Page 46 of Not My Little Drummer Boy
“Same. Growing up, some days it only lifted for an hour around noon before settling back in.”
“Do you miss it? Small-town life instead of London’s chaos?”
“I miss the place sometimes. Not the people.” The words come out sharp with bad memories. “Too tied up in everyone else’s business. Gossiping about who’s been seen with who and what they’re up to. Reporting my latest heinous crimes to my father—smoking behind the church, drinking down at the loch, riding around in cars with boys.”
“Sounds like you were trouble even then.” His grin breaks through the mist.
“Just a normal teenager with an abnormal father. No regrets about leaving that behind.”
His expression shifts, reading the edge in my voice. “Fair enough. I was lucky, I guess. Dad was mostly away. Mum was so laid-back. Too wrapped up in her art to police us much. These days I’m finding small-town gossip a hell of a lot kinder than what the tabloids come up with.”
“That has to be exhausting.”
“Brought most of it on myself.” His hands tighten on the reins. “But I’m working on that.” He stops abruptly. His jaw tics like he’s holding back words he’s not ready to say.
Before I can respond, he’s pressing his heels into Bodie’s sides and they’re off, thundering down the meadow. I give Solly his head, and we chase after them through the swirling fog, the pounding rhythm of hooves drowning out things I want to ask.
When we finally slow by the small stand of trees at the meadow’s far end, both horses blowing hard, our conversation shifts to safer ground. We trade happier stories from our small-town childhoods—his, wild games of hide-and-seek along the cliff-top paths above Tintagel, ducking behind gorse and slate outcrops while thewaves hammered the rocks below. Mine, skating on the loch when winter froze it solid, the scrape of blades on black ice echoing off the hills, or those endless summer evenings at the little beach where time seemed suspended in golden light.
“Sounds like magic,” he says.
“It was, sometimes. I forget that part when I’m thinking about home.”
As we come to a halt in a clatter of hooves back in the cobbled yard, Teddy swings down from Bodie’s back and appears at Solly’s side before I’ve even thought about dismounting. His hands reach up to my waist—completely unnecessary, and we both know it—but I don’t pull away.
“I’ve got it,” I say, but I’m already placing my hands on his shoulders.
“I know.” His fingers tighten just slightly as he lifts me down, and for a heartbeat longer than needed, we’re standing chest to chest, my boots barely touching the ground. This close, I can see the flecks of amber in his brown eyes, can smell the faint scent of his cologne mixed with morning air and horse.
“Rachel,” he says quietly, and my name sounds different in his mouth than it did yesterday. Warmer. More careful.
Then Solly shifts restlessly beside us, and the spell breaks. Teddy’s hands drop away, but slowly, his fingertips trailing against my jacket as if reluctant to lose contact entirely.
The others don’t seem to notice any change in us. No one even glances up when Teddy sits beside me on the sofa, or when he puts an arm around me, his fingers drawing slow circles on my shoulder.
Everyone’s silent, waiting for Loreena to arrive. No surprise, really, when we’re all hanging on her announcement of the final challenge. Teddy and I are tied with Haley and Christian on two wins each, and I don’t care if they’re the bride and groom. I’m planning to nail their arses and take out this competition. The other teams—winless so far—will be fighting hard too, but they’re not my concern.
Loreena appears in the doorway and, after her usual dramatic flick of that long blonde hair, clears her throat. Hands clasped in front of her like a game show host, she surveys the room with a smile.
“Since we’ve got an entire band here, we thought the final challenge should be a musical one.”
“Yessss!” Ollie hisses. “Christmas karaoke. I’m up for that.”
“No, we expect a little more finesse than that,” Loreena says. “You’ll be performing live tomorrow night. For the residents of the village retirement home. They’re all very excited to see who the mystery act is for this year’s Christmas concert.”
“Christ, hope it doesn’t give any of them a heart attack when they find out it’s us and not Cliff Richard. What do you think, old man?” Ollie elbows Garrett.
“I think you’re being ageist, Ollie Templeton.” Sam fixes him with a glare. “The Rolling Stones are in their eighties, and people still pack stadiums to see them.”
Haley nudges her brother. “Odds are there’ll be a few die-hard rockers in the front row with better music taste than you.”
“Enough bickering, children,” Loreena cuts in. “And yes, they’re expecting a little rock music. So, you’ll need a Christmas song. And…” She pauses, beaming at us. “...a Stellar Riot song.”
“That’s not fair—” I start to say, but Teddy places a hand on my arm.
Loreena launches into some system she’s worked out for who gets first pick of songs, but I’m not listening. It won’t matter. Not if we’re stuck singing Stellar Riot.
I turn to Teddy, speaking low and fast. “It’s not fair. Ollie and Christian do vocals all the time. Liv told me she and Garrett met doing a high school panto, so odds are they can both sing. Which leaves—”
