A Cowboy to Marry (13 page)

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.”

 

“Y
OU'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.”

 

H
OURS 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.

She gestured listlessly, feeling tears threaten once again. “Not without love and marriage and all the traditional things that go along with it.” Why was she suddenly feeling so moody? Up one minute, down the next…!

“Including courtship.” He gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

“And a man who doesn't view me as an unwanted burden or responsibility.”

“You'll get that, too,” he promised softly.

Would she? Holden seemed so sure. Fighting off a new wave of emotion, Libby swallowed and moved on to yet
another aisle of decorations, these more her current speed. “I think I know how I want to decorate my Christmas tree.”

She pointed to the row of individual ornaments, of every theme and variety. “I'm going to make a completely asymmetrical, one-hundred-percent-whimsical tree. As a symbol of my moving on.”

Holden smiled and caught her hand in his. “Sounds good to me.”

“I'm surprised to see you here—alone—again,” Emily remarked when Holden sought her out on Thursday evening. As usual during the holidays, his baby sis was working late. Hence, even though the Daybreak Café had officially closed after the lunch rush, Emily was back in the restaurant kitchen at eight that evening, making some of the dough and batter that would be baked and served the following day.

Usually, though, her husband hung out with her. Holden took a seat at the stainless-steel work counter. “Where's Dylan?”

Emily shaped dough into candy canes. “At our ranch, hosting a 4-H Club workshop on the best way to get a green horse used to the saddle. So what's up?” She paused to wipe her hands on her apron. “Are you just here to see if I will feed you dinner—as you know I will?” Her expression gentled. “Or is something else on your mind?”

“I've already eaten, thanks.” Holden rested his forearms on the table. “I came to get some advice.”

Emily lifted her eyebrows. “This is new.”

“Go easy on me.” He scowled. “I'm struggling here.”

His sister poured him a cup of coffee and brought out
a platter of cookies for him to peruse. “Obviously, this is about Libby and your crazy rebound deal with her.”

Holden selected a thumbprint cookie with a strawberry center. “We're past that.” He munched on the delicious confection.

“Oh?” Emily started shaping Christmas coffee cakes.

Holden worked to contain his frustration. “We agreed it would just go however long it goes. Into the spring, or before the holidays end.” Realizing their affair could be over even sooner than he'd thought caused him to worry. And Holden wasn't used to worrying about romance.

Emily slid the dough into the oven and paused to set the timer. “Is that why you and Libby haven't been buddying around together the last three nights?”

Was it that obvious he was getting the heave-ho? Deciding maybe he was overreacting, Holden stuck to the facts. “I saw her Monday evening. We went shopping in San Angelo to get ornaments for our trees.”

Emily cut peanut-butter fudge into neat one-inch squares. “What about Tuesday?”

Holden helped himself to a frosted sugar cookie. “She had an appointment with the outside accounting firm auditing her business, in advance of the sale.”

“Wednesday?”

“A meeting with her attorney.”

Again his sister lifted an eyebrow. “Tonight?”

Holden tensed. “She said she's not feeling well.”

Emily mulled that over. “And you're not buying it?” she guessed.

He shrugged. “It is flu season. We both had our shots last weekend, but the pharmacist said it takes two weeks for them to become fully effective.”

“I haven't heard of anyone being sick here in Laramie
just yet, but that doesn't mean she didn't pick up something when you were in San Angelo the other night.”

“So you don't think she's just making excuses to try and cool things off between us?”

His sister paused. “Is there some reason you think that might be the case?”

Holden wasn't sure. “Things have been moving pretty fast.”

A knowing smile crossed her lips. “Too fast for her?” Emily asked pointedly. “Or too fast for you?”

“Too slow for me,” Holden clarified. He threw up his hands in exasperation. “I'm not sure about her.”

Emily patted him on the shoulder. “Well, then, brother dear, there is only one way to find out.”

 

L
IBBY WAS HALFWAY THROUGH
changing the sheets and comforter on her bed when the doorbell rang.

She glanced at her watch. Nine o'clock? Who would be stopping by this late? And without calling first!

Swearing at the inconvenience, as well as her dishabille, Libby stepped over the pile of discarded linens and headed down the stairs. A glance through the peephole in the heavy wooden door gave her the answer she needed.

