The ride into town was cold and silent. Bebe’s winter coat had seen better days, and did little to shelter her from the breeze as Price drove the wagon faster than he should have on dark, icy roads. At least the snow wasn’t so bad they’d had to take the wheels off the wagon and attach the sleigh runners. But it wasn’t much of a relief when they reached The Cattleman Hotel. The hotel appeared to be crowded, with too many people who would look at her, make her feel self-conscious, and gossip the next morning. An attendant took the leads from Price and drove the wagon around back to the hotel’s stables, and Price escorted Bebe up the front steps and into the cozy lobby.

“Looks like Mr. Kopanari is having a bit of a baptism by fire tonight,” Price commented, nodding to the doorway to the restaurant and the stately figure of Miles Kopanari.

Mr. Kopanari had first come to Haskell almost a decade ago with a traveling troupe of showmen that he led. The troupe had broken up after performing a show for the residents of Haskell, and several of the performers had stayed and settled in town. Miles had struck up a friendship with Theophilus Gunn, the original manager of the hotel, and had expressed an interest in learning the hotel business. But in the end, he took his aging mother back to their home country of Hungary and stayed with her in her last days. Mr. Kopanari and Mr. Gunn had kept in touch, though. Three years ago, Mr. Kopanari had returned to Haskell and moved into the hotel, where he proceeded to learn everything Mr. Gunn had to teach him. And as of December first, Mr. Gunn had officially retired, leaving Mr. Kopanari in charge.

“Ah, Mr. Penworthy.” Mr. Kopanari spotted Bebe and Price, and crossed the lobby to greet them. “So nice of you to join us this evening.”

“Can someone take our coats?” Price asked without greeting, shrugging out of his and holding it up with a frown.

To his credit, Mr. Kopanari continued to smile graciously, without a hint of resentment. He took Price’s coat, then immediately handed it off to a porter, who rushed over to help. The porter sent Price a nasty look that went unnoticed by everyone but Bebe.

“Good evening, Mr. Kopanari.” Bebe smiled, deciding to be as polite and gracious as possible, even if her fiancé was a total boor. “You’re looking dapper tonight.” Indeed, Mr. Kopanari was widely regarded as one of the most handsome middle-aged men in town. His gypsy looks and lithe physique had plenty of women swooning, but not one of them had been able to catch his eye yet.

“Miss Bonneville, you’re too kind.” Mr. Kopanari stepped forward. “Let me take your coat.” He sent the slightest sideways look of disapproval to Price, who was busy straightening his jacket sleeves and ignoring Bebe. “What a fetching gown,” he commented as he removed her coat and handed it to the porter. “It’s so good to see you out of black for a change.” He leaned closer. “Let me know if you’d like a handkerchief for your neckline, seeing as it’s so cold.”

“Thank you, I will,” Bebe said, reasonably certain he knew she was uncomfortable displaying so much. Her heart squeezed with sadness. Price would never be so considerate.

“I have your table ready and waiting, Mr. Penworthy.” Mr. Kopanari gestured toward the restaurant. “I do apologize for the noise level tonight. That large party I warned you about is enjoying their celebration.”

“No class.” Price grumbled as they walked across the lobby.

Bebe would have rolled her eyes at Price’s rudeness, but the peal of laughter coming from the restaurant stopped her feet and her heart. She would have known that laugh anywhere, even if she hadn’t heard it in seven years.

“What are you waiting for?” Price grabbed her hand and tugged her back into motion.

As they stepped into the restaurant, Bebe’s eyes darted straight to Hubert. He sat at the head of several tables that had been pushed together to accommodate his entire family. She couldn’t seem to force air into her lungs. He was devilishly handsome, now that he’d had a chance to clean up. His hair was brushed back and he’d shaved recently. The tailored suit he wore made him seem every inch the sophisticated gentleman. But it was the sparkle in his eyes when he glanced up and saw her staring at him that made Bebe want to weep. How dare he leave her?

“I’m surprised that lot can afford to eat somewhere as nice as this,” Price murmured in her ear. His grip on her hand tightened. “I bet they’ll have to return all of their Christmas gifts just to pay for it.”

