“I think you know where the best trees are,” Libby teased, enjoying the brisk winter weather as much as the rugged rancher leading her on this merry chase. “You’re just pretending you don’t.”
Holden flashed her a sexy grin, denying nothing, then turned his attention back to the grove of mostly mesquite and a few gnarled live oak trees. With nary an Afghan pine in sight.
Abruptly all victorious male, he reached up and grabbed a bushy growth from an oak. He snapped it off, then showed the familiar green leaves and white berries to her. “Maybe this is what I’ve been looking for.”
Libby stroked the plant reverently. “Mistletoe!” she said in surprise, her mind automatically shifting to thoughts of kissing Holden beneath the symbolic evergreen leaves. Now, that was romantic!
“Yep.” He broke the mass of greenery in half. “One for you. And one for me.”
She looked at the cluster. “His and her mistletoe?” Libby held up her portion, deciding it could be cut up even more, into manageable little clumps. Maybe tied with red ribbon…
“This way we’ll both have some handy whenever the need arises,” Holden told her with a wicked smile.
Her pulse racing almost as much as her fantasies, Libby threw back her head and laughed. “You are something, Holden McCabe!”
He grinned and held out a hand, to help her climb back over the fence they had just vaulted.
“Now we’ll go look for the trees,” he promised, wrapping a proprietary arm about her waist.
Ten minutes later, he had driven his pickup to a small grove of what looked to be cultivated pine trees along the edge of his property.
Libby braced her hands on her hips, studied the selection and shook her head. “You knew these were here all along.”
Holden acknowledged it to be true, with a slight shrug and an insufferable wink. “Yeah. I just didn’t know where the mistletoe was.”
She rolled her eyes at his bad-boy antics. This was a side of him she didn’t see enough.
He got the ax out of the truck, then stood back, admiring the small grove. “So which one do you think you want?” he asked.
Enjoying the fragrance of pine and the wintry sunshine, Libby studied a six-foot-tall tree with well-spaced branches. She walked back and forth, observing it from all angles and taking her time. Finally, she sighed. “That one, I think.”
Holden’s blue eyes were twinkling as he gazed down at her. “Sure you don’t want a taller one?”
He was obviously going to draw this out as much as possible, insuring they spent more time together. Libby didn’t mind at all. Playing the flirt to the hilt, she plastered a breezy smile on her face. “I’ll leave the eight-foot one to you.”
“Suit yourself.” Holden cut down one, then the other.
Together, they dragged them toward his pickup.
“Since we’re already here, we’ll put mine up first,” he said.
Libby knew it was imperative to get the tree in water as soon as possible, to keep it fresh. She was standing close enough to see the quarter inch of beard on the underside of his jaw that he’d missed when he last shaved.
Inhaling the scent of man and soap, she asked, “You want to decorate it, too?”
“Can’t.” Holden put his tools in their case and shut the tailgate of the truck. Pressing his hand against her spine, he walked her around to the passenger side. “I don’t have any more UT stuff to put on it.” He took two bottles of her favorite sparkling water from his truck and handed one to her.
Pleased by his thoughtfulness, Libby uncapped her beverage and took a long drink. She studied him over the rim of the bottle. “You’re really going to decorate your Christmas tree in burnt-orange and white?”
The mischief was back in his eyes. “It’ll be unique,” he claimed, toasting her silently. “And it will match the wreath on my pickup.”
“Well—” Libby walked around to take another look at the Christmas wreath attached to the front grille of his pickup “—never underestimate the powers of coordinated decor.”
Holden chuckled. He lounged against the truck and clapped a companionable hand on her shoulder. “What are you going to put on yours?”
Libby stalked off through the calf-high grass. In the distance, she could see some of Holden’s incredibly beautiful quarter horses grazing contentedly in the pasture.
She could understand why he liked living on a ranch. It was so peaceful out here. So pretty and still so wild in places, too.
She whirled around and walked toward him, not stopping until they were toe-to-toe once again. “I’m not sure yet.”
He peered at her curiously. “You don’t have any decorations at the house?”
She sighed. “I do, but…Percy’s mom was all about symmetry. Her trees had to have one color ribbon and one type of ornament, and that was it.”
Holden winced. “I remember.”
Libby reached out to pick off some pine needles that were stuck to the fleece lining of Holden’s jacket. “She varied it from year to year, but…”
“Doesn’t suit you?” he guessed.
Finished, Libby stepped back again. “I’m a very disciplined person, but not in that area.”
“What about decorations you used growing up?” Holden cocked his head playfully. “Still have any of those?”
“Aunt Ida liked glittery ornaments. Unfortunately, they are all so old the exterior is constantly flaking off.”
“Not good,” he commiserated.
“Not at all.” Libby looked in his eyes, surprised at the banked desire she found there. “So I’ve been thinking, while we were traipsing your entire property, Holden McCabe, that maybe it’s time I got new decorations, too.” She lifted a hand in warning. “Before you get too excited, no burnt-orange and white.”
His eyes crinkled at the corners. “Traditional all the way, hmm?”
