Page 22 of A Miracle for the Confident Cowboy

“It’s because he’s a cat person,” Sophie supplied.

All eyes were on Duke again.

The men gave him strange looks and the women offered knowing smiles he couldn’t decipher.

Then Pippa spoke up again. “I totally love it when a guy goes out and volunteers at places like that.”

Rob shot her a wounded look. “I’d… volunteer if you wanted me to.” His gaze darted to Duke again but before he could say something Sophie made matters ten times worse.

“It’s more than that. He donated a bunch of supplies to the woman’s shelter, too.”

Duke could feel the heat rising along the back of his neck. He didn’t do any of that for attention, and that was exactly what he was getting.

“Sheesh, man, leave some of the hero work for the rest of us,” Luke joked.

Duke ducked his head and stared at his mostly empty plate then forced a chuckle. “There’s always shifts available at the animal shelter.” That earned some more chuckles and jokes about imagining the men taking care of Duke the dog.

At some point, Sophie had inched closer to him, her leg brushed up against his and he glanced over to her, but she wasn’t looking in his direction. He got the distinct feeling something was brewing—much like he’d felt at the wishing well. The temptation to touch her reared its ugly head and he shifted so he could place his hand on her knee.

“So, Duke,” Rob yanked him back to the present, putting an end to that temptation. “I’m guessing Christmas is different where you come from.”

Duke peered at Rob then glanced around the table, unsure of what to say.

“Yeah, like the food,” Brent offered. “What do you eat for the holidays?”

He swallowed hard and forced thoughts of Sophie from his mind which grew increasingly harder as her perfume wafted toward him. He tightened his hand into a fist, resting it on his knee as he listed out some of his favorites. “It isn’t really much different than here. We have turkey and cornbread stuffing. Cranberry sauce, roasted potatoes, Yorkshire pudding?—”

“Yorkshire pudding?” Luke asked. “What’s in that?”

“It’s like a popover,” Sophie offered, drawing Duke’s curious gaze. She offered him a smile, and he couldn’t help the one that spread over his face in return.

“Yeah, pretty much. Then you have the traditional mince pies?—”

Rob chuckled. “Yeah, I don’t think we eat that, here either. If you’re going to be joining us for Christmas dinner, we’re going to have to strike some of those off the menu.”

Pippa nudged him. “Come on, you can’t say you wouldn’t try it if I cooked it for you.”

He made a face at his wife. “I’m not eating cornbread stuffing.”

Several of those at the table laughed at his statement, but Duke’s distraction was short-lived when he felt Sophie’s hand pry his fist open so she could lace her fingers within his. He stared at the gesture with shock. Then his eyes bounced to meet hers.

For a moment everything slowed down to a crawl. But then her focus darted down to what she had done and she immediately withdrew. Then she pushed her chair out from the table and her voice trembled slightly as she started gathering dishes. “I’ll start cleaning up.”

“Sophie, you don’t have to—” Pippa started, but Sophie waved her off with a flick of her wrist.

Duke watched her leave then slowly got to his feet. “I’ll help her.” He stacked a few plates and took them through the door that divided the dining area from the kitchen. Sophie was already at the sink, scrubbing a dish vigorously.

He placed his stack of dishes to the side, his eyes flickering to what she was doing before lifting to her face. “You might want to slow down or there won’t be any plate left to scrub.”

Her face was bright red and framed by whisps of her hair. She didn’t slow or make any indication she’d heard him, so he placed a hand over hers, forcing her to ease up on her dishwashing.

Sophie let out a long breath then forced a smile, her gaze darting up to meet his. When he released her hand, she resumed, at a more reasonable pace.

Duke busied himself with scraping and rinsing the plates he’d brought in. Every so often the two of them would exchange meaningful glances. There was so much that hadn’t been said between their moment yesterday and when she’d reached for his hand. He wanted to ask her what it meant—no he wanted to tell her what he thought it meant—but he couldn’t find the words.

Finally, he settled on the lamest thing he probably could have come up with. “I appreciate you.”

Her brows creased and she slowed her movements before meeting his gaze. “What?”

---