The voice in the back of Bebe’s head snapped, “As if we have a leg to stand on when it comes to poverty.” But the forefront of her attention was fixed on Hubert. His relaxed smile vanished as he looked at her, replaced by sharp regret. He put his fork down and started to stand.

Pain took over before sense, and Bebe tilted her chin up and looked away. She hugged Price’s arm, batting her eyelashes at him. “It was so nice of you to plan this special evening out for us,” she said loud enough for the Strong table to hear. Inside, she screamed at herself to stop acting like a fool, but the hurt was too raw, too real.

Price grinned at her with enough smug satisfaction to choke an elephant. He followed Mr. Kopanari through the restaurant, turning his superior look on Hubert—who slowly sat as they passed, frowning. For one fleeting moment, Bebe wondered if Price had known the Strong family would be at the hotel restaurant that night and had planned their dinner to make a point.

Even that thought was banished from her mind as Mr. Kopanari stopped and gestured to the table immediately behind the Strongs. “As requested,” he said with a smile that had gone brittle. He met Bebe’s eyes, seeming to ask if she were all right with the arrangement.

Bebe nodded subtly in reply, but she could tell from the sudden regret in Mr. Kopanari’s eyes that she must look miserable. She attempted to sit on the far side of the table, but Price stopped her.

“Sit here, my darling,” he said, a little too loud. “You’ll have a much better view.”

Too hurt and weary to protest, Bebe sat in the chair Price pointed to—which put her back less than a foot away from Hubert’s. The view Price promised her was nothing but black night on the other side of a frosty-paned window.

Price sat across from her with a victorious grin. “Isn’t this lovely?” he asked her, then, without waiting for an answer, told Mr. Kopanari, “Get us a bottle of wine. Red.”

Mr. Kopanari sent Bebe another concerned look, but she just sighed and nodded. She would need wine if she was going to make it through Price’s special surprise of an evening.

* * *

“…and it was really funny when Russ put the toad in Sorcha Murphy’s lunch pail,” Thomas said, telling his story far louder than Hubert figured he normally would to counter the sudden tension that had sprung up at their table. Hubert had to give his brother credit for sensing that the mood had turned and trying to do something about it. “Sorcha didn’t like it all that much, of course,” he went on, “But when her brother Morgan found out, Russ was in a world of hurt.”

Hubert flinched. A world of hurt. He didn’t need to be in Bebe’s good graces to see that she was in a world of hurt too. Most of it his fault. In the past two days since returning to Haskell, and since talking the whole thing over with Vernon, he’d done a lot of thinking about Bebe and her situation. A lot. And the one conclusion he’d come to was that he couldn’t just sit by and let either of them suffer.

If only he knew what to do about it.

“Your wine, sir.” One of the hotel’s waiters brought a bottle to the table behind Hubert, where Bebe and Price sat. Bebe was so close that Hubert could smell the flowery scent of her perfume. She was so close that he fancied he could hear her thoughts, and none of them were good. There had to be something he could do.

“The wine will go well with steak,” Price said. “We’ll both have the steak.”

“I don’t really feel like steak tonight. I think I’d rather have the roast chicken Chef Paul makes, if he has it tonight,” Bebe said.

“It doesn’t go with the wine,” Price rode over her. “She’ll have the steak.”

Bebe sighed. Hubert couldn’t see her expression, but he would have been willing to bet it was defeated and uncaring. Every sinew in his body longed to get up, turn around, and give Price a piece of his mind for not giving Bebe what she wanted. But the same could easily be said to him. Bebe had wanted to run away with him when he’d left Haskell all those years ago. Would it really have been so bad to take her with him?

“He’s not paying attention,” his sister Neva said.

“What?” He blinked and straightened, focusing on his siblings, his father, and Elspeth, all of whom were staring at him. “I am.”

“Then what did Thomas just say?” Vernon challenged him from halfway down the table, a sly grin on his face.

“He put a toad in Sorcha Murphy’s lunch pail.”

