The Cowboy's Christmas Surprise. Marie Ferrarella

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      Chapter Three

      Her time factor down to the wire, Holly stared into the small, narrow closet in her bedroom. She’d been staring into it for a couple of minutes now.

      It wasn’t as if she was trying to decide what to wear, because there was so much to choose from. There wasn’t. She knew every article of clothing that hung there by heart.

      She had exactly one all-purpose dress that she’d worn to her high school graduation, to the funeral of a friend of her mother’s and to a small number of other, lesser occasions. Money was tight. She saw no reason to spend it on something frivolous when there were so many more worthy items that needed to be bought first—like toys that lit up Molly’s eyes and clothes for the girl’s ever-growing little body.

      The all-purpose, A-line, navy blue dress was certainly still in decent condition, but she had to secretly admit that part of her wished she’d taken Laurie up on her offer when the waitress had suggested lending her a dress for this evening.

      The next moment, Holly shrugged the thought away. Murphy’s wasn’t all that well lit anyway, and besides, she was not looking to impress anyone. She was just giving in and going out tonight so that Laurie and Miss Joan would stop saying she needed to get out more and socialize.

      After all, it wasn’t as if she was bored. God knew she had more than enough to keep her busy, and she didn’t feel a lack of anything in her life. She wasn’t looking for a boyfriend or a husband. Her heart definitely wasn’t up for grabs.

      It was already spoken for.

      She’d been in love with Ray for as long as she could remember. That wasn’t going to change, and as long as she felt that way, she wasn’t about to go looking for a boyfriend. She wouldn’t feel right about it. Her heart definitely wouldn’t be in it.

      She’d never been one of those girls who felt she needed a man at her side to complete her. She knew better than that. She had always been her own person, and that person was as busy as any two or three people had a right to be.

      “You know, it doesn’t matter how long you stare into it, nothing new is going to pop up in that closet,” Martha Johnson said as she wheeled herself into her daughter’s small, tidy bedroom.

      “I know, Mom,” Holly acknowledged wearily, still staring into her closet. “I was just wondering if it wouldn’t be better all around if I just stayed home tonight.” She certainly didn’t need to dig for excuses. She had plenty of those. “I’ve got that test to study for and Molly’s just getting over a cold—”

      “At this age, Molly’s always going to be getting over a cold,” Martha pointed out patiently. “And from what I understand, the beauty of taking those courses in the isolating privacy of your own room is that you can take those tests whenever you want—on your own schedule, not the teacher’s or whoever it is that’s hiding on the other side of that monitor. Anyway, you’re going and that’s that.”

      “Mom, what if Molly wakes up—” She got no further. Her mother had raised her hand, calling for silence.

      “So she wakes up. I’ll handle it. Don’t make me feel any more of an invalid than this chair already makes me feel, Holly,” she pleaded. “Besides, you wouldn’t want this dress to go to waste, would you?”

      “What dress?” Holly asked, finally turning around to look at her mother.

      That was when she saw it. What her mother was talking about. There on her lap, encased in a plastic, see-through garment bag, was a dress that gave new meaning to the word beautiful.

      Holly’s mouth dropped open in complete awe—and concern. The dress had to be expensive. She wasn’t about to allow her mother to throw away money on her like that, especially since there wasn’t all that much to toss around. They were still paying off the medical bills associated with the car accident that had put her mother into that wheelchair.

      “Mom, you didn’t—”

      “No, Holly, I didn’t,” Martha quickly assured her daughter.

      Her mother didn’t usually lie to her, yet there was the dress, on her lap. “Then where did that come from?” Holly asked.

      Martha Johnson smiled. “Miss Joan’s husband, Harry, brought it over. He said she told him that this was for you and that you weren’t allowed to give it back or refuse it, otherwise you’re out of a job,” her mother said matter-of-factly. She looked down at the dress that was still on her lap. “If you ask me, this’ll look extremely pretty on you.” And then she looked up to see Holly’s reaction.

      That was not the expression of a woman who was thrilled about getting a new dress.

      Holly was frowning.

      “Oh, Holly, smile. You look as if you are about to be sent to prison, not to enjoy a rare night out. A well-deserved night out, I might add,” Martha insisted. She shook her head, her salt-and-pepper hair moving back and forth from the motion. “Honey, I can’t remember the last time you went out for fun.”

      Neither could she, actually, Holly thought. But that still didn’t make this any easier for her. Holly bit her lower lip. “Mom, I won’t fit in.”

      “You won’t fit in if you wear that old navy blue dress of yours,” Martha pointed out, nodding at the dress that was still hanging in the closet. “In this bright, pretty little thing, you’ll still stand out,” she acknowledged, nodding at the glittery blue-gray dress, “but in a good way. Besides, you’re going out with your friends, aren’t you? That should make it easier for you.”

      She really wasn’t all that close to the girls she was going out with. Not so much that she could really call them her friends.

      Holly raised one shoulder in a helpless gesture. “I’m going out with girls I work with, Mom.”

      “Close enough,” her mother pronounced.

      There was no doubt about it, Holly thought. She was going to feel awkward. She had trouble blending in in situations outside of her comfort zone, at work or home. Anything beyond that was no longer in her zone.

      Martha took her hand between both of hers, a sympathetic look in her eyes. “Honey, the more you hide, the harder it’s going to be on you to come out and mingle with people who aren’t sitting at the counter, giving СКАЧАТЬ