Merry Mended Hearts (Santa’s Radio Christmas Romance #1)

3. Boone

BOONE

I tromped down the snowy steps, eager to get back out to the barn, back to horses and where women stopped trying to interfere in my life. I’d take the mountain’s frigid chill currently creeping down my shirt any day over fires and intriguing stares.

I should have known better than to go into the radio’s history with so many people in earshot. Telling the little girl had been safe enough—or so I’d thought. I hadn’t thought the brunette woman would butt into our conversation.

I should have kept the story to myself.

Though I’d never admit as much out loud, my reservations sprang from the part of the radio’s history that only Junie, me, and her mom knew much about:

The radio hadn’t played in over a hundred years, but when it had, the guests hadn’t just heard music. That music from Santa’s radio had interfered in people’s lives.

Or so our grandparents had said.

“They had near to twenty weddings at the inn that next year,” Grandma had joked. “That’s what we get for Santa knowing what we’re up to all the time. He knew just who to have the radio play for.”

According to Grandma Harper, the radio wouldn’t respond when someone turned the dial like a normal radio did. Since Santa himself had delivered it to my great-grandfather, the story went that the radio chose who it would play for and when.

And when it played, it created romantic havoc for whoever heard the songs. Junie’s mom, Aunt Meg, had jokingly called the radio a matchmaker.

I’d heard the story so many times—about the first year Santa had brought the radio, and how the man and women who heard it play ended up getting together in one way or another.

I’d learned the hard way not to share that part of the story. Especially around women.

No sense dwelling on it now. Chances were, I’d never see however she was again.

The sun would be going down soon. I had to get things tidied up at the barn before it did. The frigid winter air chilled my lungs with every breath. I stuffed my hands into my coat pockets, but before I made it halfway down the porch steps, the bell jangled behind me, and Junie stepped outside, hugging her arms tightly around her.

“What are you doing, Junie?” I asked, turning enough to prop one boot on the step above.

I wasn’t exactly happy with my cousin at the moment. She continued pestering me to be nice to the guests. Didn’t she hear me in there?

I’d been my charming self.

She was my cousin, not my mother. But she was also, technically, my employer.

I’d known Junie was overhearing, so I’d been civil. And I’d walked away at the first opportunity.

Giving the guests—especially the female guests—more attention often led in a direction I had no intention of going. I couldn’t count the number of women who’d asked Junie for my contact information.

I’d made it perfectly clear I was done talking to the brunette in the lobby, and thankfully, she hadn’t asked me any more questions. Granted, the idea of a radio belonging to Santa Claus would make anyone question me, but still.

She could ask Junie what she wanted to know. Not me.

“I just got a call from Troy,” Junie said. “His dad’s injured.”

The wind swirled a glacial breeze around me, chilling the skin of my face, and I looked at the barn across the yard. That wasn’t good. Troy was the other sleigh driver. Sometimes his dad filled in when we needed him to. That didn’t happen often, but Christmas was coming in two more days.

“Injured? How?” I asked.

Junie hugged herself tighter, and her breath left her mouth in a visible puff. “He was carrying something for his wife into their basement and slipped down the stairs. He’s going in for hip surgery tomorrow.”

A fall down the stairs at his age? Troy’s father, Rick, was old enough to be any of our grandfathers.

“What about his wife? Is she okay?”

Junie’s lower jaw began to judder in the frosty, ten-degree afternoon. She shuffled on the top step.

“She’s all right. I’ve offered to go help, but I also have my hands full here. Their daughter lives close by, and Troy said they’ll be okay.”

“Thanks for telling me,” I said. “I’ll be sure to stop by after the surgery. Maybe we can bring them some dinner from the kitchens.”

“I thought so, too. And Boone?”

I knew what Junie would be getting at. I hurried to ward her off before she could ask.

“We’ll find someone else,” I said, turning to continue my trek toward the barn.

Junie trundled down the steps after me. I dropped my mouth in mock surprise, knowing what a stickler she was for following rules. Rules she often implemented herself since she basically ran things at Harper’s Inn.

