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

Not now. Not ever. They’d shared too much.
    He reached out the open window as if to pat Angela’s head, and then with a tightening of his jaw, withdrew his hand before the tips of his fingers twined in the soft, dark curls. As if he’d thought better of the intimate gesture. Lesley’s heart cracked, and she realized as he rammed the truck into gear and stepped on the gas, how much she loved him and how foolish it was.
     
    “I told you I’d buy the whole lot,” Ray Mellon offered. Lesley stood with one arm folded over the top rail of her fence as she watched the foals frolic, racing from one end of the paddock to the other only to wheel and dash back, tails aloft, nostrils flared, eyes bright and wild.
    “I know.” The summer sun was warm against her back, a bit of a breeze toying with the wisps of hair that had escaped her ponytail. Angela was balanced on her one hip and showing interest in her earring.
    Lesley had worked her fingers to the bone these past few months. The rewards of her labor—a garden that promised full bounty, students who were managing to graduate, a baby who was lively, healthy and bright, and a ranch that was running on a shoestring—should have given her some peace of mind, a reason to patherself on the back, but she couldn’t. Because August was looming on the horizon, and already there were signs of depleting water.
    “So Fortune won’t grant you water rights?” Ray asked, as if reading her mind.
    “There’s a problem,” she admitted, and wished she’d never set eyes on Chase Fortune. Since the day she’d broken off her love affair with him, she’d seen much less of him. He had still dropped by, still somehow figured it was his duty to look in on her and Angela time and again, but their conversations were always stilted, and the joy she felt at seeing him was tempered by the realization that he was self-centered and single-minded and could never be more than an acquaintance who had once been her lover. The hard part was the way he stared at Angela when he thought Lesley wasn’t looking. Her heart broke into a billion pieces when she recognized his pain, felt his anguish.
    “Well, maybe we could work something out,” Ray offered, bringing her crashing back to the present. “You know, Lesley, I always felt you and me, we had something special. I don’t hang around just because you’re Aaron’s widow.”
    “I, um, appreciate that,” she said, but cringed inside. She thought of Ray as a friend. Nothing more.
    “And keep in mind that I’d buy your herd in an instant, especially that sturdy little sorrel mare.” His eyes narrowed a bit. “She’s a feisty one, she is, the way I like all my women.” With a laugh that ended in a cough he slapped the top rail of the fence. “I’ll see ya, honey,” he said, and touched the top of Angela’s head, though his eyes never left Lesley’s face. “Think about what I’ve said. I’m serious. I think you’re as pretty as anything I’ve ever seen and—” his eyes shifted away for a second before he looked at her again; when he did she saw a flicker of lust in his gaze and her insides withered “—I could use a good woman.”
    “I don’t think I have to think about it, Ray,” she said hastily. She wasn’t interested in any man—any man but Chase. “I’ll sell you the mare and maybe a couple of other horses, but that’s it.” She met his gaze directly, just so that he wouldn’t get the wrong idea. “Angela and I are doing fine. Just fine. With or without Chase Fortune’s damned water.” That was a lie, of course, but she pasted on a brave smile.
    Ray’s mouth twisted into an odd, knowing frown. “You don’t have to make excuses, Lesley. Aaron and me, we go back a lot of years. I know how much money this place makes or should I say, doesn’t make. I thought maybe you and me, well, we could work things out between us, become sort of a team, but—” he lifted a tired shoulder “—if that ain’t the case,