Anyway, he used to.
No fool like an old fool, Coleman.
He kicked the side of the stall. Pain shot up his leg and he accepted it with a perverse pleasure. The mare turned her head to give him a censorious stare.
“Sorry, old girl.” Sorrier than he could ever say.
He cleaned up the stall and after one last examination of mother and baby, he returned to the house.
The tree lights were the only light shining inside the house, and he stood in the entry for several seconds, thinking and admiring the beautiful display. He had erected the tree each year for Gavin’s sake but the efforts had been halfhearted. A few ornaments. A few gifts. Gavin’s stocking. Jenna had transformed the house into a Christmas wonderland and claimed she wasn’t finished yet.
Shucking his boots, he headed for bed, stopping to peek in at Gavin. The night-light—a necessity for his anxious son—illuminated the room enough that he could see the twin bed. The covers were tossed and rumpled but Gavin wasn’t there.
His heart leaped. “Gavin?”
He entered the room, flipping on the overhead light as he moved toward the pile of camouflage-patterned covers. Sure enough Gavin was gone.
Sometimes his son had nightmares and climbed into bed with old dad. Dax stepped to his own room and flipped on the light. Gavin wasn’t there, either.
There was only one other place he could be.
With a quick stride, Dax crossed the long ranch house to Jenna’s room. He dreaded opening the door and seeing her in the bed, but he needed to know that his son was all right. Just the thought of Jenna in a nightgown with nothing underneath drove his imagination wild. He had enough problems with seeing her in the full-length robe, her pretty toes peeking from beneath.
Like an embattled prizefighter, he shook off the fantasy. Jenna was off-limits. If he was any kind of man, she had to be.
As quietly as possible, he turned the knob and entered the nursery first. Sophie lay on her back, little arms flung up and out. His heart squeezed. Once upon a time he’d dreamed of having a baby girl to call him Daddy. And Sophie had no father to love and protect her.
He watched a moment longer, confident that the pink princess was breathing, and then moved to the connecting doorway. At the sight before him, he squeezed his eyelids tight and let the wave of sweetness take him, if only for a moment.
Forever, he would cherish the mental image of his little boy snuggled safely in Jenna’s bed. Her body was spooned around his and her arms held him close, one hand on his chest and the other against his cheek as though reassuring him that she was there and all was well.
The noise on the monitor that had sent her scurrying away from the barn hadn’t been her child, as he’d thought. It had been his. And yet Jenna had responded to Gavin’s call as though she was his mother.
Dax dragged a weary hand over his face and heard the scratchy beard. Jenna disarmed him. Took away his resistance. Touched him to the very soul.
Ah, God, he loved her. He loved her.
He loved her enough to do what was right.
The problem was, he hadn’t figured out exactly what that was.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
“BLAST THIS RAIN. Blast this wasted day.” Dax stomped into the mudroom and bent to remove his boots. Water sluiced from his hat and rain slicker onto the tile. He shucked the hat and jacket, too, and took a towel from the overhead cabinet, breathing in the fragrance of fabric softener. That was another of Jenna’s touches.
Frustrated, he ground his back teeth. He’d risen before sunrise, having slept little, and hurried out to check the mare and foal. Mostly, he’d hurried out to avoid Jenna and the whirlpool of confused emotions she incited. Now a cold December rain had forced him back inside.
Maybe he should have stayed in the barn all day.
But if he was honest, he missed having breakfast with her, missed seeing Gavin off to school, missed the few minutes of playtime with Sophie.
Jenna rounded the corner, carrying a laundry basket. Upon spotting him, she stopped dead still. Her eyes widened. One aristocratic eyebrow twitched.
It was a moment he’d both dreaded and longed for.
“Blasted rain,” he grumbled, more to avoid the real issues than for conversation.
“You’re soaked.” She dropped the basket and dug more towels from the cupboard, handing him one and patting his drips with the other. “You’re going to be sick.”
Her ministrations felt too good, too…wifely.
He took the towel from her. “I got it.”
She stood her ground, watching him. “You need to get warm and dry. I have fresh coffee.”
“In a minute. I have to change.”
“Clean clothes in the dryer,” she said and left the room.
Dax stared after her for a few seconds, contemplating the psychology of women. If he lived to a hundred, he would never understand. She didn’t seem angry. She didn’t seem upset. She didn’t seem anything. After his weird behavior last night, she should have tossed him back out in the freezing rain.