Page 13 of Cowboy Stolen Kiss for Christmas

As Nash strode closer, she sprang forward to wrap him in a gentle hug. “Congratulations, Nash! I’m so happy for you and Noelle.”

Nash gave Ames a wide-eyed look of accusation over her head.

Ames spread his hands, silently protesting his innocence. There was no way he would’ve spilled a secret like that without his brother’s permission, not even to Laura.

She stepped back with an apologetic smile. “I know I’m probably not supposed to know, but it’s a small town, and…” She gave a helpless shrug. “One person saw Noelle leaving the doctor’s office yesterday. Someone else caught her browsing through baby clothes at one of the boutiques, and yet another person claims she was looking pale around the gills over her salmon salad at the Gingerbread House. With that many nosy locals, it was impossible not to connect the dots.”

Nash snorted out a laugh. “Yeah, that’s Pinetop for you.” He didn’t look too bothered by it. The place was clearly growing on him. It was growing on all of them. “To keep me out of trouble with my wife, I won’t pass on your congratulations. Instead, I’ll let you deliver them yourself the next time you see her.”

“I can’t wait! This is so exciting!” Laura clasped her gloved hands together, dancing her gaze over the three of them. “So, what are the odds of running into all three of you here this morning?” To her credit, she sounded really happy about it.

When none of them leaped forward with an answer, she nodded in understanding. “I’m getting the whole pickup riding team, aren’t I?” The look she sent over her shoulder at Ames was brimming with gratitude.

“We’ve got your back, just like I promised.” He winked at her.

A tinge of pink blossomed across her high cheekbones. “I really owe you for this.”

“Yeah, you do,” he teased, “and I intend to collect.” It would be the perfect time for her to pay up with that kiss they continued to joke about privately.

The color in her face deepened.

Flint cleared his throat and muttered, “Go time.” As smooth as if he’d rehearsed the maneuver, he two-stepped around Laura, cutting ahead of her in line at the hostess station. “Reservation for Flint, party of three,” he intoned in a low voice.

“You little punk,” Ames growled, half swinging in his direction. However, he was careful to keep the front entrance door in his peripheral vision until it opened.

The infamous Gypsy Boy, who’d so callously broken Laura’s heart, strutted in like a rooster ready to crow at the crack of dawn. His homespun appearance was the antithesis of the bounce in his step. His double-breasted wool jacket was clearly one he’d purchased second-hand, probably from some military clothing outlet. It was unbuttoned, revealing a neck scarf, a denim shirt with the collar casually pushed up, and yet another scarf on top of that. It was secured by a square antique pin. His hands were bare, revealing a trail of floral and bird tattoos. He was really playing up the gypsy look.

Though his dark hair was windblown, it had recently been cut, possibly by hand since it looked a little uneven over his right ear. Either that, or he’d carelessly shoved it back before entering the restaurant. He was sporting an evening shadow that was quickly working its way into a beard. His entire appearance felt deliberate. Staged. Something that belonged on the cover of a movie magazine.

Ames reckoned he should’ve expected no less from a man with an agenda, one that clearly involved the woman whose life he was attempting to slither back into.

“Laura.” Brex Morrison’s voice held a curious mix of raspy emotion and regret, probably something he’d practiced. “It’s so good to see you again.”

Her expression tightened. Whatever he’d hoped to accomplish with his dramatic entrance into the restaurant had failed to hit its mark. “We need to talk.” She made no move to shake the hand he was holding out to her.

He lowered it with a wistful sigh. “That’s why I’m here.”

“If you’ll follow me, sir.” The hostess lightly touched Ames’ shoulder to get his attention. “Your table is ready.”

Right. He mechanically followed her from the waiting area, keeping his head averted so he could continue discreetly observing Laura and her breakfast companion. The hostess led him and his brothers to a table against the east side of the room. A padded bench was built into the wall on one side of the table, and two chairs were pushed up to the other side of it.

Flint angled his head at the bench. “You get first dibs on the wall, bro.”

“Thanks.” Ames took a seat, liking the central location of their table. It gave him a full view of the rest of the room.

“I specifically requested this table.” Flint slid in beside him. “So I hope that’s your way of saying you owe me more than a coffee, especially since I left my wallet at home.”

“Of course you did.” Ames’ gaze never left the entrance of the dining room, which the hostess soon led Laura and Brex through. To his surprise, she seated them at the table right across from him and his brothers.

Laura’s startled gaze briefly fluttered to him.

He gave her what he hoped she would interpret as an encouraging nod.

She either didn’t notice or purposely ignored the chair her ex-fiancé held for her. Instead, she pulled out her own chair, the one facing Ames.

That’s right, darling. You need anything, and I’ll be right here.

Flint opened his menu and spoke in a low voice from behind it. “You’re mighty welcome for the view, bro. If they served steak for breakfast, this meal would be costing you a lot more.”

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