Page 58 of Fairy Tale Husband

He grimaced. “I admit, the boys have gotten into a scrape or two, but it hasn’t hurt them any. And as Mrs. Marsh pointed out, this is Texas. There’s not a single kid around these parts who hasn’t been bucked off a horse or come toe to fang with a rattler. I’m hoping the judge will see her as a sweet, if unduly apprehensive relative.” His expression turned sour. “I assume she can play the sweet and caring aunt when it’s in her best interest.”

“She’s a master at it,” Wynne assured grimly. “The dimples alone could convince a card-carrying pessimist that the glass is half full. And if they don’t do the trick, she turns on the waterworks.”

“So I saw.” He shuddered. “Heaven protect me from weepy women.”

Wynne glanced at her bare left ring finger and bit herlip.

He caught the direction of her glance. “I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he said with a sigh. “I didn’t mean you. You had cause to shed a few tears. Ijust wish I could have found the darned thing.”

“It’s not your fault,” she whispered. “I should have had it sized.”

He tugged her into his arms. “Let me replace it. We can go into town and buy one that actually fits. It might even help convince Mrs. Marsh—” He broke off at her expression. “I’m just making it worse, aren’t I?”

Tears threatened, but she refused to let them fall. “It wouldn’t be the same. That other ring was part of the Cinderella Ball, part of how we met.” She gave a forlorn shrug. “I don’t think I can explain.”

Jake shut his eyes. She didn’t have to explain. He understood better than she knew. She was hurting and there wasn’t a damned thing he could do about it. She wouldn’t agree to a replacement and he didn’t have a hope in hell of recovering the original.

He thought about it all through that long afternoon as he worked outside with his ranch hands, setting a grueling work schedule for himself in the vain hope of easing his guilt. Toward the end of the day, apossible solution occurred to him, one he filed away for future consideration.

“Ready to call it a day?” Dusty finally asked. “Or haven’t you punished yourself enough?”

Jake lifted an eyebrow in question. “The men complaining?”

“Not yet. But that’s not why I’m asking.” Dusty stared pointedly toward the north. “Any man who doesn’t keep one eye on the weather is just askin’ for trouble.”

Jake followed the direction of his foreman’s gaze, then stowed his tools and went in search of Wynne. He found her in the library. “Come with me. Ihave something to show you,” hesaid.

She looked up from her book. “What is it?”

“Ever seen a blue norther?” he asked, tugging her from the chair.

She laughed. “I don’t even know what it is.”

“It’s a weather front. Arather impressive weather front.”

He walked out onto the front porch with her and pointed north. “That’s a blue norther.”

A broad bank of steel-blue clouds chewed at the horizon. Even as she watched the ominous ridge consumed still more of the crystalline sky, roiling toward them like some airborne blight.

She shivered. “Is it serious?”

“Can be if you’re not paying attention. Northers come in fast and hit hard. One minute it’ll be seventy, the next near freezing. Top that with a nasty wind and chilly rain and—”

“And I better have the boys pull out some warm clothing.”

“Good idea.” He snagged the collar of her shirt and tugged her closer, his golden eyes glittering with wicked intent. “I think this calls for another fire, don’t you? That way you won’t need to bother with warm clothes. Hell, you won’t need to bother with any clothes at all.”

She gave him an innocent look belied by a teasing smile. “How in the world will I keep warm?”

“I’ll think of something,” he replied, grinning. “After dinner, how about we get the boys settled for the night, open up a bottle of wine, and celebrate the coming of an early winter?”

She slid her arms around his waist, settling into the cradle of his hips. “What sort of celebration did you have in mind?”

“We can try one of those pagan rituals. You know, the ones where the participants are all buck-naked and chase each other around in circles. You can play the woodland nymph and I’ll be the wicked satyr.”

She moistened her lips. “I thought that was a springtime ritual.”

“Okay.” His mouth nuzzled the side of her neck. “We’ll also pretend it’s March.”

---