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

13. Grace

GRACE

I cursed myself the entire way back to the inn and up to my room.

“I know you don’t like me, but thank you?” I muttered, wanting to shake myself.

What did I say that for?

He would be a grump during our entire sleigh ride. I’d just have to ignore him, that was all. He couldn’t snap at me if I didn’t say anything to him, right?

I was going there to write. I would drink in the sights and scribble every thought that came to me. Less interruptions would be all the better.

Still, I buzzed with emotion and anticipation. The same urge that came over me whenever a new idea struck took over despite the block I’d felt since Mom’s phone call—and since calling Stephanie afterwards.

Steph hadn’t seemed to know I was even away from home, which meant that Mom already assumed I’d be coming back before she’d called to twist my arm about it. Which had only blocked my muse even more.

Yes, I definitely had to write this while the sensations were fresh and feelable.

I plopped on the floral armchair, pen in hand, and submersed myself in my thoughts. Everything I’d written about Demon Boone had been stellar.

He was cruel and cunning.

He killed his enemies and even his own soldiers without a thought.

He inflicted torture with all the delight and craftiness of a maimed soul.

I couldn’t wait to have my heroine strike him down with her magic. Multiple times.

But something about this latest interaction with Boone had been different than his previously brusque, snappish manner. He’d shown remorse. Not verbally—but it’d been in his eyes.

Their expression had reached through me. Something about him had been so different just now. His dark, sultry eyes, his brooding handsome features, his closed-off reticence and the way his mere proximity made me come alive in spite of myself.

So he was attractive. So what?

His personality cancelled that out like positive and negative numbers being added together.

Writing had always been therapeutic for me. I shifted my focus, smoothing a hand over my notebook’s empty page. I could craft this other version of him, assigning my fictional love interest with some of Boone’s better qualities the way I’d done with Demon Boone.

But I didn’t want to write about my characters right now. These emotions pinging inside of me were raw and real, and writing always helped me sort out my thoughts.

The truth was, Boone had a glance that made me come apart at the seams and instantly stitch together all over again. He was confusing. He was alarming. Disarming. He’d gotten under my skin, and I didn’t know how to get him back out again.

So I let it all out.

I shouldn’t be feeling this way. Boone is all cactus, letting me know the minute I get too close I’ll get pricked. He’s a mirage in the desert, seeming to be one thing but turning out to be something else entirely the closer I get.

But every time he looks at me, it’s like the world stops spinning. Everyone and everything else in the room disappears. He’s all I see, and I’m not sure if it’s because of me or because some otherworldly force is attempting to push us together.

I don’t know what haunts him. Sometimes he’s courteous, but it seems like he’s trying so hard to keep everyone around him at arm’s length. I’m not even sure what I’m hoping for with him because, in all truth, wanting more with him at all makes no sense.

He’s awoken something in my heart that I didn’t know I could feel. I think that’s what makes his standoffish behavior so confusing. It must only be one-sided. I must be the only one feeling this way, because he clearly has no interest in me.

I’ve never believed in fate or magic, though I write about both, but a man like Boone makes me believe both concepts are not only plausible, but possible. We’ve shared only a few words, and not always nice ones at that.

I think I just want this…whatever it is between us…to mean something.

But I know rejection all too well. Boone Harper is just a rejection waiting to happen.

Once my soul finished purging itself through my pen, I sank back against the chair. I couldn’t explain these feelings. I couldn’t justify them.

But somehow, the admission just felt right .

“It’s for my book,” I told myself.

I was here at Harper’s Inn for a reason. Boone was the research I needed to create a dreamy love interest readers would swoon over—and also a despicable villain they’d both love and hate at once.

Nothing more.

My phone chirped. I glanced at the clock, and my pulse hiccupped in response. I slammed my notebook closed and stuffed it into my bright blue, slouchy, crocheted bag along with a few pens, a snack, and my phone.

I collected my gloves, stuffed my beanie over my long, wavy brown hair, and headed outside.

