Page 52 of Merry Mended Hearts

My fingers began flipped through pages, but before I found it, a spray of snow trickled from overheard, dusting my nose and cheeks and catching the light at just the right angle.

A melodic sound floated through the sparkly air, sending chills down my back. They chinked down my spine like a slinky, more distinctive than the cold air already surrounding me.

As I lowered the pen, my back went rigid.

Boone looked startled, too. He pulled on the horse’s reins. Hazelnut slowed, quietening the jingling bells.

“What was that?” I asked. “You heard it, too, right?”

Was someone with a speaker system playing music nearby? From how many trees and the sheer amount of snow and wilderness out here, I’d guess we were the only ones around.

The music tinkled again, and more snow dusted across my face as though a breeze had swept loose powder toward us. But, for the record, there was no breeze. My hair didn’t stir. I felt nothing.

NOTHING.

“Whoa,” Boone said, rotating. He cocked his head as if peeling his ears for the source of the sound.

“I’m not sure. Is that…music?”

This time, the sound picked up again. A melody rose on the air, swirling with sound that was soft enough to be mistaken for something playing in the distance. Maybe there were people nearby blasting some melodies in the middle of nowhere. Unless…

I checked my phone. Sometimes my playlists would accidently start if my phone bumped my leg or something.

“No one’s there,” Boone said mysteriously.

He was right—I saw nothing. No one else was around, yet the music drifted like a lost descant made of tinkling piano and soft…flute? No, clarinet, maybe.

The wind smacked us like a rushing, winter hurricane. Snowflakes were in a sudden hurry, picking up speed. Faster and faster, they flurried. The abnormal gust of wind swirled my hair. A strand caught in my mouth, and I spat it out with a small squeal.

“Where is this coming from?” Boone’s voice elevated.

I lifted an arm to shield my face. “I don’t know!”

He squinted, attempting to see through the psychotic, zooming flurries.

“We’d better head back,” he shouted. “I didn’t read any signs of a storm earlier. There weren’t any signs in the sky before we left the inn.”

Who was this guy, Bear Grylls? He read the sky for signs of upcoming weather?

His shock factor climbed a few notches. There was something just plain impressive about a man who could rough it without a strand of hesitation.

Lifting the reins, Boone guided the horse around—or he tried to, anyway. The trees’ density made carrying out a U-turn difficult, and instead, we wove through more trees, some I didn’t see until they’d already passed or their branches skimmed my face.

“Ouch!” I shrieked, placing a hand on my face and feeling the sting of a new scrape.

“Hang on.”

The wind wasn’t the only thing that had gone crazy. Coldness bit through my clothes with a vengeance. The sky grew thicker with snow, practically blinding me.

Was this how snow worked?

Feeling my way around, I tucked my notebook back into my back, kicked it beneath the blanket, which I then wrapped tighter around me.

I could barely see. I wasn’t sure how Boone could.

Which didn’t say much for the horse. CouldHazelnutsee?

“Do you know where we’re going?” I asked.

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