The Cowboy Who Saved Christmas - Jodi Thomas Page 0,47

wife.

That told me all I needed to know.

Winifred Mason, from the three excruciating minutes I’d shared air with her, had been an abominable, horrid, witch of a woman, and if he loved someone like that, then they’d deserved each other. That poor little girl—I knew what it was like to grow up without a mother, but I had to believe she might have dodged a bullet with that one.

And I was probably going to hell for that.

Now, looking into the face of a man I once thought I knew, I tried not to be affected by him. He was so much the same, and yet different. With no hat to cover his dark blond waves, they were combed neatly back in a gentlemen’s style. His face was shaved clean of the stubble I remembered, and his eyes—well, nothing could change that. Except that something had.

There was a sadness there. A hollowness.

I guessed losing his wife had taken a toll.

I held up my head and breathed in a steadying breath. No time for walking memory lane or analyzing the present. I had to somehow get through this interminable party, find a suitor, sell my soul, and maintain some semblance of dignity before I went home and hid in the stable to come undone in private, with my horse, Daisy, and a bottle of my father’s whiskey.

That’s what I’d done the last time. I’d run on foot from that house, running with no mind to the biting, wet cold on my skin and the bushes and rocks tearing at my gown. I got a tongue-lashing from my father later on the indecency and embarrassment of leaving in such a way, but I couldn’t take anymore. Ben suddenly being a stranger, lying to me, then proposing, his fiancée showing up pregnant, his uncle dying in my father’s arms, and Winifred’s icy hatred . . .

All within the same half hour. It was too much.

I turned away from the flash of his eyes now as I called him by his surname. Let that burn a bit. I wouldn’t leave here like a distraught girl this time, but if I had to be here suffering, he could go with a little stab.

No one appeared to notice the pause in his greeting as he continued, or else they were too polite to gawk at the tension between us. And that wasn’t likely in this crowd. The rumors of that fateful night’s melodrama had not escaped me. I had very much stayed to myself and the ranch in the past five years, purposely avoiding public gatherings and prolonged events like this one that loosened mouths and reminded people of old gossip.

Now, to be back here, in the same place where my life had so publicly disintegrated in front of everyone—it was all I could do not to shake my head at my own ridiculous predicament.

As he finished and the guests began to move and murmur among themselves about the new “modern dining,” I drew an easier breath. I could do this. I could be social, and civil, and nice.

“Miss Bancroft.”

Then again, this evening’s torture might never end.

Falling into step beside me was Benjamin Mason himself. So much for avoiding the gossip. I swallowed hard and kept my fingers intertwined, determined to ignore the foreign yet familiar pull of his body so close to my side. I had no business remembering that.

“I’m sure you have other guests to bother, Mr. Mason,” I managed, realizing that that crossed “nice” off my agenda.

“Possibly, but I’ve already achieved that,” he said nonchalantly, facing forward as we walked slowly. “They’ve had their dose of me.”

The rumble of his voice resonated to my very toes, sending goose bumps down my spine.

Stop that.

“How fortunate.”

He blew out an impatient breath, but I was saved by the approach of our long-time accountant, Mr. Green. I never cared hugely for the man, finding him a bit smug most of my life, but I smiled in his direction as if he were my closest friend.

“Josie,” he said, taking my hand in his and patting it. “Good to see you, my dear. May I help you with your plate?”

I blinked, taken aback. “My plate?”

Mr. Green chuckled, his bald head gleaming in the soft, flickering lantern light that glowed from every few feet. Benjamin had spared no expense for fuel.

“Our host has quite the progressive plan tonight,” he said, glancing up at Benjamin. “Kind of a walk and carry.”

“Progressive?” I said, not daring to look up to my left, where