Free Maybe This Christmas: A Sweet Historical Western Holiday Romance Novella (Holidays in Mountain Home Book 2) by Kristin Holt Page B

dramatically, making plenty of noise and patting her open mouth with exaggerated motions.
    Neither so much as glanced her way as they remained locked in their contest.
    The door opened. Of course it did, middle of the day like this. She’d hoped to find Noelle returning, but her luck wasn’t that good. She decided to meet her patrons in the entryway. “Mrs. Cheney, Mrs. Talmadge, good afternoon to you both.”
    The matrons split down the middle and leaned around Effie for a better view.
    “Are they…arm wrestling?” Doc Cheney’s wife seemed captivated by the vision of Luke’s strong back. Sweat had dampened his shirt and made the fabric cling to his skin.
    “Whatever for?” Mrs. Talmadge, never one to wait idly by, strode directly for the counter to better see the main attraction.
    “They’re trying to prove a point.” So far, all they’d proved was their adolescent need to best one another—and the striking similarity in their strength. Their arms shook with fatigue and effort, yet neither had come close to winning.
    Mrs. Cheney clapped her hands. “I do love a good contest.”
    “I do believe, Mrs. O’Leary,” Mrs. Talmadge stated loudly enough for all to hear, “they’re dueling over you.”
    “I’m not a prize to be won.” Despite her flaring impatience with the suitors, she couldn’t help but feel a bit flattered.
    “Yes, you are.” Luke’s voice sounded tight, strained.
    Her heart thrilled…even if was debasing and embarrassing to watch these two fight over her.
    “Finlay.” Gus grunted. “She’s mine.”
    “I am my own woman,” she reminded them. “Out. Go. Now .”
    Neither paid her a moment’s notice.
    “Out!” She pointed at the door.
    Mrs. Talmadge and Mrs. Cheney swung their faces toward her, scandalized.
    Despite it all, Effie meant it—she wanted Gus and Luke gone from her shop. These two made a spectacle of themselves, embarrassed her in front of her customers, and blocked her sales counter. She couldn’t even get to her ledger.
    “Effie,” Gus puffed, breathing hard, “I’ve nearly,” another puff, “won.”
    “Take it outside.” She meant it.
    But the two showed no hesitation. If anything, they fought harder. Gus threw his body weight behind his arm and Luke’s stance widened.
    The muscle definition in Luke’s back sharpened, outlined by clinging cotton.
    “My money’s on the marshal.” Mrs. Cheney said to no one in particular.
    “Me, too. Sorry, Luke.” Mrs. Talmadge almost sounded contrite.
    The ladies’ voiced doubt in Luke’s ability must have spurred him on, because he quickly gained ground. Luke forced Gus back, their locked arms hovering at a forty five-degree angle.
    Gus grunted and fought back. Effie noted the cold determination in his eyes.
    Luke leaned harder, his forward foot coming off the floor.
    Effie’s heart quickened as Luke tapped Gus’s knuckles onto the counter.
    Mrs. Talmadge hooted with delight. “I don’t believe it— Luke won.”
    Gus swept his shirtsleeve over his soaked brow, muffling curses.
    She might’ve called him on his language, but Luke snared her attention. In two long strides he’d reached her, grasped her shoulders, and kissed her soundly. He’d claimed his prize.

 
     
     
    Chapter Seven
     
     
     
     
     
    Over the next three days, the friendly competition deteriorated into warfare.
    Luke found it amusing…and a challenge to best Gus at every turn.
    Luke may have won the arm wrestle—by a hair’s breadth, but Gus whopped his butt in a race to clear Effie’s boardwalk of the twelve inches of snow that fell overnight.
    Gus had relished the chance to get even.
    Effie figuratively washed her hands of them, ignored the whole goings on. So she hadn’t actually witnessed Luke’s humiliation, which suited him fine.
    Luke showed up first thing on Friday with a basket loaded with home-cooked delectable goodies for Effie’s enjoyment; Gus took note and hightailed it to the bakery and the hotel restaurant,