Lone Star Christmas. Cathy Gillen Thacker

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      One that should have been easy to answer.

      Instead, Callie froze as if that were the last thing she had expected to hear. Her twin sister and her husband exchanged long, baffled looks. Then Maggie turned back to Callie, who wasn’t really meeting anyone’s gaze directly, and silently telegraphed something that her twin obviously decided to ignore.

      Regaining her composure, Callie flashed an overly bright smile his way. “It’s just us.” She gestured graciously to the chair opposite her. “So if you’ll have a seat, too...”

      Which begged the question, Nash thought, where was the elusive Mr. Grimes? Not that anyone else but him seemed intrigued by the matter, as grace was said, the platters of abundant food were passed around and everyone dug in. During the meal—which was, by far, the most delicious Thanksgiving dinner he’d ever had—conversation revolved primarily around the sports teams playing and the results of the games thus far.

      Maggie McCabe-Sanders and her husband worked to make sure everyone felt at home. While Callie seemed happy to concentrate on making sure her son got enough to eat, and the serving platters on the table were replenished as often as need be.

      Not surprisingly, by the time dessert and coffee were served, the little ones were drooping with fatigue.

      Callie looked at her sister. “Would you and Hart mind...?”

      Maggie smiled. “Not at all. We’ll take them over to the house and get them into their pajamas.”

      The lumberjacks lined up to help clear the table and thank Callie for the amazing dinner, and then they headed over to Nash’s ranch house next door to play cards and watch football.

      Finally, it was just Nash and Callie, alone in the bunkhouse kitchen. He surveyed the tall stacks of dirty dishes while Callie picked up her buzzing cell phone. She seemed to want to sink through the floor when she caught a glimpse of the caller ID screen.

      Pivoting so her back was to Nash, she said hello. Listened. With a smile in her voice said, “Of course you can. Yes, absolutely. Right now is fine. I’m in the bunkhouse.”

      She hung up and immediately punched in another number. “Maggie? You heard...? Oh, good. Can you keep Brian awake? Thanks.” She ended the call and swung back to Nash. Bright color highlighted her elegant cheekbones.

      “Company coming?” Like maybe an estranged husband?

      She nodded.

      “Not to worry,” he said. “I’ll stay here and clean all this up.”

      To his surprise, she looked even more panicked. “Not a good idea.”

      The evening was getting stranger and stranger. “Why not?”

      She bit her lip. “Because—”

      The door opened and a couple in their early sixties walked in. Both were eclectically dressed. The woman in a violet cashmere wrap, multicolored flowing skirt and matching blouse. An abundance of costume jewelry, a hammered silver belt and elaborately crafted Western boots completed her free-spirited look. The man wore a tapestry vest shot through with silver and gold threads, band-collared shirt, jeans and boots. A Stetson covered his free-flowing shoulder-length silver hair.

      “Darling!” The woman opened her arms. Callie went into them, returning a fiercely affectionate hug, then accepted an equally warm embrace from the man.

      “The place looks wonderful!” the older gentleman said.

      “This retreat will be the best in Texas within the year,” the woman enthused. “In fact, I’m betting it will be featured in every magazine and newspaper in the state!”

      The over-the-top prediction elicited a brief, pained look from Callie. “I’d settle for just a modest success,” she murmured.

      “You’re going to do much, much better than that,” the woman insisted. “And in the process, prove all the naysayers who thought you should stay in Laramie, wrapped in widow’s weeds, wrong.”

      Widow. Had she said widow?

      Nash’s gaze fell to the diamond and engagement rings still sparkling on Callie’s left hand.

      Now, this was interesting.

      The older woman turned to Nash. “I’m Doris Grimes, by the way. And this is my husband, Rock. We’re Seth’s parents.”

      Nash returned the smile and stepped forward to shake hands. “I’m Nash Echols, Callie’s neighbor. My men and I joined Callie and her sister’s family for Thanksgiving dinner.”

      Callie waited until the handshaking was concluded, then intervened, “Well, I know you’re anxious to see your grandson,” she told her in-laws, “so you-all go on ahead. I’ll be up at the ranch house as soon as I get things squared away here.”

      After she ushered them toward the door, they left.

      Nash didn’t utter a single word until Callie turned back around and met his questioning glance. “Widow, hmm?”

      Pursing her lips, she angled a thumb at her sternum. “Hey, it’s not my duty to correct any wrong assumptions on your part. Or anyone else’s for that matter.”

      “So this is a common ploy? Pretending you’re still married?” To do what? Drag on the grief? Keep from doing what everyone had to do eventually, which was move on...?

      Callie’s jaw set stubbornly as she lifted her gaze to his. “I am still married. In my heart. And always will be.”

      The way she had inadvertently checked him out when he walked in, and apparently liked what she saw, said otherwise. She was still a woman, and still very much alive in every respect, whether she wanted to admit it or not.

      Not about to let her get away with deliberately misleading him, he lifted a brow. “Bull.”

      She blinked. “Excuse me?”

      He stepped closer, purposefully invading her personal space. “You wear those rings, and let people assume you’re married, to keep guys from hitting on you.”

      Callie drew a deep breath and stepped back. Her blue eyes took on a cynical light. “So what if I do? In my situation you probably would, too.”

      “I don’t go around misrepresenting myself.”

      “Oh, really?” she scoffed. “Because I’m pretty sure you wanted my in-laws to think you were an upstanding Texas gentleman just now.”

      “I am an upstanding Texas gentleman.” Even if he had spent the past ten years in the Pacific Northwest.

      “Really?” She pushed the words through gritted teeth. “Because I’m pretty sure a real Texas gentleman would not have brought up the fact that I’m a widow when it is clearly a subject I do not wish to discuss.”

      He answered her insult with a shrug, but did not disengage their locked gazes. “Fine with me,” he said, just as carelessly. “I can do a search on Google on anything I want to know, anyway.”

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