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

12. Boone

BOONE

We’d found a replacement sleigh driver. So why didn’t I feel better about things?

I stood in the barn’s opening, warding off drafts of chilled wind and the flecks of snow that gusted toward me with it, and replayed my conversation with Troy.

His dad had a broken tibia and needed to have his hip replaced as a result of the fall he’d had. I’d sent apologies and condolences, and I’d assured Troy I’d find someone to fill in for his dad over Christmas Eve and Christmas Day.

“So great, man,” Troy had said. “Thank you. I can’t tell you what this means and that you and Junie sent food for my mom. She’s dealing with so much, you know?”

“I think the time of year adds unnecessary stress,” I’d said.

Troy had laughed, but I wasn’t joking about that one.

After we’d hung up, even though I’d given Troy the reassurance that everything was fine and that I was happy to take on Troy’s scheduled rides for the day, the stress of adding two more jaunts this afternoon before the sun went down tightened everything inside of me like a ratchet strap.

“Hey, hey, Boone!” Junie’s voice reached me before I saw her climbing up the walk in my direction.

She was always so loud, so goofy, so not-caring about what others thought of her. I had to admit, she added a flare to the inn that guests loved.

But did she have to shout my name?

“Hey, cuz,” she said again, slightly breathlessly as she stepped closer.

Pink tinged her freckled cheeks, and her smile showcased a single crooked tooth in the front.

“I’m standing right here,” I said. “You don’t have to shout at me.”

“Someone’s in a good mood,” she said sarcastically, holding out the papers in her hand.

I groaned, knowing exactly what was on those papers. “You’re kidding, right?”

“Why would I be?”

I snatched the proffered papers and looked them over. Sure enough, guests had filled out wish lists.

Several of these people were also signed up to attend the Christmas Eve bonfire. Why in the heck did they want another sleigh ride if they were already going on one?

“I just talked to Troy, and I’m taking his clients today,” I said with a growl.

“Perfect!”

“Does nothing faze you?”

“I don’t see what the problem is. You work here.”

“The horses can only handle so much,” I said.

While that was true, I could only handle so much, too. Most of the time, it was couples out to have a romantic afternoon, one I was forced to be a part of. I often overheard things—private things, sometimes, that made me throw up in my mouth.

“Not to mention the sleigh maintenance that might pop up. And yet you’re giving me more?”

Junie folded her arms and gave me the look . The one that said she wasn’t putting up with my attitude.

“Like it or not, it’s Christmas, and people are depending on us.” She jabbed a finger at me. “Oh, and there’s also a loose cabinet in the kitchen that I need you to fix when you get back.”

“Of course, there is,” I muttered. “You mean Mason can’t fix it?”

Her eyes thinned to slits. “Don’t be mean. You were never mean, Boone.”

A small amount of shame struck me. The comment was low—I was just tired of being the only one expected to fix anything around here.

We should hire a maintenance guy, but the inn didn’t bring in that much revenue. Or so Junie claimed.

“Not everyone’s talents lie in repairs,” Junie went on. “You grew up doing that kind of thing around here with your dad, so you know exactly what to do. Besides, Mason is busy prepping the pastries for Christmas morning, and that’s a real art.”

I snorted.

If Junie were a cartoon, flames would have taken the place of her irises. She looked as if she was ready to stab me. But this was sweet, spunky Junie. I always got under her skin, and then she always got over it.

“You know, you’d think all this extra work would help you get over yourself,” she said.

“Get over myself?”

“You’re so stuck in the past, Boone. You can’t even see what people are doing around you.”

I rubbed away some of the cold that collected in the scruff on my jaw. “Not again. We’re not doing this again.”

Junie had tried this argument a few too many times over the years. She gave me flak for being grumpy. For sequestering myself. For not going to parties or on dates. For hiding away in my cottage.

What did she care what I did with my life?

“Oh, that’s right,” she went on. “You’re too busy feeling sorry for yourself. Well, news flash, dear cousin of mine, you aren’t the only person in existence! The radio knows it, and I know it. Time for you to get a clue.”

She stormed off and left me standing in the open barn door before I could craft any kind of reply. I stood there, staring at the white terrain beneath the sky’s piercing blue, and watched her stalk away.

