Page 82 of Merry Mended Hearts

The two of them paused. Lacie gripped the banister and glanced up at me.

“Are you saying you think there’s something magical going on at this inn?” I asked.

Boone claimed to believe in Santa Claus. Did that mean he also believed in magic?

Not just jokingly in response to my questions. But honestly. Truly. Magic.

Did it really exist?

I wrote fantasy romance, but that didn’t mean I thought magic wasreal.

Lacie and Jared met one another’s eyes. His eyes darkened. Hers were devoted. And something unspoken passed between them in that glance. The charge between them made the air hum like standing close to an electric fence.

Much as they tried to deny it, there was more than friendship going on between these two. No wonder no one would believe they weren’t married.

They could have fooled me.

“Yeah,” Lacie said. “What else could it be?”

I blinked a few times, stunned by her simple response.

If there was actual magic at play here, did Boone know? He had to. He was the one who told me the radio’s origins in the first place.

Now, more than ever, I needed to talk to him.

“Are you going to the bonfire tonight?” Jared asked.

“What bonfire?” I was glad for a topic I could wrap my head around.

“It’s a Christmas Eve tradition here,” Lacie explained, propping her foot on the step above the one on which she stood. “The guests pile into the sleighs and ride up the mountain to the actual point they claim is America’s North Pole. There, they tell the story of the night Santa Claus stopped by, and everyone drinks cocoa and sings ‘Kumbaya.’”

“Sleigh rides?” I took heart in that.

I had to find Boone. From the sound of things, he’d be one of the drivers tonight.

I just hoped if he did find my notebook, that he wouldn’t read it before then.

BOONE

On principle,I avoided the inn on Christmas Eve, so I waited until Grace made it inside before driving the sleigh to the barn.

Morty from the barbershop downtown—if you could call West Hills “downtown”—crouched near the larger sleigh, working a wrench to tighten one of the bolts on the runners.

“You made it here before the storm,” I said, adjusting the tack on Hazelnut. I wasn’t going to hitch her to another sleigh—I was going to ride her home myself, which meant she needed a different harness.

“Yeah,” Morty said. “What are you still doing here? You helping after all?”

“Nah,” I said, wanting to avoid the topic or any kind of explanation for my arrival this morning. “I’m headed out now.”

“Sounds good. You’ll be missed.” Morty moved the wrench down to the set of nuts at the back of the sleigh and began tightening those as well.

His words pricked me beneath the ribs. The notion of riding up the mountain with the others, of people-ing, hadn’t once appealed to me since Amy had passed away.

But now, Morty wasn’t the one I’d miss seeing on that ride. Nor any of the others. No, I wanted to make that ride up with Grace. I wanted cuddle in close to stay warm. I wanted to hold her hand as Junie relayed her scripted story of the radio. I wanted to see her delight at the sight of the stars.

Was I ready to take on being around people for that? To take on Christmas for that?

I stamped away the thought quicker than the fire Grace had started on my rug. The memory drew a smile from my lips, and I turned toward Hazelnut. But all while brushing the horse down and settling her saddle, I couldn’t control my thoughts.

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