A chorus of disapproving hums, scoffing, and head-shaking followed.

“That was two topics ago,” Ivy said, patting his hand across the corner of the table, and giving him a sympathetic look. Her glance zipped past him to Bebe’s back, and her expression turned even more pitying.

Hubert would have winced at his slip, but he didn’t want his family to know just how distracted he was. “Sorry, Tommy.” He smiled at his brother. “What were you saying?”

“It’s not important.” Thomas jabbed his chicken with his fork.

Hubert’s stomach twisted. He was glad he’d already finished most of his supper, because he’d lost his appetite. He opened his mouth to apologize.

“So what are your plans now that you’re home?” Elspeth asked from the other end of the table, by his father’s side. “You haven’t given us any details yet.”

“Franklin Haskell offered me a position working at the Haskell Times,” Hubert said. A round of interested hums and ohs answered him. Behind him, Hubert was almost certain Bebe had perked up. “It’s not an editor’s position,” Hubert went on. “So it would be taking a step down from what I’ve been doing in San Francisco.”

“That’s too bad,” Athos said.

“Not entirely,” Hubert told his father, then glanced around the table. “The Haskell Times already has an editor—”

“Jameson Ellis,” Ivy said with a dreamy sigh.

Hubert stared at her, eyebrows raised. When she realized she’d been caught mooning, she blushed. Hubert tried to hide the grin that wanted to burst out.

“Franklin said that he’d put me first in line to take over the newspaper once Mr. Ellis leaves the job,” he went on.

“But Jameson is young,” Vernon said, gesturing with his fork as he made his point. “He could stay in that job for decades, especially if he found a reason to put down roots in Haskell.” He shot a look at Ivy, who blushed harder.

Hubert figured he’d missed out on more than a few family stories while he’d been gone. It might be nice to be in the thick of things for a while. At the same time…. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “My editor back in San Francisco, Mr. Goldman, practically begged me to stay on there.”

Bebe’s back went straight, and Hubert was relatively certain it wasn’t because the waiter had just arrived with the steak she didn’t want to eat.

“Are you saying you might go back to San Francisco?” Heather asked what Hubert imagined Bebe might be thinking. There was no possible way she hadn’t overheard him.

He hesitated, pushing a few beans around on his plate with his fork. “I haven’t made any firm decisions yet.”

“It seems obvious to me,” Vernon said, the impish spark in his eyes as wicked as ever.

“What’s obvious?” Elspeth asked.

Vernon shrugged. “If you stay here, you’re taking a big step down in the world. If you go back to San Francisco, the sky’s the limit. Or so it seems to me.”

“Maybe,” Hubert said, highly aware of Bebe behind him.

“I mean,” Vernon continued, “what do you really have keeping you here?”

The table went silent. It felt as though the whole room went silent. The urge to turn around and ask Bebe to answer Vernon’s question was almost unbearably strong.

When the silence grew uncomfortable, Hubert answered, “I don’t know.”

It wasn’t exactly what he’d intended to say, but the effect was immediate. Bebe shot to her feet, pushing her chair back so hard that it hit Hubert’s.

“I’m not feeling well. I want to go home,” she said.

“Bebe, don’t make a scene,” Price hissed. So much for the picture of an adoring couple that they’d gone out of their way to make for him earlier. “Sit down!”

“I think I’m going to be sick,” she said, shifting to the side and stepping into the space between the tables. Something must have caught on the tablecloth, and as she moved, her knife and spoon clattered to the ground.

Hubert was out of his seat, reaching for the cutlery within seconds. Bebe crouched to gather it up at the same time, and their eyes met only inches away from each other, below the level of their tables. Everything else in the room seemed to disappear. Hubert drank in the sight of her soft skin, her pink cheeks, her blue eyes, her rosy lips that he could remember kissing as though he’d kissed them yesterday.

“Give me a reason to stay,” he whispered, his heart feeling as though it would beat right out of his chest.

“It’s too late,” she whispered back.

“It’s never too late.” He reached for her hand.

