A teasing smile played around his lips. “You're shy.”
“I'm anti-social,” he corrected her.
“Same difference. How about I play hostess and take the burden, or some of it, off you?” she suggested.
His eyebrows lifted. “You would do that?”
“I love playing hostess. I attend all the authors’ parties I can for the free food,” she told him, her eyes twinkling. “It’s more than that though. I love interacting with people.”
“Then you're perfect for this gig. There are going to be people here who you've known since you were a child. Remember old Mrs. Granger?”
“She's still alive?” Amy asked in shock.
“Very much alive and pushing ninety, but she still manages to go around and even drives herself if it isn't too far. She buried her husband and son. There are only her grandchildren left and they live with her.”
“I cannot believe it!” Amy shook her head in disbelief. “I remember her cookies and her homemade apple cider.”
“She still makes them.” He looked up as Sal came in and stood inside the doorway.
“They're starting to come in. I instructed Bill and Joey to take charge of parking the vehicles. Buddy's already complaining about his bum leg.” He walked into the room and took Amy’s hand. “Good to see you girl, and I have to tell you that pregnancy agrees with you. There's a glow about you.”
“Thank you, Sal.” She squeezed his hand. “I told Lance that I'll play hostess.”
Sal’s eyes flew to the man who had gotten to his feet and was standing by the hearth. “Good plan. Lance is somewhat of a loner and not much of a talker. He always leaves a group in the middle of a conversation. Shall we, my dear?”
“Of course.” She allowed him to help her up and placing her glass onto the tray she pulled on her gloves.
“Wear a scarf as well as your jacket,” Lance ordered before he could stop himself.
“Yes, mother,” Amy said with a mock bow as she headed out.
“You go right ahead my dear, I'll be there in a shake. Just need to discuss something with Lance.”
They watched as she left and closed the doors behind her. Lance emptied his glass and put it on the mantel. “What is it?”
“I've never seen you look so happy,” Sal murmured as he walked over to the cabinet and helped himself to a finger of whiskey. “It’s as cold as the dickens out there,” he added as he tossed back the drink. “Never seen you look so agreeable either. Planning on persuading her to stay?”
Lance shrugged. “I'm playing it by ear. She's been here for two months now and I'm hoping that she'll stay longer.”
“You could propose to her.”
“I can't do that.” Lance rested one booted foot on the hearth and stared into the fire broodingly. “I have no intention of asking a woman to marry me and then get rejected. I've been down that road before.”
“Speaking of that, Abigail blew back into town last night.”
“What?” Lance looked at him startled. “Why?”
“Her friend Betty-Lou is getting married the day after Christmas.” Sal looked at him curiously. “You really didn't know?”
“I haven't been in touch with her.” Lance moved away from the mantel and shoved his hands into his pockets. “She has lousy timing.”
“I don’t see why her being here has anything to do with you.” Sal lifted his shaggy brows. “Unless you still have feelings for her.”
“I don’t,” Lance muttered grimly. “You're right, her being here has nothing to do with me.”
“That’s good because she and Betty-Lou just pulled into the yard.”
*****
Lance caught her arm as she was headed towards the barn where the cheerful fire blazed and people were gathered around it singing Christmas Carols lustily.
“Hi.” She looked at him curiously as he steered her over to a section not highlighted by the fire. “You okay?”
“Remember that girl I told you about?”
“What girl?”
“The one I was engaged to.”
She nodded.
“I just heard from Sal that she's here.”
“Oh,” for a moment, Amy had no idea what to say. Something flippant to show him that she wasn't insecure or something to show him that it didn't matter to her one way or another that a woman he'd been in love with and had planned to spend the rest of his life with was right here on the ranch! What did that mean and did it have anything to do with her? “Do you want me to beat her up for you?”
He laughed, running his hands up and down her thick black sweater. “I'm just giving up a heads up.”
She searched his attractive face curiously. “Do you still have feelings for her?”
“No.” He shook his head decisively. “I can be civil.”
“Good.” She linked her hand through his arm. “Let’s go show this bi-I mean person that you're over her.”
“Try not to call her by the ‘b’ word,” he told her with a teasing smile.
“I'm the epitome of polite honey. Just ask all the people gathered around the fire, which by the way happens to be an actual fire hazard.”
“We have the fire truck standing by to put out any flames that might get out of hand.” He scanned the velvety sky, absently admiring the thousands of stars lighting up the dark blue. “We also make sure to check if it's going to be windy before we start the fire. Santa’s workshop is about to be set up.”
“Who's dressing up as Santa?”
“He wants to remain anonymous to maintain the suspense,” Lance told her with a quirk to his lips.
“Is that so?” Amy scanned the area, her eyes going to the raised dais where the jolly fellow dressed in red and white trim was climbing the steps with a bag slung over his shoulder. She'd seen the children accepting the gifts from the women who had volunteered to help out before going for delicious cups of hot chocolate with foaming whipped cream on top. The place was alive with activities and several trestle tables were laid out and piled high with food.
She felt when his arm tensed as a woman wearing a designer emerald green dress that matched her eyes and clung to her slender form made her way towards them. Her black hair was loose and fell in straight dark curtain from a center part around her face and past her shoulders. A black cashmere jacket was opened all the way down and black leather knee-high boots gave her added height.
“Darling, I've been looking all over for you,” she murmured seductively, effectively ignoring Amy as she stared at the tall, leanly handsome man in front of her.
“Abigail.” He nodded briefly. “Amy, this is Abigail Trenton, Abigail this is Amy Grayson.”
“The baby-mama,” Amy added maliciously. The woman was beautiful, with almost translucent white skin and lips painted blood red to highlight the shape of her lips. She patted her belly which had only just started showing for emphasis. “Welcome to the party.”
Abigail’s eyes flew to Lance’s face before looking back at Amy. “Congratulations,” she said stiffly. “I need to speak to Lance, if you don’t mind.”