A Cowboy to Marry (5 page)

“Want to try and help me, anyway?”

This was something, Holden knew, that Percy had never been willing to do. “Sure,” he said. If this was a test regarding his dating ability—as it suddenly seemed to be—he was determined to pass it.

“Okay, then.” Libby got an armful of ingredients out of the fridge, another from the pantry. She paused to pull her V-neck sweater over her head and set it aside, then pushed the sleeves of her white long-sleeved T-shirt to her elbows. “I make soup every Sunday evening.”

Holden tried not to notice how the cotton fabric clung to the curves of her breasts. “When did this start?”

“After Percy died. I couldn't seem to manage anything that required even a moderate amount of concentration. But soup was foolproof.”

Holden chuckled. “Then it sounds like the perfect dish for me.”

“Not to worry. I know it doesn't sound very filling, but I'll whip up some quesadillas for you, too. In the meantime—” she got out a bag of chips and a jar of salsa and arranged them on a serving dish “—you can munch on these, since our main course is going to take about an hour to prepare.”

“Thanks.”

“No problem.” Looking increasingly at ease, she handed him a cutting board and knife. Then a green pepper, a red pepper, several ripe tomatoes and an onion. “Think you can chop these up into little pieces?”

It was his turn to smile. “Oh ye of little faith…”

Libby mugged comically as she started mixing chili powder, cumin and garlic powder, and the aroma of Southwestern spices filled the kitchen.

Enjoying the camaraderie that had sprung up between them, Holden cut the seeds and stem out of the peppers.
He was more awkward than she was, but could still get the job done. “I'm guessing we're making tortilla soup?” he asked eventually.

Purposefully, Libby lined up boneless chicken breasts on a rimmed baking sheet, drizzled on olive oil, sprinkled on spice and put that into the oven to bake. “You guessed right.”

“Now what?” he said when he'd finished dicing.

She poured a little more olive oil in the bottom of the stockpot. The heat of the stove had her sculpted cheeks glowing pink. “Pour the veggies in here and then stir them around.”

He tried not to think how much he had enjoying kissing her, or how sweet and feminine her body had felt pressed against his. Even now, he fought the urge to hold her in his arms again.

“You mean sauté them?”

Merriment danced in her green eyes. “You really aren't as unschooled as you look.”

Holden laughed and started stirring as directed.

Shaking her head in amusement, Emily opened containers of chicken broth, tomatoes with jalapeño peppers and black beans. All were added to the sizzling veggies. The quarters were close, and Holden's shoulder nudged hers as they worked. “It's starting to look like soup.” He could smell the chicken roasting, too.

“As soon as we put the meat in…” Libby paused.

His brow furrowed, Holden fixed his attention on the window above the kitchen sink.

She came closer, in a drift of soap and shampoo, and studied his face. “What are you looking at?”

Clearly, she didn't think there was much to notice in
the backyard. Especially at dusk on a cold winter's day. Holden frowned. “Was there snow in the forecast?”

Libby's shoulders brushed his. “There was a ten-percent chance of rain, but—”

He pointed toward the glass. “Does that look like rain to you?”

She stood on tiptoe to get a better view. “I don't know…it's so gloomy. How can you tell?”

“One way to find out.” He headed for the back door.

As he had hoped, Libby was right behind him.

Laramie was far enough north that it snowed at least once a year, usually only a couple inches at a time. And it melted the next day. So this wouldn't be unprecedented.

Holden stepped off the porch and into the yard. He held his palms out, as did she. Sure enough, he realized with a smile, it was snow! Tiny white flakes that swirled in the wind and dotted their faces and hands.

Libby laughed in delight, her voice soft and musical, and maybe the best thing he'd heard in a long time. “Wow,” she exclaimed, even as she shivered in the cold winter air. “It never snows this early in December.”

Holden wished he had a jacket to put over her. The best he could do was wrap his arm around her shoulder and draw her in close. “It's doing it now,” he said, laughing in turn.

She leaned against him as they stared up in wonder, watching it snow.

“It's not going to stick, but…” Libby turned toward him, as captivated by the magic of the moment as he was. “I still can't believe it,” she murmured, looking deep into his eyes.

Holden brushed snowflakes from her hair. “Believe it,”
he said. And then he did what he'd wanted to do all day. He pulled her against him and kissed her again.

Her lips softened, yet were not quite pliant. She wreathed her arms about his neck and pressed close, as if savoring his warmth and his strength, but not sure if she should let it go any further, or open up the floodgates.

