everything.
Some stuff was just for Caleb’s memories.
“Proud of you,” Hank said. “Does this mean I can tell Becca what’s going on? She’s been up my ass trying to figure out who Amy’s Secret Santa is. It’s been killing me not to tell her.”
Caleb frowned. He liked Becca, but she ran a beauty salon, and Hank sometimes grumbled that people just showed up there to gossip. “Keep it quiet for a bit longer. I’m not sure if Amy wants anyone to know she’s with me.”
“Why wouldn’t she?” Jack clapped him on the shoulder. “You’re the third-handsomest Watson in town.”
He just snorted.
It made sense to let Becca know. Heck, he wanted to tell everyone in town that he was with her. Everyone in the world, even. His brothers—and Uncle Ennis—already knew that he had a massive thing for the schoolteacher. What would be so wrong in letting the world realize that she was interested back?
But he kept thinking about that text she received. The one that she wouldn’t show him. The one that made the sparkle in her eyes die. Maybe it was because of something to do with him. Maybe she didn’t want people knowing they’d kissed.
So for now, he needed to be silent about being with Amy. He needed to just keep wooing her until she wanted them out in the open. Until she was the one that suggested they tell the world.
He wasn’t going to mess up what they had for anything.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Amy forgot all about Caleb’s note until the end of the night, when she was getting ready for bed. She found it tossed onto her pillow, and the realization that she still had to open it and read it somehow improved her mood.
It had really been in the dumps all afternoon. She’d moped about Blake. It wasn’t the money as much as the fact that he was deliberately maneuvering to keep things away from her. He was making things complicated because he wanted to force her hand, and by doing nothing, she felt like she was subtly letting him win. He wanted her to either fold or fight him and spend her money. If she did neither . . . the one that lost was her. But she was losing all around, wasn’t she? More than that, she just hated that Blake was trying to weasel back into her life.
Bad enough that he’d texted her and would pop up in her “recents” every time she looked at her phone.
Even worse that he’d sent jewelry as a gift to mock her. He probably wanted her to get all excited about the pricey gifts and then pull the rug out from under her. That sounded like the kind of head games he loved.
But Blake’s efforts had shattered her hard-won peace and sense of pride. How long was this going to go on after her divorce? It had been a year since the divorce had been finalized, longer since they were “together.” She’d been in Wyoming for more than six months. How long could she expect him to keep cropping up? Five years? Ten? Would she ever be free of his controlling ways?
The thought was depressing.
She’d spent most of the afternoon walking the dog. Just up and down the street with a short leash, because he was blind and didn’t know they weren’t going very far. He still loved the walk, his tail hesitantly wagging the entire time, and she let him stop to sniff every bush, every tree, every parked car. Donner’s happiness at such a simple thing made her happy. She loved this silly dog. His gray muzzle, his cloudy eyes, his wiggidy-waggedy tail—all of him made her so stinking happy.
Really, it had been a wonderful day when he’d landed on her doorstep.
Thinking about her dog made her smile, and she patted the bed as she sat on the edge. “Come up here for snuggles, good boy.” She patted the blankets and Donner hopped up, trusting her, and wiggled happily over to her side. She tucked him against her, petting him, and pulled Caleb’s note out. The envelope was green, and when she pulled it out, the paper was white and red, edged with candy canes and reindeer. He’d gotten Christmas stationery just to write her notes? Her heart melted a little at the thought of the big, burly, silent cowboy going to the store and picking through the stationery aisle. It made her appreciate his efforts all the more.
She opened the letter and began to read.
Amy,
Not