Feeling equally thrilled and dismayed, she opened the door. Using flirtatiousness as a shield, she propped one hand on her hip and approximated her best Southern belle voice. “Why, Holden McCabe, is that you beneath the red-and-white Santa hat?”

He grinned, then bowed to her like a courtier. “It is indeed.”

Her glance drifted to the items in his hand. “What's with the wreath and the bag?”

“The wreath is for your front door, since you don't have one yet. You'll notice it's very traditional,”

Meaning, Libby thought, it didn't have any sports memorabilia or university colors on it. Instead it was adorned with red and white berries woven throughout, and a big, red velvet bow.

She smiled at his teasing and accepted the gift gratefully. Together, they used the hook provided to hang it on her front door. Libby centered it just so, then stepped back to admire it. “It's very nice, thank you.” Shivering in her yoga clothes, she ushered him in.

“As for the other…” Holden stepped over the threshold, shut the door behind him and handed her the bag. “I brought you some chicken soup from the Daybreak Café.”

Normally, that sounded great. Tonight it made her want to barf. Again. Just catching a faint whiff of it made her hold up her palm and back away. “Thanks, but…”

Holden shrugged out of his jacket, and tossed it and his Santa hat on the coat tree next to the front door. He peered at her closely, his expression concerned. “You really are ill, aren't you?”

Libby knew her skin was an odd grayish color again; she could feel it. Wishing her heart would stop racing and her knees cease trembling, she clapped a hand over her abdomen. Working to sound a great deal more matter-of-fact than she felt, she explained, “I've got tummy troubles. I'm not sure why. It may have something to do with the chicken-salad sandwich I had at lunch. It tasted odd, but I was so hungry I was weak-kneed, so I ate it anyway, and have been paying for it this evening.”

“Bummer.”

“No kidding. I made it only halfway through my yoga workout when I upchucked all over my mat. So…that's
why I begged off seeing you tonight.” She hadn't wanted to go into the gory details.

He walked with her to the family room. Saw the bags and boxes right where they had left them on Monday evening. “Still haven't decorated your tree?”

Libby sighed. “No time.”

He leveled an assessing gaze on her and kept it there. “What can I do to help?”

Libby pulled in a stabilizing breath. “Honestly? Nothing. I was just changing the linens on my bed. I was going to take a shower and go to bed.”
And hope I don't throw up again.

He gave her a long look that spoke volumes. “I can help with that,” he offered.

She swallowed around the parched feeling in her throat and made a joke to lighten the tension between them. “The shower?”

“The bed making,” he replied in a humorous way that made her heart skip a beat.

Their glances met and held.

Wishing she felt well enough to spend the evening with him, Libby sighed.

He clapped a hand to her forehead and frowned. “No fever.”

Without warning, she felt weak-kneed again. Dizzy and trembling all over.

The last time she had felt like this had been in the first months after Percy died.

Libby swore silently to herself and closed her eyes. She could not go through this again.

 

I
T DIDN'T TAKE A MIND READER
to know that Libby wasn't telling him everything, Holden thought, as he accompa
nied her upstairs and helped her finish changing the sheets on her bed. Clearly, she was worried about the way she was feeling. He studied her pale skin and slightly shaky demeanor. “You sure you're okay to get in the shower by yourself?”

She scoffed, “I wouldn't do it if I didn't think I could.”

A mixture of gallantry and tenderness surged through him. He touched the side of her face, not sure when he had felt such overwhelming devotion or responsibility for another human being. “Okay.” He decided her color had almost returned to normal. “But I'll be right outside the bathroom door. So if you need help,” he told her sternly, “you just call me.”

Libby picked up the nightclothes she had already laid out, and cradled them in her arms. She took a moment to scowl at him. “I think I'll survive.”

Heaven help him, he wanted to make love to her, here and now.

She slipped inside the bathroom and shut the door behind her.

Holden heard the water start.

By the time she emerged, her hair wrapped in a towel, prim and proper flannel pajamas on, he had her bed turned down and all ready for her. Wishing he could climb under the covers with her, Holden kissed the top of her head. “In you go.”

She huffed in exasperation as he drew the covers up and tucked them in around her. “You're really overdoing it, you know.”

