Marie Ferrarella - Christmas Cowboy Duet

She lifted one shoulder in a disinterested shrug. The jacket began to slip off and she made a grab for it, returning it to its place.

“I suppose it can’t hurt to go get something to eat,” she allowed.

“Well, maybe in some cases,” Liam told her in all honesty, “but not when it involves Miss Joan.”

Following him to where he had parked his truck, Whitney stopped walking and took hold of his elbow, turning him around to face her.

“Wait, are you taking me to someone’s house?” she asked, ready to put the skids on this venture before it got underway. She was in no mood to be friendly and exchange small talk with some stranger bearing the quaint name of “Miss Joan.” Right now, she wasn’t up to exchanging discomfort for a hot meal.

“No, we’re not going to someone’s house,” Liam assured her. “Although she’s there so much, there are times I think that the diner really could double for her home.”

Her head hurt and all these details that Liam kept tossing out were just making it that much worse. “‘She,’ who’s this ‘she’ you’re referring to?” Whitney asked.

A control freak for most of her life—she no longer saw the point in disputing her siblings’ accusations—it was hard for her to just hand over the reins to someone in matters that concerned her. But she had no idea when this person the cherry picker operator had called was going to get there. And she was hungry.

She supposed there was no harm in going along with this wandering Good Samaritan, she thought, slanting a look in Liam’s direction—at least until her car was back on solid ground.

“Miss Joan,” Liam said, answering her question. “She’s the ‘she’ I was referring to. It’s her diner.”

“Oh.”

The pieces started to fall into place, making some sort of sense. She supposed she was being too edgy. Whenever she felt the slightest bit insecure, she could be demanding, needing to know every detail of the future. This man who had rescued her—and was now trying to rescue her car—didn’t deserve to have her constantly challenging his every move.

“All right. As long as I get a call the minute my car is down and ready to go,” Whitney ordered. She was looking directly at Henry when she said it.

“You heard the lady,” Liam said, eyeing Mick. “Do me a favor and call me on my cell.”

“You got it,” Mick replied, then promised, “The second it’s down, I’ll give you a call.”

Henry nodded his agreement.

At which point Liam regarded Whitney. “Good enough?” he asked her.

It would have to be, Whitney decided.

“Let’s go,” she told Liam just as her stomach offered up another symphony of off-key, embarrassing growling noises.

Liam brought her over to his truck, opened the passenger door and stood by it, waiting for her to get in.

“Are you planning on strapping me in, too?” Whitney asked, wondering why he was just standing there like that instead of getting in on the driver’s side.

He grinned. “Just want to make sure you don’t need any help getting in,” he explained.

Buckling up, Whitney flashed him a look of irritation. “Why, do I look feeble to you? I’ve been getting into cars and sitting down rather successfully for more than a couple of decades now.”

He answered her truthfully. “You don’t look feeble but you do look pale.”

The last thing she needed was to be criticized by a cowboy.

“Good,” Whitney quipped. “I was going for a pale look,” she told him flippantly.

“Then I guess you’ve succeeded.” Liam started up his truck, then rolled down the window on his side before putting the truck into Drive. As he drove past Henry and Mick, he called out, “I’ll be back soon.”

Both men nodded in acknowledgment.

With that, Liam drove toward town.

* * *

THERE WAS SILENCE for the first few minutes of the drive. Not the comfortable kind of silence that two people who ended each other’s sentences might have slipped into, but the awkward kind of silence that became steadily deeper and more ominous as the seconds ticked into minutes, then hung around oppressively.

Enduring it for as long as possible, Liam decided that enough was enough.

“You always have this chip on your shoulder, or is this something new for you?” he asked Whitney.

“I don’t have a chip,” she informed Liam indignantly, sitting up stiffly as her entire body became completely rigid.

“Yes, you do,” Liam contradicted. “From where I’m sitting, that chip is pretty damn big and very nearly impenetrable. In case you haven’t noticed, these people are just trying to help you.”

“I noticed,” she said a bit too defensively.

Whitney paused, pressing her lips together. She was searching for a way to get her point across without sounding as if she had an ax to grind. She really didn’t; it was just that because of this setback, she had gone into overdrive. Whenever that happened, she wound up having the kind of personality that put people off. All except for the people she signed to recording contracts. That group would have been willing to cut the devil some slack as long as they got what they were after: a shot at the big time. And because of what she did for a living and the label she was associated with, she was their first step in the right direction.

“But they’re not trying to help me out of the goodness of their hearts, it’s just business. Everyone’s going to get paid for their services,” she told Liam, wondering why he thought that was so altruistic.

“Mick’s hanging around, waiting for your car to be brought down from its perch. A savvy businessman would have gone back to the shop—and charged you just for coming out,” Liam pointed out.

“This way he gets to charge me for his downtime,” she countered.

Liam shook his head. “That’s not the way Mick operates,” he disagreed, then said with emphasis, “That’s not how any of us operate around here.”

She wasn’t ready to believe that. After all, this was just some tiny Texas town, not Oz. However, in the interest of not starting an argument, she merely said, “If you say so.”

“I do, but that doesn’t mean anything. I guess you’ll just have to see for yourself. There it is,” he said abruptly.

She sat up a little straighter, as if she’d just been put on notice.

“There ‘what’ is?” Whitney asked, her green eyes sweeping up and down the muddy road ahead of her. From where she was sitting, it just looked like open country—and more of the same.

“Miss Joan’s,” Liam elaborated, gesturing up ahead and to the left.

As Whitney looked, the diner came into view more clearly. It looked like a long, silver tube on wheels and it was completely unimpressive in her opinion.

It was also rather blinding.

The sun, which had decided to come out in full regalia now that all the water had been purged out of the sky, seemed to be literally bouncing off the sides of the diner. It made it rather difficult to see, if anyone wanted to drive past the establishment.

But Liam had no intentions of driving past the diner. For him, the diner was journey’s end.

He pulled his truck up to the informal area that was the diner’s unofficial parking lot.

When Liam turned off the engine, she looked at him. The diner made her think of a third-rate, greasy-spoon establishment that played fast and loose with sanitary conditions. It definitely didn’t inspire confidence.

“Isn’t there another restaurant we could go to?” she asked as he began to open the door on his side.

Liam paused, his hand on the door handle. “Not without driving fifty miles.”

There it was again, she thought. That fifty-mile separation from everything civilized. Was everything of any worth in this region automatically fifty miles away?