“What are you doing, Junie? Leaving the reception desk unmanned? Shocking.”

She slugged me. “The reception desk will be fine for a few minutes. Our inn? Won’t. At least, not for our annual ride up the mountain on Christmas Eve. Sure, Troy will be there to drive, but you know one sleigh won’t carry all of our guests.”

I grunted.

“Can’t you forget your bitterness for one year and help me out? Finding a replacement sleigh driver isn’t as easy as you think. Especially this late in the game.”

“I would know,” I grumbled, “since I’m the one who will be finding the replacement.”

“Come on. Please? All you have to do is drive the guests up to the event center. The bonfire will already be in place. The cocoa stand will be all cocoa-y and ready. I’ll be the one talking about ‘the incident’ a hundred years ago.

“You won’t even have to talk to anyone. Just wait in the sleigh with the horses as your only company. I know that’s your favorite way to spend your time.”

As a matter of fact, I had once liked the annual sleigh ride to the mountain peak for a bonfire and to hear the story of the inn’s origins. My mom and Junie’s mom had been close. They’d been the ones to start the tradition with guests who’d opted to stay over Christmas.

Guests all piled into our larger sleighs and were carted up the mountainside where a bonfire awaited. They drank cocoa, mingled near the fire’s warmth, and then Junie or her mom—or both women—took turns telling the tale of Santa’s notorious visit.

They rambled on and on about the romantic notion of the radio being a matchmaker, which was another reason I refused to take guests up the mountain. I wasn’t sure believed that part of things, especially since none of us had ever heard a single note coming from it.

Laughter and joy were rampant. Guests returned year after year for a repeat of the occasion. Admittedly, I’d joined in with the rest of them, laughing and singing carols during the sleigh ride.

Until my wife passed away.

The thought of Amy now stabbed me straight in the heart. The memory of her death made breathing hard enough as it was. But Christmas only thinned the air that much more.

Enduring the holiday was like climbing Mount Everest without any gear or oxygen. My head went light and began pounding. Fatigue washed over me, and nausea at the thought of exactly what I’d lost when my wife had died rendered me unable to do much more than exist.

“Horses are my favorite way of spending my time,” I agreed, pushing the painful thoughts away and gulping a breath that was so cold it felt like Listerine for my lungs.

“Come on, Boone,” Junie said, elevating her voice. “You know Laura just quit, and Sam is on vacation with her family. I’m so short-staffed, I’m like a lacrosse player without a stick. Now, we won’t have enough drivers? I need you.”

The barrier I’d built around my heart loosened, but I tightened it right back up again. I refused to let her plea get to me.

We still had time. There were plenty of horsemen down in the town who could hold reins and drive a team up the mountain.

“I’m sorry, Junie,” I said. “But you know I can’t do it. We have enough notice. We can find someone else.”

Junie opened her mouth to argue, but I tipped my head at my cousin and began the trek through the snow toward the large, red barn. The sun set early here in northern Montana. It was usually dark by 4:30, and I needed to get Hazelnut saddled soon.

Childhood memories of romping through this mountainside, of herding my grandparents’ sheep and my first horseback rides with my dad, of traipsing with Junie to gather wildflowers and the time Junie fell into a beaver dam, were rampant in my mind.

One memory I didn’t have of this place was of my late wife, Amy, or our unborn child who’d died in the womb. I’d never gotten to hold that child, not even after the accident. Thoughts of them pricked my eyes, and I blinked away the emotion.

After high school I’d left the inn to work on a ranch. Amy had flitted her way into my life. She’d been down-to-earth and worked at the same ranch I did. Our relationship had quickly built on a mutual love for farm life and sunsets and swings on apple trees.

Since her death, my heart hadn’t beaten the same. I was amazed it could keep on beating at all, if I were being honest. I’d lost a part of myself with her.

