Page 22 of The Cowboy's Christmas
“This is your property, right? You can cut trees?”
“I could, yes.”
“But…”
“I’m putting up an artificial tree this year.”
“Artificial?” He understood the practicality but had never been a fan.
She read the disapproval in his voice. “It’s a tree, and there’ll be presents beneath it, so I imagine it’ll be okay.”
“I’m more than happy to help you cut a real tree and set it up.”
“I’ll stick with the artificial, thank you.”
Fine. He’d made his offer and she didn’t want to accept. He’d back off. He only realized he’d let out a frustrated breath when it crystallized in front of him. “Sorry,” he said. “It’s just,” he gestured, “there’re all these great trees and some need thinned—”
“I’m not a grinch,” Savannah said.
“I didn’t mean—”
“I know.” She pressed her lips together briefly, then said, “Just so you understand, I lost my husband at Christmas, and…I still miss him…okay?”
Quinn felt the color rise in his cheeks, but before he could say anything, Savannah continued. “It was a slow process, but I’ve accepted that he’s gone, and I treasure the time we had. There’s still some rawness—”
“Probably always will be,” Quinn acknowledged softly.
“Yes.” Savannah swallowed. They rode almost a hundred yards in near silence, the only sound that of hooves punching through crystallized snow and the panting breaths of the dogs.
They’d just passed an aspen grove, the naked branches dark against the gray sky, when Savannah said, “I don’t celebrate Christmas. I mean, I haven’t since losing Matt, but this year I have the girls, who won’t be with their mom and dad, and more than anything I want them to be happy.”
“So you’ll be celebrating.”
“In a modest way.”
“Need help?”
“No.”
The finality of the word was inescapable, but she sent him a surprisingly soft look. “Matt and I used to do it up big. We didn’t have a lot of money after buying the ranch, but we’d go to Marietta and partake in all the festivities there. We’d decorate and he would hang this big wreath on the barn.” The corners of her mouth tilted up reminiscently, but it was a smile tinged with an edge of sadness. She let out a breath. “It’s supposed to be the season of hope, but for me…” Her voice trailed off. “That’s why I’m not deeply into Christmas tree spotting.”
“Understandable.”
She locked her dark blue gaze onto his face. “And you?”
He frowned. “What about me?”
“I just bared my soul. Do you have anything to offer?”
No.
She continued to study him, openly instead of with the surreptitious glances she’d been sending his way all day, as if she were still judging his reliability, and he shifted in his saddle.
“What do you want to know?”
She lifted her eyebrows in a way that said,“You have to ask?”But he sensed she wouldn’t push if he chose not to talk about himself.
Maybe that was why he did talk.
