The Rancher's Christmas Princess Read Online Free PDF Page B

replicate the legendary
Nez Perce horse, which is believed to have originated from Akhal-Teke stock
brought to the New World by Russian traders.” He touched her hair, the lightest
breath of a touch. “A Teke is a loyal horse,” he said. “A sensitive, one-owner
horse.”
    Belle watched his shadowed face so closely as he spoke. Why, oh
why did she find it so difficult to tell him? Beneath the tough exterior he
needed to make a life in such a rugged land, he truly was a fine man, a
sensitive man. He would be a good father.
    Her throat was tight again, her eyes brimming. Because she knew
what held her back.
    As soon as she told him, she would be out of time. Out of hope.
Any faint dream she might have nourished in her secret heart that Ben could
somehow stay with her...that dream was dying.
    She didn’t need to wait for any private investigator’s detailed
report. Just being around him had told her all that she needed to know. He was a
good man and he had a father’s rights. And once he knew, once he got over the
shock and the disbelief that Anne had never said a word to him, never made any
attempt to contact him after that one night they spent together, once he knew
the truth at last, he would set about claiming what was his.
    She was going to lose Ben as she had lost Anne. There was
absolutely no doubt about it now. She had known from the moment Preston walked
into the diner that morning. It was just taking her poor, battered heart a
little while to catch up with her mind.
    “Belle?” He looked stricken. “What did I say? I swear, I don’t
get it. Whatever it is, whatever you want from me, you only need to say it.” He
reached for her. She knew he would touch her tear-wet cheek.
    “Don’t.” She shoved his hand away, swiped the traitorous tears
from her face. “Please. I...let’s go. Back to the house. We’ll talk.
I’ll...explain.”
    He was silent. His expression changed, grew harder. Closed to
her. He didn’t understand.
    But how could he? She’d told him nothing. Yet.
    Unspeaking, they turned for the stable door. He pushed it open
for her. She went through, her head lowered, steps dragging. He followed,
pausing, turning to secure the latch.
    She was aware, for a moment, of the ever-present Marcus, silent
and watchful in the shadows not far away. But only for a moment.
    Because magic happened.
    Magic happened and the crushing weight of her unhappiness, of
her terrible obligation, of her loss—all of that was lifted. She raised her head
and saw the miracle that waited overhead.
    The sky was alive with melting, pulsing, vivid color. A concert
of color.
    “Preston...” She didn’t even stop to think about the confusing
mishmash of signals she was giving him. Automatically, she reached for his
hand.
    “The northern lights.” He said it softly, with reverence, his
gaze turned upward to the sky. And his warm, strong fingers closed around hers.
The distance she’d put between them moments ago vanished. It was gone as though
it had never been.
    There was only pure beauty lighting the heavens. And the two of
them, together, hand in hand, watching the wonder unfold.
    Red, yellow, green, blue, a purple as deep as the heart of the
night, a pink like the blush on the cheek of an angel, the colors moved and slid
and dipped and danced across the giant canvas of the sky. Alive, rhythmic,
majestic, otherworldly—perfect notes in a silent symphony.
    Preston pulled her closer as they watched, until she stood
tucked up against him, his arm around her shoulders. She didn’t think to resist.
Why should she resist? How often in a lifetime did magic like this occur? She’d
been born in a palace, seen the wonders of the world. But a concert of pure
color pulsing above her, filling the endless star-scattered darkness of the
sky?
    Never, until that night. Never in her life before.
    How long did it last? Minutes only. Minutes that seemed to her
sweetly, enchantingly, perfectly endless.
    But then the brightness began to