Page 13 of Merry Mended Hearts

As hard as I tried, Grace’s name wouldn’t leave my mind. I had to avoid that woman as much as possible. Fortunately, this was an inn—and thanks to its nature of providing only temporary housing, guests didn’t stay here long.

No matter how much they might want to.

She would leave soon. I’d just keep my distance until she did.

“Hey, girl,” I said, running the brush along Hazelnut’s mane. The horse’s black eyes gave me a sideways glance, and I hugged my free arm around her, resting my head against her and feeling the steady thrum of her body.

Horses had always calmed me, which was another reason I’d opted to come back to Grandma Harper’s after the accident. Junie was right—being in the barn with the horses, away from people, was exactly my cup of tea.

I could tease children easily and enjoyed the delight they often got from the story of the radio. I even liked talking to guests and families during sleigh rides, which was the only interaction I had with people these days.

But when it came down to Christmas, I wanted—needed—to be alone. Away from crowds. Away from the music. Away from the smiling and the happiness I knew I could never have again.

Once Hazelnut was brushed, I set the brush onto its shelf and stroked the horse’s nose at the same time my phone buzzed.

Junie: Before you go, there’s a complaint in room 17. The woman said her faucet is leaking.

Duty calls.

Me: I’ll be right there.

“I have one more thing to check,” I told Hazelnut. “It shouldn’t take too long, and then we’ll be out of here before it gets dark. Okay, girl?”

Hazelnut looked at me, making me wonder, not for the first time, how much she understood of what I said.

I stole a quick glance at my watch.

4:15. Better make this fast.

Bracing myself for the onslaught of wind, which had picked up in the last ten minutes and was more of a gust than a gale, I trudged my way back to the inn. Stomped snow off my boots. Retrieved my toolbox from Junie’s office as I ditched my coat. Made for Room 17.

A middle-aged woman opened the door when I knocked. She wore a robe, had bags beneath her eyes, and looked me over the way most women did. Never mind the fact that she was at least fifteen years older than I was, I still saw the interest flicker in her eyes.

“Aren’t you the stereotypical repairman?” she said with a laugh, stepping back to continue her perusal. “Mm, mm, mm, look at your arms.”

I tightened my grip on the toolbox in my hand and tried to ignore the obnoxious sensation that came with being treated like I was a piece of meat.

“Junie said you’re having trouble with your sink?”

The woman smiled and stepped back, gesturing. “It sprays every time I turn it on. Let’s see what happens whenyouturn it on.”

Well, that wildly inappropriate. All the more reason to get this job done and get out.

The bathroom looked like all the others. White tile, toilet, sink. At least she didn’t leave her toiletries in the way.

I fiddled with the faucet, fully aware of her standing behind me. Staring at me.

“I’ve got this,” I assured her. “You can go ahead and do whatever you were doing before.”

Her grin widened. “I doubt you’d want me to do that.”

Great. This was just what I needed. I already had enough to deal with right now. Add a cougar to the mix, and I was ready to hide away sooner than Christmas Eve.

Clearing my throat, I ignored her the best that I could and reached for the valve to shut off her bathroom’s water supply. I tweaked with a few things and got to work on what I suspected to be the problem—a faulty pipe connection.

Loosening the pipe, my wrench slipped out of my hand. I knocked the valve—and distracted as I was, I must not have shut it completely off because pressurized water shot at me, deluging me completely.

My face, my arms, and my shirt were soaked. Warding off the spray, I worked fast, hurrying to tighten the valve completely as it should have been the first time. But by this time, the damage was done.

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