Not always, Libby thought, considering the rebound relationship she had agreed to have with him. “We’ll see. I think I want to look around first,” she confided, more eager for a fresh start than ever. “I think I’d like to get something really special to start my own collection with.”
“Sounds nice.”
It did, Libby thought. But what was even better was the joy she felt being there with him.
IT WAS JUST STARTING TO get dark when Holden and Libby arrived at her place.
She hopped down from the cab before he’d even cut the motor. Her long legs eating up the drive, she circled around to the back. “You don’t have to carry my tree in, Holden. You can just leave it on the front porch.”
He knew she could manage the tree on her own. The question was, why did she want to?
Frowning, he hefted the pine onto the ground. “Is there some reason you don’t want me to come inside?” Was she afraid he was going to put the moves on her?
Despite his own desire, he’d managed to control himself thus far….
“Well, now that you mention it—” she pulled her keys out of the pocket of her jeans “—the place is a little messy.”
Holden shrugged, not sure where this sudden tension and evasiveness was coming from. “I’m a guy. Mess is my comfort zone.”
Still Libby hesitated.
Had he done something? Said something? Holden thought worriedly. Everything had been fine up to now….
Finally, she shrugged and said, “You’re going to find out, anyway.”
Find out what? Holden wondered as she led the way inside.
He got the tree just past the threshold, when he stopped in shock.
The Lowell family photo gallery that had lined the stairs and the foyer had all been taken down. The frames were stacked on the dining-room table. Additional boxes littered the floor.
A hammer and a jar of nails sat midway up the stairs.
Libby laid her clump of “his and hers” mistletoe on the foyer table, took off her vest and hat, and hung them on the coat tree next to the door. Flushing, she gestured. “That’s as far as I got yesterday m
orning before I had to leave for the Community Chapel bazaar.”
Holden was glad the photos of Percy and his ancestors had come down. It was yet another sign that Libby was ready to move on.
“What made you decide to do this now?” he asked, carrying the tree on into the family room at the rear of the house, where she had said she wanted it.
“Several things, actually,” she murmured, opening the door off the kitchen and going into the garage.
She returned with a Christmas tree stand.
“Jeff Johnston is sending over a bank appraiser and broker on Monday afternoon, to evaluate the property. The local broker I had here on Friday morning said if I was serious about selling and getting the best price possible, I should start stripping the home of personal memorabilia.”
Libby put the stand where she wanted it.
Holden set the tree inside. “Is that the only reason?”
“No,” Libby said quietly. “I’ve been meaning to do it for a while now, I just haven’t been able to figure out what I should do with all the pictures.”
While she held the tree, he knelt to tighten the screws that would hold it in place.
“Normally, in a situation like this, the thing to do would be to return the photos to Percy’s remaining extended family,” she murmured.
Holden saw her dilemma. “Only there aren’t any.”
Her shoulders slumped. “I thought about taking them over to the dealership, but many of them—like the ones of him catching a fish or climbing a mountain—are far too personal for that. Plus—” she exhaled, her inner turmoil evident “—they don’t have anything at all to do with tractor sales. Any of the Lowell family archives that do are already at LRE.”
Holden kept his eyes locked with hers. “You could distribute them to old family friends.”
Libby sighed, looking even more vulnerable. “The question is, who would get what, and how would I go about it?”
No question, it wouldn’t be easy. “Do you want me to help you with that?” Holden asked her gently.
She shook her head, withdrawing emotionally again. “That’s something I should do, as Percy’s widow. But there is one thing you could help me with, if you’re so inclined?”
He straightened, his own feelings turbulent. “Whatever you need,” he told her sincerely.
Libby flashed an appreciative smile. “Help me finish removing all the photos from the frames, and take the picture hangers out of the wall.”
For the next hour and a half they worked side by side, pausing to look at the photos they removed. Eventually, after studying one particularly poignant shot of Percy and his folks at his college graduation, and another one of all four of them on her wedding day, Libby shook her head in consternation and murmured, “I know it was just ten years ago, but this seems like it was from another lifetime. One that’s getting harder and harder to remember.”
Holden knew what she meant. His own marriage seemed light-years ago, too.
Their circumstances were different, though. He had opted out; she hadn’t. He covered her hand with his own. “Does that upset you?”
“It used to.” Libby leaned into his touch. “Now what I feel is more like relief.” She swallowed and turned to search his face. “Does that make me a bad person?”
“No, Libby, it makes you human. And ready to move on.” He wrapped his arms around her and hugged her fiercely. “And those are both good things.”
“YOU’VE BEEN HARD TO GET ahold of,” Miss Rosa told Libby at nine the next morning.
Libby blushed. She had been really busy.
“Anything you want to tell us about?” Miss Mim winked.
“Actually, yes.” Libby sidestepped the subject of Holden and the fact that they had recklessly spent at least part of the night together yet again—at his ranch, in his bed.
She still couldn’t bring herself to ask him to stay the night in her house yet. There was still too much of Percy there.
Libby went to her desk and got two copies of the fundraising letter she had drafted. “Read this…and tell me what you think.”
“It’s fantastic,” Miss Rosa said, when she had finished.
