Page 105 of Mistletoe All the Way

His laugh is warm. “Horses were made for the snow, sweetheart.”

And maybe so am I, since when I look up at the first flurries falling a few minutes later, I do something I haven’t done since I was a kid. I stick out my tongue and catch a snowflake.

Noah does the same.

We catch each other’s gazes and smile, sharing the joy.

Quietly, we clip-clop through the snow, both on the ground and falling around us. The world feels peaceful and calm. A lovely, safe escape after all. I hope it feels that way for him.

When we return to the barn, he dismounts Pepper, hooks her reins on a hitching post, and strides over to me, offering a hand to help me down.

Once I’m on the ground, I take off my helmet and blow out a breath. I did it.

Noah smiles, takes off his hat, and sets it on my head.

He sets a thumb on my chin, lifts it up, brings my mouth closer to his, then kisses me. A soft, chaste brush of the lips, followed by a quiet, “Thank you.”

And this wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

That night, I’m burning up, breathing hard, panting on the couch in front of the fireplace. The world outside is a white blanket, but here in my cozy second-floor apartment it’s toasty warm.

Fiery, even.

Noah’s hand slides up my bare back.

Roams into my hair.

Tugs.

As I rock up and down, he coaxes me on, murmuring encouraging words like, “There you go. You’re so good at riding, aren’t you?”

Maybe I am. At least when it comes to him.

Especially here, late at night, in my home with his dog sound asleep on the floor and my cat no doubt watching from a perch in the tree.

So good that soon, very soon, I’m falling apart on this man.

He ropes his arms around me and holds me close, and moments like this feel so right.

Like I could live in them.

Even though as I sink into his embrace, I can’t quite get lost in it since I have no idea what I’m going to do when he takes off.

In just a few more days the competition will end, and Noah will return to Colorado, leaving behind not only Evergreen Falls but also me.

34 BARK SYMPHONY

Noah

A young brown-and-tan Chihuahua-terrier-dachshund mix yips at me as I offer him a stuffed banana. His sister—maybe half sister—steals it from him and runs to a dog bed in the corner. Another sibling joins the fray, hunting for a stuffed hedgehog from a pile of toys in a basket. A bigger one, same color and style though, snoozes in spite of the madness.

“See? And you thought having a studio at my clinic was a bad idea,” Chris remarks as he leans against the closed door to his sleek, state-of-the-art studio—an upcycled shed at the edge of his property, just past the tiny yard the vet techs use to walk dogs for bathroom breaks. My twin looks far too pleased with himself, as he usually does.

But in this case, rightly so.

A dog photo studio is exactly what we need. The local Evergreen Falls rescue recently took on four rowdy Chihuahua-terrier-dachshund mixes from a hoarding situation in a town an hour away. Now they’re looking for homes for the holidays.

Which makes them perfect for the fourth challenge in Mr. Holiday—re-creating awkward family Christmas photos. I clap my brother’s shoulder. “This is a brilliant idea,” I say, blowing out a satisfied breath and happily feeding his ego, “since it means I don’t need to be in the picture.”