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“If you’re worried about my reputation, don’t be. I’m just passing through. Besides, people would talk even if they caught us napping by the fire.” Jerking her thumb toward the sitting room, she laughed, the sound like sleigh bells tinkling on a crisp, wintry night.
What is it about her that conjures thoughts of other times—other eras?
“Look, if you’re afraid of small-town gossip, we’ll wait ’til the clerk steps out.” Her eyes glistening merrily, she grinned.
On cue, a microwave beeped, and the clerk slipped into the back room.
“Quick! The coast is clear.” Turning, she grabbed the wine and glasses, strode toward her room, unlocked the door, and waved him in.
He swallowed hard. Now what?
****
Was this a dumb idea? Second guessing myself, I closed the door. What would Cody say? Exasperated that he crossed my mind, I sighed. Who cares? What I do is none of his business.
Luke crossed to the far end of the room, clasping the diary to his chest like a shield. Shifting from one foot to the other, he studied the décor as his gaze moved from the door to the window, to the vintage desk, to the beds.
He looks as nervous as I feel. My knuckles white from clutching the handle, I hugged the door as I mentally tallied his actions. After stopping to help me, he called the police, gave me a lift into town, found me a hotel room, and bought me dinner. If anyone’s trustworthy, he is. Relaxing, I let go the doorknob and stepped into the room.
He took a step back, bumped against the desk, and caught the teetering lamp moments before it crashed to the floor. “Sorry.”
“No worries.” I pointed at the windows. “Hey, a storm’s raging outside. We’re dealing with extenuating circumstances.” I already said that…What started as a chuckle came out a high-pitched giggle. “We’re both adults. We’re just being sensible.”
“Absolutely.” He nodded emphatically. “Consenting—” He cleared his throat. “Sensible adults.”
“Have a seat.” I gestured to the desk chair. “And since you’re holding the journal, why don’t you read another entry or two?” As I backed toward the chair nearest the door, I realized I was still holding the bottle and glasses. “Want any more wine?”
“Actually…yes.” He tugged his jacket into place, zipping, then immediately unzipping it. “I could use it.”
His tone had a self-conscious ring, and I chuckled, empathizing. “So could I.” Handing him one, I filled both glasses and raised mine in a toast. His thoughtfulness that afternoon reminded me of a story. “Be the sun, not the blizzard.”
“What?” His glass mid-air, he cocked his head.
“I read about a traveler stranded in a blizzard and how his host’s hospitality impressed him. Can’t recall the details, but the moral was ‘Be the sun, not the blizzard.’ ”
“Good words to live by.” He laughed deep in his throat as he clunked his plastic glass against mine, sipped, then opened the journal. “How much of this story do you remember while you were catnapping?”
“Ramon had just suggested a compromise, and Mr. Holden was listening.” Pretending to be insulted, I arched my brow. “Fooled you, didn’t I?”
“So, you were listening.” He made a mock bow as he took his seat. “My abject apologies for doubting you.”
I settled into a chair and closed my eyes, letting the journal’s entries come alive in my imagination.
****
“Since you won’t lease the minerals under our land, Mr. Holden, I recommend—”
“You’re in no position—”
“That we sell you the plat south of the arroyo but keep the tillable land to the north.” Ramon caught his wife’s glance. “That way, you get what you want, and we keep our ranch.”
Tweaking his mustache, Holden leaned forward. “How much you want for it?”
****
“January seventh. Sold the south section. Own the ranch free and clear.
“January twenty-ninth. Can’t keep anything down except Mother’s Soft Gingerbread.