Even so, it was all the encouragement he needed. He cupped her face in his hands and deepened the kiss, wondering all the while what it would take to make her feel as giddy with longing and crazy with desire as he felt at this instant. Wondering what it would take to make her surrender…

 

L
IBBY HAD THOUGHT
if she kept it casual, kept them busy, this wouldn't happen. He wouldn't look at her in that certain way that made her feel all-woman. He wouldn't pursue her.

They wouldn't end up falling victim to the sizzling physical attraction between them.

But they had.

And now?

All she knew for certain was that when she was with Holden like this, her problems seemed a lot more manageable, her life more exciting.

He made her want to relax and move forward and play. But she wasn't a carefree girl anymore, Libby scolded herself, as the feel of his muscular frame pressed against hers sent sensations flooding through her body.

She might be
feeling
a little love-struck at the moment—probably because she had been alone so long—but it didn't make a reckless liaison any less dangerous to her heart.

She could still be hurt. Terribly.

So could he.

And that, as much as anything, was why they had to stop.

Before they did something they would both regret.

Breathlessly, she tore her mouth from his and pushed him away. “Holden. We can't.”

“Sure we can.” His lips closed on hers again before she could murmur another word. He kissed her long and hard, until she finally relented and kissed him back just as passionately. Again and again, until the future beckoned and her icy-cold heart began to thaw. And Libby knew this rebound romance of theirs was going to be trouble.

Big trouble.

Libby was setting up the art center the library provided for the little ones when the doorbell rang the next evening. It was Holden, who, freshly showered and shaved, smelled every bit as good as he looked.

She smiled. “Hey, I didn't expect to see you tonight.”

He strolled in, took off his leather bomber jacket and hung it on the coat tree next to the door. “Miss Mim assigned me as your volunteer helper for the library hours at your home.”

Tingles rippled through Libby as she gazed up at him. He towered over her and made her feel petite. “Did she do that on her own or…?”

Holden's eyes twinkled at the corners. “I might have had something to do with it.”

Libby's breath stalled halfway up her windpipe, reminding her just how long she had been without a man in her life.

“What did she say?”

Holden wrapped his arms around her and brought her flush against him. “She clapped me on the arm and said, ‘Good luck and Godspeed.'”

Libby couldn't help it—she laughed.

A little levity was what she needed after the day she'd had.

“How are things going at the dealership?” Holden asked, brushing a brief, platonic kiss on her hairline and releasing her.

She went back to prepping for their little guests and parents, setting out coffee, cartons of juice and milk on ice, and cookies. “It was a weird day.”

“How so?” Holden arranged the crayons and paper, and several sets of blocks.

Finished, Libby straightened. “Jeff Johnston was supposed to call me to get more information so his guy could do one evaluation of the property. See if it came up the same as ours. He didn't.”

Holden kept his eyes on her face. “Hmm.”

“Apparently, he's still running around, talking to the local ranchers, one-on-one. Trying to get a feel for the customer.”

Holden closed in on her slowly. “That may not be all bad, if Johnston turns out to be a responsive business owner. People might feel a lot better about the sale. Which in turn means less pressure on you, if that is the road you're deciding to take.”

If.
Libby ruminated over Holden's choice of words. “Does that mean you still hope I won't sell?”

“I hope you won't leave Laramie. Not the same thing.”

Did any of that have to do with them kissing on two separate occasions? Libby wondered, as a thrill ran through her.

Or the way the evening ended the night before, with the snow flurries stopping as abruptly as they had started, and them both being a little on edge…?

Not sure whether to feel guilty about any latent disloy
alty to Percy, or happy that they both now knew they were capable of moving on.

Physically, anyway…

Holden cleared his throat. “What about the rest of your day?”

“Even stranger. There's a lot of tension at the dealership. Despite my reassurances that I am looking out for them, people are worried about their jobs.”

“Guess that's to be expected,” he rationalized.

Libby sighed and shook her head. “We were supposed to get the showroom decorated for Christmas between customers, but with staff suddenly taking a disproportionate amount of ‘personal time' and the number of local ranchers coming in to chat and see if the rumors about a possible transfer of ownership are true, that didn't happen, either.”

Holden perched on an arm of the sofa. “I could help you with that.”

She strolled closer, studying him all the while. “Aren't you pretty busy, too?”