That was the reason I’d come back to Grandma Harper’s. The prospect of living at the family’s old cottage had been welcome. Secluded as I was here, surrounded by antiques and things that didn’t and would never belong to me, I could let go as many of those memories of Amy as I could.

I’d left everything behind in Deer Lodge. I’d brought only the clothes on my back. Furniture, clothes, baby items that Amy had been collecting for eight months before she’d died—it had all been abandoned.

The only thing I kept that belonged to me now were some awards from my rodeo days and Amy’s favorite sweater. It had long since lost her smell.

Every woman reminded me of her in some way. The way they tossed their hair. The way they carried themselves. I’d worked to immunize myself against any other woman’s appeal since I’d lost her.

But the woman I’d spoken with near the radio wouldn’t leave my mind as I stalked into the barn, out of the cold wind and past the corral where Hazelnut perked her ears and lifted her nose over the gate.

Or rather, her name wouldn’t leave my mind.

Grace.

I pressed my eyes closed, shook away the sting, and buried my nose into the top of my coat to ward off the winter chill swirling through my hair. The path from the inn to the barn was well worn, flattened snow alongside the wooden fence enclosing the barnyard.

Grace was beautiful, there was no denying that. My heart had sparked for the first time in years, adding an extra beat the minute I allowed myself to meet her blue eyes. That hadn’t happened in so long.

But I’d gotten out of that situation as quickly as I could.

Emotion tightened my throat as I entered the large, red barn. I blinked hard, stepped across the scattered bits of straw, and poured some feed into the dark bucket hanging on a hook nearby. Then I held it below Hazelnut’s mouth.

The horse hungrily dove into the grains. I petted her as she finished and then reached for Hazelnut’s brush.

The horse responded to my proximity, hooves prancing in place as I stood beside her and breathed in her distinctive smell.

As hard as I tried, Grace’s name wouldn’t leave my mind. I had to avoid that woman as much as possible. Fortunately, this was an inn—and thanks to its nature of providing only temporary housing, guests didn’t stay here long.

No matter how much they might want to.

She would leave soon. I’d just keep my distance until she did.

“Hey, girl,” I said, running the brush along Hazelnut’s mane. The horse’s black eyes gave me a sideways glance, and I hugged my free arm around her, resting my head against her and feeling the steady thrum of her body.

Horses had always calmed me, which was another reason I’d opted to come back to Grandma Harper’s after the accident. Junie was right—being in the barn with the horses, away from people, was exactly my cup of tea.

I could tease children easily and enjoyed the delight they often got from the story of the radio. I even liked talking to guests and families during sleigh rides, which was the only interaction I had with people these days.

But when it came down to Christmas, I wanted— needed —to be alone. Away from crowds. Away from the music. Away from the smiling and the happiness I knew I could never have again.

Once Hazelnut was brushed, I set the brush onto its shelf and stroked the horse’s nose at the same time my phone buzzed.

Junie: Before you go, there’s a complaint in room 17. The woman said her faucet is leaking.

Duty calls.

Me: I’ll be right there.

“I have one more thing to check,” I told Hazelnut. “It shouldn’t take too long, and then we’ll be out of here before it gets dark. Okay, girl?”

Hazelnut looked at me, making me wonder, not for the first time, how much she understood of what I said.

I stole a quick glance at my watch.

4:15. Better make this fast.

Bracing myself for the onslaught of wind, which had picked up in the last ten minutes and was more of a gust than a gale, I trudged my way back to the inn. Stomped snow off my boots. Retrieved my toolbox from Junie’s office as I ditched my coat. Made for Room 17.

A middle-aged woman opened the door when I knocked. She wore a robe, had bags beneath her eyes, and looked me over the way most women did. Never mind the fact that she was at least fifteen years older than I was, I still saw the interest flicker in her eyes.

“Aren’t you the stereotypical repairman?” she said with a laugh, stepping back to continue her perusal. “Mm, mm, mm, look at your arms.”

I tightened my grip on the toolbox in my hand and tried to ignore the obnoxious sensation that came with being treated like I was a piece of meat.

