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

22. Boone

BOONE

On principle, I avoided the inn on Christmas Eve, so I waited until Grace made it inside before driving the sleigh to the barn.

Morty from the barbershop downtown—if you could call West Hills “downtown”—crouched near the larger sleigh, working a wrench to tighten one of the bolts on the runners.

“You made it here before the storm,” I said, adjusting the tack on Hazelnut. I wasn’t going to hitch her to another sleigh—I was going to ride her home myself, which meant she needed a different harness.

“Yeah,” Morty said. “What are you still doing here? You helping after all?”

“Nah,” I said, wanting to avoid the topic or any kind of explanation for my arrival this morning. “I’m headed out now.”

“Sounds good. You’ll be missed.” Morty moved the wrench down to the set of nuts at the back of the sleigh and began tightening those as well.

His words pricked me beneath the ribs. The notion of riding up the mountain with the others, of people-ing, hadn’t once appealed to me since Amy had passed away.

But now, Morty wasn’t the one I’d miss seeing on that ride. Nor any of the others. No, I wanted to make that ride up with Grace. I wanted cuddle in close to stay warm. I wanted to hold her hand as Junie relayed her scripted story of the radio. I wanted to see her delight at the sight of the stars.

Was I ready to take on being around people for that? To take on Christmas for that?

I stamped away the thought quicker than the fire Grace had started on my rug. The memory drew a smile from my lips, and I turned toward Hazelnut. But all while brushing the horse down and settling her saddle, I couldn’t control my thoughts.

They were all turned in her direction.

I had to get out of here.

Without waiting, I guided my horse back out into the snowy morning. Which didn’t help either because even the snow made me think of Grace.

I couldn’t escape her. The strange thing was, I wasn’t sure I wanted to.

All the more reason to get back to my cottage. What would Junie think if I suddenly started interacting now? What good would it do anyway when Grace was leaving? She was the only one I wanted to see right now.

The sights around me were newer somehow, as though I was seeing snow for the first time—which was ridiculous. I’d seen this white stuff every year of my life.

But I couldn’t help hearing Grace’s admiration for it with every glance. She was right—the trees, the sequestered inn, the spread of white blanketing the ground. It really was beautiful.

“Boone!”

I went rigid in the saddle. Apparently, I’d paused too long because Junie ran out as I passed the front of the inn.

“I knew you wouldn’t let me down!” Her hands splayed in the air as though she’d just finished one of those cheerleader spread-eagle moves.

I pressed my eyes closed. Why? Why did I stop here, right where she could see me?

Two more minutes. If only I’d left two minutes earlier, I could have avoided this.

“I’m not here to help.”

Hugging her arms around her chest, she tiptoed across the cleared porch to the top step.

She was outside without her coat. Air puffed out of her mouth with every breath. “Come on. Please? I need you.”

“No, you don’t. I was just in the barn. The replacement driver made it here before the pass closed. You’re all set.”

“Then come with us. You haven’t come since you first started working here.”

Her plea struck that same part of me that thoughts of Grace had been doing all morning long. But it wasn’t enough to make me change my mind.

I’d sworn off everything Christmas, and thus far, I’d stuck to it like Gorilla Glue.

Being around guests? Hearing them sing Christmas carols while Junie retold the story of Santa’s visit to Harper’s Inn? I couldn’t.

Junie had to know how high on the list my couldn’t was.

“I can’t be here, Junie. I’m sorry. You know I can’t.”

Just delivering Grace back had unraveled me. A small voice inside, the same one that had been hounding me all morning, gave a hard jab into my ribs with its elbow.

But what if you could?

I elbowed it right back.

Junie released a heavy breath, emitting more smoky air from her mouth. Her features sagged along with her shoulders.

“I’m sorry. You’re right. I never should have asked.”

The disappointment in her tone was nothing new. I’d heard it dozens of times before. Now, though, it struck me like an arrow making it through the chinks in a knight’s armor.

Could I make an exception this year?

Grace had given me a new perspective. In fact, a handful of times since last night, I’d flirted with the idea of moving on. Of finding happiness with someone again.

But was that fair to my wife?

I didn’t want to forget Amy. The way she smiled. The way she smelled. The way she’d looked at me like I was her reason for existence. How could I move forward and act like losing her on Christmas Eve didn’t affect me anymore?

It seemed like a violation of my love for her. Celebrating with others meant I’d accepted that she was gone. And that was something I could never do.

I knew pushing Grace away had hurt and confused her, but loving someone else just wasn’t a possibility. That was another reason I needed to stay away until she left.

Ugh. If only I could skip the next two days.

I tried it every year. And every year, those days passed with painful slowness. This was when I usually readied my home with necessary repairs that I didn’t take the time for otherwise.

I hesitated only a moment before clicking my teeth. Hazelnut’s ears pricked.

“On, on,” I said, giving the horse her usual cues.

Hazelnut responded, carrying me away from Junie and through the back woods.

The cottage looked the way it always had, with its familiar, multi-colored stacked stones held together by mortar. Ravaging winds often wore on the exterior, and considering how the place was built sometime in the late eighteen hundreds, it’d had its fair share of wear and tear.

