A Christmas Waltz. Jane Goodger

watched in pure dismay as Carson charmed the seemingly intelligent woman standing before him. He truly was an artist. Boone had never had that ability with women, or with anyone, if he were honest. But Carson, he could spin a tale and, even if someone didn’t believe a word out of his mouth, they’d been so entertained they ended up forgiving him for the lies.

      Boone watched and grew more and more angry. Because within minutes Carson had that girl believing he was glad to see her. He was making her feel like the most desired woman on the planet. Hell, he could almost fall for it, and he knew what a liar his brother was. If he hadn’t watched him vomit in the street in pure panic, he would never know how Carson really felt.

      “When can I see the ranch?” Amelia asked, and Boone looked up, curious as to what his brother would say.

      “Well, the ranch. That’s…”

      “Another lie.” Amelia smiled, and for the first time Boone thought he saw a brittle edge to that smile, and he found himself reconsidering the girl. She wasn’t fooled for one second, he realized. Not one.

      “Lie is such a harsh word, darlin’,” he said, looking hurt.

      Amelia didn’t believe a word out of his beautiful mouth. Carson had lied about everything. Everything. And she almost willed him to lie about the ranch. “Well, is there a ranch?”

      Carson looked over at his brother, almost the way a naughty child looks at a parent. “Why don’t we talk outside. More privacy.”

      Before she walked out the door, she looked back at Boone. He stared at her impassively for perhaps three beats, before tearing his eyes away. He knew, she thought. He knew what a liar his brother was. And he pitied her. She wanted to slap that pity from his face. No one was going to pity Amelia Wellesley. No one.

      Chapter 2

      “I can tell you’re upset.”

      “Why would I be upset?” Amelia asked calmly. The strange thing was, she did feel calm, as if a part of her wasn’t surprised by a single thing that had happened since she’d left Meremont. “Is it because everything you told me was a lie? Why would that upset me?”

      “You’re upset,” Carson said in a long, beleaguered sigh, as if he were the injured party.

      “Take me to your ranch,” Amelia said, tapping her foot and crossing her arms. “And on the way you can tell me what happened to the grass and gazebo and roses and white picket fences that are supposed to be in this town. I haven’t seen a tree in hours, never mind a rosebush.”

      Carson grinned, but Amelia noticed that much of the bravado he’d always had was gone. It was so wonderful to see him, but he’d changed in the months they’d been apart. He looked tired and beaten, older than he’d been in England, far older than his brother. She had no idea how old he was, in fact, because she assumed he had lied about that, too. His hair was not the gleaming, golden mass it had been, but hung in a tangle down his back, tied with a long string of rawhide. His mustache was too full, and the rest of his face looked like it hadn’t seen a razor in days. His clothes were, well they were filthy. Maybe it was all this dust, she thought, glancing around this poor excuse of a town.

      He led her behind the store, and Amelia was surprised how large it was. From the front, it looked like a tiny building, but it stretched back, much farther than any of its neighbors. It was made from a hodgepodge of materials, and had obviously been built at different times. By the time they’d reached the back, Amelia found herself in a tiny little oasis, a courtyard that was filled with flowers and grass and a whimsical little fountain. Benches were set neatly around the perimeter of the courtyard, which was surprisingly cool away from the glaring heat of the sun. Just the sight of it made Amelia feel cooler.

      “This is lovely,” Amelia said, nearly overcome with happiness to find a bit of color in this brown world. The back of the building was far more lovely than the storefront.

      “My brother has his offices there,” he said, nodding toward the left side of the U-shaped building. “And we live there.”

      “Oh.” As lovely as it was compared to its surroundings, it was far smaller and simpler than any home she’d ever been in. Her brother’s estate, Meremont, with its twenty rooms, was a castle compared to this. Even her childhood home, which was far more modest than Meremont, could fit this entire building twice over.

      Carson turned her to face him, putting his hands gently on her upper arms and looking down at her. “All right. I lied. About everything. What was I supposed to do with you lookin’ at me like the sun rose and set across my shoulders? You saw Carson Kitteridge, American hero—not me.”

      “But you are Carson Kitteridge,” Amelia pointed out, even though she knew what he meant. Finally.

      Carson let out a sigh and gazed toward the mountains in the distance. “I’m nothing,” he said quietly. “I’m an actor. I’ve never been a Texas Ranger. Hell, I’d hardly been on a horse until I signed up for the Wild West show. Turns out, I’m pretty good at it, and the manager made me the star of the show. I fit the part. And the costume,” he added with a wry smile. “Might even sign up for the cattle drive over at the Three J’s ranch.” He shrugged and looked down at her.

      “I know you lied, Carson. Part of me knew you were lying the whole time. But I don’t understand why. Didn’t you know I’d find all this out when I got here?”

      He looked about to say something, but let out another sigh. “I figured I’d cross that bridge when I got to it. Guess I got to be crossing the bridge now, hmmm?” He grinned and Amelia’s heart squeezed in her chest. No matter that he wasn’t wearing the white fringed outfit she’d first seen him in, he still had a way of reaching her heart. He laid a hand on one cheek, and Amelia closed her eyes.

      “I don’t care, Carson. I don’t care if you’re not a hero.” She sounded desperate, even to her own ears.

      He let out a bitter sounding laugh.

      “I don’t care,” she insisted.

      “Yeah, well, maybe I do.”

      She laid a hand against his and squeezed it. “I knew half of what you said was made up, anyway. Didn’t you know that?”

      He looked momentarily surprised, then shook his head as if vastly amused by her. “And here was I thinking I was fooling you completely.”

      “I’d have to be completely daft to think you rode with Custer. You’re not old enough to have done that. Are you?”

      “Then why’d you come all this way if you knew I was lyin’ about near everything?”

      She looked up at him and smiled at his confusion. “I love you,” she said simply.

      He looked momentarily stunned, then drew her against him, tucking her head beneath his head. “Oh, darlin’,” he said, sounding almost sad. “That’s what I figured.”

      Amelia let him hold her, loving the familiar feel of his big body even as her stomach gave a worried twist. She’d so wanted everything to be just as Carson had described. She’d pictured herself the mistress of a large rambling Texas ranch house filled with children and happiness. And servants. Yes, she’d imagined a neat little maid, a gruff housekeeper, an efficient butler. She’d pictured her life exactly as it had been, but in Texas and with Carson. If he’d prepared her in even the smallest way that he didn’t even have a proper house, she wouldn’t be looking with such dismay at where she was to live. But he’d drawn a picture of perfection for her, as if every fantasy she had about living in Texas were a reality.

      Looking at the small portion of the building that Carson said was the living quarters, she doubted even a single servant lived there. She’d imagined being ushered into her own suite of rustic rooms by an apple-cheeked maid, as men carried her luggage into her room. In her imaginings, Carson happily introduced her to everyone. The sound of cows mingling with the familiar sound of crickets would have lulled her