Page 12 of Not My Little Drummer Boy
“Hell no,” he says. “For a sweet girl, she sure gets kind of intense when it’s about the wedding—or Christmas.”
Teddy swats at a few twigs stuck to his boots and brushes some dirt off the back of his jeans. I regret not having offered to do it for him. I’d like to run my hands over that denim-clad arse.
“You’re right. We should get back.” He snatches at Bodie’s trailing reins.
I’m both relieved and disappointed as he mounts his horse lightly, while she stands there as if butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth. The little bitch. I climb up onto solid, dependable Solly.
“Race you back?” he says, with a quirk of a brow.
“I don’t think so,” I say.
“Chicken.”
“Yeah,” I admit. “When it comes to telling Haley I broke you, I am.”
We let the horses take the lead again, and amble along another path through some scrubby forestland and then back onto a main roadway. Neither of us speaks, drinking in the calm countryside as a watery winter sun rises higher in the sky, casting a gentle warmth on our backs.
When we arrive back at the stables, Poppy is there to meet us. We offer to rub down the horses and rug them up, but she insists it’s her job. I also suspect she doesn’t trust us to do it as well as she can—and she’s probably right. I beg carrots for the horses, and after letting them snuffle down their treats, we leave Poppy to it.
We head into the house through the back entranceway, kicking off our boots in a small mudroom, where Haley tracks us down as if she’s been watching for our return.
“Oh good. You’re back,” she says.
“Yeah, and ready for that breakfast I can smell from here.” Teddy grins and makes a beeline for the kitchen.
Haley watches him go, scanning him from his tousled head to his socked feet. Muddy streaks mar his jeans, and somehow there’s a leaf dangling in his hair. Her brows rise.
“What the hell have you done to Teddy?”
Wrong question. She should be asking what the hell Teddy has done to me.
Chapter 5
Myreluctancetofindout what Haley has in store for us today makes me last to join the group—again. Not that it’s hard to be late in a house with five lounges; I managed to wander into two wrong ones first. By the time I finally stumble into the right room, coffee in hand, they’re all waiting, and I immediately regret dragging my feet.
Two of my long-legged bandmates, Garrett and Ollie, have taken over the couch, their man-spreading leaving no room for me. The three bridesmaids sit opposite them, all sipping coffee from mismatched holiday mugs. Rachel catches my eye over the rim of her cup, blue eyes dancing. The promise of trouble within them makes me want to whip that cup out of her hand and drag her back down to the stables for a roll in the hay.
One look from her is enough to push aside my sulkiness at the lack of seating opposite or beside her. I flash her a smile, and take my place in a large buttoned leather armchair. At least here I can watch her without everyone noticing. She’s the only view I’m interested in today.
“Great, now we can get started.” Haley stands at the front of the room like a conductor poised to unleash the Salvation Army Band in a rendition of ‘O Come All Ye Faithful’. Her smug smile makes me instantly wary. Last year she made Christian dress up as Santa. Who the hell knows what she’s planning this time—elves in tights, maybe?
Christian hovers at her shoulder, with that loved-up look in his eyes. He’s always one hundred percent behind his fiancée, so there’s no way he’ll talk her down from whatever crazy scheme she has planned for us.
Their three dogs—practically their children, and sporting Christmas pyjamas as if they are—sprawl on the rug at their feet. A symphony of canine snoring vibrates the room. Loreena sits at the table behind them, eyes sparkling like a kid who’s just spied Santa’s boot disappearing up the chimney.
“Soooo…” Haley rubs her hands expectantly, her mouth curving up in a knowing smile. “I decided, as you’re all here—what are we waiting for? We may as well start the games today.”
Rachel looks at me and rolls her eyes. Haley might be her friend, but I can see it’s the only reason she’s indulging her—that and Haley’s also the bride. Which makes her the boss.
“Games?” I ask, setting my Santa mug on a coaster. “What sort of games?”
“The sort where you compete,” Christian says. “And someone wins.”
There’s a spark in Rachel’s eyes, quick and fierce, and I know exactly what it means—she loves the chase, the contest, the thrill of victory. She’s the kind who turns even a board game into a battle. I’m not that guy. Not normally. But if the game is about winningher? That’s one I’m already playing. And after this morning, I think she knows I don’t intend to lose.
“Five days.” Haley holds up her hand. “Five games. Five Christmas-themed games created by Loreena.”
I groan inwardly. With Haley and Loreena in charge, of course it’s Christmas games. Not that I’ve got anything against Christmas. It holds some of my happiest childhood memories.
