A Cowboy Under The Mistletoe

She gazed at him and realized the distance between Sheridan and Cheyenne was shrinking in her mind. “We might.”

“We just might. Time will tell. And speaking of time, we’d better get moving. The clock’s ticking.” With a hand against the small of her back, he guided her out the front door of Rangeland Roasters. Then he laced his fingers through hers and started off at a brisk pace toward the diner.

“Is this what they call speed dating?”

He slowed immediately. “Sorry. Guess I wanted to maximize the time I spend sitting next to you.”

“At the counter, right?”

“Yes, ma’am.” He squeezed her hand. “Especially after you gave me a vivid picture of what might happen in a booth. Besides, we’ll get seated quicker and served faster. Do you know what you want?”

That gave her the giggles, and her breath frosted in the cold air. No more snow had fallen since Wednesday night, but the temperature still hovered around thirty degrees.

“I can see where your mind is.” Laughter rippled in his voice.

“Do you blame me? You’ve strongly suggested that tonight we’ll—”

“Maybe we shouldn’t talk about that.”

“Nobody’s paying attention.”

“Nobody except yours truly, and talking about it makes me want to do it, which has predictable anatomical consequences.”

“Predictable anatomical consequences? Is that a legal term?”

“If it’s not, it should be.” He pushed open the door and ushered her into the diner. “And that subject’s officially off-limits.”

“You’re no fun.”

“That’s where you’re wrong. I just pick the appropriate time and place. This isn’t it.” He paused inside the door. “Good. The counter has spots available.”

The hostess arrived and seated them immediately as he’d predicted. The stools had backs, which gave them a place for their coats. Ty barely had time to help Whitney off with hers before two water glasses appeared along with napkins and silverware.

He gestured toward the glasses. “See? Counters rock.” He took off his jacket and hung it on the back of his stool.