The Cowboy Who Saved Christmas - Jodi Thomas Page 0,52

told him about us, but he was cooler with me after that night, cooler with everything, actually. As if losing his best friend in my uncle turned off his spark. He was gone, himself, a couple of years later, and then I stopped trying. I wasn’t the only one who had amends to make, after all.

Yes, I was in the wrong, but I’d loved her enough to go to her. She never even tried to come to me. She’d walked away from me in that library and never looked back. What level of love was that?

When the current jackass touched her waist and leered suggestively, I couldn’t take it anymore. I scooped a fresh tumbler of bourbon from a passing tray and headed their way.

“Martin, I’ve brought you a fresh drink,” I said, stepping closely enough to force him back from her several inches. “How are you? It’s been too long.”

It hadn’t been long enough as far as I was concerned. Back when I was working at the Lucky B, Martin LaDeen was a senior ranch hand. A senior with an ax to grind and a lot of mouth, but Mr. Bancroft trusted him. He’d been the only one in the stables who was aware of my role.

I knew my actions were rude, interrupting them, but Josie was here unaccompanied. That alone put a bull’s-eye on her back for unwanted attention, and the way she looked in that dress didn’t help. I didn’t know what she was thinking, but I knew damn well what every red-blooded single and married man here was.

“Fine,” he said, blinking in irritation before covering with a tight smile. “Thank you, I appreciate it.”

“Enjoying the move out of the field?” I asked. “Banking, is it? Or—”

“Oil,” he said, lifting an eyebrow. “It’s a massive wave of the future, Mason. You should look hard at it yourself.”

“Got it,” I said, dismissing him. “Miss Bancroft, may I have a quick word?” I asked, not wasting a moment, especially when I saw the fire in her eyes. “Martin, be sure to try the chocolate cake. Theodore assures me it’s divine.”

The words weren’t even all the way out of my mouth before I turned her and guided her off. Three steps and she stopped short. I hadn’t expected anything less.

“What are you doing?” she hissed.

“I could ask you the same,” I said under my breath. “Do you know—”

“What I know and what I do are none of your business,” she said sharply, covering the vitriol with a polite smile as an older couple passed us. “I’m a grown woman with no attachment to you.”

“Who’s acting like a fool right now?” I said. That wasn’t going to win me any rounds, but winning wasn’t in the cards anyway. “You can’t come in here alone and talk to men like that without it going in a direction you won’t like.”

She blinked at me and shook her head. “Of course. Because men are such spineless, stupid, crotch-ruled creatures that they can’t possibly be held to a higher standard.”

She moved to walk around me, maybe to chase after Martin, I didn’t know. But my hand shot out of its own accord.

“Josie,” I said, feeling her warmth against my arm as she walked into it, her breasts heavy and soft. I felt the gasp she bit back at the solid contact, and fire shot straight to my groin.

Dark eyes shot up to meet mine, her cheeks flushed.

“Please let me go,” she whispered through her teeth.

“What are you doing?” I asked through mine, echoing her words.

Her breaths were shallow and fast, belying the calm of her face.

“Whatever I have to,” she said.

* * *

What did that mean?

That question plagued me for the next interminable hour as I watched her chat with Harris Green, our mutual accountant, and then, in turn, make her way to discreetly introduce herself to two well-to-do men he’d pointed out.

There was something nefarious going on, that was without question now. Anyone with eyes and an inkling of suspicion could see that.

“Mr. Mason?” an older female voice belonging to the sheriff’s wife was saying. “Do you think so?”

I blinked back to her, clueless as to what she’d asked me.

“I’m sorry?”

“I asked you what you thought of the Lucky B’s situation,” she said, which continued to tell me nothing. “Do you think she’ll let it go to the bank?”

“The—bank?” I echoed.

“Oh, I know I’m speaking out of turn,” she said. “But it’s no secret the trouble they’ve been having the past few years, since