“Junie said you’re having trouble with your sink?”

The woman smiled and stepped back, gesturing. “It sprays every time I turn it on. Let’s see what happens when you turn it on.”

Well, that wildly inappropriate. All the more reason to get this job done and get out.

The bathroom looked like all the others. White tile, toilet, sink. At least she didn’t leave her toiletries in the way.

I fiddled with the faucet, fully aware of her standing behind me. Staring at me.

“I’ve got this,” I assured her. “You can go ahead and do whatever you were doing before.”

Her grin widened. “I doubt you’d want me to do that.”

Great. This was just what I needed. I already had enough to deal with right now. Add a cougar to the mix, and I was ready to hide away sooner than Christmas Eve.

Clearing my throat, I ignored her the best that I could and reached for the valve to shut off her bathroom’s water supply. I tweaked with a few things and got to work on what I suspected to be the problem—a faulty pipe connection.

Loosening the pipe, my wrench slipped out of my hand. I knocked the valve—and distracted as I was, I must not have shut it completely off because pressurized water shot at me, deluging me completely.

My face, my arms, and my shirt were soaked. Warding off the spray, I worked fast, hurrying to tighten the valve completely as it should have been the first time. But by this time, the damage was done.

Water was everywhere. It dripped from my chin. It made my shirt stick to me like a second skin—showcasing every line on my body. And it had created massive puddles on the floor and the wall behind me as well.

“Ooo! Things just got a lot more interesting,” the woman said from the doorway.

Grunting, I ignored her, checked the pipe connection, tightened the ring, and turned the water valve back on once more. Kneeling and soaking my jeans as well as my shirt, I checked the faucet.

Luckily, it no longer sprayed.

Working fast, I grabbed the towels from off of the rack and did what I could to mop up the water.

“You should be good to go,” I told the woman, ignoring the way her eyes wouldn’t leave my chest. “I’ll have Junie send up some more towels.”

“How can I ever thank you?” the woman cooed with a little too much implication.

Any minute now, she’d step in and start walking her fingers up my shoulder.

I wasn’t normally the squirming kind, but this was too much. I tipped my head in her direction—more than relieved to leave her behind—and headed out into the hall, checking my phone as I did so.

“Shoot,” I muttered.

The repair had taken longer than I’d banked on. It was nearing 5:00.

I peered toward the window at the end of the hall, but the curtains had already been drawn. Muttering under my breath, I shuffled back down the hall of the old part of the inn. I tromped to Junie’s office for my coat and to leave the toolbox in its place by the closet.

This time, I tore the curtains back and peered into the darkness. Night had fallen fast, amplifying the gentle snowfall outside.

This wasn’t good. Hazelnut could make her way in the dark, but it really wasn’t safe for either of us to try. With visibility limited for both Hazelnut and me, neither of us would be able to see low-hanging branches or any pitfalls we might encounter. I didn’t have a head lamp with me, so if anything came up to us, Hazelnut might startle and buck me off.

I didn’t like to stay in my old room here, and I avoided it as much as I could, but it did come in handy in a pinch.

Besides, I had some of my old clothes in the dresser. And I really needed to change out of the clothes currently sucking my body like leeches. My jeans were manageable—but the shirt was hopelessly soaked.

I still needed to reach out in search of a replacement sleigh driver, too. Because I meant what I’d told Junie. I would do what I’d done for the past three years. I’d stay as far away from people as I could until Christmas was over.

My shoes squelched uncomfortably with every step. I stepped into the door labeled Employees Only and only when it closed behind me did I breathe easy.

I’d just have to suck it up and stay in my old room. Now that I had some privacy, I peeled my shirt off, ready for a replacement and a shower. My skin instantly breathed the minute the wet fabric was off, and I shook some of the water out of my hair as well.

Gripping my wet shirt, I turned the knob into my room, stepped inside, and tripped on something just beyond the door. At that moment, a woman shrieked loudly enough to wake the dead.