The Cowboy Who Saved Christmas - Jodi Thomas Page 0,48

I could feel the gaze bearing down. “Is that what they’re calling moving cattle through the chutes to graze now? I think we’ve been doing that for some time.”

Mr. Green laughed heartily. “She has a point, Benjamin.”

“I’m fairly sure I can handle the inconvenience,” I said, taking the older man’s arm. “But I’ll be glad for the company.”

With that, the presence to my left stepped away, and I cursed my disappointment. What the hell was wrong with me? Why did I have to fight the urge to turn in that direction and see where he went?

“I have another reason to want a few minutes of your time,” Mr. Green said, his voice lowered as we continued our slow progression toward the dining room.

I took a deep breath and released it slowly, thankful for the distraction. “Oh?”

“I know you’re aware of the year-end tax deadline,” he said.

My gratefulness dissipated, replaced with the despair that had become much more commonplace. Yes. I was aware. As I let my gaze sweep the room and take inventory of the obvious businessmen talking in clusters, I felt so painfully aware.

“Yes. I’m working on some ideas,” I said.

He darted a sideways glance my way. “Well, you’ll need to work faster,” he said, nodding toward those same clusters. “The bank has stated an extended holiday this year, closing next week between Christmas and New Year’s. Meaning—”

“No,” I breathed, knowing exactly what that meant. “They can’t. The holiday is—”

“I know,” he said, patting my hand again. “But they can choose to give their employees additional days off, and they are.”

I felt my scalp begin to sweat. It was already mostly impossible. Now it was swimming in the land of bleak and hopeless.

“So, I have less than—” My chest ached as my heart clenched inside it. “I have only days left.”

“Four,” he said. “You have until Christmas Eve.”

He clamped his hand down on mine as if that would calm me somehow. As if that would fix the horror that once more rained down on that horrible date.

My mother’s death.

Ben’s betrayal.

Now, I would lose everything my father created on that day as well.

My burning eyes moved over the room. I couldn’t afford to be proud anymore. I had to save my home. The jobs of my last few employees.

“I don’t like what you’re having to do, Josie,” he said as we approached the table and he handed me a plate. “It doesn’t set well with me.”

I scoffed. “Me either, but what choice do I have?”

“Have you considered asking your grandparents?” he asked. “They have the means.”

“To save the thing that took their daughter from them and tainted me?” I responded with a sad chuckle. “They’ve been waiting for years for this to happen. Especially since Daddy died.”

“Even for you?” he asked.

I met his gaze. “If they knew how shaky things were, they’d work even harder to get me there.”

Mr. Green rubbed at his jaw as he averted his eyes and appeared to be fascinated with the food spread.

“There is one other option,” he said.

“What?” I asked, stopping short and gripping the plate as he placed some kind of meat pastry on it. There was hope? “Tell me.”

At this point, I’d do anything, and not having to hand over my life and inheritance to some stranger to bail me out sounded divine.

“Merge with the Mason Ranch,” he said under his breath.

The slight flutter my heart had felt for half a second died a horrible death.

“That’s not funny,” I said.

“I wasn’t trying to be.”

“Or an option,” I continued. “How dare you even—”

“Josie, just listen.”

I set down the etched-glass plate with a loud clank, bringing faces already bewildered by the new dinner plan staring my way with curiosity.

“No.”

“Josie—”

His voice was a distant, tinny sound as I pushed against the human cattle flow to exit the dining room.

“Excuse me,” I said repeatedly as people did their best to let me through. Blindly, I sought the front doors, instinctively wanting out of this house. Wanting away from everything this place represented.

Everything negative from the past five years began . . . here.

Learning about the thefts and the missing food supplies. Mr. Mason’s death, followed by the horrible storm that destroyed the island of Galveston the next year. It damaged our stables and cut off our supply connection for months on end. Finally, my father’s subsequent decline in spirit and health, his death, and then the illness that wiped out two thirds of our herd and sent what was left of our buyers and breeders running