The Cowboy Who Saved Christmas - Jodi Thomas Page 0,43

many perceived as graceful and quaint. I knew how much time she spent practicing that movement with her own reflection, so it was lost on me.

“Winifred,” I said, a little more harshly than I intended.

Her green eyes darted to me, her smile faltering a little, just for the span of a second before broadening into a dazzling greeting.

“Benjamin!” she exclaimed, rushing to me. “It’s so good to see you!”

I grabbed her hand and held her fast before she could hug me, stopping her show of affection. What I felt on that hand made me glance down. The ring.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, forcing my voice to stay low. “And how did you—”

“My cousin escorted me to Houston,” she said. “We arrived last week, actually, but I needed to rest and recover after such a long journey. I can’t believe you did that alone.”

“Why?” I asked. “Why did you make the trip, Winifred? And why is this”—I squeezed her finger discreetly, forcing my words through my teeth—“still on your finger?”

“Because you gave it to me,” she said softly. “And I came because we need to—”

Another hearty laugh divided my brain and turned me on my heel, shooting darts of worry straight through my chest. Henry Bancroft clapped Uncle Travis on the shoulder as they laughed mightily about something. As old friends do. All I could see was the vision on his arm.

Josephine. My Josie. In a dress.

I’d never seen her in a dress, oddly enough, and it was more than just an article of clothing on her. It was deep blue and fitted, and covered nearly every inch of skin, save for a frilly collar that she’d left partially unbuttoned. Purposefully, knowing her. The skirt flared out from her waist in a series of layers I instinctively knew she’d despise, but sweet Jesus, just looking at her made me forget my own name.

“Benjamin,” Winifred reminded me.

I walked straight past Mr. Bancroft, instead, to the stunning girl with the waterfall curls, and hoped my trousers weren’t giving me away as I gazed down into her surprised eyes.

“Ben,” she whispered.

Chapter 5

1899

Josie

So many thoughts bombarded at once, tumbling over one another. Contradictions clashing with what I knew as fact. The first being that Ben was here. My heart about leaped from my chest at the sight of him. The second was the automatic response to hide that feeling. Third—wait, why was he here? And looking like—good Lord, he was beautiful in a dark brown suit that made his eyes—but why would he be in a suit? How did he get an invitation?

I glanced up at my father to see if he noticed, but . . . I was quite sure everyone noticed.

Because Ben was standing directly in front of me. Holding out his hand. A very odd expression on his face.

“What—I mean—” I stammered, unsure what tack to take.

“Happy birthday, Josephine. May I speak with you for just a moment,” he said, darting a glance toward my father before meeting my eyes again.

“Ben,” I said, licking my lips. It was okay. Of course we’d know each other. I knew all of the ranch hands at the Lucky B, but none of them would be at this party. “What are you doing?”

“What’s going on?” my father said, his tone low. When I looked up, he wasn’t looking at me. He was staring at Ben. Something was strange.

“Josie,” Ben said. “Please. Just five minutes.”

My hand was off my father’s arm in the next second, and onto Ben’s. Without another thought. Well, with quite a few thoughts, actually, and with the weight of a million eyes boring into me, but I didn’t care. I loved him so much. We’d been declaring our love since that first day under the bridge, when I’d given every part of myself to the only man I could ever imagine loving like this. I told him every time I saw him, and he’d pretend to be insulted and say I love you more. Then one day I’d gotten really brazen and told him to prove it. He had. That was quite pleasant.

“I’ll be right back,” I said to my father, daring to meet his gaze. “It’s—fine.”

I had no idea if it was fine.

“Benjamin,” called a female voice nearby. Something in the back of my brain said it might be relevant, but I was swimming too deeply in the fog.

“Josephine.”

My father’s voice. And my proper name. Never a good sign from his lips. But it landed at my back as I