That seemed to happen a lot lately, especially when I was interacting with women. Troy and his dad never got angry with me. The guys were chill and easygoing, but for some reason, my interactions with women were like sandpaper against skin.

Shaking my head, I turned back to finish what I’d come here to do. I shoveled the pitchfork hard into the pile of straw and distributed it along the newly cleaned corrals in the barn, inhaling the scent of the chaff.

I was fuming by the time I finished, and not just over the amount of extra work she’d thrust at me. Junie had no right to go and make assumptions about my state of mental health or my need for relationships.

Was I closed off? Yes. By choice. By preference.

That didn’t mean I was selfish. I thought that Junie, of all people, would understand that.

Junie was one of the few people who knew just how crushing losing my wife had been. She’d been there the night I’d finally cried and let my emotions dominate. I’d kept them in for so long that they were turning to stone in my chest. It rattled with every step I took. Every night spent alone in my cottage, I shoved those feelings deeper inside myself to the darkest parts I rarely let surface.

I was forever grateful to her for being a safe space for me to process all of that once it finally resurfaced.

The problem was that Junie thought the radio was some kind of matchmaker. She’d never been married; she was probably willing to accept that explanation and had probably had it confirmed by her mom during one of their nightly phone calls.

But I couldn’t allow another woman into my life. I’d already learned too late what happened when you cared so much. Why give my heart away to someone else who had the power to break it all over again?

No, thank you.

Behind me, a horse chuffed, and the sound of someone walking met my ears. When I turned to see who it was, I wished I hadn’t.

Grace Eastland dusted her gloved hands and treaded warily through the barn as though it was her first time setting foot inside of one. Maybe it was.

Her dark hair hung in waves beneath a white beanie that matched her gloves, and a timid smile added light to the caution in her eyes.

I gritted my teeth, not liking the way her lovely face made my heart pick up speed and split through the cracks in the wall I’d carefully placed to guard myself from ever giving it away again.

Yet, the way she moved, the way she trapped her lips in her teeth, the way her gloves settled on her skin making me imagine the softness of her hands beneath them, captivated me. Every one of my internal arguments drifted, caught like a leaf in the wind.

The last time she and I had spoken, I hadn’t been on my best behavior. What was she doing here now?

Considering the last thing Junie said to me, Junie didn’t have something to do with this—with Grace waltzing in here—did she? I never should have told Junie that Grace and I heard the stupid radio play.

“Hey, there,” Grace said.

Even the sweet tone of her voice plucked at one of the strings knotting in my chest, threatening to unravel me. I knew I should apologize for practically biting her head off after she’d dropped the box she’d brought. Slipping and falling wasn’t her fault.

I’d just been on edge.

For years.

I grunted and thrusted the pitchfork into the straw again. She was a guest. I could be civil to guests.

But being civil felt like the promise of something more than just cordiality. Why did a smile and a kind word feel like I was letting down the drawbridge guarding my defenses?

“Can I help you with something?” I asked.

She caught her bottom lip in her teeth again. She had a beautiful mouth. With effort, I tore my gaze from it and met her eyes—but that wasn’t much better.

They were piercingly blue, stunning and filled with a twinkle I couldn’t put a name to and that reconnected a dislocated fuse inside of me, making it spark.

“My plans have changed, and it looks like I won’t be able to stay through Christmas after all. I’m headed home tomorrow.”

I shouldn’t care about her plans. I shouldn’t ask more about her.

Why did I want to so badly?

“Yeah?” I said, prodding her since, caveman that I apparently was in this moment, I couldn’t manage much else.

Her fingers laced together. “I know I’m not on your schedule or anything—and I couldn’t find the other driver to ask?—”

Oh, no.

She wasn’t.

“So anyway, it’s just you left here, I guess. Do you mind squeezing in one more ride tonight before I have to leave? With me?”

My pulse picked up speed. Yep. She was.

My expression must have been gruff because she raised her hands and hurried to add. “Not with me. I mean for me. I mean, you drive the sleigh, and I ride in it. Too. With you.”

She winced.

