The Cowboy Who Saved Christmas - Jodi Thomas Page 0,36
the catch.
I felt quite the catch, all right, every time I met a new suitor. Like I had a sign around my neck listing my assets for bidding.
Ben, however . . .
Ben wasn’t interested in my assets. Or not those.
Ben would smile when I’d accidentally on purpose ride by where he was working, or resting, or taking a break. While the other hands I knew were warned not to look at me that way or speak to me in any manner other than as the boss’s daughter, he would meet my gaze and the darkness would leave his face, and that smile—that smile made my whole day. Every day.
And once we started talking, we never stopped.
He knew about my mother, my life, my inevitable shoveling off to some business heir one day. I learned that he was four years older and from Colorado. A rebel of sorts, come to Texas to work for the great Travis Mason, our nearest neighbor and a horse rancher, and my father’s oldest friend. Mr. Mason soon traded Ben for one of our hands, sending him to work for us. Ben hinted at disagreements being the reason, but that wasn’t my business. He was trying to stay out of trouble, he said.
I told Ben that I secretly dreaded Christmas because it made my father sad. I knew he tried not to be, to give me the excitement of Christmas and my birthday, but I always saw it in his eyes.
I learned that Ben had recently broken off a serious relationship back home—with a tempestuous girl who he realized he barely liked anymore, much less loved. Leaving his whole world behind, he’d come here to start over. He said that he didn’t have to worry about marrying anyone now because no one would want to deal with his past, and he learned with our first timid kiss that I very much wanted him. Past or no.
My father would hate it. My grandparents would revolt. It was unacceptable and improper from every possible angle for Ben and me to meet in secret the way we did. The way I was today, waiting in our spot under the bridge that connected the Lucky B to the Mason property.
I didn’t care. Once he’d kissed me, it was all I could think about. Those lips on mine. His hands, rough and callused, on my face, threading into my hair, which I’d pull down loose just for him. The way he’d groan against my mouth when I’d press close, and then break away, holding me at arm’s length but looking at me with those eyes like—oh, God, I knew it was wrong and improper in a hundred different ways, but I couldn’t get enough. I was falling for the wrong man and couldn’t stop it if I tried.
I was shaking with anticipation when I heard the gait of hooves overhead, and pushed my palm against my stomach to stem the flop it did when he appeared, jogging down the rocks that ran alongside the little bridge, ducking to avoid hitting his head as he joined me on the rocky ledge. It was beautiful here, watching the water bubble by, tucked away in our own little world. Even more beautiful, as he set his hat on a protruding stick and sprawled out on his side next to me, his head propped on his hand.
Something was different, though. There was trouble in his eyes. Trouble he didn’t want me to see as he smiled and reached for me.
“You aren’t cold?” he asked, noting my riding jacket on the rock underneath me.
“It’s a beautiful and rare dry day. It doesn’t get better than this in Texas,” I said with a smile. “Haven’t you learned that yet, Colorado boy?”
“Come here,” he said, tugging gently on my hand.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
He shook his head. “Nothing that the next five minutes won’t cure,” he said, pulling my head down to his.
I couldn’t agree more. Kissing Ben made the whole world go away. All the incessant letters from my grandmother, the stress on my father’s face, the nagging from Lila to be a lady, when all I really wanted to worry about was whether the herd had food and medical attention, and what calves were due to be birthed. What fence needed tending.
And lately . . . how I could keep my tumbling, crazy heart at bay.
“Ben,” I said breathily against his mouth, almost lying next to him but holding myself up by sheer will. “Tell me.”