Miss Mim enthused, “You did a great job explaining how much the institution means not just to Laramie, but all of Laramie County. We’ll get it sent out right away.”
“You’re welcome to use the computer and printer here in my office,” Libby said.
Miss Mim hesitated. “Are you sure we won’t be in the way? We compiled a list of one hundred charitable foundations in Texas we want to try. So it’s going to take a while….”
“That’s fine,” Libby assured them with a smile. “I’m going to be at the house, anyway.”
Libby left the librarians and headed toward the exit. As she walked past the break room, she overheard a group of male employees talking.
“What do you think our annual bonuses will be?” Manny Pierce was asking the dealership accountant.
“Depends, but at five percent of the current profits, you can each figure on taking a very nice vacation…”
Her nerves jangling, Libby kept going.
Her aunt Ida had always said it was very bad luck to count your chickens before they hatched.
Libby had found that to be true.
As she reached the exit, Jeff Johnston was pulling up in his Maserati. Four more vehicles turned in right behind him.
The two men and two women congregated alongside Jeff. He introduced his attorney, bank appraiser, chief financial advisor and real-estate broker.
Libby hadn’t expected an entourage, but she refused to let it rattle her. Smiling, she said, “Let’s get started, shall we?”
The tour of the dealership, inventory and warehouses commenced. Finished with that, they headed across the road to the Lowell home. And it was there that the trouble began.
Frowns abounded as they toured the premises. Although he had been there briefly before, with no complaints, it was pretty clear today that Jeff was not impressed with anything he saw.
He returned to the living room, where the toddler section of the Laramie Public Library was now set up. “This is going to have to go—immediately,” he said. “And the same goes for the information and help desk set up in the corner of the dealership showroom.”
“Neither of those things are going to happen until we find a solution for the library crisis,” Libby retorted.
Concerned looks passed among Jeff’s team.
He paused. “You know, for tax purposes I want to close on this deal before December 31.”
Libby nodded. “That still gives us twenty-one days.”
“That’s not a lot of time,” his attorney remarked.
Jeff continued looking at Libby. “Mrs. Lowell is right,” he said carefully after a moment. “That’s plenty of time for me to get everything I want.”
HOURS LATER, Holden and Libby were roaming the stores in San Angelo’s Sunset Mall, looking for decorations for her tree. While they shopped, they talked.
“So Johnston and his group made you uneasy today,” Holden gathered, when Libby had finished relating the morning-long tour.
She left one shop and headed for another, Holden right beside her. “It wasn’t anything he said or did precisely.”
Holden slid his hand beneath her elbow and brought her in close to him. “Just a feeling.”
Libby nodded and continued walking. Once again, his hand kept contact, this time pressed to the middle of her spine. “I think the info your dad scouted on Jeff might be right.” She sucked in a breath. “He probably is going to play hardball with me. He just hasn’t started yet.”
Holden leaned down to whisper in her ear. “If you want backup, I’m here. And so is any other McCabe you’d like to bring along.”
As tempting as it was, Libby knew that relying too heavily on Holden would not be good. Using him as a sounding board was one thing; employing him as protection another. “Thanks. But I think your aunt Claire can handle this for me.” It
was, after all, what her attorney was paid to do.
“Say, what do you think of this angel?” Libby paused to admire a particularly beautiful tree-topper.
Holden studied the dazzling ornament. “I think she looks like you. Seriously. Honey-blond hair, gorgeous face, emerald eyes.”
They were flirting again, Libby noted, and she was enjoying Holden’s teasing more than ever. She wrinkled her nose playfully at him. “So does that mean you think I should get it?”
He shrugged, pretending to misunderstand the question. “Unless you plan to sit atop your tree as the lead decoration.”
Libby chuckled at the ridiculousness of the idea. “I meant, should I get an angel or a star? Because these glittery gold and silver stars are awfully nice, too.”
“I see what you mean.” Holden rubbed his jaw as he studied them gravely.
“And…?” Libby moved close enough to inhale his special scent.
He stepped even nearer, the heat from his body engulfing her. “I have no clue. I’m not an expert on interior design.”
“What are you an expert on?” she asked.
Holden paused. For a second, she thought he was going to say something romantic to her. Instead, he pointed to a display of college ornaments and said, picking up a box for himself, “All things Texas, of course.”
Chiding herself for wanting this fling of theirs to be more than they had agreed upon, Libby moved farther down the aisle, past the Western-themed decorations, toward the next grouping. Without warning, she found herself standing in front of a display of baby’s first ornaments. Next to that was a selection of porcelain bride and groom and wedding-bell decorations.
She stopped to briefly examine both, before she was swamped with such wistfulness she had to turn away or risk bursting into tears.
“It’s going to happen,” Holden told her. He shifted the box to his other hand and cupped her face with his palm, stroking her cheek tenderly with his thumb. “Maybe sooner than you think.”
Libby only wished getting what she really wanted for Christmas—a husband and a baby and a completely new lease on life—was that easy.
Holden’s gaze probed her slowly and deliberately. “You’re going to get the baby you’ve wanted for so long,” he said.
A Cowboy to Marry Page 13
