Page 4 of A Texas Christmas Carol

Miss Wiggins crouched down next to Evan’s boots, making him feel like some kind of self-important prig. Why wouldn’t she just let him be and quit upsetting his routine?

She patted the dog’s side. “Good boy, Humbug. This is Mr. Beeee-zerrrrr.”

Why was she drawing his name out like that? Was her dog dull-witted?

Evan braced his weight on his right leg and tried to steer the overly curious hound away from him with a nudge of his left. “I hardly think you have room to criticize my horse’s moniker when you’ve named your dog Humbug. Not exactly the most flattering of appellations.”

She rose, and despite his need to concentrate on his horse, Evan couldn’t seem to keep his gaze from following her ascension. The mischievous smile playing about her lips boded ill.

“Papa does love a bit of irony,” she said. “He gave me Humbug three Christmases ago and thought it a lark to name the energetic, cheerful pup after such a grumpy expression. Then, of course, there’s the humming.”

“Humming?” The question slipped out before Evan recalled that he was trying to discourage interaction with her, not draw it out.

“Oh, yes. He has this cute humming snore when he sleeps and a guttural rumbling that underlies his barks and howls.”

She looked far too enchanting nattering on about the dog as if he were a member of her family. Evan jerked his face away and opened the stall door, determined to escape her and her obnoxious mutt, who was still circling and sniffing. He’d be lucky not to trip over the blasted thing.

“Did you know,” she said casually as she leaned her hip against the stall wall, “ that beagles are excellent hunters? Once they catch a scent, they never forget it. Now that he’s met you, from this day forward, Humbug and I will be able to find you no matter where you try to hide.”

So that was her game.

“And if you don’t have time to talk now, Hum and I will just wait for you. Won’t we, Hummy? A-wooo-wooo-wooo.”

The dog immediately joined her song, baying along with marked enthusiasm. A guttural hum rumbled beneath the howl, just as she’d claimed.

“Hush!” Evan demanded, aiming his command at the dog, though he should have aimed it at the woman, for the animal only followed where she led.

Neither paid him any mind, of course, so the cacophony swelled. Even Fred seemed disillusioned with the object of his recent infatuation. He stomped his front hoof and shook his head, clearly agitated. If this went on much longer, man and horse would both be so out of sorts that neither would be fit for a ride.

“Fine!” Evan raised his voice to carry above the ungodly racket. “You win. Just make him stop.”

Triumph flashed in Miss Wiggins’s emerald eyes, but it quickly faded beneath an expression so radiant, Evan’s chest ached with hollowness in comparison. What must it be like to feel such unfettered joy? He couldn’t recall ever experiencing such a marvel.

He shoved his left hand into his coat pocket and wrapped his fingers around the key he kept there. The key to his past, worn smooth from years of handling. A reminder of where he’d come from. A promise never to return. Touching it usually centered him, brought what was important into focus. Unfortunately, Miss Wiggins kept bobbing into view and distracting him.

His fist tightened around the key. A ride. He’d come here for a ride.

The abominable howling concerto finally concluded, and Miss Wiggins bent to rub her dog’s neck and praise him for his fine singing. Then she straightened and pointed to something outside the barn door. “Where’s the rabbit?”

The dog’s ears perked.

“Get the rabbit, Humbug! Get the rabbit!”

The dog shot out of the stable, eager to hunt imaginary hares. If only the dog’s mistress could be sent away as easily.

“Very well, Miss Wiggins, you’ve bullied me into compliance. Stop by the house this afternoon at four. I’ll have a check waiting for you.” A check his secretary could pass along, keeping Evan well away from Felicity Wiggins and her magical way with beasts. Dogs. Horses. He wouldn’t be surprised to learn she danced with grizzlies in her spare time. No beast seemed immune to her charms.

Not even him.

Scowling at that unwelcome realization, Evan turned his back on the redheaded siren and focused on the task at hand—saddling Fred and taking his ride. A hard ride. A long ride. He’d ride until all images of Miss Felicity Wiggins and her glorious smiles vanished from his mind. He’d paint over them with physical exhaustion, then apply a second coat of black-and-white numbers, going over the account books and receipts for the last week. So what if he’d already gone over them once? He could have missed something. He’d go over them again, then bury his head in a business journal until suppertime. He wouldn’t even know when she came by. And there would be no reason for her to return, so all would be well. A regimented routine would wrest her from his mind. It had worked the last couple years. It would work again.

“I’ve decided I don’t want your check, Mr. Beazer.”

An earthquake could not have shaken his foundations more thoroughly than that quiet statement. He’d had a plan, confound it. A solid plan. He didn’t know what game she was playing, but it ended here.

Keeping his gaze trained on his horse, Evan laid a blanket on Fred’s back, then reached for the saddle and hefted it into place. “Fine,” he gritted out. “I won’t leave a check for you. But since I made the offer, I will expect you to cease foisting yourself upon me. I’m a busy man and don’t have time for whatever insipid game you’re playing at my expense. Now, begone.”

He pressed his face against the horse’s shoulder and reached for the cinch strap, then promptly dropped it when a soft hand settled on his back.