Colorado Christmas. C.C. Coburn

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СКАЧАТЬ desperate to have a family of her own, she’d agreed without seriously examining whether she loved him—or if, indeed, he really loved her. Marry in haste, repent at leisure. The proverb’s words had come back to haunt her.

      Three months after their wedding, Becky was pregnant. Dreaming that at last she’d have the family life she craved—she failed to notice something amiss in their marriage. When she discovered Graham had a mistress, the betrayal was so devastating she’d nearly miscarried. Graham begged her forgiveness. He put their unborn son’s name on the waiting list for the same exclusive schools he’d attended and became the doting expectant father. But soon after Nicolas’s birth, it was apparent that all was not quite right with the baby. When they received the diagnosis that Nicolas suffered from cerebral palsy and might never walk, Graham’s interest in their son evaporated and he demanded Becky put him into permanent care.

      Bewildered that he could instantly turn from loving their son to despising him, she’d packed her bags and left with Nicolas, determined her dear little boy would know only unconditional love and support.

      She’d filed for divorce and custody of Nicolas—Graham contested neither—and she’d had no contact with her ex-husband since.

      Another man had let her down. She swore that would never happen again. She’d been a fool to forgive Graham his affair. She would never forgive him for rejecting their son.

      And she had no intention of opening her heart to pain ever again.

      Becky sipped her wine, allowing its warm glow to spread through her. But the warmth reminded her of Will O’Malley and how good his arms had felt around her. How safe she’d felt in his embrace. I need to get out of this town, because he makes me yearn for things I can’t have.

      She sipped more of the wine and thought, Now, there’s a man who’d head for the hills if he knew I had a physically challenged child.

      Chapter Four

      “Have you heard anything from your ladylove yet, dear?” Mrs. Carmichael asked as Will cleaned up after repainting her shop.

      He dried the paintbrushes and stored them. “Nope,” he said. “But she’ll come around.”

      He’d been doing odd jobs at the florist’s for the past few days in between fulfilling his community service obligations at the Twilight Years Home. In payment, Mrs. C. sent him off to the courthouse with a dozen red roses every day. But instead of being shown into the judge’s chambers, he’d had to leave them with the receptionist at the front desk. So far, he hadn’t received any acknowledgment of either the flowers or the notes requesting a date that he’d hidden among the blooms.

      “Maybe the judge doesn’t like roses?” she suggested. “I could do some lovely spring bouquets.”

      Will picked up a cloth and wiped down the counter in front of him. “You’re sweet, Mrs. C. One of Spruce Lake’s living treasures.”

      She flapped a hand at him good-naturedly. “Get on with you, Will O’Malley. Like your dear papa, you’ve inherited the Irish blarney.”

      “Nope, it’s true. Cross my heart.” He did so, then bent to kiss her goodbye. “Toodle loo, Mrs. C. I’m off to see the mayor and walk Miss P.’s boys. And don’t forget to call me if you need anything. Otherwise, I’ll have to put you into the Twilight Years.” He shook his finger at her.

      “You’re so insolent,” she said with a laugh. “I always thought your mama was way too lenient with you. Good luck with the mayor. And don’t forget, you’re welcome to move into my upstairs apartment anytime, dear.”

      “Thanks, Mrs. C. I’m so done with Luke whining I’m underfoot at the ranch.” He’d told her about the details of his latest conflicts with his oldest brother.

      She shook her head, her voice full of compassion. “Ah, Luke. Like you, he has a heart of gold. Being the oldest of you boys, he takes on a lot of responsibility.”

      Luke was on the wrong side of thirty-five. Hardly a boy.

      “He needs a wife to help him with the ranch and those dear little girls of his.”

      Considering Luke’s unhappy marital history, Will didn’t have much faith in his brother’s taste in wives. He’d been cranky since the day he said, “I do.” Since it was a shotgun wedding, Will could understand Luke’s foul mood. Tory had set a trap for Luke that he couldn’t see through at the time. However, the doomed marriage did produce three sweet little girls.

      The shop’s doorbell rang and in stepped Frank Farquar with Louella at his heels, sporting a pink tutu. Mrs. C. sucked in her breath.

      “Edna.” Frank removed his best black ten-gallon hat. It was Frank’s prosperous rancher look. To Will’s knowledge, the only time Frank had been anywhere near a cow was when he was barbecuing beef.

      Will scratched Louella behind the ear, then busied himself with restacking some shelves out of Mrs. C.’s reach, figuring he should stay for a bit longer. After all, Frank might need his moral support.

      “What can I do for you, Mr. Farquar?” she asked.

      “I’d like a bunch of your most expensive flowers for someone very special.”

      Will was taken aback. Frank Farquar had a ladylove? Judging by the look on Mrs. C.’s face, that particular bit of gossip hadn’t made its way down to her part of Main Street. Yet.

      Yesterday, as he’d put up new shelves for her, Mrs. C. had related their story. She’d had such hopes for her and Frank all those years ago, yet he’d been too busy making a success of his rock quarry to get around to proposing marriage. She’d wondered how different her life would have been. Would they have had the children she’d so desperately wanted and been unable to have with her husband, Jeb Carmichael?

      She expelled a sigh as though she’d been thinking the same thing as Will.

      “You work too hard, Edna.”

      She bristled. “I do not. And I’ll thank you to mind your own business.” She plucked a bunch of pink-and-white Oriental lilies, ripe with perfume, from a bucket of water. “These are my most expensive blooms.”

      Lilies were Mrs. C.’s favorite and she always kept them in her store, saying their exotic scent cheered her, even on the bleakest days. It surprised Will that she’d recommended them for another woman.

      Frank shrugged. “I dunno. Do you like ’em, Edna?”

      “What’s it matter what I think?” she snapped, then seemed to rein in her temper. “Of course I do. They’re beautiful flowers. However, if you’d prefer roses, I can order some for you. Will has cleaned me out of roses this week.”

      Frank turned to Will. “I wondered where all those flowers at the courthouse came from. They from you, boy?”

      “They sure are. Not that it’s doing me much good. Yet.”

      “You’re positive she’ll like ’em?” Frank looked at Mrs. C. again.

      “Of course she will! I’m a florist, and I know my business!”

      Will detected an undercurrent of jealousy СКАЧАТЬ