Free Christmas in Cowboy Country by Janet Dailey

up for days.
    Or, she thought uneasily, be flung into. By a man who had just swept you up in his arms and whispered all the things he was going to do to you over the course of a passionate weekend.
    Sign her up. As far as she could tell, Marshall Stone was single.
    Annie’d had a fair amount of experience with figuring out who was and who wasn’t. Some of the corporate types who took ski weekends liked to remove their wedding rings before they picked her for an instructor. “Didn’t fit into the ski gloves” was only one of the ridiculous reasons she’d heard. But she could tell. Married men tended to look guilty in advance, even if they never made a move.
    â€œWould you like some coffee?”
    Startled by the mundane question, Annie looked around at Marshall. “What? Oh—no, thanks.”
    He shrugged and bent down. The rattling sound of kibble told her he was filling the dog’s bowl.
    She wasn’t quick enough to move toward one of the high stools by the counter that served as a dining space. Marshall came out of the kitchenette and headed straight for the love seat.
    His eyes caught hers. He must have read her mind, because he went to the love seat and quickly rotated it to face the woodstove in the corner instead of the poufy bed.
    Annie breathed an inward sigh of relief. She took one side of the love seat. He took the other. Still and all, she couldn’t fight the feeling that she’d been put in the corner for having such wayward thoughts. But Marshall’s demeanor was matter-of-fact. He didn’t seem inclined to quiz her about why she’d stopped by or even how she’d found out where he was staying.
    â€œSo where are you from exactly?” Annie began, trying not to sound too curious. “I never did ask.”
    â€œGarrick. Bet you never heard of it.” He smiled when she shook her head. “It’s a small town,” he said. “Smaller than Velde.”
    That wasn’t a whole lot of information, but it was a start. She found herself wishing he were a little more communicative. But Marshall Stone fit the profile of the strong, silent type. Annie searched her mind for other topics to discuss.
    â€œThat’s quite a truck,” she said encouragingly. Men always liked to talk about their wheels.
    â€œGets me where I’m going.” That was all he had to say.
    Another subtle inquiry shot down. But she wasn’t giving up.
    â€œSurveying must pay well,” she said.
    â€œI do all right.”
    She was stymied until she spotted a throw toy for Rowdy and played with him for a while. The dog’s antics filled the lull in the conversation. Marshall Stone just didn’t much like to talk about himself.
    But she hit another invisible wall when she brought up the town meeting.
    â€œSo whose side are you on?” she asked, not really making light of it.
    â€œI’m not on anyone’s side. Why do you ask?”
    â€œYou work for Pfeffer, and Shep Connally is his pal. Do you know anything about him?”
    There was the barest fraction of a pause.
    â€œI saw what you saw that night, Annie. I’ve never been personally introduced to the man, if that’s what you mean.”
    He’d sidestepped the question. She decided to let it go.
    â€œI know I should have told Chuck Pfeffer to shut up when he made that obnoxious comment about your father,” he said finally.
    â€œWell, yes. But I’m not going to be a sorehead about it indefinitely. Besides,” she added honestly, “I couldn’t say my dad is ever going to be your biggest fan.”
    â€œI suppose not.” Marshall had to smile. “He’s entitled to his opinion.”
    â€œThose surveyor flags on the fence line got him riled again.”
    â€œI have to leave them there until the job’s done, but I’ll be sure to take them down when I go,” Stone said agreeably.
    Like, she thought with a pang, he