Page 54 of Merry Mended Hearts

I’d never been around horses much at all—let alone barns. But I circled about and lifted my feet high enough to take the few steps toward the barn door. A long board sat across two holds. I rotated the board, swinging it upward—essentially unlocking the door—and attempted to pull it open.

Snow packed on the ground made that difficult.

I pulled harder. The door wouldn’t budge. I kicked snow away, even bending at the waist to use my hands to clear as much of it as I could. Wind fought the door closed every time, pushing against me with such force it stole my breath.

Several tries—and a few grumbles—later, I finally cleared a triangle of space wide enough to brace the door open.

Boone approached with Hazelnut’s lead rope in hand. White snowflakes had collected on his eyebrows and in his lashes. I wondered if mine were the same.

Digging my heels into the ground, I propped my back against the door, holding it against the gusting wind shoving me from behind, threatening to slam it shut.

Soon enough, the horse was inside. So where did that leave us?

GRACE

The barn door’sheavy slam was deafening. Howling wind wailed at being shut out, but I exhaled, sagging my shoulders, weary and relieved at once. The air in here was only slightly warmer, and the smell of hay and manure struck my nostrils with full force.

Taking a few moments to catch my breath, I glanced around the dark barn.

There was enough light to see two wooden stalls in here, and something large hidden beneath a thick black covering, but that light was fading fast.

Boone guided Hazelnut into one of the stalls.

“It’s okay, girl,” he said, comforting the hesitant horse. “We’re home now. We’re safe.”

The creature puffed air out of her nostrils. Her ear flickered. Boone rubbed his gloved hand against her neck, speaking softly. Soon enough, she obeyed, allowing him to step out and close the stall door behind him.

Stepping past me, he moved through the darkness and flicked a light switch near the door, but nothing happened.

“Dang it,” he said. “Power’s out.”

I glanced up to the high rafters and to what looked like a hayloft, then to the horse’s stall and the bucket of feed Boone currently readied for the horse. I was surprised he had electricity this far out at all.

I also didn’t want to sound like a total snob, but when he’d said, “cottage,” this wasn’t exactly what I’d pictured.

“Just getting Hazelnut settled in, and then we’ll trudge our way over to the house,” he explained over his shoulder.

With the bucket ready, he reentered her stall.

“Is the cottage close by?” I asked.

“Just next door,” he assured me. “It was hard to see in that blizzard out there.”

That was a relief.

He removed his gloves, placing them in his coat pockets. I watched as he carefully removed Hazelnut’s bit and bridle. He then relieved the horse of her tack, brushed her down, and placed a woven blanket on her back.

“There’s a good girl,” he said, patting the horse with a gentle hand and holding the bucket to her snout.

I had to say, I was surprised to see him acting this tender. After his gruffness over the radio and the box I’d dropped—and the way he’d snapped and stormed from the room—I suspected he was all prickles.

But he’d been calm and kind while speaking to that little girl the day we’d met. Our conversation during the sleigh ride today, his quick thinking in the danger of the storm, and the care he was taking of his horse led me to believe there was more to Boone than what he showed.

What made him be so callused one moment and then so kind another?

Maybe it was what I’d suspected before. Maybe he’d just been having a rocky few days and was back to his normal self.

“It’ll be a rough night,” he told the horse. “But all storms pass. You’ll be safe in here, girl.”

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