The Pregnant Ms. Potter. Millie Criswell

you thought about giving up the baby and allowing your sister to raise it? That would solve both her problem and yours.”

      Her hand moved to her abdomen, and her eyes softened. “I have, but I don’t think I can give up my child, even to Mary Beth. Oh, I know she’d be a fabulous mother, and Lyle’s a wonderful man. The baby would have a good home. But—” She shook her head. “It’s my baby. I…I don’t expect you to understand.”

      “But I do. Bethany was six months pregnant when she died. I lost my wife and my son in one fell swoop, so don’t think I don’t know what loss is, because I do. I know very well.” He rose to his feet and walked out, leaving Maddy alone to sort through the mess of her life. And his.

      Chapter Three

      Leaning back against the goose-down pillows, Maddy shut the book she’d just finished reading and heaved a contented sigh. Pete’s mother had been fond of romance novels, and there was a wicker basket full of them next to the bed.

      Maddy had never considered herself the romance novel type—she’d always been fond of mysteries and science fiction. But once she’d started reading she hadn’t been able to stop and had already devoured two books in less than three hours.

      Too bad real life wasn’t as romantic as in the novels, she thought. In romance fiction the hero loved the heroine more than life itself and married her. Happily ever after was a fait accompli. He didn’t tell her to get lost and have an abortion. Of course, David Lassiter was not a hero in any way, shape or form.

      Now Pete Taggart, rescuer of stranded women, was another story altogether.

      Maddy smiled at the thought, feeling a wee bit guilty that Pete had spent most of the day down in the cold basement trying to fix the generator, while she had been upstairs lazing around reading books. Still, it had been heavenly to just sit back, relax and do nothing. She hadn’t done something so purposely selfish in years.

      The fireplace flickered softly, and Maddy ran her hand over the lovely heirloom quilt covering the bed. It had been fashioned in various colors and patterns of fabric in the wedding ring design and was exquisite. The material looked very old, and she made a mental note to ask Pete where he’d gotten it.

      Maybe she could have one made for her bedroom back in New York, though it would never look as nice as it did on the antique four-poster she’d been sleeping on. There was something to be said for antiques, like real wood instead of pressboard, and brass fixtures instead of brass-plated tin.

      The room where she slept was quaint and cozy compared to her white-walled bedroom back home, which now seemed stark and sterile. White had appeared so cosmopolitan when she’d first purchased her comforter and pillows. She’d painted her walls and appliances white to match the apartment’s wall-to-wall carpeting. Now she wished she’d been a bit more imaginative. For a woman who made a living at being creative, her decorating skills sucked.

      Gazing at the tiny yellow daffodils splayed across the walls, she smiled. You couldn’t help smiling in such a room. It spoke of sunshine and happiness. The bed had been painted buttercup-yellow, as well as the dresser and nightstand, which had been stenciled in an ivy motif. Even someone with as many problems as she had at the moment couldn’t help but be cheered.

      “You did a good job, Mrs. Taggart,” she said, caressing the quilt, unsure if she was complimenting the rancher’s deceased wife or mother. “I’m not sure that praise extends to Pete—I haven’t made up my mind about him yet—but your taste in decorating is just wonderful.”

      Suddenly the little milk-glass lamp on the bedside table flickered then lit, and Maddy’s eyes widened. At first she’d thought Mrs. Taggart might be trying to reach her from the great beyond, but then realized that the clever rancher had finally fixed the generator. They had electricity!

      Laughing excitedly, she hurried downstairs.

      “You did it!” she said to Pete when she entered the kitchen a few moments later. He was leaning against the counter, holding a cup of coffee and looking inordinately pleased with himself. And sexy as all get-out! She stopped short of throwing herself into his arms.

      He caught her huge smile and nodded. “Yep. The generator’s going on a wing and a prayer, but it’s going. Let’s not breathe too deeply or we might jinx it.”

      “Oh, I can’t believe it. I can finally style my hair, bake Christmas cookies—you do like cookies, don’t you?”

      “I—” A funny look crossed his face. Pete hadn’t celebrated the holidays since Bethany’s death. There didn’t seem much point in giving thanks, in praising God for all he had done. God might work in mysterious ways, but Pete hadn’t been able to figure out his plan in taking his wife and unborn child away from him.

      He’d been disappointed, angry at God’s handiwork. But now reflecting back on that anger, Pete realized it hadn’t gotten him anywhere. It hadn’t brought Bethany or the baby back. It had only served to make him miserable, lonely and embittered.

      Maybe it was time to rethink things, like his brother John had urged him to do. “You’re wallowing, big brother. And miserable to be around. Get on with your life or shoot yourself in the head. I’m sick and tired of watching you go on like this.” John had never been one to mince words.

      Christmas was only two weeks away. Pete knew his family, especially John, would like it if he reentered the world of the living and made an effort to attend Mark’s annual Christmas party at the inn, which would be held next week.

      There was a glow in Maddy’s cheeks, a sparkle in her eyes, that softened Pete’s heart. The woman had a lot on her plate at the moment. It wouldn’t hurt to be nice, make her happy, he thought. She’d be gone soon enough, and then he’d be alone again. The idea of her leaving didn’t sit very well. He’d been alone too long, and he liked having her around.

      “How do you feel about Christmas trees?” he asked before he could change his mind.

      “Christmas trees?” Her eyes widened at the strange question. “Why, I love them. They smell so wonderful. Of course, I haven’t had a real one in years. Last year I didn’t even put one up, I was so busy working on a huge ad campaign.” It suddenly occurred to Maddy that she hadn’t really enjoyed Christmas in years, not since joining the prestigious advertising firm. To David Lassiter, Frank Owens and Larry Cumberland, Christmas was just another day to earn money. Sadly, she had fallen into that same trap.

      “We always had a live tree when I was growing up,” she added, the memory making her smile. “My mom used to make tons of popcorn and Mary Beth and I would decorate the branches with popcorn and cranberry garlands. Why do you ask?”

      He shrugged, shoving his hands deeper into his pockets. “Just thought it would give us something to do tomorrow, if I was to hitch the horse to the sleigh—”

      “Sleigh! You have a sleigh?” She squealed with delight, making him laugh aloud.

      “Yep. It’s very old and probably wouldn’t make it all the way to town, but I figure if we don’t go too far, we can take it and see about cutting down a tree.

      “I—I haven’t put one up in years myself, but since this year’s kinda special…” He felt almost light-hearted at the idea, which was very odd in itself.

      Special because of her? Maddy wanted to ask, unable to keep her pulse from skittering, though she knew she was being foolish. But right now, at this very moment, she just didn’t care. “I’ll make sandwiches and we can have a picnic of sorts.”

      He arched a disbelieving brow. “In the snow?”

      “You’re an Eagle Scout, remember? We’ll improvise.”

      AS IF THE HEAVENS approved of their plan, the snow had finally stopped falling; the sun was making a valiant effort to peek through the cloud cover. Everywhere Maddy looked she saw white. From the thick frosting on the trees, to the