A Christmas Blessing

the knees. She had despised that responsiveness in herself. She was no prouder of it now.
“I have a hunch that left to your own devices, the two of you can figure it out,” he said. “I’ll leave you alone. I’ve got chores to do, anyway.”
He headed for the door as if he couldn’t get away from the two of them fast enough. Jessie glanced up at him then and saw that, while his cheeks were an embarrassed red, there was an expression in his eyes that was harder to read. Wistfulness, maybe? Sorrow? Regret?
“You’ll holler if you need me?” he said as he edged through the doorway. Despite the offer of help, he sounded as if he hoped he’d never have to make good on it.
“You’d better believe it,” she said.
A slow, unexpected grin spread across his face. “And I guess we both know what a powerful set of lungs you’ve got. I’m surprised the folks on every other ranch in the county haven’t shown up by now to see what all the fuss was about.”
“A gentleman wouldn’t mention that,” she teased.
“Probably not,” he agreed. Then, in the space of a heartbeat, his expression turned dark and forbidding. “It would be a mistake to think that I’m a gentleman, Jessie. A big mistake.”
The warning startled her, coming as it did on the heels of hours of gentle kindness. She couldn’t guess why Luke was suddenly so determined to put them back on the old, uneasy footing, especially since they were likely to be stranded together for some time if the snow kept up through the day as it seemed set on doing.
Maybe it was for the best, though. She didn’t want to forget what had happened to Erik. And she certainly didn’t want to be disloyal to her husband by starting to trust the man who rightly or wrongly held himself responsible for Erik’s death. That would be the worst form of betrayal, worse in some ways perhaps than the secret, unbidden responses of her body. Luke had delivered her baby. She might be grateful for that, but it didn’t put the past to rest.
“Well, Angela, I guess we’re just going to have to make the best of this,” she murmured.
Even as she spoke, she wasn’t entirely certain whether she was referring to her first fumbling attempt at breast-feeding or to the hours, maybe even days she was likely to spend in Luke’s deliberately ill-tempered company. Days, she knew, she was likely to spend worrying over how great the temptation was to forgive him for what he’d done.
* * *
An hour later, the chores done, Luke stood in the doorway of his bedroom, a boulder-size lump lodged in his throat as he watched Jessie sleeping. The apparently well-fed and contented baby was nestled in her arms, her tiny bottom now covered in bright blue plaid. Erik’s baby, he reminded himself sharply, when longing would have him claiming her—claiming both of them—for his own.
Sweet Jesus, how was he supposed to get through the next few days until the storm ended, the phone lines were up and the roads were cleared enough for him to get word to his family to hightail it over here and take Jessie off his hands? He’d gotten through the night only because he’d been in a daze and because there were so many things to be done that he hadn’t had time to think or feel. Now that his head was clear and the crisis was past, he was swamped with feelings he had no right having.
He forced himself to back away from the door and head for his office. He supposed he could barricade himself inside and give Jessie the run of the house. He doubted she would need explanations for his desire to stay out of her path. Now that her baby was safely delivered, she would no doubt be overjoyed to see the last of him.
Last night had been about need and urgency. They had faced a genuine crisis together and survived. In the calm light of today, though, that urgency was past. He could retreat behind his cloak of guilt. Jessie would never have to know what sweet torment the past few hours had been.
He actually managed to convince himself that hiding out was possible as morning turned into afternoon without a sound from his bedroom. He napped on the sofa in his office off and on, swearing to himself that he was simply too tired to climb the stairs to one of the guest suites. The pitiful truth of it was that he wanted to be within earshot of the faintest cry from either Jessie or the baby. A part of him yearned to be the one they depended on.
Shortly before dusk, he headed back to the barn to feed the horses and Chester. The wind was still howling, creating drifts of snow that made the walk laborious. Still, he couldn’t help relishing the cold. It wiped away the last traces of fog from his head. He vowed then and there that no matter how bad things got, he would never, ever try to down an entire bottle of whiskey on his own again. The brief oblivion wasn’t worth the hangover. And he hoped like hell he never again had to perform anything as important as delivering a baby with his brain clouded as it had been the night before.
He lingered over the afternoon chores as long as he could justify. He even sat for a while, doling out pieces of apple to the goat, muttering under his breath about the insanity of his feelings for a woman so far beyond his reach. Chester seemed to understand, which was more than he could say for himself.
When he realized he was about to start polishing his already well-kept saddle for the second time in a single day, he forced himself back to the house and the emotional dangers inside. Chester, sensing his indecisiveness, actually butted him gently toward the door.
The back door