It was time to go dashing through the snow. I’d go on this sleigh ride, and then I’d go home and forget about Boone Harper when it was all over.

* * *

I plodded through the snow, following the same path I’d taken to the barn before, only this time my hands were free of the cumbersome box.

My chest wasn’t free, however. I was filled with anticipation that drummed through me with every step. I couldn’t tell if it was the prospect of being so all-alone with Boone or the sleigh ride.

Or both. Definitely both.

Dusk was approaching. The sky had turned a listless shade of palest blue, the kind of blue getting ready to pack it in for the night and settle into something deeper and more restful. I couldn’t believe how early the sun set here.

My breath seeped from my mouth like smoke in a way I was coming to love. How adventurous was this, to see my own breath?

The lights I’d noticed strung along the fence and lining the edges of the barn’s roof were now lit, as were the candy canes marking the sides of the wooden posts. With the barn illuminated as it was, it stood like a cheerful beacon on the mountainside.

I couldn’t wait to see it in total darkness.

I tucked my chin into the top of my zipped-up coat and allowed my gaze to roam. I’d never forget Harper’s Inn, and the way just standing here, alone, beneath the sweeping sky and surrounded by trees and everything winter made me feel special. Like I was blessed to be here and experience this for myself.

No number of pictures—as beautiful as they were—could capture the feeling of standing beneath a sky like this, of imitating the crisp, fresh smell of the cold air and the way it filled my lungs.

The sound of jingling bells pulled my attention toward the barn. Boone walked alongside the speckled gray horse who lifted its hooves elegantly over the white ground. Harnessed to the single, white sleigh I’d noticed in the barn before, the horse pulled the sleigh at a slow pace.

I quickened my own, climbing up the rise to meet Boone.

A thick hat covered his head and ears, and tufts of hair spoked from the brim of his hat across his forehead. His eyes had a glint of light that wasn’t usually there, and he smiled—smiled!—at me.

“Hello, Grace,” he said, tipping his head in my direction. The horse beside him stopped, as did the jingle bells on its harness. “How was your afternoon?”

I wasn’t sure how to handle this friendly version of him. My mouth hung open, and I had to remind myself to close it.

“Fine,” I said abruptly, gripping the strap of my bag.

He spoke softly to the mare, patting his gloved hand along her neck, and circled around to the side of the sleigh. Sure enough, the sleigh was a single model, without even a driver’s seat.

He would be driving the sleigh…sitting beside me.

“I hope this one is okay. The other one needed some repairs before they take it up the mountain tomorrow night.”

Without waiting for a reply, Boone climbed up onto the sleigh and settled in, gathering the reins in both of his hands. The horse shuffled the snow with her hooves.

I wasn’t sure why, but I felt suddenly shy. I hesitated at the prospect of sharing the cramped bench with him. This was intimate. Cozy and private and so much closer to him than I expected to be.

If anything, I’d think he would be the one who had a problem with buddying up in the sleigh with me. Considering the way our handful of interactions had gone, I would have thought he hated me.

“Are you coming?” he asked.

It was now or never. And never wasn’t an option, not after all I’d gone through to get here.

Chewing my lip, I climbed onto the sleigh’s metal frame. Cold bit through my thin gloves. My knee brushed against his as I took the flannel-lined bench beside him, but the fabric was cold there, too.

Everything was cold—except for the flames blushing in my cheeks.

Could he see? Was I bright red?

“Here,” Boone said, shaking out a woolen blanket similar to the one covering his lap.

The fabric was just large enough to place over my legs and tuck in around me. Inadvertently, I bumped my elbow against his arm. It wasn’t like I could help it. Sitting here in this tiny sleigh with him was like being wedged in a closet with him.

And then that brought all kinds of heated images with it. Like what it would be like to find myself lodged in a tiny space with nowhere to go but closer to Boone Harper. Where his hands would brush my arms and finally settle around me. Where our eyes would connect and our lips…

Whoa.