Finished, he rested a palm on either side of her. “I'm also spending the night,” he confided gently. “On the family-room sofa downstairs.”

“You don't have to do this,” she protested weakly.

He caught her hand, brought it to his lips and kissed the back of it. Still holding her eyes, he whispered, “I want to. And I'm not taking no for an answer.”

 

L
IBBY WOKE TO SUNLIGHT
streaming through the windows. It took her only a moment to realize that the nausea and dizziness she had felt the night before were gone.

The desire she felt for Holden, when she walked downstairs and found him puttering around her kitchen, increased by leaps and bounds.

He looked incredibly attractive with his shirttail hanging out, the morning beard lining his jaw, his dark hair rumpled.

Turning, he regarded her with tenderness. “How are you feeling?” His voice was a sexy rumble.

“Much better, thanks.”

Surprised by the emotions sifting through her, Libby sat down at the kitchen table. If she had been attracted to Holden before, it was nothing compared to how she felt now, after experiencing his kindness and consideration.

This was what an intimate relationship should be like. Two people caring for and depending on each other. Putting the other person's needs ahead of their own.

Holden set a plate of toast, a cup of her favorite peach tea in front of her.

By the time they had finished eating breakfast together, Libby knew she was well enough to go to work, so he decided to head out to his ranch.

She walked him as far as the front door. Taking a page from the man's playbook, she decided to try and line up their next date. “Want to come back tonight? It's Friday. I'll fix you dinner. You can help me decorate the tree.”

Holden's face fell. He gave her a look more potent than
any kiss. “I'd love to, but I already promised to deliver a couple quarter horses to a ranch outside Wimberly today. I won't be back until late.” He smiled. “Rain check? For Sunday evening, maybe?”

Libby had missed seeing him this week on the days they had been apart. Missed having time to talk to each other. Missed making love even more. “Sunday evening sounds good.” Even though she would have preferred it to be sooner.

Holden paused, looking as if he wanted to say something, but wasn't sure he should.

Following a hunch, Libby drawled, “You may as well come out with it. Otherwise, I'm going to be wondering all day long what's on your mind.”

He exhaled. “You know the bowl games start tomorrow.”

It took her a moment to follow what he was saying. “Football?”

He chuckled. “Yeah. Football.”

Or in other words, the sport that was so popular it was almost considered a religion in Texas. It was all the guys at the dealership talked about when they weren't with customers. “I thought the Rose Bowl wasn't until January,” Libby said.

“It's not.”

“And UT is in that, right?”

Holden nodded. He came close enough that she could feel his body heat. “But the rest of the games are exciting, too. And my brothers and I have a tradition of placing bets with each other, and watching as many of the games as we can together.”

“Sounds fun.”

“It really is,” he said with a grin.

Libby nodded. If there was one thing she had learned at an early age, it was how to be a good sport. “Then I wish you luck.”

“Actually, I was hoping for more than that.” He took her hand in his and clasped it warmly. “Tomorrow it's my turn to host the gathering at my ranch. There are three games—the first is at 1:00 p.m., the second at 4:30 and the third begins at 8:00 in the evening.”

That was a lot of football, Libby thought. And though she'd never been all that interested in it, she was interested in Holden. “So you are going to be busy.”

“Very. Given the fact that my brothers and sister and their spouses and kids, plus our parents, will all be there for the party. So I was wondering…” Holden tightened his grip on her hand and gave her a look that caused her heart to flutter.

“If you think you're up to so many televised sports and McCabes in one day…would you be my date?”

 

“T
HE KEY TO ENJOYING YOURSELF
is to place bets on the games, too,” Emily told Libby, as the two of them set out platters of wings and veggies, supplied by her café.

There was only one tiny problem with that, Libby thought. “I don't know anything about the teams that are playing.”

Emily smiled mischievously. “Then do what I do, and bet against whoever your husband—or love interest—is backing.”

Libby flushed self-consciously. Sex and friendship weren't the same thing as love. “Holden and I aren't exactly…”

Holden passed by with a tub of beers and soft drinks on ice. He paused to kiss the slope of her neck in a decidedly
possessive way. “Yes. We are.” He winked at them both and took off.

Emily's eyes gleamed with a speculative light. “Wow…I don't think I have ever seen my big brother that smitten.”