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

27. Boone

BOONE

I was a fool.

I’d run away from Amy’s and my house in Deer Lodge because I couldn’t bear the reminders of her in every tree, every stoplight, and every corner of our apartment.

And now I’d gone and gotten closer to Grace Eastland than I ever intended to—and she was everywhere I looked, too.

She was in the trees. In the mountainside. The sky. The snowmobile tracks on the snow Junie continued cursing me for.

“Tell me again what you’re doing here?” Junie asked. Her hands were planted on her hips, and she stared me down as we stood in what was once the living room of the house before it became an inn.

This room was the worst place of all—apart from my cottage. It didn’t matter what I did. I still envisioned Grace stepping out of that door wearing my clothes, cuddling with me by the fire, and the morning she’d woken with dreams in her lashes and invitation in her eyes.

The Christmas holiday wasn’t yet over, but I couldn’t bear to be home, not when she was everywhere I looked. So I’d come to the inn earlier than ever before on Boxing Day.

I’d exerted myself in every task I could, every task that had needed looking into for a while now. The creak in the stairs leading to the attic. The leak in the kitchen ceiling.

I couldn’t up and leave the inn for good, not when my family had entrusted the cottage to me and when Junie relied so much on me to help her around here. So my next best option was to stay busy.

Several days had passed since I started these repairs. I found I still needed something to keep me occupied. Starting in here. We needed to change a few things.

Like maybe the glittering sweater covered in actual Christmas lights flashing across Junie’s torso. But I wasn’t going there.

“We’re taking down that tree.” I gestured to the eyesore with too much tulle in the corner of the inn’s living room.

Junie folded her arms. “No. We’re leaving in there until after New Years’.”

“No. It’s coming down. Christmas is over.”

“Only for you,” Junie argued. “Believe it or not, other people like to continue celebrating for a few more days. They like Christmas, Boonie.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Why not? That’s you and me. Boonie and Junie.”

“Yeah, when we were ten.”

She glared up at me. “Lighten up.”

My frown only deepened. I turned my attention to the other part of the room that caused me irritation.

The radio stood on the table in all its accursed glory, looking innocent—though it was anything but.

“And don’t even get me started on this thing. I take it things are going well with you and Mason?”

Junie snorted and then her eyes went wide. “Wait, you’re serious? Where did that come from?”

“Why else would you have brought that radio back down here after I hid it?”

My tone was too gruff, and I knew it, but I couldn’t help being annoyed with her. What was wrong with some people? Women like Junie, especially, who were so enraptured by romance that they’d had the direction of their lives to be steered by some unknown source?

None of us had a clue why the radio started to play this year.

None of us knew who was behind it—not really.

Putting our trust in something like that was the worst kind of idiocy I could think of.

I was only glad I’d let Grace go. My stomach hardened at that thought, my brow furrowing, my thoughts darkening that much more.

Junie stilled. I felt her watching me for several seconds before I finally met her gaze, and when I did, I rolled my eyes.

“Don’t look at me like that, Juniper Harper.”

Her nostrils flared, and her face went red beneath her freckles. “Don’t call me Juniper Harper.”

“Why not? You’re resorting to ridiculous childish names. And that is your name.”

I turned away from her and back to the tree, fuming, trying to decide where to start. If I had my way, all of this would go in the garbage. We could forget the holiday altogether. Guests would find other reasons to stay here. Like the skiing. Or the horseback rides and the view in the summertime.

But Christmas was a big draw to this inn in particular, mostly because of the story my family had spouted all over since starting the place. People wanted to get in on the magic.

Junie’s voice sounded wounded and defensive. “I didn’t bring the radio back down here. I came down the next morning, and there it was. I assumed you moved it.”

Her tone struck me with traces of guilt, but I wasn’t giving in. “Ludicrous.”

“It hasn’t played in a hundred years, Boone.”

“You think I don’t know that?”

“It had to have started this year for a reason.”

“It’s fake!” I shouted, letting my frustration boil over. What did she think she was getting at?

A few guests passed by the front room, and when I shot my scowl in their direction, they ducked their heads and hurried on.

“Great. Scare all the guests away, why don’t you?” Junie frowned and stared me down. “First snowmobile tracks and now this.”

I knew she was trying to get me to ease up, but I didn’t want to. I’d had so much frustration boiling inside of me for so long. So much repressed emotion. It wasn’t fair to let it all out on her. I knew that.

“Sorry,” I muttered.

“What’s the matter? Is it because of Grace?”

My teeth clenched. “You had to bring her up.”

“Do you miss her?”