“I think you’re right,” Price declared in a loud voice, standing. “We should go home.” He stepped around the table, hooked his hand under Bebe’s arm, and yanked her to her feet. “We don’t want you being sick in public less than two weeks before our wedding.” He glared at Hubert.

Hubert straightened, knife and spoon in hand. Price was as transparent as glass, and worse than a tomcat spraying his territory.

“Is there a problem here?” Miles Kopanari asked, rushing into the scene.

“My fiancée is sick,” Price said, tugging Bebe toward the door. “We’re not paying for that.” He nodded to the table where they’d been sitting, two steak dinners and an open bottle of wine barely touched.

“Well, I….” Miles fumbled.

Price took the opportunity to march Bebe out of the room. Bebe went with him more or less willingly, but as they reached the door, she glanced over her shoulder at Hubert. That one look was all it took. Bebe was miserable, and regardless of what her lips said, her eyes were pleading with him to rescue her.

“I’ll pay for their meal,” he told Miles, watching Bebe until she and Price disappeared around the corner.

“Are…are you sure?” Miles asked.

“Yep.” Hubert nodded, clenching his jaw.

“Great. Seconds,” Vernon said, getting up and edging his way down the table to grab Bebe’s abandoned plate and the bottle of wine.

“Vernon!” Ivy scolded, looking as miserable as Bebe had looked. “Show some sensitivity.”

“I am showing sensitivity,” Vernon argued. “Through humor.”

“It’s not that funny.” Heather frowned at him.

“Can I have the other steak?” Thomas asked.

“Help yourself,” Vernon told him.

Athos frowned and shook his head at Vernon and Thomas, then fixed a concerned look on Hubert. “Are you going to be all right, son?”

Hubert blew out a breath and rubbed a hand over his jaw to ease the tension. “Yeah, Pops, I will. I just….” He failed to find words to describe his frustration over everything. It was all a misunderstanding, but because that misunderstanding had gone on for too many years, there didn’t seem to be any easy way to resolve it. “I’ll ride out to the Bonneville ranch tomorrow to try talking things through,” he said to no one in particular.

His statement was met by wide, wary eyes and head shaking.

“What?” he asked.

“Vivian doesn’t take kindly to intruders,” Athos explained.

“She pointed a shotgun at Mr. York, the new principal at the school, when he came out to ask for donations last summer,” Millie told him.

“Vivian?” Hubert blinked. “Vivian Bonneville?”

“She’s changed a lot since her father died,” Elspeth said, eyes lowered.

“She hasn’t changed that much,” Vernon countered her. “She was a harridan before, and now that she runs the ranch, she’s just gotten meaner.” He took a bite of Bebe’s steak, and, with his mouth full, said, “You can do better than a Bonneville.”

“Don’t say that!”

“Bebe is different.”

“That’s not fair.”

Ivy, Heather, and Neva erupted in protest at the same time.

Vernon looked surprised at their indignation. “It’s like I was telling Hubert the other day,” he said, then swallowed his bite. “Haskell is full of great women. I don’t know why he has to go getting all worked up about one of the broken ones.” He tilted his head to the side. “Although she looked mighty fetching in that dress. Nice—” He held both hands to his chest. “—color.”

“Really, Vernon,” Heather snorted, completely disgusted.

Hubert loved his brother and knew he was just being contrary to tweak their sisters, but he was about ready to throw his plate at Vernon. If Bebe was broken, it was his fault. “I love her,” he said, not caring if his family knew. “I’ve always loved her.”

“Bravo,” Ivy said, rewarding him with a smile.

“Bebe needs someone who loves her to swoop in and save her from all that mess,” Millie added.

“That’s the kind of Christmas miracle I’d like to see,” Neva added. She and Millie exchanged identical nods as only twins could.

“Well, girls, I’ll do my best to make that Christmas miracle happen for you,” Hubert said, determination coiling tightly in his gut.

“Good luck with that,” Vernon added as an aside, sending Hubert a look that told him how impossible the task was.

Impossible or not, Hubert had to take it on. He wasn’t willing to let everything he and Bebe had had go without a fight.