A Very Maverick Christmas

Her smile came easily. “Me neither. Which is how you came to be wrestling with barbed wire?”

He grinned. “Exactly. And wrestling is a good term for it. Are you ready for our winter?”

The change of subject seemed abrupt, but at least she could answer truthfully. “I love winter.”

“Maybe not winters here so much. We get dang cold. Where’d you come from?”

“New England.” Which was truthful insofar as it went. “Part of what drew me out here was the idea of snow-capped mountains. Real mountains. And Lissa Roarke’s blog, of course. Though I gather she’s now Lissa Christensen.” Julie had learned from local gossip that Lissa had married her own Rust Creek cowboy, Sheriff Gage Christensen, a few months after her arrival in town last year.

“I never had much time to read her blog,” he said, leaning back as the waitress, Candy, served them. He thanked her. “I hope she didn’t make us seem overly romantic.”

“Depends on what you mean by romance. I just knew I wanted mountains and snow, and this place sounded friendly.”

“Do you ski?”

She blinked. A blank wall answered that question. “Not really,” she hedged.

“Most people who like snow do. Just asking. I don’t have a lot of time for it, myself, but if I can arrange it, I like cross-country. I don’t need a slope and don’t have to risk permanent disability.”

He was cute, she thought, and he made it so easy to laugh. She wanted to keep her guard up, but she was beginning to feel safe with him. For now, at least. Growing warm, she slipped the coat off her shoulders and reached for her coffee.

“Want me to cut the muffins up?” he asked.

“It might make it easier.”

Again that twinkle in his eyes. “Depends on who’s eating and where.” But he unwrapped the flatware that was rolled in the napkin and cut the two muffins into bite-size pieces. Crumbs tumbled all over the plate, but he didn’t seem concerned.

“That’s an interesting necklace you’re wearing,” he said, pushing the plate toward her in invitation. “It looks old.”

“It is,” she admitted. She at least knew something about it for certain. “It’s an heirloom.” She reached for a piece of muffin and pulled a napkin out of the dispenser to place it on, while she tensed for the next question.

“It’s nice to have something like that,” he said, picking a piece of muffin for himself. “I like things that pass down through the generations. They create a great sense of connection.”

A cowboy philosopher, she thought, and wondered what he’d think if he knew that necklace was her only connection. Probably find an excuse to head back to his ranch and pretend they’d never met.

She picked up her coffee, nearly hiding behind it, wondering why she was so ashamed of her amnesia. It wasn’t some kind of personal failing. She’d been severely injured, probably in some awful accident, and should just be grateful to be alive. Why did she feel so embarrassed by it?

Because she wasn’t normal. She wasn’t anything approaching normal. Missing a limb was more normal than missing your entire past, and most people would probably think she was making it up, or crazy in some way. That was the problem. Her dirty little secret.

“I’ve never experienced winter in New England,” he said when he’d swallowed more muffin and coffee. “I wonder how it compares.”

“I can’t answer. This is my first time here.”

Again that devastating grin came to his face. “Maybe we should track the weather this winter and compare the two places. Betcha we get colder.”

Remembering the last winter, she felt a smile play around her mouth. “I wouldn’t be so sure. We got pretty darn cold last winter. Colder than normal, though.” She knew that because she’d heard it countless times.

“Then maybe we beat you in the snow department.” When she didn’t answer immediately, he winked. “Say, aren’t you willing to get into an argument about whose home has the worst winter?”

“You might have better luck with your brothers.”

He laughed with pure pleasure. “Good one. Points for you.”

She felt her cheeks warm at his approval. Maybe this would become easier.

“You seem thick as thieves with Vanessa.”

“She’s great. She and Mallory and Cecelia and Callie. They’ve all been wonderful to me. And I just adore little Lily.”

“She’s easy to adore, although I suppose I should defend the Traub honor and claim that for Noelle.”

“She’s adorable, too.”

“I just hope she doesn’t grow up quite as mouthy as Lily. That girl! Whatever pops into her head comes out of her mouth. I actually like it. Caleb does too except for when it seems to bother Mallory.”

“She’ll grow out of it. I kind of like knowing where I stand with her.”

“Until she tries some matchmaking.”

Julie’s cheeks flamed. “That was a little awkward.”

“Actually, it might have been a good idea.”

Julie froze. The urge to flee warred with the urge to stand her ground and not look like a fool by running.

“People do need friends,” he said as if he didn’t notice her reaction. Maybe he hadn’t. “So, that kind of ended the awkwardness. Then she was so cute when she couldn’t say that word.”

“She was,” Julie said around a thick tongue.

“I guess I shouldn’t have brought it up.” He looked out the window. “Winona Cobbs keeps saying we’re going to get a heckuva blizzard soon. One to remember. I wonder if she’s right.”

At last, a topic that made Julie feel safe. “Do you believe her predictions? I don’t know why, but she makes me a little uneasy.”

He returned his attention to her. “We’re at the time of year for blizzards. I won’t put much stock in a prediction like that unless it flies in the face of meteorology. As for being uneasy around her...well, some folks are. She’s essentially a harmless, nice person, but when those eyes settle on you, it’s possible to feel like she sees your soul.”

Remembering the strange electric tingle she had felt when Winona fixed her gaze on her, Julie could only nod. “There’s something about her...”

“Which is why some people listen more than maybe they should. But she means well, I’ll give her that. If she’s psychic, I don’t really know, but she’s not cheating widows out of the life insurance, if you get me.”

Julie didn’t know. She had no memory of psychics. “What do you mean?” she dared to ask.

“Oh, there are some scam artists around who’ll charge an arm and a leg to give you some ridiculous reading. Never knew one, just read about them. At least we don’t have one of them around here. Winona gets paid for speaking, but never charges for any information she volunteers. To my way of thinking, that makes her honest, even if it doesn’t necessarily make her right.”

Julie nodded, stuffing some more of the blueberry muffin in her mouth, savoring it then washing it down with her latte. “Great flavor combination,” she said after dabbing her lips with a napkin. She didn’t want to gossip about local people, even if gossip sometimes seemed to be a favorite pastime. She was willing to listen, but talking was a dangerous thing. There was no way to know, if she said something wrong, whether it would come back to haunt her. And sometimes she feared she simply didn’t know what the wrong things to say might be. She seemed to have retained most of her skills from her past, but she couldn’t be sure, without memory, how many of them were working right.

“So where in New England are you from?” Braden asked.

At once she tensed, and her mouth started to dry out. Now would come the questions she couldn’t answer because there were no answers. At least she knew the last place she had lived. “Outside Boston, in a town called Worcester.”