The Cowboy's Christmas Surprise. Marie Ferrarella

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      Holly raised her eyes to meet his soft brown ones as she set down the half-filled coffeepot, waiting for him to continue talking.

      He, apparently, was waiting for something, too. “You’re not guessing,” he prompted.

      “You really want me to guess?” she asked, surprised. But she could see that he was serious. “Okay. But to do a decent job at guessing, I’m going to need a hint.” With Ray, there was never any telling what he thought was share worthy at any particular given time.

      He nodded, obviously enjoying stretching this out. “Okay, if you want a hint, how’s this?” he said just before he declared, “The Last of the Mohicans.”

      Holly stared at the face that popped up in her dreams at least three nights a week, usually more. What he’d just said didn’t make any sense to her, but she took a stab at it. It really didn’t matter all that much to her what Ray said to her as long as he went on talking. She loved the sound of his voice, loved everything about him, even his devil-may-care attitude, despite the fact that it was responsible for his going from female to female.

      “You’re reading James Fenimore Cooper?” she asked uncertainly. Why did he think the book title would mean anything to her?

      “No, me,” he told her, hitting his chest with his fisted right hand. When she continued to stare at him, a puzzled expression on her face, he elaborated a little further for her. “I’m the last of the Mohicans.”

      Holly knew that he had a little bit of Native American blood in him on his father’s side, but he’d told her that he had traced it back to an Apache tribe, not some fictional tribe the long-dead author had written about.

      “It’s too early for brainteasers, boy.”

      Holly glanced up to see that Miss Joan had joined them, having made her way to this side of the counter. The red-haired older woman who owned and ran the diner narrowed her hazel eyes as she fixed the youngest of the Rodriguez clan with a reproving look.

      “Why don’t you just come out and tell Holly what you’re trying to say while she’s still young enough to be able to hear you?” Miss Joan suggested.

      But Ray apparently enjoyed being enigmatic and he gave hinting one final try. “Last Man Standing.”

      “Ray,” Miss Joan said in a warning tone, “you’re going to be the last man sitting on his butt outside my diner if you don’t stop playing games and just say what you’re trying to say.”

      Ray sighed, shaking his head. He’d thought that Holly, whom he’d always regarded as being sharp, would have already figured out what he was trying to tell her.

      “All right, all right,” he said, surrendering. “You know, you take all the fun out of things, Miss Joan.” He couldn’t resist complaining.

      In response, Miss Joan gave him a wicked little smile. “That’s not what my Harry says,” she informed him, referring to the husband she’d acquired not long ago after years of being Forever’s so-called carefree bachelorette.

      Meanwhile, Holly stood waiting to find out what it was that had her best friend so mysteriously excited.

      “All right, why are you the last man standing?” she asked, prodding him along.

      “Because everyone else in my family is dropping like flies,” he told her vaguely, playing it out as long as he could. “Except for my dad,” he threw in. “But he doesn’t really count.” Eyes all but sparkling, he looked from Miss Joan to Holly, then said, “We just had another casualty last night.”

      “Don’t see why a casualty would have you grinning from ear to ear like that,” Miss Joan observed, then ordered, “C’mon, spit it out, boy. What the devil are you talking about?”

      The twinkle in the woman’s hazel eyes, Holly noted, seemed to be at odds with the question she’d just asked and the way she’d asked it. Everyone understood that Miss Joan knew it all: was privy to every secret, knew what people were doing even before they did it at times and in general was viewed as a source of information for everything that was taking place in Forever.

      “Don’t tell me you don’t know,” Ray suddenly said, looking at the older woman. He was savoring every second of this—especially if it turned out that he knew something before Miss Joan actually did.

      “I’m not saying one way or the other, I’m just saying that since you’re so all fired up about spilling these particular beans, you should spill them already—before someone decides to string you up.”

      It wasn’t a suggestion, it was a direct order, and if she actually did somehow know what he was about to tell Holly, he appreciated Miss Joan allowing him to be the one to make the announcement. After all, it did concern his family.

      Forever was a town where very little happened. They had the customary sheriff and he had appointed three deputies—including his sister, Alma—but they spent most of their time taking care of mundane things like getting cats out of trees and occasionally locking up one of several men in Forever who had trouble holding their liquor. Occasionally the men in question had imbibed too much in their singular attempts to drown out the sound of displeased wives.

      Moreover, it was a town where everyone knew everyone else’s business, so to be the first one to know something or the first one to make an announcement regarding that news was a big deal.

      “Well?” Holly coaxed, waiting. “Are you going to tell me or am I going to have to shake it out of you?” It was a threat that dated back to their childhood when they were rather equally matched on the playing field because they were both incredibly skinny.

      He grinned at her. “You and what army?” he teased. When she pretended to take a step forward, he held up his hands as if to stop her. Having played out the moment, he was finally ready to tell her what he’d come to say.

      “You know the woman who came to our ranch to work on that box of diaries and journals my dad found in our attic?”

      Holly nodded. She’d caught a glimpse or three of Samantha Monroe, the person Ray was referring to, when she’d stopped by the diner. The woman had the kind of face that looked beautiful without makeup and Holly truly envied her that. She wore very little makeup herself, but felt that if she went without any at all, she had no visible features.

      “Yes,” she answered Ray patiently. “I remember. What about her?”

      Ray grinned broadly. “Well, guess which brother just popped the question?” Ray’s soft brown eyes all but danced as he waited for her to make the logical assumption.

      For one horrifying split second, Holly’s heart sank to the bottom of her toes as she thought Ray was referring to himself. She’d seen the way he’d initially looked at this Samantha person, and even someone paying marginal attention would have seen that he’d been clearly smitten with the attractive redhead.

      And while she knew that Ray’s attraction to a woman had the sticking power of adhesive tape that had been left out in the sun for a week, there was always the silent threat hanging over her head—and her heart—that someday, some woman would come along who would knock his socks off, get her hooks into him and Ray would wind up following this woman to the ends of the earth, hopelessly in love and forever at her beck and call.

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