Christmas Cowboy Duet. Marie Ferrarella

Henry replied. He was on his cell phone in less than five seconds, calling for one of the other crew members to come out. “Need a hand here, Rick,” he said to the man who had answered his call. “You’re not going to believe this,” he added with a deep chuckle. “No, I’m not going to tell you. This you’ve got to come out and see for yourself. Boss lady okayed this job,” he added in case there were any questions about priorities. Henry rattled off the same directions to Rick that he had been given earlier.

      With that part of it taken care of, Liam turned his attention to Mick. “Looks like it’s going to be a while before they have the car on solid ground,” Liam told the mechanic. “Why don’t you go back to the shop? I can call you once the car’s ready to be looked over,” Liam suggested.

      Mick raised his rather wide shoulders and then let them drop again in a dismissive shrug. “Ain’t got no other place to be right now,” he confessed. “Mrs. Abernathy took her old Buick last night so there’s nothing for me to work on in the shop. I might as well stay here and watch history being made,” Mick said philosophically, his eyes all but glowing with fascination as he stared up at the treed vehicle.

      “Suit yourself,” Liam said. “You don’t mind if I take her to the diner to get a bite to eat, do you?” he asked, indicating Whitney. Since he was the one who had put in the call to Mick in the first place, he felt a little guilty about leaving the man here more or less on call.

      “Not as long as you bring me back somethin’,” Mick qualified.

      “Like what?”

      Mick began to slowly circle the tree, searching for the path of least resistance. “Surprise me,” Mick answered.

      Having been privy to the entire exchange, Whitney frowned—deeply. Granted there was a part of her that longed for a strong, forceful man to take charge. However, the greater part of Whitney was wary of someone usurping her control over her life and that was exactly the part that was presently balking at what Liam had just told his mechanic friend.

      “What if I don’t want to go for ‘a bite’?” Whitney asked.

      “I’m not about to force-feed you, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Liam said, then asked, “You’re not hungry?”

      She wanted to say no, she wasn’t. The problem was that she was hungry. Very.

      As if to bear witness to that, her stomach suddenly rumbled—not quietly but all too loudly.

      “If you’re not hungry,” Liam continued, “I think you should tell your stomach because I get the definite impression that your stomach seems to think it’s very hungry.”

      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