Page 4 of Her Jolly Cowboy
I lean back in my chair, stretching my legs until my boot nudges Holly’s ankle under the table. She doesn’t move away.
“Speaking of backup plans,” I drawl, “my cabin’s five hundred yards from the barn. There’s a fireplace that’ll keep you toasty even if the whole county goes dark. Quiet, too. No livestock, no Frankie snoring through the wall.”
Frankie throws a napkin at me. “I do not snore.”
Rhett coughs into his coffee. “You absolutely do.”
Holly’s eyes narrow on me, suspicious. “What’s the catch?”
“No catch.” I shrug, trying to look innocent and probably failing. “One bedroom, one bathroom, and no one will bother you.”
Frankie makes a gimme-a-break noise.
Holly taps her pen against her planner, thinking. I watch the way her bottom lip catches between her teeth and have to shift in my seat.
“Fine,” she says finally. “Only if you promise I’ll stay warm and unbothered.”
“Scout’s honor,” I say, holding up three fingers.
“You were never a scout,” Rhett mutters.
Holly stands, smoothing her hands down her thighs. “I need to check the barn one more time before dark. Heaters, light timers, emergency lanterns.”
I’m on my feet before she finishes the sentence. “I’ll walk you.”
“I know the way.”
“Humor me.”
She rolls her eyes but doesn’t argue.
We bundle up and step out into a winter wonderland. Snow’s already ankle-deep and climbing fast.
Halfway to the barn, she slips again. I catch her by the elbow before she goes down.
“Jesus, woman,” I laugh, steadying her. “You trying to break something before the wedding?”
“I’m fine,” she says, but she doesn’t pull away immediately. Her fingers curl into my coat sleeve like she’s testing how solid I am.
We make it inside the barn. The heaters are humming, and the fairy lights glow soft gold against the rafters. It already looks like a dream.
Holly walks the aisle, checking cords, adjusting lanterns, muttering measurements under her breath. I trail behind, hands in my pockets, watching the way she moves.
She stops under the center beam, tilts her head, and frowns. “The chandelier needs to come down four inches. It’s throwing the proportions off.”
I step up behind her, close enough to see the snow melting in her hair. “You want me to grab the ladder?”
“I want you to stop breathing down my neck,” she says, but there’s no heat in it.
“Can’t help it,” I murmur. “You smell good.”
She turns, and we’re suddenly chest to chest. Her eyes flick to my mouth and back up.
“Luke.”
“Holly.”
“This is a terrible idea.”
