Something was different, though. There was trouble in his eyes. Trouble he didn’t want me to see as he smiled and reached for me.
“You aren’t cold?” he asked, noting my riding jacket on the rock underneath me.
“It’s a beautiful and rare dry day. It doesn’t get better than this in Texas,” I said with a smile. “Haven’t you learned that yet, Colorado boy?”
“Come here,” he said, tugging gently on my hand.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
He shook his head. “Nothing that the next five minutes won’t cure,” he said, pulling my head down to his.
I couldn’t agree more. Kissing Ben made the whole world go away. All the incessant letters from my grandmother, the stress on my father’s face, the nagging from Lila to be a lady, when all I really wanted to worry about was whether the herd had food and medical attention, and what calves were due to be birthed. What fence needed tending.
And lately . . . how I could keep my tumbling, crazy heart at bay.
“Ben,” I said breathily against his mouth, almost lying next to him but holding myself up by sheer will. “Tell me.”
He shook his head slowly, narrowing his eyes as if studying me. Or gauging what to say. His fingers played with a lock of my hair.
“It’s not important.”
“Important enough to make you frown,” I said, running a finger between his eyebrows and relaxing the muscle there. I kissed it, and he closed his eyes. “Talk to me.”
“The Christmas party is coming up,” he said.
Thrown by that, I backed up an inch. “Mr. Mason’s party?” I asked. “The one he has every year?”
“Yes.”
I lifted an eyebrow, waiting. “How do you even know about that? And why would that bother you?”
Travis Mason had hosted a Christmas Eve party at his house every year for as long as I could remember. Adults only. He and my father would frequently plan it over cigars and whiskey. This year brought my first invitation, even though I’d technically qualified last year, turning eighteen that day. Although I generally avoided any event I wasn’t forced to attend, this invitation was something I’d waited my whole life to garner. It was a thing. Probably a really boring thing, but the mystery made me want to see for myself.
“Have you ever been?” I asked when he didn’t answer, something feeling off.
“No,” he said, blinking away. “Of course not. I’m new here.”
I brought his face back to mine. “Don’t lie to me, Ben. We have enough secrets to keep up with.”
That sentence looked to settle on him like a dark blanket as he met my gaze.
“I just have a little too much on my mind these days,” he said, caressing my cheek. I knew he was diverting, but I didn’t push. I wanted that smile back. “One being the thought of you paired off with some guy with manicured hands.”
I laughed, and the smile I needed so badly lit up his face.
“There aren’t too many of those around here,” I said. “Not to worry. Maybe in the city, but around here it’s mostly smelly cattlemen and ranchers.” I balled my fists, not wanting him to see the state of my unladylike hands. “They put on suits and forget about the manure under their nails.”
He took my left one in his hand, opening it and caressing my palm with his thumb. Tingles shot up my arm.
“I know you want to go,” he said, his gaze fixed on my hand. “Especially on your birthday.”
“My birthday means nothing to me, Ben,” I said, feeling the familiar cloud that always shrouded it. “It’s just a day when my father lost one girl and gained a faded version of her.”
“Josie Bancroft,” he said, his tone scolding. “Don’t you dare say that. There is nothing faded about you. And your birthday should be special. It’s the day you came into this world, and I for one am damn glad of it.”
My heart swelled at his words. “But you don’t want me to go.”
“I just—” He shook his head. “I hear the other hands talk. They don’t see you like I see you. They see this rebellious girl with her smart talk and riding breeches.”
“And they would be correct,” I said, watching that thumb of his work magic on my palm. “I’ve grown up with most of them. I’ve trained them well,” I whispered playfully.
“That’s only a very small piece of the amazing woman I see,” he said, meeting my eyes, completely serious. “A woman who’s making me crazier every day, and—” He stopped, as if weighing his words. “Other men will see you that way, too. Every party, every gala you have to go to—”
“Wearing silly, frilly dresses, flaunting on my father’s arm like a prized calf at auction,” I said. “It’s not glamorous.”
He chuckled. “I’d love to see you like that, all haughty with disgust while looking like a dream.”
“A nightmare.”
“I assure you,” he said, letting go of my hand to trace my bottom lip with a finger, “that every man there will trip over themselves to get close to this nightmare.”
“Ben, are you jealous?” I said, my heart skipping with delight.
“Ridiculously so,” he said, making me laugh again. “Avoid doorways with hanging greenery. I can’t stand the thought of anyone else kissing you under the mistletoe.”
“I don’t suddenly become dizzy with stupidity when standing under silly plants,” I said, dramatically putting the back of my hand to my forehead. “Nor do I allow any man’s lips to touch mine without permission.”
“I wish I could be there with you,” he said softly, gazing at my mouth and stealing all the breath from my lungs with his intensity. “Kissing you under that silly plant on your birthday in front of everyone and granting you any wish you’d like.”
I stared at him in awe. “That would be my wish.”
He brought my hand to his mouth, kissing my palm.