“During the day.” He lifted his broad shoulders in a lazy shrug. “My evenings are free. And since the mini-library is only going to be open from five to seven on Monday, Wednesday and Friday evenings, that leaves tomorrow and Thursday free.”

“You're sure you wouldn't mind?” Libby asked appreciatively.

His smile was slow and sexy. “Ply me with more of that delicious soup and I'll be there promptly at closing.”

Libby flushed at the memory of his lips on hers. “I'll do better than that, since you're really going to have to work.”

His eyes twinkled once again. “I think I'll be up to the task.”

Libby was, too. That was the problem—it was difficult to be around Holden and not fantasize about all the possibilities.

 

“I
KNOW
C
INDY IS ONLY
six weeks old,” the proud young mother told Holden seriously, shortly after the mini-library opened. “But now that she's looking around, I really think I should start reading to her.”

He smiled. “It's never too soon to engender a love of reading. Let me show you where the board books are housed.”

While he was busy, another half-dozen mothers came in, all doing their best to guide their excited children through the process of choosing new reading material.

“Honestly,” one particularly harried young mom said, as Libby was checking out the books by hand, “sometimes I don't know what I was thinking!”

Libby knew the woman was joking about the challenge of having three rambunctious boys, roughly a year apart in age. Still…

“Was that as hard on you as it was on me?” she asked Holden after they had closed down for the night.

He gathered up the stray crayons. “I love kids.”

Libby hunkered down to straighten the stacks. “You know what I mean.”

“Yeah. I do,” he admitted. “And being around newborn babies is particularly hard for me.” His jaw tightened. “It makes me think of the baby Heidi and I lost, when she miscarried.” He turned to Libby, his eyes bleak. “It was a boy, you know.”

She felt his pain like a blow to the solar plexus, and she swallowed. “I didn't. Oh, Holden.” She went to him and hugged him close. “I'm so sorry.”

Libby had never really comforted Holden at the time. She hadn't known what to say. Now, having been through her own loss, she did. She swallowed again and drew back. “It's always going to hurt.”

Grimly, Holden went back to gathering up the stray crayons. Finally, he straightened. “A lot of people tell me it will stop. Maybe not now, but—” he turned his brooding glance to hers “—when I actually do have a child.”

Libby took his hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. “I think you'll be happier when you have a child to replace the one you lost. I don't think you'll ever stop grieving. I suspect there will always be a place deep inside you that holds the sadness.” She met his gaze. “A part of you that will wonder what if Heidi
hadn't
miscarried at five months along, if the baby's heart defect had been detected…and they would have had more of a chance to do something about it.”

Jaw clenched, Holden nodded.

Libby gave his fingers another squeeze and let go. “Most of the time I don't think about it. I don't let myself. But tonight…” She lifted a hand and sighed. “With all those babies and toddlers…”

“I know.” Holden's gaze turned compassionate. “It was hard on you, too.”

Restless, she began to pace. “It reminds me that I'm thirty-two. Time is passing. I've got to get a move on if I want to have a baby of my own. And I do.”

“So do I.”

They looked at each other. She had an inkling what his bright idea might be. Libby flashed a weary smile. “That might be a last resort, Holden. But we're not anywhere near a last resort.”

He smiled again, with the trademark McCabe mischief. “Just checking…”

Libby pushed aside the desire roaring through her, and forced herself to think rationally. “In the meantime, if you want to opt out of the volunteer assignment here, and help one of the other mini-libraries instead…?”

Holden shook his head. “My family has been after me for months now, pushing me to forge ahead, and they're right,” he said with his customary determination. “I need to deal with this, Libby. Let it strengthen my resolve to have a family, instead of scaring me away.”

She grinned and clapped him playfully on the shoulder. “Now you're talking.”

“So…” He stepped back, all easy charm once again. “About that first date.”

Persistence of this type usually annoyed Libby. But not here, and not now. Unable to help herself, she sent Holden a flirtatious glance. “We keep putting it off, don't we?”

Those blue eyes twinkled. “No time like the present.”

Libby looked at her watch. They both needed a diversion. And a movie theater was a safe enough venue. “Want to see a nine-o'clock show?” she asked cheerfully.

Holden reached for his coat. “You read my mind.”

 

T
HEY STOPPED BY
the Dairy Barn and grabbed burgers, fries and peppermint shakes. The place was full of teenagers, so they took their meal over to the park and sat at a picnic table in the shelter. It was hard to believe they'd seen snow flurries the evening before, although none of the precipitation had stuck. But that was Texas in December—thirty-two degrees one day, sixty the next.