Every year, I had to fix the cracks in the mortar and the walls, along with the roof repairs. I’d had the roof replaced shortly after moving in here, but the passing years had chipped away here and there—not to mention the mice and other small creatures often burrowing in whatever cracks they could find.

Christmas was the perfect time to deal with these repairs. I thrived on the sense of purpose and the distraction it brought. I poured every ounce of energy I could into these jobs, doing my best to avoid looking at the fireplace.

Or the couch.

Or my bed.

Or the scorch marks on the rug.

Or anywhere else Grace had brightened by her presence alone.

But my attempts were ineffective, since she penetrated every aspect of my brain. Everywhere I looked—there she was.

Huffing, I retrieved my tool belt and spent the afternoon in the bathroom, mending the leaky pipes beneath the sink. I worked with purpose, drowning in my non-Christmas rock music with its heavy beats and angry tones.

I lost myself in the work, allowing my mind to get caught up in the lyrics and pushing aside thoughts of Grace, Amy, and Christmas altogether.

Kneeling on the floor, I rested a hand against the sink and checked the newly installed u-shaped p-trap pipe. At least the rancid sewer smell I’d dealt with last year hadn’t made an appearance while Grace was here.

Wait. I wasn’t supposed to be thinking of her.

Shaking my head, I returned the cleaners and sponges to their places beneath the sink. I cleaned up the mess I’d made, returned my tools to their spots in the closet, and took a restless shower.

Time crawled by. Once I finished dressing, it wasn’t even sunset.

I shuffled through my living room, deciding to cook some dinner—even though it wasn’t anywhere near dinnertime—when something caught my eye.

On the table in my kitchen, Grace’s notebook lay splayed open.

Hm. That wasn’t there when I’d eaten a few hours ago.

I frowned and fought the chills speckling along my arms. Veering for the table, I glanced around for a sign of her bright blue, floppy knitted bag. Did she leave her bag here? I could have sworn I saw her with it when I’d dropped her off.

“How did this get left here?” I mused aloud.

I’d been curious about her writing since the sleigh ride, and her outright refusal to let me read anything only piqued my curiosity that much more.

I really had no intention of reading it, but when I reached to close the book, the words in her delicate cursive scrawl jumped off the page, catching my attention. Or rather, one word stood out, leaping from all the rest as surely as if someone highlighted it.

She’d written my name.

My curiosity won out.

“What the heck?” I gave in, sliding the notebook close.

Grace had made it clear she didn’t want me reading this, but I couldn’t stop now.

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.

My knees weakened, threatening to buckle beneath me.

“She said she wrote fantasy. Not reality.”

In that case, what did this mean? Why was she writing about me?

When had she written this? I flipped through, but no date was listed. She’d written a handful of pages beyond this about a character named Shay Swift with pointed ears that pricked at the sounds of branches rustling. She had pretty descriptions about snow and tress and the elf’s burly, muscular physique that made me raise my brows. I was impressed at her talent despite its tendency to gush.

But I flipped back to that excerpt about me. And yeah, I devoured every word.

Over and over, I read her descriptions of me. Of how I made her feel. The words were like sugar to my bloodstream. They made me crave more. Only, I didn’t want to read them on a page—I wanted to hear her say them.

Did she really feel this way about me?

Deliberately, I closed her book and stepped away from the table. I shouldn’t care. I shouldn’t be this into her. I…

“What’s happening?” I muttered, raking both of my hands through my hair and staring at the book’s leather binding.

So much of this didn’t make sense, yet I didn’t accept that. What were the chances that this book flipped open to this page? I’d passed the table after getting Hazelnut secured in the barn when I first returned, and it hadn’t been there then. Not when I’d eaten, either.

How had it gotten here?

“The radio,” I grumbled with realization.

I wasn’t exactly sure how the magic worked. All I knew was that in the past, the music had managed to turn people’s lives upside down just to get them together. It sounded ludicrous, but what other explanation was there?

I shook my head and laughed—a cold, merciless sound.

“I’m such a fool,” I said, sinking onto the chair nearest to the table. Then I raised my voice so that Santa—or whoever was apparently watching me and coordinating these events—could hear. “Did she even write this?”

Grace had written of magic and being overtaken by me. She’d been there in the inn’s lobby that day when strains had crackled from the radio’s antique speakers. What else was this but getting swept up in the music’s mischief?

“My point exactly,” I said, answering myself.

This wasn’t real.

Disappointment sank into my stomach like a rock, sending ripples throughout the rest of my body. I was being stupid. Allowing myself to get caught up in her words.

“Whether it’s real or not, she’ll need it before she goes home.”

My gaze drifted to her notebook again, and I heaved a sigh. Rising to my feet once more, I checked that the lights were off in the cottage, retrieved my coat and gloves, and then stuffed my feet into my thick boots.

I could take the time to harness Hazelnut, but it wouldn’t be safe to ride her all the way back again once I returned this. The snowmobile had a light, however, and even though Junie hated for me to drive it, desperate times and all that. So I ducked back to my room to retrieve my helmet and get the keys from my drawer.

This anticipation coursing through me was absurd. I was just returning the notebook to her. Nothing more.

There could never be anything more. So then why did I want it so badly?