Free A Cowboy to Marry by CATHY GILLEN THACKER

The place was full of teenagers, so they took their meal over to the park and sat at a picnic table in the shelter. It was hard to believe they’d seen snow flurries the evening before, although none of the precipitation had stuck. But that was Texas in December—thirty-two degrees one day, sixty the next.
    He ripped open a packet of ketchup. “I noticed you don’thave a Christmas tree yet. Are you planning on getting one?”
    Libby ignored the romantic aura of their impromptu picnic and rummaged through the bag, looking for salt. “I’ve got one being delivered to the dealership for the showroom tomorrow afternoon.” She frowned. “I haven’t decided what to do about my house.”
    â€œWhat do you usually do?”
    Libby’s recent memories were glum. “Last year I passed. It seemed like too much effort to put one up just for me.”
    Holden sent her a stern look. “That’s totally unacceptable.”
    â€œUh-huh.” She regarded him through narrowed lashes. “Do you have one up at your ranch house?”
    He wrinkled his nose in chagrin. “Uh…”
    â€œI thought not.” She looked down her nose at him.
    â€œHey.” He pressed a palm to his chest. “I was going to go and cut one down next weekend.” He favored her with a speculative glance. “You’re welcome to come with me if you want.”
    Libby blinked. “To a Christmas tree farm?”
    â€œTo my property. I have pine trees on the Bar M.”
    She dabbed her mouth with a paper napkin. “That sounds…”
    His eyes lit up. “Festive?”
    Libby grinned. “Like a lot of work.”
    His lips curled in mock exasperation. “I take it, then, you’ve never done it.”
    â€œWielded an ax on a poor unsuspecting tree?” she responded, deadpan. Enjoying their banter, she sat up straight. “No, I have not.”
    â€œIf it will make you feel better, I’ll be sure to do all thechopping and heavy lifting, and I’ll replace any trees we take with seedlings in the spring.”
    Libby liked the idea of that, as much as she liked hanging out with him. “You’d do that for me?”
    Holden toasted her with his peppermint milk shake. “In exchange for some home-baked Christmas cookies? I sure would.”
    Â 
    â€œW ELL , I DIDN’T FORESEE that ending,” Holden murmured later as he walked her to her front door. “A romantic comedy where the guy doesn’t get the girl?”
    Libby lingered beneath her porch light. She knew it was silly, but she’d had such a good time she didn’t want the evening to end. She thrust her hands in the pockets of her red down jacket. “Kind of defeats the purpose of the movie, doesn’t it? In my fantasies, I want everything to work out perfectly.”
    Holden’s lips took on a rueful curve. He thrust his hands in his pockets, too. “I know what you mean. There’s comfort in thinking that at least somewhere, some couple is deliriously happy.”
    Libby’s mood turned wistful. “Even if they’re only a fictional couple?”
    â€œHey.” He lifted his hands amiably. “Got to take what we can get, in this life.”
    â€œHow well I know that,” she murmured.
    They continued staring at each other.
    Libby ignored what she knew was prudent and took reckless action instead. She angled her chin. “Want to come in?”
    His wide shoulders relaxed. “Maybe for a minute.”
    She unlocked the door and decided to make this anactual practice run, thereby giving it parameters and a purpose. “I feel as awkward as I would on a first date.”
    â€œSame here.”
    Silence fell. Their smiles widened and the butterflies inside her grew. Tingling with anticipation, Libby drew breath.
    Holden’s jaw tautened. He took her hand, suddenly reserved. “Maybe we should just say good-night,” he