Christmas Cowboy: Will of Steel / Winter Roses

“I guess so.”

“I wasn’t here when that happened.”

“No. You were doing that workshop at the FBI Academy. And I begged the judge not to tell you or anybody else. She was very kind to me.”

He looked over her head, his eyes flashing cold and black as he thought what he might have done to the man if he’d been in town. He wasn’t interested in Jillian as a woman back then, because she was still almost a child, but he’d always been fond of her. He would have wiped the floor with the man.

His expression made her feel warm inside. “You’d have knocked him up and down main street,” she ventured.

He laughed, surprised, and met her eyes. “Worse than that, probably.” He frowned. “First the hired man, then the accountant.”

“The accountant was my fault,” she confessed. “I never told him how old I was, and I was infatuated with him. He was drinking when he tried to persuade me.” She shook her head. “I can’t believe I even did that.”

He stared at her. “You were a kid, Jake. Kids aren’t known for deep thought.”

She smiled. “Thanks for not being judgmental.”

He shrugged. “I’m such a nice man that I’m never judgmental.”

Her eyebrows arched.

He grinned. “And I really can do the tango. Suppose I teach you?”

She studied his lean, handsome face. “It’s a very, well, sensual sort of dance, they say.”

“Very.” He pursed his lips. “But I’m not an aggressive man. Not in any way that should frighten you.”

She colored a little. “Really?”

“Really.”

She drew in a long breath. “I guess every woman should dance the tango at least once.”

“My thoughts exactly.”

He wiped his mouth on the linen napkin, took a last sip of the excellent but cooling coffee and got to his feet.

“You have to watch your back on the dance floor, though,” he told her as he led her toward it.

“Why is that?”

“When the other women see what a great dancer I am, they’ll probably mob you and take me away from you,” he teased.

She laughed. “Okay.” She leaned toward him. “Are you packing?”

“Are you kidding?” he asked, indicating the automatic nestled at his waist on his belt. “I’m a cop. I’m always packing. And you keep your little hands off my gun,” he added sternly. “I don’t let women play with it, even if they ask nicely.”

“Theodore, I’m scared of guns,” she reminded him. “And you know it. That’s why you come over and sit on the front porch and shoot bottles on stumps, just to irritate me.”

“I’ll try to reform,” he promised.

“Lies.”

He put his hand over his heart. “I only lie when I’m salving someone’s feelings,” he pointed out. “There are times when telling the truth is cruel.”

“Oh, yeah? Name one.”

He nodded covertly toward a woman against the wall. “Well, if I told that nice lady that her dress looks like she had it painted on at a carnival, she’d probably feel bad.”

She bit her lip trying not to laugh. “She probably thinks it looks sexy.”

“Oh, no. Sexy is a dress that covers almost everything, but leaves one little tantalizing place bare,” he said. “That’s why Japanese kimonos have that dip on the back of the neck, that just reveals the nape, when the rest of the woman is covered from head to toe. The Japanese think the nape of the neck is sexy.”

“My goodness!” She stared up at him, impressed. “You’ve been so many places. I’ve only ever been out of Montana once, when I drove to Wyoming with Uncle John to a cattle convention. I’ve never been out of the country at all. You learn a lot about other people when you travel, don’t you? ”

He nodded. He smiled. “Other countries have different customs. But people are mostly the same everywhere. I’ve enjoyed the travel most of all, even when I had to do it on business.”

“Like the time you flew to London with that detective from Scotland Yard. Imagine a British case that involved a small town like Hollister!” she exclaimed.

“The perpetrator was a murderer who came over here fishing to provide himself with an alibi while his wife committed the crime and blamed it on her absent husband. In the end, they both drew life sentences.”

“Who did they kill?” she asked.

“Her cousin who was set to inherit the family estate and about ten million pounds,” he said, shaking his head. “The things sensible people will do for money never ceases to amaze me. I mean, it isn’t like you can take it with you when you die. And how many houses can you live in? How many cars can you drive?” He frowned. “I think of money the way the Crow and Cheyenne people do. The way most Native Americans do. The man in the tribe who is the most honored is always the poorest, because he gives away everything he has to people who need it more. They’re not capitalists. They don’t understand societies that equate prestige with money.”

“And they share absolutely everything,” she agreed. “They don’t understand private property.”

He laughed. “Neither do I. The woods and the rivers and the mountains are ageless. You can’t own them.”

“See? That’s the Cheyenne in you talking.”

He touched her blond hair. “Probably it is. We going to dance, or talk?”

“You’re leading, aren’t you?”

He tugged her onto the dance floor. “Apparently.” He drew her gently to him and then hesitated. After what she’d told him, he didn’t want to do anything that would make her uncomfortable. He said so.

“I don’t … well, I don’t feel uncomfortable, like that, with you,” she faltered, looking up into his black eyes. She managed a shaky little smile. “I like being close to you.” She flushed, afraid she’d been too bold. Or that he’d think she was being forward. Her expression was troubled.

He just smiled. “You can say anything to me,” he said gently. “I won’t think you’re being shallow or vampish. Okay?”

She relaxed. “Okay. Is this going to be hard to learn?”

“Very.”

She drew in a long breath. “Then I guess we should get started.”

His eyes smiled down at her. “I guess we should.”