He ripped open a packet of ketchup. “I noticed you don't
have a Christmas tree yet. Are you planning on getting one?”

Libby ignored the romantic aura of their impromptu picnic and rummaged through the bag, looking for salt. “I've got one being delivered to the dealership for the showroom tomorrow afternoon.” She frowned. “I haven't decided what to do about my house.”

“What do you usually do?”

Libby's recent memories were glum. “Last year I passed. It seemed like too much effort to put one up just for me.”

Holden sent her a stern look. “That's totally unacceptable.”

“Uh-huh.” She regarded him through narrowed lashes. “Do you have one up at your ranch house?”

He wrinkled his nose in chagrin. “Uh…”

“I thought not.” She looked down her nose at him.

“Hey.” He pressed a palm to his chest. “I was going to go and cut one down next weekend.” He favored her with a speculative glance. “You're welcome to come with me if you want.”

Libby blinked. “To a Christmas tree farm?”

“To my property. I have pine trees on the Bar M.”

She dabbed her mouth with a paper napkin. “That sounds…”

His eyes lit up. “Festive?”

Libby grinned. “Like a lot of work.”

His lips curled in mock exasperation. “I take it, then, you've never done it.”

“Wielded an ax on a poor unsuspecting tree?” she responded, deadpan. Enjoying their banter, she sat up straight. “No, I have not.”

“If it will make you feel better, I'll be sure to do all the
chopping and heavy lifting, and I'll replace any trees we take with seedlings in the spring.”

Libby liked the idea of that, as much as she liked hanging out with him. “You'd do that for me?”

Holden toasted her with his peppermint milk shake. “In exchange for some home-baked Christmas cookies? I sure would.”

 

“W
ELL
, I
DIDN'T FORESEE
that ending,” Holden murmured later as he walked her to her front door. “A romantic comedy where the guy
doesn't
get the girl?”

Libby lingered beneath her porch light. She knew it was silly, but she'd had such a good time she didn't want the evening to end. She thrust her hands in the pockets of her red down jacket. “Kind of defeats the purpose of the movie, doesn't it? In my fantasies, I want everything to work out perfectly.”

Holden's lips took on a rueful curve. He thrust his hands in his pockets, too. “I know what you mean. There's comfort in thinking that at least somewhere, some couple is deliriously happy.”

Libby's mood turned wistful. “Even if they're only a fictional couple?”

“Hey.” He lifted his hands amiably. “Got to take what we can get, in this life.”

“How well I know that,” she murmured.

They continued staring at each other.

Libby ignored what she knew was prudent and took reckless action instead. She angled her chin. “Want to come in?”

His wide shoulders relaxed. “Maybe for a minute.”

She unlocked the door and decided to make this an
actual practice run, thereby giving it parameters and a purpose. “I feel as awkward as I would on a first date.”

“Same here.”

Silence fell. Their smiles widened and the butterflies inside her grew. Tingling with anticipation, Libby drew breath.

Holden's jaw tautened. He took her hand, suddenly reserved. “Maybe we should just say good-night,” he suggested quietly.

Giving her no chance to protest, he drew her into his arms.

Libby knew he meant the kiss to be sweet—and short. She could tell by the first, closemouthed press of his lips to hers.

She also knew that wasn't going to be enough. She wanted to feel connected to him. It didn't matter that she was too caught up in the moment to think rationally. Or that taking their relationship to another level would be incredibly risky. He was so big and strong and undeniably male. It had been a long time since she had felt so beautiful and so wanted. And the kiss that had started so innocently quickly turned passionate.

Ever the gentleman, Holden started to put on the brakes and break it off.

Frustrated, Libby drew him back. “Don't go.”

His hands settled on her shoulders and gripped hard. His expression was shadowed with a mixture of self-discipline and regret. “You'll hate me in the morning if I stay,” he murmured grimly. “Maybe even sooner.”

Libby shook her head, scarcely able to believe that what had happened before was happening again. “No, Holden. I won't,” she said desperately.

Briefly, emotion flashed in his eyes, but it was gone
before Libby could decipher it. “If I could believe that…” he said, all traces of the ardent suitor disappearing as swiftly as they had appeared.

“For once, I just want to do what I want,” Libby confessed, wanting—needing—him to see where she was coming from. “And what I want right now, Holden, is to make love with you.”