Page 92 of Catching the Mistletoe

I felt a slight tug on the reins and glanced down, my grip instinctively tightening. My horse shifted his weight, nudging his head as if contemplating a move. Fuck—was he going to bolt?

But then he simply exhaled, a long, steady breath that fogged up in the chill air. He took a step, then another, pulling gently against my hold. For a split second, my instinct screamed to tighten the grip, to maintain control, but then I realized he was no more likely to bolt right now than I was, so I gave in. The horse ambled over to where Mack sat, his hooves making soft impressions on the wet earth. He stretched out his neck, nostrils flaring as he sniffed the air. Then, ever so gently, he lowered his muzzle to the injured mare’s forehead, making a soft nuzzling motion. She whinnied gently in reply, but didn’t move her head.

Blowing out his breath, the horse raised his head and very gently bumped against Mack’s shoulder. It was like he was saying, ‘Hey, good job.’ Mack chuckled and patted the horse’s mane, then turned his attention back to the mare, running his hand up and down her neck in long, soothing strokes.

It was such a gentle, intuitive gesture that I felt my heart squeeze. I couldn’t take my eyes off him, sitting on the icy ground, his head bent over the mare, murmuring softly to her. This was Mack. This was exactly who he was. A deeply reserved, quiet soul who liked his own space and hated the limelight. But with such a deep well of empathy and kindness that it was bottomless.

In these seconds that stretched into forever, I saw it—all the reasons why Mack had unknowingly become the center of my world. This wasn’t a guy playing a part; this was just Mack in his purest form. No pretense, no barriers. He was a man who’d been roughed up by life, but instead of letting that harden him, it seemed to have done the opposite. It had chiseled him down to this core of quiet strength and gentle wisdom.

I mean, anyone can put on a facade, crack a joke, or flash a smile. But Mack? When he gave, he gave wholly, like each action was a promise. A promise that he’d be there, that he’d understand, that he’d make things better in that unique, unassuming Mack-way of his. He never needed the spotlight; he was the guy behind the scenes, making sure everyone else shone.

Even now, as he sat in the mud and the rain, oblivious to the discomfort, it was clear that his entire focus was on easing the pain of another living being. There wasn’t a trace of hesitancy, just this unspoken confidence that said, ‘Trust me, I’ve got you.’

And that’s when I realized that I did. I trusted him implicitly, not just to take care of a distressed animal, but with all the fragile, broken parts of me that I’d never trusted anyone with before.

That trust was a weighty thing, but with Mack, it felt lighter, almost comforting. There was just something about him that made me feel seen, and not just the surface-level stuff, but the messy, complicated layers that most people didn’t even know existed. Mack got it. He got me. And sitting there on the rain-soaked ground, lost in this moment of pure connection between man and animal, I saw it reflected back at me—a silent recognition that said, ‘I see you, too.’

This wasn’t about grand gestures or epic declarations. Mack’s language was one of quiet, consistent actions. It was this tapestry of small, thoughtful things that wove itself around my heart, binding me to him so that I couldn’t look away. My gaze was fixed on him as a wave of emotion surged through me, like a dam finally giving way. It was exhilarating and terrifying, my heart pounding as if it might leap right out of my chest.

In that moment, the world both expanded and contracted, leaving only the space between us, a magnetic field I couldn’t—and didn’t want to—resist. My chest felt warm, a sensation that radiated outward, coursing through my veins until I felt it in the tips of my fingers and toes.

Then Mack looked up. Our eyes locked, and I couldn’t contain the smile that spread across my face. For a split second, he smiled back. An instinctive, reflexive mirror to my own. But then his gaze shifted, a questioning tilt of his head, as if he sensed that something was different. The warmth in his eyes faded, replaced by something I couldn’t quite name.

Before either of us could react, the shrill wail of sirens sliced through the air and my horse immediately shied, bobbing his head in distress. Mack grabbed the reins from my hand, pulling so that the horse’s head was close enough that he could stroke his face and croon to him again.

The paramedics and police arrived a few minutes later. The moment was broken, suspended in time like a bubble that had burst. But it left me with a heart full of something new and amazing. I had no idea what the fuck any of it meant, or what I was going to do about it, but one thing was crystal clear—I would never be the same again.

CHAPTER32

Mack

Imaneuvered the RV through Philadelphia’s tangled streets, aiming for the campground on the outskirts that would be our home for the night. Arabella was bubbling over with excitement about the charity event we’d just wrapped up. “I gotta say, I’m only guessing about the amount of money we’ve raised, but it has to be a lot, right? To keep us on the road this long. I mean, with the stack of presents we handed out today, it has to be a lot.”

I heard her, but the words felt like they were coming from a distance, filtering through the heaviness that had settled inside me. I tightened my grip on the steering wheel, eyes on the road, but my mind was miles away. Arabella was still chatting as I pulled into the campground. I navigated the RV into an open spot between a couple of seasoned campers. The place was quiet, just the rustle of dead leaves underfoot and the distant murmur of other travelers settling in for the night.

Arabella did that thing she’d been doing over the last few days, ever since the accident with the horses. Flicked me a little look, like she was checking on me. Or assessing me, I dunno. But it made me feel exposed and raw, which in turn made me feel jittery. Because when she shot me that little look, there was something about the light in her eyes that pulled at me, that made my heart lurch. And the last fucking thing I needed right now was to be pulled toward her, when I knew that what I really needed was to pull away from her, to sever all the ties that bound us so tightly.

“And I think we can be really proud of ourselves for what we’ve managed to do here. Don’t you?”

I cut the engine, and for a brief moment, there was a stillness. A break in the chatter that allowed the weight to creep back in, filling the small space of the RV, pressing down on me. I could feel her gaze on me, but I didn’t turn my head.

“Yeah,” I finally said, unclipping my seatbelt. “It’s something, alright.” The moment I opened the door to step out, the chill air rushed in, as if eager to fill the void I’d left.

My boots slid on the wet ground as I made my way to the hookups. I moved on autopilot, securing the water and electrical connections. Straightening, I took a moment to look around; the campground was surrounded by skeletal trees, their leaves long gone. It was like they were standing guard, stripped down to their essence. No pretenses. I could relate. Scrubbing my hands over my face, I tried to think about what I had to do, and how I was going to do it, but I couldn’t force my mind to go there. Fuck.

Back inside the RV, I shrugged off my jacket and hung it by the door. The heat was already cranked up, fighting off the chill that had settled during our drive. Arabella was in the small kitchenette, boiling water for tea. The atmosphere felt strangely domestic, which, you know, only made me tense up even more.

“All set,” I announced, trying to keep my voice steady.

“Great! I’ve almost got the tea ready, if you want some.” Although her tone was cheerful, it didn’t quite reach her eyes. Okay, so she’d picked up that something was off. This time the glance she gave me was lacking that light I’d somehow got used to seeing. Now she was measuring me.

Knowing I was coming up short, I said, “Sure.” The kettle whistled, cutting through the tension, making me wince. Arabella busied herself with pouring the hot water into the mugs, avoiding my gaze now. I watched her, my mind tangled up in a mess of emotions I couldn’t—wouldn’t—sort out. My heart squeezed painfully, and I felt acid churning in my gut.

“So anyway, we’ve managed to do a lot of good, haven’t we?” The brittle tone in her voice scratched along my skin.

“Yeah, we have,” I said, forcing a smile, trying to sound normal.

“It’s weird to think that we’ll be home before the week’s out.” Her eyes met mine for a nanosecond as she handed me a mug of steaming tea.

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