The Rancher's Christmas Proposal by Sherri Shackelford

Author:Sherri Shackelford
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2015-10-15T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eleven

Shane sensed something was not quite right as soon as he neared the house. No enticing aroma of dinner wafted from the kitchen; no little people toddled outside to greet him. He cautiously pushed open the door and discovered Owen without his trousers sitting in a mess of water and beans, while Alyce wore Owen’s pants and perched on a mound of flour.

Anxiety danced along his spine.

“Tessa,” he called softly.

Upon seeing him, Alyce and Owen greeted him with their usual unabashed delight, then quickly returned to their mess. The children reveled in the unsupervised disorder, drawing pictures in the dust and arranging the beans into piles. The kitchen chairs were arranged in a square and draped with a blanket.

“Tessa,” he called again. “Are you here?”

He heard it then. A quiet noise. A soft sniffle sounded from beneath the makeshift fort.

Anticipating trouble, he brought Alyce and Owen a cup of milk as added insurance against a few more minutes of peace.

Shane crouched and peered beneath the blanket. Tessa was sitting with her legs crossed, her fist against her mouth while tears glistened on her eyelashes.

He cleared his throat. “How was your day?”

“Fine.” She sniffled. “How was yours?”

He scooted into the fort she’d arranged and let the blanket fall back into place, plunging them into darkness.

“You sure you’re fine?” he asked.

“No.” Tessa’s voice broke in a sob. “Owen won’t wear pants, and Alyce will only wear Owen’s pants. They knocked over the beans and the flour, and then they started playing in the mess. Oh, and they ruined the bread dough. It’s all covered in dirt. Don’t worry. They’re not eating the beans. They both tasted one, though, and spit them out. They didn’t take a nap this afternoon, which meant I didn’t get the washing done, and Bartleby says the washing should be done on Tuesday. I shouldn’t have even been doing the wash except Alyce tore down the clothesline yesterday.”

“Can you switch the days around?”

“No. Wednesday is the day I make bread. There’s the kneading and the rising and then the baking. It’s exhausting. Have you ever made bread?”

“Can’t say that I have. Biscuits sometimes.”

“Bread is much more difficult than biscuits.” He felt rather than saw her scowl. “You don’t understand.”

“We could have biscuits next week instead of bread,” he prompted.

“Why would we do that?”

“Because biscuits are easier and you said all the bread dough got ruined.”

Her hiccup turned into another sob. “You’re not helping. You don’t understand.”

“Then help me understand.”

His eyes had adjusted to the dark, and he made out her disheveled appearance.

She swiped at her nose with the back of her sleeve. Reaching into his back pocket, he retrieved his handkerchief and handed it over.

With a hiccup, she fisted her hand over the square. “I lied to you. I can’t do this. It’s too much.”

Why hadn’t he seen the signs sooner? Everyone had their breaking point. Tessa had gone through a lot. She’d come to a strange place and married someone she hardly knew, assuming the care of two rambunctious children.

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