Page 11 of Merry Mended Hearts

No sense dwelling on it now. Chances were, I’d never see however she was again.

The sun would be going down soon. I had to get things tidied up at the barn before it did. The frigid winter air chilled my lungs with every breath. I stuffed my hands into my coat pockets, but before I made it halfway down the porch steps, the bell jangled behind me, and Junie stepped outside, hugging her arms tightly around her.

“What are you doing, Junie?” I asked, turning enough to prop one boot on the step above.

I wasn’t exactly happy with my cousin at the moment. She continued pestering me to be nice to the guests. Didn’t she hear me in there?

I’d been my charming self.

She was my cousin, not my mother. But she was also, technically, my employer.

I’d known Junie was overhearing, so I’d been civil. And I’d walked away at the first opportunity.

Giving the guests—especially the female guests—more attention often led in a direction I had no intention of going. I couldn’t count the number of women who’d asked Junie for my contact information.

I’d made it perfectly clear I was done talking to the brunette in the lobby, and thankfully, she hadn’t asked me any more questions. Granted, the idea of a radio belonging to Santa Claus would make anyone question me, but still.

She could ask Junie what she wanted to know. Not me.

“I just got a call from Troy,” Junie said. “His dad’s injured.”

The wind swirled a glacial breeze around me, chilling the skin of my face, and I looked at the barn across the yard. That wasn’t good. Troy was the other sleigh driver. Sometimes his dad filled in when we needed him to. That didn’t happen often, but Christmas was coming in two more days.

“Injured? How?” I asked.

Junie hugged herself tighter, and her breath left her mouth in a visible puff. “He was carrying something for his wife into their basement and slipped down the stairs. He’s going in for hip surgery tomorrow.”

A fall down the stairs at his age? Troy’s father, Rick, was old enough to be any of our grandfathers.

“What about his wife? Is she okay?”

Junie’s lower jaw began to judder in the frosty, ten-degree afternoon. She shuffled on the top step.

“She’s all right. I’ve offered to go help, but I also have my hands full here. Their daughter lives close by, and Troy said they’ll be okay.”

“Thanks for telling me,” I said. “I’ll be sure to stop by after the surgery. Maybe we can bring them some dinner from the kitchens.”

“I thought so, too. And Boone?”

I knew what Junie would be getting at. I hurried to ward her off before she could ask.

“We’ll find someone else,” I said, turning to continue my trek toward the barn.

Junie trundled down the steps after me. I dropped my mouth in mock surprise, knowing what a stickler she was for following rules. Rules she often implemented herself since she basically ran things at Harper’s Inn.

“What are you doing, Junie? Leaving the reception desk unmanned? Shocking.”

She slugged me. “The reception desk will be fine for a few minutes. Our inn? Won’t. At least, not for our annual ride up the mountain on Christmas Eve. Sure, Troy will be there to drive, but you know one sleigh won’t carry all of our guests.”

I grunted.

“Can’t you forget your bitterness for one year and help me out? Finding a replacement sleigh driver isn’t as easy as you think. Especially this late in the game.”

“I would know,” I grumbled, “since I’m the one who will be finding the replacement.”

“Come on. Please? All you have to do is drive the guests up to the event center. The bonfire will already be in place. The cocoa stand will be all cocoa-y and ready. I’ll be the one talking about ‘the incident’ a hundred years ago.

“You won’t even have to talk to anyone. Just wait in the sleigh with the horses as your only company. I know that’s your favorite way to spend your time.”

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