“I think we better.” I throw a glance at Mr. Baxter who’s standing by a different wagon, farther back. He keeps throwing worried looks our way. “Mr. Baxter seems eager to get the show rolling.”
Declan nods quickly. Our “wagon” is dressed up as some sort of gothic, Victorian-looking sleigh with black-and-gold panels along the side and silver garlands with little dangling silver skulls. Someone even painted curved runners on the wooden base to mimic a classic sleigh.
The wood creaks gently as the horses shift their weight, the bells on their harnesses jingling softly.
Declan holds my hand as I navigate the narrow set of stairs at the back of the wagon. Bales of hay are stacked along the low side rails. A microphone setup rests on a large wooden box at the front of the wagon.
“That’s my spot.” Declan points to the box. He grabs one of the hay bales near the front and sets it next to the box. “For my co-pilot.”
“Me?”
“I want to keep you close and your view will be better if you’re facing this way.”
Warmth spreads through me. He’s getting ready to entertain a wagonful of tourists, but he’s worried about my comfort.
“Thanks.”
He strides up front, his boots thudding along the wagon floor and kicking loose hay forward.
The box has a lid that Declan pries loose. He pulls a red-and-black plaid blanket out and drapes it over the hay bale closest to him. “Don’t want you getting hay stuck to your tights,” he explains.
If he does one more sweet thing, I’ll melt into a puddle at his feet. “Thank you.” I perch on the hay bale, waiting to see if it’ll hold me before getting too comfortable. But it’s sturdy and firm.
Declan picks up the microphone, testing it with a few low murmurs.
Lucy climbs into the wagon with us, settling into the corner opposite of me, and hands Declan a bottle of water. She stands and offers one to me.
“Thanks.” I grab it from her hand and twist the cap off, taking a quick sip.
“Howdy, Declan,” a thin but sturdy-looking blonde woman in black shouts. She expertly climbs into the front and takes thereins. The horses shuffle and snort, their hooves clicking against the pavement. “We’re going to move to the side, so they don’t get spooked with all the cars coming in.”
“Sounds good,” Declan says. He braces himself against the railing as the wagon lurches forward.
“Eeee!” Lucy squeals. “Here we go! Showtime!”
Her grin is so wide, and she seems so genuinely happy instead of her usual snark-mode, that I can’t help laughing.
I pull my phone out and snap a few pictures. Declan framed against the dark sleigh rail. The horse’s breath fogging the air. The skull garlands glinting faintly under the parking lot lights. Lucy looking up at Declan with an almost child-like worshipful expression. They really are more like brother and sister. I don’t know why I was ever worried about their relationship.
Daphne brings the horses to a slow stop alongside the library. One of the horses bristles and clomps a foot down.
“Everyone line up here!” someone shouts to the crowd slowly walking around the side of the library toward our wagon.
The man tending the line allows the first group of tourists to approach our wagon. Declan turns to greet them. He pulls his shoulders back, an air of authority surrounding him. Everything about his posture and demeanor says he’s in command of the sleigh and won’t be tolerating any shit from the passengers.
Oh.
That’s hot.
The wagon rocks and creaks as people start filing in. Couples bundled up. A group of college-aged women and men. A family with two teens who seem equal parts thrilled and anxious. Declan steps forward to help a woman climb the steps in her ridiculous high-heel boots. She laughs, a little breathless, and clings to him for several long, uncomfortable seconds.
“Wow,” she says in a breathy, girlish voice. “You’re our guide tonight?”
“Yes, I am,” he says in a brusque tone. “Please take a seat. We’re on a schedule.”
She frowns, then wobbles over to the hay bale next to Lucy’s. Another woman in more sensible shoes hurries up the steps and sits next to the woman who keeps eyeballing Declan like he’s her next meal.
A few more stragglers climb aboard. I inch closer to Declan and he leans down, his lips brushing against my ear.
