The Cowboy Who Saved Christmas - Jodi Thomas Page 0,67
I have—”
“So, do you get double presents?” Abigail asked. “Because you have to wait all year?”
Josie’s gaze met mine, and I knew her ire wasn’t going to be thwarted with more questions.
“You paid my debt,” she whispered under her breath, her lips barely moving.
“Happy birthday,” I repeated, just as softly.
She scoffed. “I can’t be indebted to you.”
“You aren’t indebted to anyone,” I said. “It was a gift.”
“A gift,” she echoed.
“A present?” Abigail chimed in. Josie smiled down at her again, and reached out to stroke her cheek. My heart squeezed so painfully I had to clench my jaw.
“No,” Josie said, answering her but looking at me. “It’s not. I can’t take a gift like that. It comes with strings.”
“Like bows?” Abigail asked.
Josie’s head was shaking. “No,” she said. “Like reins. You can’t do this, Mr. Mason.”
I felt my eyebrows shoot up. “Mr. Mason is it again?”
“I don’t care what I call you,” she said, attempting in vain to keep the smile affixed. “You cannot do this—”
“I can, and I did,” I said, stepping closer.
The fury in her eyes was mesmerizing.
“You are infuriating,” she said through her teeth, raising her chin defiantly as I stepped closer again.
“I—” I clamped my mouth closed and flexed my fingers, knowing that what I wanted to do and what I had to do didn’t match. Spinning on my heel, I knelt in front of Abigail. “Baby girl, I need to have a very grown-up conversation with Miss Josie for a minute,” I said, squeezing her tiny hands in mine. “Can you go help Mrs. Shannon with the cookies?”
“Can Josie stay for Christmas, Daddy?” she whispered. Loudly.
I searched my daughter’s eyes, and leaned forward so that we were head to head and nose to nose, my heartbeat thundering in my ears.
“Would you be okay with her being around for more than that?” I whispered very low, so only she could hear. “Like maybe all the time?”
Abigail nodded, her curls bouncing. She giggled as she skipped out of the room, and I took a deep breath as I pushed back to my feet. I knew my daughter only recognized the excitement of the moment and her permission wasn’t weighted in anything. That I needed to think of her first and probably much more in depth—but this wasn’t a fleeting thing. This wasn’t someone I’d just met or hadn’t already gone through this thought process about in painstaking detail.
“Benjamin Mason,” Josie said, her words heavy with impatience as I stepped closer to her. “You are by far the most—”
Whatever I was the most of, it was lost when my mouth landed on hers.
Chapter 15
1904
Josie
I couldn’t breathe as the lips I’d fantasized about since yesterday claimed my mouth, cutting off my words, my thoughts, my logic. His hands framed my face, holding me as he kissed me again. And again.
But wait . . .
“Ben,” I said, my voice husky, drunk on his taste.
All the reasons I’d come here danced over my head, just out of reach. Anger. I was angry. He couldn’t just shut me up with—with—
I pushed against his chest, curling my fingers into his shirt at the same time.
“I love you,” he said, his voice thick and gravelly.
Everything froze. My hands, my breathing, my heart.
I leaned back a fraction and peered up into eyes so fiercely passionate that goose bumps peppered my entire body.
“What did you say?” I whispered, the words barely forming.
He didn’t blink, didn’t flinch, didn’t look for one microsecond like anything got away from him. My insides had gone rogue, my heart threatening a coup.
“You heard me,” he said softly, his fingers trailing over my face as he slowly let me go and backed up a step.
Pulling free of my grip on his shirt. Instantly missing the contact, I stepped forward to follow, cursing my body’s reaction to him. I forced my feet to stop, and I shook my head.
“Don’t say things like that,” I said, my fingers going to my lips before I yanked them away and clasped my hands in front of me. “You don’t—that’s not love you feel, Ben. That’s chemistry.”
“Oh really?” he said on a chuckle I wanted to smack right off his face.
“And guilt.”
The laughter faded from his eyes. “Still, with that?”
“I’m not talking about history,” I said, the blood returning to my brain, logic within touching distance again. “I’m talking about this thing you call a gift, that’s just another pretty word for manipulation.”