“I’m not talking about her right now.” How did Junie even know anything had happened between us? We’d talked about it a few times, I supposed, but that didn’t mean she had details.

I pulled at some of the ridiculous tulle on the tree. A few bulbs clattered to the ground but thankfully, they were new ones Junie had bought rather than the original glass ones belonging to our grandparents that were stored in the attic.

I waited for Junie’s reproach, but she strolled from the room and returned minutes later with one of her large totes. It was labeled Christmas Tree, and I chuckled at that.

The year she’d gotten those, I’d tried helping her label them. I’d marked the tote as X-Mas Tree, and she’d scolded me.

“Keep ‘Christ’ in ‘Christmas,’” she’d said, slapping a new label on the tote.

I’d never forgotten that. I couldn’t forget. But I could praise my Savior without all of this other nonsense. Nonsense that Junie and so many others insisted on.

That was why the fact that she didn’t stop me…stopped me.

She’d made it clear she wasn’t happy with me tearing things down so early. And yet, she was helping me.

Junie manned the other side of the tree and helped me untwine the tulle until it collected into a large, sparkly green wad in her arms.

“I think it’s not all fake,” she said from behind the wad.

I removed a few bulbs and placed them in the tote. “What?”

“The radio. The music. The magic. It’s not fake, Boone.”

Her comment sparked something inside of me. What did she mean by that? What had happened with her and Mason since they’d heard the radio play for them?

“Do you hear chiming every time the two of you get forced to be together?” My voice was low and sarcastic.

A few other guests passed by and peered in the living room, but they didn’t stop or complain that the tree was being taken down. Thank goodness. With the mood I was in, I’d probably lose it on them, too.

Junie’s mouth screwed in that little way she had whenever she was thinking. She tilted her head so one of the bells sticking up from the headband she wore jangled.

“I wouldn’t say it’s all forced. Maybe it was at first. I mean, I told you—we would end up standing here in front of the radio and not remembering the actual walking there. But we’re on day six. Now, we just wait for the radio to play to see what happens.”

A tickle of emotions pestered the center of my chest. My interest piqued. Mason was on board with this now? Had she explained everything to him?

Maybe he didn’t realize the radio was still manipulating them.

“So…it’s not messing with your lives?”

Junie’s lips spread into a goofy, love-struck smile. Her eyes drifted toward the window, and she lost herself in some kind of memory. Color flushed her cheeks, and she chewed her bottom.

“Oh, it is,” she said, squeezing out another grin.

“How so?”

Junie rolled her eyes and stepped close enough to shove the tulle into my arms. The jingle bells on her head tinkled again.

I did my best to keep the gnarled heap from slipping and then transferred it to the tote. That was a mess. No doubt, Junie would organize it later.

Instead of reprimanding me for messing up her perfectly organized decorations, she dug into the back pocket of her jeans and grabbed a folded piece of paper.

“You’re getting into some personal questions, Boonie. Here.” She gripped my wrist, yanked it forward, and slapped the paper into my palm. “Read this and tell me if you think this was all just some short-lived magic trance for you and Grace.”

My fist tightened over the note. What was Junie talking about now? Against my will, my heart began to race.

“You—what? She left this?”

Hands on her hips, Junie gestured toward the note with her elbow. “For you. See for yourself.”

I opened my fist and flattened out the paper. Sure enough, my name was scrawled on the note. I recognized her pretty handwriting from reading it in her notebook. From what I could tell, she was careful in her writing, careful and precise.

Something unwarranted attempted to push its way through the walls of my heart, but I gritted my teeth and forced it away.

“Not happening,” I said bitterly, tucking the note into my pocket.

Junie’s mouth dropped. “Seriously? You won’t even read it?”

“Did you read it?”

“What do you think?” She rolled her eyes and glanced at the mess I’d made of the usually pristine room. “You know what? I’ll leave you to this. I don’t need the purge.”

Kicking the tote, she stormed from the room.

I couldn’t grasp what made her so upset. There was a reason no one believed in Santa Claus anymore. All the folklore, all the hype, the talk and claims of magic—it could all be explained away.

One man visiting every home in the world in a single night? Reindeer flying? It was all nonsense.

I’d always claimed to be a believer, but what did I believe in? Really?

I believed the story I’d been told as a child. It came back to me now, memories of my late father and grandpa telling it in turn. And I pictured it now, the way I always had during the telling.

Grandpa Harper sat in front of the fireplace, watching the flames dance. He held the orange he’d received for Christmas in his hand and attempted not to feel sorry for himself because he hadn’t gotten the toy train he’d asked for.