Meanwhile, my head was spinning. Excuses began filing in one by one. I had too many rides on the docket thanks to these few that Junie just added to my plate. I figured I could fit those in before I packed it in for the day tomorrow morning.

It was almost sundown. That was another problem. Once I was finished here, I’d saddle up Hazelnut and head for home.

Not to mention that the large sleigh wouldn’t work for just the two of us—which meant we’d have to take the smaller one.

The one where I sat beside her as I drove.

That was the biggest motive to say no to this—but for some reason, it also had the most pull over me. Much as I didn’t want to spend that time with her, I also had the gift I’d gotten and an apology to make, and this could be the perfect opportunity.

“What changed?” I found myself asking.

“It’s my mom,” she said with a sigh. “She’s pretty insistent I go home. There’s a guy coming to meet me for Christmas, I guess. And my sister living across the country is coming home last minute. I haven’t met her new baby yet, and this might be the only chance for a while.”

The idea of her meeting someone else twisted inside of me with more grip than I anticipated. I couldn’t figure out why.

She should go home. She should be with someone else—though I couldn’t help but notice the fact that she didn’t seem all that happy about meeting whoever this other guy was.

I voiced my excuses.

“I have two rides scheduled for today. Hazelnut will be pretty tuckered out by then.”

Hazelnut wasn’t the inn’s horse like some of the others. She belonged to me, and she was my ride home since Junie didn’t like me taking the snowmobile back and forth to work.

I didn’t want to wear too much on the mare, and she was my favorite to take on sleigh rides because she was so reliable. She and I made a good team.

“I have to leave at five a.m. tomorrow if I want to make this flight I just rescheduled,” she said. “I know I’m asking a lot, but please? We won’t have to go far. But I don’t want to go home without taking in as much of the scenery as I can. The scenery is why I came in the first place.”

She added a hopeless smile to that statement as though leaving wasn’t what she wanted at all.

I rubbed my chin. The bit about Hazelnut was a stretch, if I were being honest. The horse would be fine with one more ride.

I could practically hear Junie screaming at me from her position as my boss rather than just my cousin. We needed to maintain a good reputation with our customers at the inn, and many people traveled here just for the scenery and the sleigh rides.

Tomorrow was Christmas Eve. I usually took Christmas Eve and Christmas Day off, so even if Grace were staying, after the few rides I had to tack on, I wouldn’t be around to drive her the next day as it was.

Hazelnut would be up for a jaunt before taking me back to my cottage.

“All right,” I said, splitting like a baked potato. “I can make an exception for you. Hazelnut should have one more ride in her.”

Grace’s blue eyes lit up like a fireworks display, and it stole my breath just as if I were standing beneath a glittering explosion in the sky.

“Thank you! What time should I plan on?”

I glanced at the clock on my phone. “I should be getting back with the last party around three. Then, since it’s just the two of us, I’ve got to get her harnessed back up again to the smaller rig this time.”

I gestured past the cherry red sleigh with three rows for passengers to the smaller, white single-seater.

“How does three-thirty sound?”

Her smile stretched, and I mentally shook myself. She had amazing teeth, and her face was even prettier when she smiled. Amy had been pretty, too, but Grace was lovely in her own way.

And…judging by the way she stared at me and lifted her brows, I realized she’d said something.

And I completely missed it.

“Sorry?” I said.

Her smile slipped. “I said that will be great.”

I gave an abrupt nod. ‘Okay, then.”

“And Boone?”

She took a tentative step closer. Just one step.

“Thank you. I know you don’t like me much, but this means a lot to me.”

She pressed her lips into a contrite but grateful expression and whirled away before I could say anything else.

Breathing became a foreign concept. She thought I didn’t like her?

I had given her that impression. And I had an impulsive desire to change her opinion.

It should matter what I thought of her. After our ride, I’d never see this woman again.

She was a guest.

Nothing more.

The least I could do was be civil. Not for Junie, but because the fact that Grace called me out on my behavior in such a non-confrontational way made me want to change it. I wanted to let her know I wasn’t all prickles.

During our ride, I’d apologize. I’d be kind to her and show her I was a decent human being. Come what may.

Boy, that was a dangerous phrase.