Page 90 of Catching the Mistletoe

“That was amazing,” Arabella’s whisper floated up to me.

“Agreed.”

She snuggled closer, her back to my chest, and a sense of peace, of completeness, stole over me.

But hours later, the shadows had crept in. Arabella was sleeping, her breathing deep and regular. Getting up, I dressed and slipped out, the cold, frigid air a shock.

Making my way over to the RV’s hood, I leaned against it; the chill seeping through my jeans. A fitting punishment, a penance for not telling her the truth. For not telling her that the clock was ticking, and that the RV’s return was less than ten days away.

“Fuck,” I muttered, scrubbing a hand over my jaw, the stubble rough, the reality harsh.

Because Arabella was everything, and I was nothing. A cowboy, a nobody, a guy with a shady, complicated history.

Looking up, I gazed at the stars, the tiny points of light blinking back at me. Were they mocking me, or warning me? Either way, the message was clear. Arabella deserved better, a future, a shot at happiness, and I couldn’t stand in the way of that.

Making my way back, I slipped into bed. Her body, her warmth, was a balm. But not for much longer.

CHAPTER31

Arabella

It had been four days since Cuyahoga Valley National Park. We’d traveled up to Syracuse and now we were heading southward. Homeward. The Pennsylvania countryside was stunning—rolling hills dotted with skeletal trees, their limbs bereft of foliage but heavy with snow. It felt like we were driving through a painting. My breath misted on the window as I gazed out. Reaching up, I traced a tiny love heart in the fog. It was a mindless action, but I sat there for a long moment, staring at it. Then it made me feel weird, so I pulled my sleeve down over the heel of my hand and rubbed it away.

I was feeling pretty weird in general, to be honest. We’d been on the road for weeks now. I’d lost count of how many. Mack and I were the perfect traveling companions. Easy and fun, and the sex was incredible, of course. But lately, there was a shadow, a heaviness hanging over us, a knowledge that home was getting closer and closer with every day that passed.

I didn’t know if it was my own energy making me feel weird, or Mack’s. Something had shifted between us recently. He was all over me, in the best possible way. Multiple orgasms on the daily. Can’t complain about that, can I? Still, sometimes I caught him watching me and there was something about the look in his eyes that made my heart squeeze so hard I could barely catch my breath.

As we rounded a bend in the road, a knot formed in my stomach. Cars were parked along the road, their hazards flashing, their occupants milling around with grim expressions.

“Uh-oh,” Mack muttered, slowing the RV and bringing it to a halt.

“Something’s wrong.”

Climbing out, we were immediately buffeted by a biting wind, its teeth a reminder that winter was yet to do her worst. I hastily pulled my coat on as Mack did the same.

“Excuse me,” a man’s voice boomed, his tone authoritative. Turning, I saw him striding toward us, his jacket zipped to his chin, his cap pulled low. “Do you have chains in that RV?”

“Umm, no, sir.”

“Thought as much. You should turn back. No way you’re getting through.”

“Why not? What happened?”

“Accident with a horse float.”

“Shit.” Mack and I exchanged a glance.

“Exactly. It’s a mess. Semi jack-knifed, and a trailer flipped. Plus, one of the horses is hurt, the other is out of its mind.”

“The driver?”

“Head injury. Lots of blood. In and out of consciousness.”

“Who’s dealing with the semi and the driver?”

“Paramedics and tow trucks are on the way. Vet’s about an hour out.”

Before Mack could reply, the sound of a horse whinnying in terror rent the air. The sound was soul-crushing, a desperate, piercing keen that sliced through the air and hit us square in the gut.

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