Page 53 of Merry Mended Hearts

With his face squinted, keeping the reins in hand, he slowed the horse to a stop and lifted a hand to his eyes to help him see better.

“We’re farther out than I thought,” he said against the wind. “I don’t dare keep riding in this. Hazelnut is scared; she could get us turned around. We could get lost, which is the last either of us wants, especially this late in the day. The sun will be setting any time now, and there are wolves in these woods.”

Wolves. Was he for real?

This was the modern age. We had internet, technology, electric cars, and jet planes. Heck, I even saw a reel recently featuring a piece of machinery that could slice a tree right off the ground, scrape it in its massive jaws to remove all the branches, and hack it into smaller logs in minutes.

And we were still worrying about wolves?

Even so, Boone was the expert here. Dying in a snowstorm wasnotpart of my book research. A nugget of anxiety nestled beneath my ribs, making me have to work that much harder to breathe.

“What do we do?” I asked.

He pointed to the left with a thick gloved hand. “I live in the old cottage off the edge of the property. We’re not far from it. It’s our best bet at this point. We need to seek shelter, and fast. You’ll be there alone with me, but at least we can wait out the storm.”

Um.

Wow.

Holy cow.

And every other explanation my brain could think up. The spastic brain-monkeys made a reappearance, chittering and squeaking and circling my skull like they’d found a horde of bananas for the winter.

Alonewith him?

This was a Dickens kind of decision—the best and the worst all in one.

Boone was nice during this ride. He’d given me an adorable gift to make up for his rudeness. Was it really wise to cocoon myself with him until the storm passed?

Then again, that was moot. I couldn’t even see the trees anymore, not with all the whiteness encircling us.

What other options did we have? When night fell, it would get even colder. We needed shelter. Fast.

“Okay,” I said.

Boone gave me a firm nod and then called out a command that hopefully the horse understood because I sure didn’t. The cold whipped at my cheeks and howled its way through trees. A thousand thoughts whirled through right with it.

The stupidest one of them all was the fact that I’d be staying the night at his place without any of my stuff.

My cute new pajamas were back at the inn, along with, oh, a toothbrush and toothpaste, to say the least. I had my notebook, which wasn’t something I could wear—although, that would be an interesting proposition.

If I was going to be staying there…with him…the least I could do was make his mouth water. A notebook wasn’t going to cut it.

Stop that,I chided myself. Despite our discussion about the word “romance,” nothing like that was going to happen. We’d find his cottage and wait out the storm.

That was ALL.

Wind tore through the trees, but we pressed on. The air was so thick with whiteness, it resembled the lace tablecloth beneath Santa’s radio back at the inn.

Minutes—or maybe hours—later, the sleigh slowed in front of a small barn collecting snow on its roof and in the cracks between its wooden planks. Hazelnut stopped, and even though we weren’t moving, it felt like we were.

Boone leaped from the sleigh and with his arm raised against the flurrying wind, attempted to unhitch Hazelnut from the rig.

With my bag in hand, I leaped out into the snow as well. My feet sank. The snow was up to my shins, seeping in through the tops of my boots, which I was starting to realize were proving to be more for fashion than functionality.

“Can I help?” I asked, hooking my bag over my shoulder.

“See if you can get that barn door open,” he called, working with the jingle bells dangling from Hazelnut’s leather straps.

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