A Cowboy to Marry by CATHY GILLEN THACKER Page B

set it aside, then pushed the sleeves of her white long-sleeved T-shirt to her elbows. “I make soup every Sunday evening.”
    Holden tried not to notice how the cotton fabric clung to the curves of her breasts. “When did this start?”
    â€œAfter Percy died. I couldn’t seem to manage anything that required even a moderate amount of concentration. But soup was foolproof.”
    Holden chuckled. “Then it sounds like the perfect dish for me.”
    â€œNot to worry. I know it doesn’t sound very filling, but I’ll whip up some quesadillas for you, too. In the meantime—” she got out a bag of chips and a jar of salsa and arranged them on a serving dish “—you can munch on these, since our main course is going to take about an hour to prepare.”
    â€œThanks.”
    â€œNo problem.” Looking increasingly at ease, she handed him a cutting board and knife. Then a green pepper, a red pepper, several ripe tomatoes and an onion. “Think you can chop these up into little pieces?”
    It was his turn to smile. “Oh ye of little faith…”
    Libby mugged comically as she started mixing chili powder, cumin and garlic powder, and the aroma of Southwestern spices filled the kitchen.
    Enjoying the camaraderie that had sprung up between them, Holden cut the seeds and stem out of the peppers.He was more awkward than she was, but could still get the job done. “I’m guessing we’re making tortilla soup?” he asked eventually.
    Purposefully, Libby lined up boneless chicken breasts on a rimmed baking sheet, drizzled on olive oil, sprinkled on spice and put that into the oven to bake. “You guessed right.”
    â€œNow what?” he said when he’d finished dicing.
    She poured a little more olive oil in the bottom of the stockpot. The heat of the stove had her sculpted cheeks glowing pink. “Pour the veggies in here and then stir them around.”
    He tried not to think how much he had enjoying kissing her, or how sweet and feminine her body had felt pressed against his. Even now, he fought the urge to hold her in his arms again.
    â€œYou mean sauté them?”
    Merriment danced in her green eyes. “You really aren’t as unschooled as you look.”
    Holden laughed and started stirring as directed.
    Shaking her head in amusement, Emily opened containers of chicken broth, tomatoes with jalapeño peppers and black beans. All were added to the sizzling veggies. The quarters were close, and Holden’s shoulder nudged hers as they worked. “It’s starting to look like soup.” He could smell the chicken roasting, too.
    â€œAs soon as we put the meat in…” Libby paused.
    His brow furrowed, Holden fixed his attention on the window above the kitchen sink.
    She came closer, in a drift of soap and shampoo, and studied his face. “What are you looking at?”
    Clearly, she didn’t think there was much to notice inthe backyard. Especially at dusk on a cold winter’s day. Holden frowned. “Was there snow in the forecast?”
    Libby’s shoulders brushed his. “There was a ten-percent chance of rain, but—”
    He pointed toward the glass. “Does that look like rain to you?”
    She stood on tiptoe to get a better view. “I don’t know…it’s so gloomy. How can you tell?”
    â€œOne way to find out.” He headed for the back door.
    As he had hoped, Libby was right behind him.
    Laramie was far enough north that it snowed at least once a year, usually only a couple inches at a time. And it melted the next day. So this wouldn’t be unprecedented.
    Holden stepped off the porch and into the yard. He held his palms out, as did she. Sure enough, he realized with a smile, it was snow! Tiny white flakes that swirled in the wind and dotted their faces and hands.
    Libby laughed in delight, her voice soft and musical, and maybe the best thing he’d