Page 50 of Merry Mended Hearts

His apology had been sweet, but I hadn’t completely forgotten his previous rudeness, or the questions those interactions had arisen like steam from boiling water.

What about the necklace he’d yanked from my hand? Had the radio played for him since we’d heard it? Or how about—where had he managed to stash the radio when he’d stormed off with it?

We’d reached a kind of camaraderie that I didn’t want to spoil, and something told me if I took the conversation in that direction, it’d make him about-face this contraption and cut our ride short.

“Tell me about your rides,” I said. “Do you ever take big crowds?”

I’d seen a much larger sleigh than this one in the barn. I was glad we hadn’t gone out in that one. It would have felt too weird to be the only passenger in something that big.

“Sometimes, I just take a single couple out,” he said. “Depends on the request. You can’t believe the number of marriage proposals I overhear.”

My laugh was belly deep. It echoed off the mountainside. “I’m sure you do.”

Boone cracked another timid smile only to fight it down again. Why did he do that? What made him want to act like a safe where he was the only one with the combination?

The cold air kissed the bare skin of my cheeks. This reminded me of readingLittle House on the Prairie,and how they bundled up and used warm potatoes in their pockets to keep their hands warm while riding on a sleigh through the woods.

Imagine traveling my horse-drawn sleigh as your only means of transportation. I liked the heater in my car, thanks. And while I didn’t need to make much use of them, I’d bet heated seats would come in handy at a time like this.

“I worried about spending money on snow gear like gloves and a hat before I left, but now, I’m glad I did.”

“Where are you from that it doesn’t get cold enough for hats and gloves?” he asked, holding the reigns in his gloved hands.

“Scottsdale, Arizona.”

Broone grunted in displeasure. “Too hot for my blood.”

I quirked a brow. “Have you ever been there?”

“Yes. I visited my brother during a real estate scheme he tried talking me into.”

He directed a scowl toward the horse’s backside and the snow her hooves kicked up as if he didn’t like the memory of that instance.

“Let me guess. You didn’t pursue the scheme.”

Boone angled his head. His face lightened as if at some inward joke. “I couldn’t take care of my horses if I was busy flipping houses or attending auctions.”

This time he let his gaze linger, and his direct glance stilled my blood. His eyes roved over me with a calculating quality, bringing Arizona right to my cheeks.

I swallowed a lump in my throat. Did he like what he saw or something? Did he feel the way he became the gravitation pull that held me to him instead of the ground when he looked at me like that?

“What?” I asked.

“That’s a Santa Claus hat,” he said, turning his attention back to the horse.

I clapped my hand over my soft, slouchy beanie. “It’s not red.”

“Doesn’t have to be.”

I held my hands to my mouth and blew on my hands. Warmth seeped through my thin gloves.

“You talk about him like you still believe in him,” I said.

He’d mentioned as much at the inn, but I didn’t think he was being serious.

“I never stopped believing,” he said. Then after a few seconds and the sound of jingling bells, he added, “Journey told me not to.”

The dry joke joined ranks with the gentle snow and descended slowly. I laughed when it landed.

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