A Fortune's Children's Christmas by Barbara Boswell, Lisa Jackson, Linda Turner Page A

over.”
    “Sure it was.” He hung his coat on the peg, and she noticed that his skin was flushed with cold, the pupils of his eyes wide.
    “Because you say so.”
    “It does take two.”
    She saw red. “You know what your problem is?”
    “I have a feeling you’re about to tell me.”
    She elevated her chin to glare at him. “You’re always the cynic.”
    “Maybe I have a reason to be.”
    “Do you?” She didn’t believe it for a minute. “Why would anyone with the last name of Fortune be cynical? You can’t really believe you ever got a raw deal in life.” The words were out before she could call them back. “I mean—”
    “You mean that just because my last name is Fortune, everything in my life had to have been perfect.” His gaze cut like a laser.
    “Well, I—”
    “Sometimes things aren’t what they seem.”
    “No,” she said, wounded deep inside. “I suppose they aren’t.”
    He didn’t answer. Just snapped off the lights in the kitchen. Angela began to fuss, and Chase carried the baby in her bed into the bedroom. He said a gruff good-night to Lesley, and she tried to push aside their argument. She’d dug too deep, it seemed. Chase was a private man, and he wasn’t going to share any of his secrets with her.
     
    Chase was up before dawn. He hadn’t slept much, and his thoughts, damn them, had been all tangled up in Lesley and Angela. The thought of them leaving today bothered him, and as he rode the fence line, searching for the last five strays he hadn’t located, he experienced a jab of loneliness he hadn’t expected.
    “Get over it,” he told himself. Ulysses snorted and tossed his head; the day was bright and clear. He should have been ecstatic to be rid of his widowed neighbor and her daughter. But he wasn’t. For the first time since Emily’s death he felt a ray of hope, a warmth in his heart. “Idiot,” he growled, and pulled on the reins, urging Ulysses up a short ridge to a copse of pine. He sensed that something wasn’t right. His chest tightened. Ulysses balked, then half reared.Chase’s stomach lurched. He’d found the strays. All five of them. Dead.
    Happy New Year.
    After helplessly surveying the scene, he climbed back in the saddle. Clucking his tongue, he turned Ulysses back toward the ranch house. This was the hard part of ranching, one he never quite reconciled himself with. A nagging sense of guilt chased him down the ridge and back to the barn. He should have been able to save those animals.
     
    Lesley was waiting for him. Bacon was sizzling in a frying pan, hash brown potatoes warming on a side dish, biscuits steaming from a pan. She moved around the kitchen without much difficulty. She hummed as she worked, only looking up when he opened the door.
    “Perfect timing,” she said with a smile, as if their argument the night before had been forgotten. “Wash up and sit yourself down. I figured that since this was my last morning here, the least I could do was fix you—What happened?” Her smile disappeared.
    “I found the strays.”
    “Oh.” She shook her head. “They weren’t okay?”
    “Dead. All of them.” He tossed his gloves over the screen by the fire and unzipped his jacket.
    “I’m sorry.”
    “It’s not your fault.”
    “I know, but—” Her throat felt thick, and impulsively she threw her arms around him. There was so much to him she didn’t understand, so much shewanted to learn. His arms wrapped around her, and he dragged her close, burying his face in the crook of her neck, not kissing her, but clinging to her. He smelled of horses and snow and leather. His body was warm and hard, and she sighed against him. “Sometimes it’s not easy.”
    “Sometimes it’s damned hard,” he replied, and, clearing his throat, let his arms fall to his sides. “You didn’t have to do all this,” he said, eyeing the breakfast.
    “I wanted to. You know, Chase Fortune, I owe you a lot, and there’s something I want to talk to you