Then the fire had gusted out. A knock had sounded on the door. Not from the chimney—the door.

In confusion, Grandpa Harper rose and answered to find a man in a white beard and a hat not unlike the one Grace had worn. Not red, but long and pointed with a pom at the end, dangling down his shoulder. The radio was lodged in his arms.

“Merry Christmas, my young friend,” St. Nick had said. “Mind if I come in from the cold?”

Grandpa Harper had let the stranger in, and the two had gone to stand in front of the fire.

“Sorry, sir,” Grandpa Harper had been rumored to say. “The fire’s just gone out.”

“I’ll take care of that,” St. Nick said.

With a finger to the side of his nose, the fire burst into life, flickering more orange and wilder than before. Grandpa Harper claimed he saw flames laced with sparkles.

“Whoa!” Grandpa Harper said in amazement.

He’d never been so entranced or so warm. The fire gave off more than heat—it filled the room with magic . Grandpa Harper had sworn, even in his old age, he could still remember the smell and tingle of it on his skin.

“There now,” St. Nick had said, bending before the young boy. “How is that for warmth?”

“Wonderful,” Grandpa Harper said. “Who are you?”

“I am St. Nicholas.”

“I’m—”

“No need to tell me yours,” St. Nick claimed. “I know. You’re Benjamin Harper.”

Grandpa Harper nodded enthusiastically, wondering who this stranger really was and how he knew his name. Back then, it wasn’t quite so weird for random people to be welcomed into a person’s home, especially if that person needed help.

Which, this far north in Montana, strangers often did. Harper’s Inn—or rather, the Harpers’ home before it became an inn—was the only place around for miles.

“Now, then, Benjamin,” St. Nick said. “I’m only passing through, but I believe I’ve made a terrible mistake.”

“I hate when I mess up,” Grandpa Harper said, scrubbing a finger beneath his nose.

The older man’s nose was quite rosy by this point in time. He smiled, though his lips weren’t very visible through his bushy white mustache and beard.

“So do I. I’ve only come to make things right. Tell me, Benjamin. Did you get many presents for Christmas?”

When Grandpa Harper had told the story, he would emphatically frown and exaggerate his facial expressions.

“No, but I’m all right,” the boy said.

“It’s good to keep our promises,” St. Nick said. “I’ve made a stop at every house in the world this year except yours. And I’m afraid my elves have completely run out of gifts. Even the train you asked for. But I promised to deliver, my boy, and deliver I shall.”

That was how I knew as a child that this story was legit. There was no way the stranger could know both Grandpa Harper’s name and what he’d asked Santa for on his Christmas list.

St. Nicholas knelt in front of Grandpa Harper. I would always slide forward, anticipating this most exciting part of his story.

“I’m afraid I have nothing else to give you but this old radio. It isn’t much, but it can still bring you joy. Do you like music, Benjamin?”

“I do!” Grandpa Harper exclaimed.

I could still remember the twinkle in my grandfather’s eyes as he would relay this.

St. Nicholas patted Grandpa’s cheek. He stepped aside and then placed the same hand on the radio.

“This came from my own house. It wasn’t something built in my workshop. This is something I crafted myself, lad. It can play the jolliest tunes. But it can also play tricks.”

“Like magic tricks?” Grandpa Harper asked.

“Something like that,” St. Nicholas said.

After Grandpa thanked him for the gift, St. Nicholas left the way he’d come—through the front door.

Junie had it right: the radio was rumored to have played that first year, and while Grandma Harper and Junie talked about the weddings that followed, I couldn’t remember specifics about the things people claimed had happened.

If only Grandpa Harper was still around to talk to.

The tulle in my arms grew prickly. Shadows cleared from my foggy brain, making me question everything. In that moment, I wasn’t sure what I believed anymore.

I’d believed because I’d been a child. But the truth was, Grandpa could have made that story up. He’d always been a good storyteller.

My heart reprimanded me for that thought. Nah. Nothing else could explain why the radio had played for Grace and me that night. I clenched her note in my fist again. I was tempted to chuck it into the fire.

For all I knew, the note had just appeared to Junie like the notebook did to me. Appeared, like magic. Which meant that I’d been right. Whatever the note contained didn’t mean anything. Grace would never have written any of it if the radio hadn’t interfered.

No matter what either of us thought, this wasn’t real.

I stuffed the note into my pocket, determined to forget it was there.

Once the holiday passed, I’d prove it. I would stop thinking about Grace every second. I’d stop reliving the feel of her lips on mine or the sound of her honeyed voice, or the way she made me want conversation and company again.

I’d forget the way she’d tried to help me heal.