We aren’t thinking about lips here, Grace, I reprimanded myself. Not here. Not now. Not ever.

No matter how soft his looked.

“Sorry,” I mumbled a little too late.

Boone cleared his throat and kept his gaze facing forward while I settled myself and placed my bag at my feet.

We sat side by side long enough without moving that I began to wonder if everything was okay. Was something wrong?

I turned slightly to ask when Boone faced me at the same time. Our knees touched, sending a jolt of electricity all the way up from my knees to my spine. My stomach swirled, and heat spread across my skin, heating me inside of my puffy red coat.

Boone cleared his throat and mumbled something.

“What was that?” I said.

He gripped the reins, staring at his hands and then seemed to make a decision. He reached for something inside of his coat pocket and removed a small box wrapped in red paper and topped with a green bow.

It was like the sight of that little box was a whipcrack, and the horse harnessed to my heart took off, sending my pulse racing through my veins.

He got me…a present?

“Before we head out, I owe you an apology,” he said, offering the box to me.

He did. He got me a present.

I dipped my head, unsure of how to act in this moment.

“No, it’s okay,” I began, but he continued. He took my hand in his gloved one and placed the little box on my palm.

Every touch, every motion seemed to take place with special effects. If this were a scene in a movie, the camera would zoom on our faces, on the sincere, ruggedly kind expression I never thought I’d see Boone wear.

“Please, let me say this. I haven’t behaved as I should have. I know you were only helping Junie out that day—the day you brought my supplies out and then slipped on the snow. I was an idiot. I never should have barked at you the way I did. It’s just, I know there’s no excuse. But I’m sorry.”

My cheeks blazed under the influence of his espresso eyes and the sincerity in his words. I searched his face, eager for any hint that he might be playing some kind of prank, but I found nothing aside from the sizzling spark of attraction and connection I always felt every time our eyes met.

“Thank you,” I said. “I appreciate that.”

“You going to open it?”

With my bottom lip in my teeth, I tore at the paper. One tear led to another until the paper peeled away to reveal a cardboard box—and within that box, a delicate Christmas ornament not unlike the sleigh we currently sat in.

The word, “Oh,” slipped out, and my breath caught, stilling like a drifting snowflake caught by a camera lens.

“It’s just…something I thought you’d like.”

I lifted my eyes to find him watching me. “I do,” I said. “I do like it. Thank you, Boone.”

He pressed his lips together and inclined his head at me. I held the sleigh in my hand, pinching its ribbon in between my fingers, and I continued watching him even as he turned his attention toward the horse.

Wow. If anyone had told me Boone Harper would not only apologize to me, but give me something as sweet as this? I didn’t know what to think.

The blanket kept my lower half warm, but my face was just as toasty. But that was nothing to the warmth taking over my heart, heating it right in the center of my chest.

“I think we’ll make my usual trek through the woods, down to the skating pond, and then take the scenic route back,” he said. “How does that sound?”

“Isn’t it all a scenic route?”

This gave him a moment’s pause. To my surprise, the corner of his mouth lifted up into a halfway grin.

“I guess it is. Are you ready.”

I peered down at my feet, ensuring my blue, crocheted bag was slouched where I’d placed it. This reminded me of the mesh provided on roller coasters for people to pack their personal belongings in during a wild ride. This wouldn’t be nearly as high-speed as that.

“Ready,” I said, smiling back at him.

His glance lingered longer than was customary, making me wonder if he was going to say something else. Instead, he gathered the wrapping paper from my lap, wadded it, and stuffed it back into his pocket.

I wasn’t sure what had changed since I’d spoken with him earlier. No snide remarks. No snappish comments. Was it because I was a paying customer now? Sleigh rides weren’t complimentary during my stay—I’d put in my deposit at the front desk before coming out here.

That had to be it.

Boone gripped the reins and clicked his teeth, calling out with a grunt that the horse responded to.

