Chapter
Two
ALLIE
The sleigh comes to an unceremonious stop. Through the soupy haze of snowflakes, I make out a looming dark structure. A cabin.
“You can warm up inside,” the man grunts, about to jump down, Stetson drawn low against the blizzard.
“But what about the horses?” I ask, unable to stop my eyes from feasting on his rugged face. Black hair and beard, eyes brown as sun-warmed earth, and a jaw so sharp it could cut glass.
He shrugs. “After I get a fire started for you, I’ll take them to the stables for a rubdown and oats.”
“Can I help?” My voice comes out like a squeak, insides still quivering.
His lips dip down at the edges, forehead furrowing. Then, a nod. He clucks his tongue, urging the horses forward.
Angry cold swirls around us. The wind whistles, biting my cheeks. I pull my scarf higher, breathing through it.
Trevor’s keys burn a hole in my purse. Everything about the day remains so surreal I can barely wrap my head around it.
There’s going to be hell to pay when I see him again.
Flurries slam into us hard now. I can’t see the structure we must pull up to so much as feel it block the wind. The man jumps down, rounding the back of the sleigh and offering me a hand. Fire trails lick up my arm where we touch, heat bleeding through the knitting.
Guilt curls low, souring my stomach.Disloyal, superficial, narcissistic. Maybe Trevor was right about me.
Still, I can’t help but notice the difference. The sleigh driver moves with easy certainty. Like he does nothing without a reason. Though a total stranger, his gestures, energy, and quiet ways neutralize every fear swarming through my head.
At the front of the sleigh, he works expertly unhitching the horses. Then, he leads one in each hand as I follow along marveling at the trust between these massive animals and their owner.
The stables feel warm against the cold gusts outside, the sounds within muted and soft. A nicker here, a soft bray there, the swish of a tail or the grind of big teeth over hay and oats. The air smells golden, like fresh straw, and a dangerous sting hits the back of my eyes. Reminds me of my grandpa’s dairy farm. Memories flood me as I stand near the entrance, watching the man work.
Intuitive. Gentle.
“Want to talk about it?” A voice rolls gently toward me. I almost second guess it’s him because he never raises his head, hunched over his work.
“No.” Embarrassment and anger heat my cheeks. He shouldn’t have intervened. I had things handled. One look at him, and I know he’d see right through the lie.Does it matter that I do, too?
“C-c-can I help?” I stammer, stepping forward.
“Know anything about horses?” he asks, eyes sliding up toward mine for a fraction of a second before they drop back to brown, velvety hide.
“Enough.” I wait for him to sneer at me. Belittle me. Maybe even gaslight or challenge me on my knowledge.
Instead, he nods, inviting me with a head nod to grab a brush.
We work on the same horse in silence, my hand frantic, and trembling until the horse shifts uneasily snorting.
A big hand clamps down over mine. Not controlling, steadying, and I look up into a face too gorgeous for staring or looking away.
“Slow and easy,” he commands.
“Surprised she hasn’t kicked me,” I snort.
“Your fault if she does.” His voice is steel, but there’s no bite behind it.
“That’s real nice,” I murmur, voice shaking.
