Big Sky Christmas. C.J. Carmichael

had gone completely sideways. “Brock would want me to do this. For the baby. For you. So please let me build you the extra bedroom, Win.”

      She looked at him as if there was something missing, something she wanted but couldn’t find.

      He was relieved when she finally turned away.

      “Okay, Jackson. I won’t say no. You can start the work whenever you want. And I promise to stay out of your way.”

      Chapter Five

      The next morning, Jackson put a pot of coffee on to boil on the big cast-iron wood-burning stove in Maddie’s kitchen. It was only eight o’clock, but he’d already finished the chores. They were pretty simple, with only thirty cattle and a half-dozen horses to look after. Hard to believe that at one time the Turner ranch had rivaled that of the Lamberts.

      Jackson added another stick of birch to the stove, then halved a couple of Vince Butterfield’s cinnamon buns and added slices of cheddar and wedges of apple to each plate.

      He took the simple breakfast, including coffee, on a tray to the sitting room, where Maddie was ensconced in the recliner chair that had once belonged to her father. Her border collies, Trix and Honey, were sleeping at her feet. He’d let them out for a romp in the snow earlier, and they were tired now.

      Maddie shooed the ginger cat from her lap while he set her plate and mug on the table beside her chair.

      “Waiting on me wasn’t part of our deal. I’m perfectly capable of getting my own meals.” A year ago Maddie had been plump, but she’d lost at least twenty pounds since then, which was a lot considering her short stature. Her once rosy complexion was gray now, as was her short, wiry hair. Only the remarkable green of her eyes had been untouched by disease.

      “I know you’re capable,” he said. But he’d noticed that if he didn’t bring her food, she rarely ate. “I was hungry myself, so I figured I might as well bring your breakfast at the same time.” He took his plate from the tray, waited for her to take her first bite then made quick work of his.

      The cinnamon buns were compliments of Vince Butterfield, who had been cycling out to the ranch every week since Maddie was confined to the house. Vince had lost his driver’s license once on a DUI charge and had made a promise to himself then that he’d never get behind the wheel of a car again.

      The bike was good enough to get him around town and to and from his trailer, even in the winter. But Coffee Creek Ranch was twenty minutes by car—much too far for a bicycle trip in winter. So Jackson suspected there’d be no more cinnamon-bun deliveries after this last one.

      Once upon a time Vince and Maddie had been sweethearts. But Vince had left her to follow the rodeo circuit. He came back to Coffee Creek for visits, but only moved back permanently when a chance meeting with Winnie and the offer of a job at her café had been the motivation he needed to finally stop drinking.

      And so he’d moved into a trailer a few miles from town, bought a bike and started a new career as a baker—something he was surprisingly good at.

      At first he’d very much kept to himself. But lately it seemed as if he’d like to mend fences with Maddie. Besides the cinnamon-bun offerings, it was Vince who’d taken care of the cattle when Maddie was first hospitalized. That was before Maddie had made Jackson her preposterous offer.

      Jackson’s side of the deal was simple. He was to take over the operations of Silver Creek Ranch, expand the herd this spring and live in the ranch house, allowing Maddie to remain in her own home for as long as she was able. She claimed she didn’t need a nurse—and had no money for one besides—but her doctor had insisted she was too sick to live alone.

      In return for this—which wasn’t much in Jackson’s estimation—Maddie was going to leave the ranch to him when she died. Or so she claimed. He, personally, still hoped to talk her out of it.

      “What’s your day look like today?” Maddie plucked a crumb from her blue housecoat and placed it on the tray.

      “I’m starting work on that new room for Winnie Hays. I’ll pick up some groceries and be home around three.”

      “Good. I asked my attorney to come out at three-thirty.”

      Jackson held out his palm like a traffic cop. “This isn’t about your will, I hope.”

      “Of course it’s about my will. We have to get this settled. Make our deal official.”