“Grannie Rose and Aunt Tillie have their hearts set on mothering you.” She wanted that. He saw the need cross her expression like a ripple on water. “Come back to the house, Holly Jane.”
“I’ll stay on my own land, thank you very much.”
She stood up, clearly dismissing him and his invitation.
“We’re knee-deep in October. It’ll be cold as hell tonight.”
“Don’t worry. Granddaddy built your house to be snug and warm.”
She turned her back on him. Hell and damn... Nothing he said to the woman would make any difference.
She picked up her hammer and another nail.
He wouldn’t help her this time. When she got cold enough she’d come inside.
* * *
At midnight, Holly Jane wrapped the tarp about her body and watched smoke rise from the chimney of the house. The imagined warmth inside made her shiver even more.
The wind had begun to howl at sundown and picked up velocity ever since. Lulu had felt no shame in squealing outside the kitchen door until Grannie Rose let her in.
The little traitor had gone inside gleefully and was, no doubt, warm and coddled by now. At least the raccoon, Mayberry, hadn’t deserted her. The sweet creature sat beside her, no doubt wondering what the foolish human was doing sitting out after dark in the cold.
Defying Granddaddy’s wishes is what.
Colt Travers might believe that her grandfather had sold him the ranch to protect her from the Broadhowers and the Folsoms, but she knew better.
She had been raised by the man and knew him like she knew herself. Colt Travers was not here to protect her from this or that groom... He was here to be the groom.
Granddaddy was a thorough man. He would want her to be protected by a husband, not a neighbor. That’s why he had left her the carousel, so that she would be surrounded by Mr. Travers...nowhere to run...nowhere to hide.
In the moonlight, Holly Jane watched the wind rip the leaves off the trees, whip them about in the air then tumble them on across the earth. Her ribs fairly ached with shivering and, she had to admit, rebellion.
She had never been disobedient to her grandfather during his lifetime, but he knew her as well as she knew him and she was taking a stand.
Colt Wesson Travers was the embodiment of the man she told her grandparents that she would marry. As a dreamy adolescent, she had described him in vivid detail on a daily basis. Granddaddy would have recognized him as easily as she had.
Had she ever guessed that a man existed who fit her fantasy description to a letter, and that Granddaddy would find him and sell him her land, she would have kept her mouth shut.
Oh, but the wind had a bite. She yanked the tarp over her head and squeezed her eyes tight. No matter what happened she was not going to go into that house.
Granddaddy was not going to reach out from beyond the sky and force her to wed.
If she could dodge the Folsoms and duck the Broadhowers, she could elude her neighbor, as well.
And what Granddaddy had failed to take into account was that Colt Travers did not appear to be the marrying kind. He was bad-mannered, bold, certainly not a gallant man like the one of her dreams. He was clearly used to having his way and—
All of a sudden her behind lifted off the carousel and Colt carried her, wrapped up in the tarp. She twisted, trying to wriggle out of the arms that banded her, but they only held on tighter, pressing her against his very solid chest.
It would be a lie to say that this chest was not an exact fulfillment of her dream lover’s chest, but she pushed away from it anyway.
A deep, rumbling laugh vibrated her fingertips.
“Time to come home, Snowflake.”
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