Big Sky Christmas. C.J. Carmichael

by her café when they came to town, but Jackson rarely had and she knew he wouldn’t today, either. She didn’t buy the excuse he’d given her at the wedding. Maybe he didn’t have a sweet tooth. But she had yet to meet a cowboy who didn’t love his coffee.

      She turned and watched as his truck made a right on Grave Street. He must be headed to either the Lonesome Spur Bar, Ed’s Feed Supply or the cemetery. Odds favored the feed supply store. Maybe, just maybe, he’d surprise her and drop in for a coffee when his business was done.

      Bobby placed his hands on her face, forcing her to look at him. “Mama go.”

      She grinned. He’d just strung together his first two-word sentence. “You’re a smart boy. Yes, Mama should get going. Linda will be wondering where we are.”

      She chatted to him about his new babysitter as she walked. She always talked to Bobby as if he could understand everything she said, and who knew, maybe he did.

      Linda lived in a ranch-style bungalow on Aspen Street, and she must have been watching for them out the window because she had the front door open as soon as they arrived. Besides her warm, smiling face, they were greeted with the aroma of fresh-baked bread. Linda’s brown hair, only slightly streaked with gray, was pulled back with a clip and she was dressed in jeans and a pale pink sweater.

      She didn’t make the mistake of reaching for Bobby too soon. Instead she said hello and smiled, then pointed to an area where she’d set out some simple building blocks, cars and board books.

      Bobby strained to reach them, almost tumbling out of his mother’s arms. With a laugh, Winnie set him on the floor.

      “I’ve childproofed this room,” Linda told her. “And I have my neighbor’s old high chair so I can feed him his lunch. Will he want a nap after that, do you think?”

      “He usually does. But I’m hoping to pick him up early since this is his first time at your place.” Winnie handed over a sheet with Bobby’s schedule that she’d printed last night. Then the diaper bag. “All his food is in here, as well as diapers and a change of clothes if he needs them.”

      “We’ll be fine,” Linda said, reassuringly.

      Winnie smiled her gratitude, unable to speak because she was suddenly teary. It was hard leaving her baby with a sitter. But she knew Laurel—who’d taken over at the Cinnamon Stick after Brock’s death—was ready to hand the reins back to her. Laurel had enough to do taking care of her nine-month-old daughter, Stephanie, helping Corb around the ranch and writing her blog.

      Winnie didn’t make a big deal out of saying goodbye to Bobby, and Linda eased her transition out the door by distracting him with a super-cool dump truck.

      Fifteen minutes later, Winnie was at work in the café’s kitchen, chopping vegetables for her chicken-curry soup recipe. At the sound of the door chime she looked up, wondering if she’d see Jackson. But it was Straws Monahan, the owner of the impressive equestrian center where the wedding had taken place last Saturday. The center, about ten miles from town in the opposite direction from the Lamberts’ ranch, was one of the county’s main employers. Which made Straws, recently widowed and in his sixties, one of the area’s most important men.

      Dawn Dolan, a young blonde who still lived at home while she took correspondence courses to upgrade her high school marks, asked him in a cheerful voice how he was and what could she get him.

      Winnie smiled, pleased with Dawn’s friendly approach. She’d hired Dawn, Eugenia and their baker, Vince, years ago when she’d first opened her café, and they’d all proved to be hardworking and loyal employees.

      Winnie knew she’d never have been able to keep her business afloat the past eighteen months if it wasn’t for all of them and Laurel.

      Dawn and Eugenia had both agreed to work longer shifts during that time. Laurel had left her dream job as an editorial assistant in New York City to relocate in Coffee Creek. And Vince had kept making the cinnamon buns, muffins and fresh breads that kept her customers coming back for more.

      Most people were shocked when they discovered that the Cinnamon Stick’s delicious baked goods were made by a member of the Cowboy Hall of Fame, but that was one of the things Winnie loved about Coffee Creek. People here just pitched in and did what needed to be done.

      She transferred the carrots she’d been dicing into the industrial-size soup pot on the stove. Just as she was reaching for the celery, she heard someone new entering. Hoping again it might be Jackson, she glanced up with a smile.

      And had to work to keep it there when she saw Olive Lambert. Bobby’s grandmother was dressed in “work” clothes today—pressed jeans, clean boots and a tailored sheepskin jacket. She nodded at Straws. “Good day.”

      “Sure is. All recovered from the big weekend?”

      Olive sighed with satisfaction. “My daughter made a beautiful bride. She and Farley left yesterday for Maui.”

      “Our sheriff was quite the bride, too,” commented Straws, who’d also been at the wedding. “She and B.J. are going to Australia for their honeymoon, aren’t they?”

      Olive’s smile dimmed a little. “They are. Taking an entire month off.”

      “Well, November is the time to do it.”

      “I suppose.”

      “Here’s your order, Mr. Monahan.” Dawn passed him a to-go cup and a bag with his pastry, then turned to Olive. “What can I get you, Mrs. Lambert?”

      “Nothing. I’m here to speak with Winnie.”

      Hands already washed and dried in anticipation of this, Winnie stepped out from the counter. “Hello, Olive. Why don’t we sit down?”

      She led Olive to an empty booth at the back. Relax. Stay calm, she advised herself. It would be easier, she hoped, to deal with Olive here than it had been at the wedding.

      Her café was a warm, welcoming place, painted and decorated in the colors of the foods Winnie loved most: caramel, chocolate, vanilla and, of course, cinnamon. The booths were nestled up to wooden-framed windows that overlooked the picturesque Coffee Creek for which the town had been named.

      In the spring and summer, the water had a translucent topaz color, which some more prosaic types likened to the color of weak coffee.

      In the winter, though, ice and snow crept up from the banks of the creek, and the cold streaming water looked more gray than brown.

      “I was hoping to meet my grandson today,” Olive said, without preamble. “Finally.”

      “I’m sorry if I wasn’t clear. Afternoon is the best time for visits. Around two-thirty, after I finish work.”

      “So where is he now?” Olive glanced around as if expecting to see him.

      “At Linda Hunter’s. She’s his new babysitter.”

      Olive frowned. “The whole town is going to have met that child before me.”

      “What are you doing later today?”

      “I’ll be at home, going over the accounts, probably.”

      “I could bring him out to Coffee Creek Ranch for a visit.”

      Olive’s eyes narrowed. “Maybe you could stay for dinner?”

      Winnie forced a smile. “Sure. When would you like us? We can come anytime after four.”

      “How about five, then? We’ll eat early so you can get Bobby home at a decent time.” Olive started to rise, then hesitated. “Maybe you could take a look at Brock’s cabin while you’re at the ranch. I was thinking it might make a good home for you and Bobby.”

      Winnie had heard rumors that Olive wanted her and Bobby to live on Coffee Creek Ranch. Years ago Bob Lambert had built three cabins alongside a small lake on the ranch for Brock, B.J. and Corb.

      Since