Page 3 of A Tiny House Christmas

She could feel the guests’ eyes on her, the pews packed shoulder to shoulder, smiles turning amused as she faltered.

Her eyes stayed locked on Joey’s and that foreign look he was giving her.

She knew he understood her.

But this look in his gaze. It was new.

It was as though hesawher today.

Her as an adult woman, and not a tagalong kid.

She blinked long and hard. She’d gotten over her crush years ago—she’d forced herself to when Thomas had begun questioning her about the amount of time she spent on Joey’s ranch.

We’re just friends.

He sees me as a tagalong. Blake’s kid sister.

Nothing more.

But the way Joey was taking her in with those expressive, sweet eyes of his was unnerving. There was a new warmth and depth. And it was exactly what she’d always wanted to see reflected back at her.

She tried to look away. She needed to move down the aisle. Say I do.

But then Joey gave her a tiny nod, so small nobody else would notice the way he was giving her permission.

Her breathing eased and her foot landed on the floor.

Permission to be herself. To follow her heart.

Torun.

Before she could process her own thoughts, Karlene had spun around and was sprinting outside and down the church’s steps. Her fingers shaky, she muttered “hurry, hurry” as she unhitched her horse, Becky, from the carriage out front.

She freed the mare, gathering the long reins meant to reach the carriage driver as she pulled the horse closer to the carriage. One high heel planted on its step and, with the sound of her gown tearing underfoot, she threw herself onto Becky’s waiting back.

“Cha!” she hollered, her heart hammering as she squeezed her knees, sending the startled mare forward as members of the wedding party flooded the parking area.

She was pretty sure she heard her mother scream “Karlene Abigail Spragg, you get back here right this instant or I’ll tan your hide!” before the sounds of her mare’s hooves at full gallop drowned out everything but the sound of Karlene’s beating heart.

Inflatable Christmas decorations waved as Karlene and the horse veered across a snowless Texas lawn, short-cutting through a backyard. Karlene tucked herself low as the mare flew over a falling-down split-rail fence at the edge of town, praying she wouldn’t slide off its bare back.

The horse landed and continued across the open pasture.

Freedom.

She headed north, splashing through the creek the town of Sweetheart Creek was named after, then up its banks, the land unfolding around her; the houses shrinking behind her. She urged Becky faster, checking again to see if anyone had taken Thomas’s horse and was following her.

Not a soul.

To her right, several hundred feet away, there was a vehicle on the adjacent gravel road, dust clouding out behind it. She veered left, crossing the highway and moving northeast.

The December air was cold, whistling through her wedding gown. The skirt flopped against the horse’s flanks, billowing and crashing, at the mercy of her speed and the wind.

Karlene rode as hard as she dared, skirting fences that delineated properties, avoiding roads and anywhere a truck could catch up with her. She just needed to be away. Away from the church. Away from the expectations that had suddenly made her feel as though she was struggling under water, unable to breathe.

Thomas McNaughton was nearly every woman’s Mr. Right. He was handsome, kind, and had a giant ranch with a long, rich legacy that made her parents’ light up whenever it was mentioned. And it was mentioned an eye-rolling amount. As agricultural researchers for a local college, they wanted access to one of Texas’s largest cattle ranches, and the McNaughtons wanted a hardworking bride for Thomas. Someone who’d help him build and continue the family legacy. Thomas, in so many ways,wasthe legacy.

At first, it had been fun, and she’d felt important by association.

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