It was Holden McCabe, as big and broad-shouldered and chivalrous as ever…. Libby frowned at the good-looking man who had been her late husband’s best friend, wishing, as always, that the six-foot-three rancher did not feel so compelled to watch over her. Ignoring the way his shirt brought out the cobalt-blue depths of his eyes, she smiled tersely. “If you’re here for what I think you are, Holden, I have to warn you…I am not in the mood.” His smile full of mischief, Holden inclined his head toward the buffet tables on the other side of the crowded venue. “For pumpkin or pecan pie?” Libby rolled her eyes and leaned in a tad closer. The truth was, she was stuffed to the gills from the delicious holiday meal. All she really wanted now was a nice long nap. “For any well-meant but totally unsolicited advice,” she corrected. The kind that Holden thought Percy would have given her, and hence, intended to deliver in her late husband’s stead. Holden rubbed a hand across his chiseled jaw and continued to play dumb.
