A Cowboy to Marry (12 page)

Libby shifted toward him, clearly interested, her eyes narrowed in cool speculation. “And?”

“He's clean, as far as his dealings go. Everything in his process is legal and aboveboard.”

Intimacy simmered between them. “I could have told you that. I had the dealership attorney, Claire McCabe, do a background check on Johnston before I ever even entertained the idea of selling to him.”

Holden knew they were headed into dangerous territory. “There can be things about a person that don't show up in a background check.”

Her brow furrowed. “Such as?”

“He's known to be a very tough negotiator.”

Libby tilted her head and gazed over at Holden. “That hasn't been my experience. In fact, to date he's been more than willing to work with me, even agreeing to keep the Lowell name on the business.”

The change in traffic light forced Holden to move on. “Don't you think that's odd?” He waved at a friend manning the Salvation Army holiday donation bucket in the corner.

Libby waved, too, then turned to scowl at Holden. “Jeff realizes the Lowell name is synonymous with quality. He knows full well that customers are going to be wary enough about the change, without altering the name and logo, too.”

Holden couldn't argue.

“And,” Libby continued heatedly, “this is a way to keep the memory of Percy and his ancestors alive in the hearts and minds of all the people they served over the years.”

Holden turned again and headed toward the dealership. “I can't see that sentiment meaning much to a tycoon in the making like Jeff Johnston.”

“It may not, but it means something to the employees who work at Lowell Ranch Equipment, and Jeff realizes what an integral part they all play in the success of the dealership. Our customers depend on the relationships they have built with our sales and service staff members.”

Holden did not deny the personal touch went a long way. But there was also ego involved. He approached the driveway to Libby's home and turned into it, pulled up close to the house and cut the engine. “According to my dad, Johnston has put his moniker on everything he owns.”

“Well, not in this case. Besides,” Libby said, “with the plans Jeff has to build up the business by adding an internet component, he'll probably make much more than I do now. As will all the employees, since they're going to own five percent of the business, once the deal is set.”

Holden only wished negotiating a deal of that complexity was easy. “So you're not in the least bit worried…”

“You don't have to worry,” Libby declared. “I've got this handled.”

Easier said than done, Holden thought, as he and Libby gazed at each other with mounting emotion. Especially given the promise he had made to Percy, and Holden's own private need to shield her from harm.

But that was a story for another day. Right now, he needed to keep them spending time together. And there was only one way to do that.

Libby stared at Holden as if she couldn't possibly have heard him correctly. “His and her Christmas trees?” she repeated.

Holden knew he was pushing it, but if Libby really was going to leave Laramie and relocate elsewhere after the sale of her business and home, his time to woo her was limited. Too limited. He gestured expansively. “We already have his and her wreaths.”

She angled her head, clearly unconvinced. A wealth of consideration came and went in her bemused expression. “I know you mentioned getting one from your ranch earlier, but given the time crunch…what's wrong with getting them from the Kiwanis lot?” she challenged softly.

He leaned closer, inhaling her seductive cinnamon perfume. She was dodging intimacy again. “Where is the fun in that?”

Without warning, the sparkle was back in her green eyes. She planted a gloved hand in the center of his chest, successfully holding him at bay. “I suppose,” she said drily, “you're going to tell me?”

Holden wished he could do a lot more than that. But knowing he was going to have to be a lot more patient if he wanted to make her his, he said, “For maximum holiday
enjoyment, we need to obtain our trees the old-fashioned way. Unless—” he paused and peered at her through narrowed eyes “—you're not up to the task?”

Libby glared at him. “Excuse me?”

“Well,” Holden drawled, enjoying matching words and wits with her, “it could be a little arduous.” He puffed out his chest and flexed his muscles, then made a show of studying her much more feminine and slender form. “Trekking through the fields to the woods.” He made another show of studying her legs. “Locating the perfect trees for each of us. Chopping them down, dragging them back. Yeah.” Holden let his gaze drift slowly over her midriff before returning with taunting deliberation to her face. “You're right. Such rigorous physical activity on such a beautiful winter afternoon probably is a little much to expect you to do.”

“Please.” Libby rolled her eyes and released her seat belt. “I am certainly up to the task. All I need is a proper pair of boots and warmer clothing.”

Because she said she would be “just one sec,” Holden waited in the truck while she dashed inside. Five minutes later, she came rushing back out again.

Gone were the dressy sweater and slacks she had worn to brunch. In their place were a nicely worn pair of midnight-wash jeans, cream-colored thermal underwear beneath a trendy red-and-black buffalo-plaid flannel shirt and a vest with a marled sheepskin lining. She had tucked a flat-brimmed, dark brown Stetson on her hair and put rugged, shearling-lined boots on her feet.

She looked incredibly sexy—all fine Texas woman—striding toward him. Holden felt his heart thump in his chest.

Damn, but she was beautiful.

And until now, so underappreciated.

He promised himself she would never feel like a “ball and chain” to anyone again.

 

L
IBBY HADN'T EXPECTED TO
have such fun, driving and hiking all over Holden's ranch. But as they climbed fences, navigated rocks and traversed the rugged terrain where he taught and trained his cutting horses, she found herself laughing more and more.

“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.

 

I
T 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 morning 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.”