’s no judgment from them on that.” She laughed softly. “Eventually, I guess I’ll have to address that—do as I say, not as I did.”

  Tate’s head felt like it was going to pop off his neck. Was he expected to discuss things like sex with those little girls? Could there possibly be any less appealing prospect in the world?

  “But I think they’ll be really happy when they see I told them the truth. You fit the profile I painted so perfectly, they’re going to feel like they’ve known you a lot longer.”

  Except that no one had been painting a picture of the twins for him all these years. He’d had exactly—his gaze darted to the clock on the kitchen stove—thirty-six minutes to process this, and now she was talking about the girls knowing him, and sex, and fate.

  It was finally too much.

  He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry,” he said, taking a step back. His heels hit the stairs and he took a backwards step up. “I can’t…” He ran his hand roughly through his hair, resisting the urge to yank on it to make sure he wasn’t dreaming. He knew she deserved better than this, but he couldn’t help it. Panic was welling up inside him, and when it reached maximum capacity, it wasn’t going to be pretty.

  “I just need…” He swallowed hard, then gestured up toward his bedroom. Lobster rose from his bed in the corner of the living room and made his way to Tate’s hip, showing that sixth sense dogs have when their humans are freaking the heck out.

  She was still staring at him sadly when he fled up the stairs, shutting his door and locking it behind him as if the demons of hell might try to get in.

  Six

  The smoke alarm in the kitchen was shrill and relentless, as it should be.

  Tate groaned as he rolled over and tried to get his bearings. Lobster began to howl from his oversized pillow on the floor at the foot of the bed.

  Then Tate realized what the noise was and went into action, leaping out of bed clad only in his pajama pants. He threw open the door and was greeted with the sight of smoke curling its way lazily up the stairway.

  He charged down the stairs as if he were trying to outrun a buffalo stampede to the kitchen where, instead of the fire he was expecting, he was met with two four-year-olds chattering and bouncing around as Olivia fanned the air with a dish towel and stared up at the offending smoke alarm.

  “There’s the rescuer!” Jackie said, pointing.

  Olivia’s gaze flashed to his, and he saw the apology in her eyes.

  “I’m so sorry we woke you,” she said. “I’m generally competent in the kitchen, but your toaster really hates me.”

  Tate pulled a bar stool with him into the kitchen and stood on the lower rung to reach up and press the reset button on the smoke alarm. The high-pitched beeping stopped, and everyone in the room let out a relieved sigh. Lobster stopped howling in the bedroom and came ambling down the stairs. The girls saw him and ran to hug him, crawling on the floor while he lolled on his back, eating up the tummy rubs.

  “That toaster hates everyone,” Tate mumbled as he pulled the cord from the outlet and picked up the offending item. “I should have gotten rid of it ages ago…” He walked to the back door and opened it, revealing at least two feet of snow and more still falling. “But since it’s only me here…” He tossed the toaster outside and slammed the door shut before more snow could blow in.

  Olivia stared at him as he walked back into the kitchen. He saw her gaze slide to his bare chest for a brief moment, and heat washed over him. But when she looked at him again, she had a polite mask back in place. Before he could decide how that made him feel, an enormous crash sounded. Both adults jerked in unison, their heads swinging toward the noise. Jackie stood, red-faced, eyes wide, staring at what remained of Tate’s large glass award from the Northern Montana Ranchers’ Association.

  Melissa shook her head
. “I told her not to touch it,” she said sternly.

  Jackie burst into tears, and Olivia strode over, scooping her up and rocking her slowly as she whispered in her ear. Tate snapped his jaw closed as he stared down at what was left of his award glittering in the overhead light. In that moment, he felt as though his life was in as many pieces but without the sparkle. Forcibly unclenching his jaw, he started for the laundry room to get the broom and dustpan.

  “No!” Olivia’s voice was sharp. He turned in time to see Melissa scowling as Olivia navigated around the shards of glass to pick her up as well. “Your feet are bare, baby—you’ll cut yourself all up.”

  Shit. Tate watched as Olivia balanced a kid on either hip. They were too big for her to carry like that, but he hadn’t helped. He hadn’t even thought of the fact that they were in the midst of all that glass with bare feet.

  He snorted softly. Some damn father he’d be.

  “I’m going to get them dressed, then we’ll clean up the mess,” Olivia said as she made her way to the stairs.

  “Don’t worry about it. I’ll get it.”

  “We made the mess, we can clean it up. We’ll all work on it, won’t we, girls?” The two little brunette heads nodded in unison as they trained their big brown eyes on him.

  “It’s fine,” he reassured simply wanting to sweep the offending pieces up and be done with it. “It’ll be a lot faster and easier if I just take care of it. That’s how most things work in life. Too many cooks in the kitchen, and all that.”

  Olivia’s gaze narrowed as she stood there weighted down by his damn children.

  “That’s not what Mommy says,” Jackie admonished.

  “Yeah,” Melissa added with a solemn look. “We’re always better together. And Mommy, Jackie, and me are a team.”