We rode in silence for a few minutes while I adjusted to the feel of the cold air brushing against my bare cheeks. I’d fully intended on keeping quiet for the during of our ride, of pulling out my notebook and scribbling down some ideas in my own bubble, but I couldn’t help the exclamations that kept spilling out.

“Exquisite,” I said, taking in the sight of a stray deer with white spots along its back pausing to glance over at us while we passed. “How often do you see things like that?”

The question was meant to be rhetorical, but Boone replied.

“A lot, actually. I see all kinds of wildlife here. The other night, I had a raccoon scratching at my door.”

“You’re kidding.”

There was that sideways grin. He was good at that. “Nope. I see a lot of deer, squirrels. No bears yet, but then again, with all the movement at the inn and the cars coming and going, they tend to keep their distance.”

I shuddered. Bears. That was definitely not something I wanted to come face to face with.

“You must ferry a lot of people around here.”

“I do. I take a few batches of guests out every single day.”

The snow stole my attention for a few moments while I searched for something to say. “So this is what you do here at Harper’s Inn? You’re the sleigh driver.”

“I help with maintenance around the inn and offer horse-drawn sleigh rides. It’s one thing to ride in a car on a road through the mountains. It’s completely different riding out in the scenery. Horses offer a slower pace, and the sleigh provides a more romantic setting.”

Well, that was the last thing I expected him to say. “Every person who comes here can’t possibly be after a romantic excursion.”

“Not every person, but a lot of people are. Besides, romance doesn’t always apply to love. It used to mean like, mystery and excitement, something set apart from regular life. That’s how I meant it.”

As if my heart needed another reason to pat a little faster.

His comment resonated like I was a drum, and he’d just whacked the side of me with a mallet. This man had an affinity for words?

Words were my everything. Not only did he know an older context for something, but he used it in a way that completely fit in more ways than one. Even better.

Romance was always my favorite part in any story. Sitting in a sleigh, in a snowy, magical setting like this with a man who looked like Boone did, and hearing him talk about definitions? He might as well be reciting poetry to my melodramatic soul.

“That’s completely romantic that you knew that,” I said.

He slid his gaze to me. “I aim to impress.”

“Then you hit the bullseye.”

His eyes darkened and trapped mine. I clasped my hands into fists, sweat collecting on my palms inside of my gloves, and I was enraptured.

Boone didn’t take his glance from me. In fact, his eyes trailed over my face, landing on my lips and sending my lungs gasping for a breath.

The sleigh hit a bump on the snow, making the bells jingle a little harder than usual. Boone whipped his head forward, calling out to Hazelnut and pulling back to slow her pace.

I dipped my chin into the top of my coat and bit back a smile. Not only had I gotten completely swept away in the heat of his gaze, but Boone had gotten distracted.

By me .

“How many sleigh rides do you end up offering a day?” I asked.

“Depends on the day,” he said, holding the reins as the horse trotted before us, jingling all the way. Strips of dark leather holding shiny silver bells chimed with every step the gray horse took.

“And the number of guests,” he added. “Most of the time, it’s about three rides a day. I’m doing this one since it’s so close to Christmas. Junie and her mom agree the sleigh rides add an ambience to the inn that other places don’t have.”

“What do you do in the summertime when there’s no snow?”

“Hayrides,” he said. “Or horseback riding. You think it’s beautiful now? You should see this place during the summer. Everything is so green and lush. There’s a small pond that way—” he pointed with his gloved hand— “that beavers build little dams in every year. And the wildflowers in the meadow are pretty incredible.”

“That sounds amazing, but I’m not sure anything compares to this.” I glanced up at the tops of the trees making their steep climb to the gray-blue sky.

He was right; driving past a mountain in a car was one thing. But at the horse’s lower speeds, with the sound of the rummers sliding on the snow and the horse’s jingling movements, the frigid air didn’t seem quite so cold anymore.

Or maybe it was just sitting so close to Boone. He was acting so different, so kind. And I couldn’t help but wonder why.

What had changed?