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And I shrieked as a man tackled Weston into the side of the tent. This stranger stood up off of him and raised his fists.
Weston whirled upright, confusion blanketing his face. The short, wiry man threw a punch which Weston easily blocked.
He jabbed again and then nailed Weston in the ribs.
“What are you doing?” Weston grunted, blocking another incoming punch. He had yet to throw one back as the lady in charge of this booth came sprinting toward us—to do what, I wasn’t sure.
It felt strange, however, as I realized I couldn’t decide if I wanted to laugh or freak out as Weston continued to easily dodge every blow, bewildered out of his mind.
The man swung again at Weston, and this time, my boyfriend caught his wrist, spun him around, and put him into a headlock. “What are you doing?” he growled with such intensity, the force silenced the whispered rumors dancing throughout the tent. Everyone was watching us.
My gaze slipped to the man turning bright red in Weston’s arms. Weston squeezed tighter.
“You forced my daughter—” he wheezed, coughing and fighting against Weston’s hold. Relaxing the choke a little, the man coughed again and continued. “Charlotte told me about you forcing her to feed your cows yesterday.”
Weston paused, and then understanding settled upon him. He immediately released the man and shook his head. “You’re missing quite a bit of information,” he replied, pulling his face tight. His eyes were deadly, locked onto the man who shook his head, stepping away while clearing his throat.
“I don’t care what information I’m ‘missing,’ my daughter doesn’t do your chores for you.”
“Then don’t let her sneak onto my ranch and knock over half of my cattle’s feed,” Weston replied sharply, and the man furrowed his brows.
“What?”
Weston sighed and wiped at the remaining frosting on his face that had smeared in the scuffle. “I know Butch is to blame too, but I found her and him alone on a haystack. No one was supposed to be at the ranch yesterday.”
“Oh.” His shoulders sagged.
“Danny Baker, right?” Weston began, and he nodded.
“Sorry about ruining your date.” Danny smiled sheepishly toward Weston and me.
“It’s fine,” I replied with a smile.
Weston extended his hand, and Danny shook it. “How’d you know it was me that caught them, by the way?” Weston asked.
“Charlotte described you, since you’re not exactly quite like the Weston Duke the rumors go on about.” He pulled his hand from Weston’s and ran it across the back of his neck.
Weston chuckled, a genuine smile spreading across his face. “Which ones are they right now?”
Danny shook his head. “That you’re missing half your face and mute.”
A chuckle left Weston’s chest as he sat himself back down in his chair across from me. “That’s always a good one. Merry Christmas, Danny.”
“Merry Christmas,” Danny replied, and quietly scurried out of the tent, embarrassed.
I continued to stare at Weston, who shoved another piece of candy in his mouth like nothing had just occurred. Men. Slowly, voices began to fill the tent once more as the attention shifted away from the small fight that had just occurred.
I blinked. “You just got tackled and nearly beat up by a dude, and—”
“He didn’t nearly beat me up,” Weston interrupted, leaning back and grabbing the frosting tube that had fallen onto the ground.
“Let me rephrase. You just got tackled by a dude who tried to punch you, and you’re going to continue to act like nothing's wrong?” I finished, and he chuckled.
“It was a misunderstanding.” He pointed at the gingerbread house’s roof and winked. “You’re missing a bit of frosting right there.”
I grabbed the tube, ready to squirt it directly at him again as two figures appeared at the entrance of the tent. Two people that I knew Weston had not yet told about us.
“Weston…,” I began, and he glanced over his shoulder, following my gaze.
