The Christmas She Always Wanted. Stella Bagwell

next morning, as Angela helped her four-and-a-half-year-old daughter dress, she tried to hide her exhaustion and put on a cheery face while she listened to Melanie’s chatter.

      “Mommy, I’m really, really hungry this mornin’. Can I have bacon, please?”

      “Hmm. I suppose so. But you have to eat your oatmeal, too.”

      Melanie clapped her little hands together. “Yippee. Thank you! And can I have some of those meat things? That look like sticks?”

      “Those are sausage links,” Angela said as she held out a pair of blue jeans for Melanie to step into. “And we don’t have any of those right now. I’ll get you some when I go to the grocery store.”

      Angela adjusted the waistband at Melanie’s rounded waist and reached for a pink sweater with a cartoon character on the front. Since Melanie was not yet old enough for kindergarten and too far away from a preschool, Angela took her to work with her. For the most part she was an obedient child, and both families on the ranch, along with all the employees, were more than happy to help keep an eye on her. Having her child with her was another nice perk of her job and one Angela didn’t take lightly.

      Back when Angela had been waitressing and struggling to keep a roof over her and Melanie’s head, a motherly neighbor, Helga, had often watched Melanie at no charge. Angela always felt guilty, though—afraid she was taking advantage of Helga’s generosity. Being here on the Sandbur had taken away many of the difficulties she’d faced with raising Melanie on her own and she’d always be grateful to Nicci for getting her this job.

      “Where are we goin’ this mornin’? Can we go to Jess’s house?”

      Jess was the son of Matt and Juliet Sanchez and greatnephew to Geraldine. He was nearing two years old and, at four, Melanie pictured herself as the toddler’s mother. When together, the two children had a rip-roaring time. But today she wouldn’t be going to the Sanchez house, where the other Sandbur family resided. After last night’s party, she needed to make sure the maids were getting the Saddler house back to normal.

      “We can’t go to Jess’s house this morning. We have to help Cook.”

      Melanie tilted her head from one side to the other and as Angela looked at her precious face, her mind vaulted back to last night. To Jubal and that shattering kiss he’d placed on her lips.

      What had he been thinking? Had he believed that she was something he could pick up or lay down anytime he wanted? Or had he really missed her all these years? Could he really still feel something for her?

      Don’t be stupid, Angela. The man chose to marry another woman instead of you. If he’d ever had feelings for you, he would have shown it then. Not five years later.

      Angela was thankful for the voice of reason inside her head, but still it wasn’t enough to dim the burst of pure excitement she’d felt when his lips had touched her. For a moment, she’d been transported to a magical place and even this morning when she thought of the kiss, she wanted to close her eyes and sigh.

      “Mommy, Mommy! You’re not listenin’ to me!”

      Jerking her attention back to Melanie, Angela saw that her daughter’s cherub-like features were scrunched up in a scowl.

      “Sorry, honey. Were you saying something?”

      “Can I take Mr. Fields with me, pretty please? He can sleep in his basket.”

      Mr. Fields was an orange tabby that Angela had rescued from the edge of a cotton field where someone had dumped him. At that time, he’d been a scrawny little kitten with a scratched ear and bent tail. Now the tomcat was all grown and patient enough to put up with Melanie’s overly zealous affection.

      “I suppose so. But he has to stay outside on the patio. And if he gets into a fight with Geraldine’s cat then we’ll have to bring him home. Okay?”

      “Okay! Thank you, Mommy! I’m gonna go get him!”

      Before all the words were out of Angela’s mouth, the child started to run from the bedroom. Angela jumped to her feet and hurried after her. “Not now, Mel! You have to eat breakfast first.” She snatched a hold on Melanie’s hand just as the girl was about to twist open the front door. “Come on. You can help me in the kitchen and then we’ll get Mr. Fields.”

      A few minutes later, after a quick breakfast, Angela loaded her daughter and the orange tabby in the car. Since her small house was located on the south edge of the ranch yard, about a mile away from the big Saddler house, it took Angela less than three minutes to make the drive through a maze of barns and corrals, where saddled horses were tied to hitching posts, waiting for cowboys to start their work day.

      The first week of December had brought cooler weather to south Texas. Trees were beginning to turn red and yellow. Christmas would be coming soon, and the ranch would be hosting all sorts of parties. Angela would be very busy, but she hardly minded. Her new job would allow her to buy Melanie a few decent gifts this year.

      Minutes later, when Angela and Melanie stepped into the kitchen, Cook dropped her scouring pad, then knelt down and opened her arms out to Melanie. The girl ran straight to the older woman and gave her neck a tight hug.

      Just to look at the stern woman, Angela wouldn’t think her capable of being soft and affectionate, but she was all that and more with Melanie. Her daughter adored Cook and the feeling was mutual. Early on, Angela had learned from Nicci that Cook had lost her husband at a very young age to the Vietnam war. The couple had not had a chance to have children and afterwards Cook had chosen to live her life alone.

      “Well, don’t you look pretty this morning with all that brown hair braided.” Cook patted the top of Melanie’s head where Angela had pinned a coronet of braids. “My husband had brown hair the same color as yours—like an all-day sucker.”

      Melanie’s small nose wrinkled with puzzlement. “What’s that?”

      Cook chuckled. “A lollipop that tastes like caramel. If your mother can’t find you one in the store, I’ll make you one. Okay?”

      “You wouldn’t be spoiling her a bit, now would you, Cook?” Angela asked as she pulled off her lightweight jacket and hung it on a hall tree located in a corner of the kitchen.

      “Well, Christmas is coming. It’s a time for spoiling.” With a final pat to Melanie’s cheek, Cook rose and went back to work at the deep, stainless-steel sink.

      After Angela settled Melanie with a coloring book at a nearby work table, she joined the other woman. “What do I need to do? Is Miss Geraldine ready for her breakfast yet?”

      “No need to worry about that. She’s only having toast this morning.” She tossed a kitchen towel to Angela. “Here. Dry these pots and then we’ll take a coffee break.”

      “A break! Cook, I didn’t take this job to sit around and drink coffee!”

      The woman chuckled. “Geraldine don’t ’spect you to break your neck from dawn to dusk. Trust me.”

      Angela decided it was best not to protest. The last person she wanted to irritate was Cook. She’d become like a mother to her and a grandmother to Melanie.

      She was drying a second boiling pot, when Cook glanced her way. “Angie, that person last night—the one you got all het up over—is everything okay now?”

      The dishtowel paused on the blue granite pot as Angela glanced over at her daughter. Last night after she’d gone to bed, she’d lain awake, reliving Jubal’s kiss and wondering how he would react if he learned he had a daughter. With his and Evette’s baby dying, would he want to be a part of this child’s life? Or would Melanie be an embarrassment to him? The questions had repeatedly tumbled through her mind until she’d fallen asleep from sheer exhaustion. They were still haunting her this morning.

      “I’m not sure, Cook.”

      The older woman tore off a handful of paper towels and began wiping the inside of an