The Cowboy Who Saved Christmas - Jodi Thomas Page 0,34

simple cut with a scalloped neckline and a tailored waist. The full-length sleeves were sheer. It was actually beautiful.

“Where did this come from?” I asked. “I haven’t seen it before.”

“Just put it on.”

“I’m not wearing the corset.”

“Josie.”

“It’s torture,” I said. “And they are going out of fashion anyway.”

She closed her eyes. “So am I, but I’m still necessary, it seems.”

“The dress?” I asked again.

Lila opened her eyes. “Was your mother’s.”

* * *

Staring at myself in my mother’s gown was . . . eerie. Not that I had memories to pull from, but I’d seen photographs. Elizabeth Ashford Bancroft had been a stunning beauty, with wavy, chestnut hair and an easy smile. Her eyes were light in the images, a pale blue according to Lila and my father, whereas I had inherited his dark-chocolate ones. Outside of that, I could pass for her. With my dark tresses done up and curled instead of the quick, single braid I went with daily, and her incredible dress forming to my every natural curve—to hell with that damn corset—it was like seeing that handful of photographs come to life.

The tears brimming in Lila’s old eyes said the same.

“I wish your father could see this,” she said, blinking them free and swiping them away.

“I never saw this in her trunk,” I said.

Lila waved a hand, tightening the laces in the back of the dress to make up for my audacity. “When we finally sorted her things, he asked me to keep this aside for you. He knew the Ashfords would go through the trunk and plunder her things, taking what they wanted, and he gave her this gown as a Christmas gift right after they married. He wanted it for you.”

I ran my hands along the elegant fabric. A gift from my father. Twice.

“Why didn’t he give it to me sooner?”

She shrugged. “Probably because he knew you’d never wear it.”

This was true. Running a cattle ranch didn’t call for fancy gowns and pretty coifs. I didn’t make up my face or stay out of the Texas sun to insure the feminine, milky-white complexion that men loved. I spent my days either on my horse—full saddle, thank you—checking on the dwindled herd, working with the stable manager on supplies, riding the perimeter for issues, or at my father’s desk poring over bills. Lately, that last one took up more time.

None of it worked well with skirts in the way. It never had. Even when we had more staff and I didn’t have to do as much. Ranch life was too busy for frilliness.

It was too busy for anything else.

I was the son my father never had, and I desperately needed to help him with the ranch. I was also the daughter he adored and very much wanted to see accepted into nearby Houston society and married off—mostly to appease my grandparents. I couldn’t pull off both and was actually okay with that.

It wasn’t that I was averse to the idea of marriage and family, or even of men. I liked men. I accepted an occasional lunch date or a picnic out to my favorite pecan grove if the man could work it around my schedule and didn’t mind taking a horseback ride, but most didn’t understand that. Or me. Rarely did anyone come calling a second time.

I’d even go so far as to say I’d loved a man once, but that was a hard lesson learned.

It was also the reason for the dull ache behind my temples tonight, and the clamminess of my palms as I rode silently in the covered buggy we kept in the stable for special occasions. The damp chill was right on par for mid-December in Texas. No snow yet, but cold enough to seep into the bones after sunset and make me pull my coat tighter around me and adjust the blanket higher on my lap. It could have been thirty below, however, and my palms would still be sweaty as I headed to Benjamin Mason’s home.

Lila was right about one thing: We needed help, quickly. This evening would make or break the Lucky B. With everything failing so abysmally, taxes had been in arrears for the last two years. We’d limped our way through calfing season. All that I knew, all that I kept trying fell flat. Now we had till year’s end—literally less than two weeks away—to pay our debt in full.

I didn’t have it.

And unless I successfully sold my soul to one of the wealthier men tonight, convincing