Page 5 of A Tiny House Christmas

Joey pulled back on the reins, controling his dancing horse. “Nobody.”

And as for how he’d found her, he’d just known. It was like in the mornings when he stepped out on his porch and knew whether it was going to rain.

After Karlene had left the church doorway, the room had been still for a long, heavy beat. Then he’d found himself jogging down the empty aisle. Ahead of Thomas, ahead of her family.

Once he’d reached the church’s outer door, and seeing her free Becky from the carriage, he’d stopped cold, forcing traffic to jam up behind him, giving her the gift of time. Not that she’d needed it. She’d been impressively fast, as though she was ranked the world champion of runaway brides.

Karlene had been away before her mom could even finish her impromptu scolding.

Then Joey had been in his truck, burning up the road, lurching to a halt in front of his barn. He’d saddled his horse, Cavalcade, grabbed the star bag he kept fully stocked and at the ready for longer rides. Then, recalling what Karlene was wearing, ran inside and scooped up a change of clothes. He’d been off, angling toward the distant town without even thinking how impossible it could be to find Karlene.

But now that he had, he held his horse alongside hers, his stallion’s nostrils flaring from the brisk ride’s exertion.

Karlene was taking in their surroundings, as though only just realizing how far she’d ridden from town, and how she’d drifted to a familiar trail they’d blazed a dozen times to the old cabin in the hills. The log building had once been used by cowboys to stay in while looking over calving herds, but was now abandoned other than the few times a year they snuck up there for a camp-out. The mostly non-existent trail, at this point, was only a quarter mile from Joey’s ranch.

“Where you headed?” he asked.

“Don’t know.” Her knuckles were white on the reins, as though she expected him to wrangle them from her.

She brushed her hair from her face, shiny locks having slipped from her up-do and framing her cheeks. She looked so much like that lost kid he’d always known and protected he almost forget she was that stunning bride who’d awoken him less than an hour ago.

“The cabin’s still an honest forty-minute ride.” He slid off his horse. “If you’re quick, you might get there before night falls.”

Her horse looked tired, but the slightly wild and panicked look in Karlene’s eyes faded with his suggested plan. She nodded, reaching across the horses for his star bag as he worked it free of the saddle, obviously not yet ready to face the music or the McNaughtons. Or even head back to her mostly-empty apartment in San Antonio which he’d helped her pack up andmove to the ranch a few days ago. Even if they moved her stuff back, her lease expired in less than a week.

Lots to sort out and he’d bet she wanted to be alone, to let her thoughts settle into something that made sense again. Then when she had a plan, he’d help her execute it.

And right now, the cabin, the hills, the solitude—it would all help her recalibrate. He could almost see the stars hiding above them right now, and how they’d peek out one by one and then all in a rush. How the quietness of the hills would surround her like a comforting blanket. He’d bet she’d be right as rain within a day and ready to take action.

Why she’d bolted from the one thing she’d been dreaming about since her grandparents retired and sold their ranch when she was fourteen, he wasn’t sure. He had ideas, but nothing concrete. The poor woman had thought she’d spend every summer on that Spragg ranch and then take it over when she was ready.

“Trade horses.” He reached up for her hand and she took it.

In a fluid move, she leaned down toward him, trusting he’d catch her as she slid from Becky’s back. He wrapped his arms around her; the dress curtaining them for a moment as the long skirt trailed behind. He gave her a brief hug, releasing her. She whacked the skirt into place and Joey handed her Cavalcade’s reins to hold.

Her eyes welled as she took in his fresh, saddled horse, her head resting briefly along the horse’s neck. He re-buckled the star pack to Cavalcade’s saddle beside the bedroll. His star kit was like a bug-out bag for cowboys and she’d know what essentials to expect, as he always kept it stocked and ready for spending a night out in Hill Country.

The kit was a challenge, one he, Karlene and her brother Blake would take a few weekends a year. They’d grab the star bag and their bedrolls. They’d sleep under the stars, using hisstocked items and nothing more, thumbing their noses at the modern world. If they had matches, a few cans of beans, a pocket knife, water, a first aid kit, flashlight and a few other essentials, they were equipped to deal with anything.

He wasn’t sure if it was fully stocked for the needs of a runaway bride, however. Although there was a new addition—a filled flask. That would surely help.

“The radio’s charged in case you run into trouble.” He patted the secured star bag. “You know the channel I’ll be on.”

He eyed her dress and the formerly white satin shoes that looked like they’d aged about twenty years in the past hour and tugged a bundle he’d wedged between the bag and saddle. “I brought you something to change into. Not sure how it’ll fit, but better than a wedding gown.”

“Well?” Joey asked as Karlene came out from behind her horse, dressed in his clothes.

His broad forehead creased, seeing her in a pair of his jeans, a flannel shirt and vest.

But there was still no heat in his gaze. He was acting reserved, careful, like she was a fragile kid in need. Not a grown woman he’d turned into a runaway bride with one heated look of longing.

She was such a fool for this man.

Karlene held her arms out at her side. “Better than the dress?”

The jeans were stretched to the limit across her hips, the shirt loose as the man was built, not an inch of him uncarved by hard work and long days of physical activity on the ranch. The shirt was a comforting blend of worn coziness and the familiarity ofhis aftershave. She had a feeling that in his haste, he’d gathered whatever was on his bedroom floor. Somehow that was more soothing than him thoughtfully selecting fresh items from his chest of drawers.

“It’ll do,” he said, his tone slightly gruff. He took his cowboy hat and dropped it on her head, knocking the last few pins from her hair and sending her locks cascading lopsidedly. The hat was warm, soft, and a bit too big.

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