Page 64 of Mistletoe All the Way
Hell, I could say See you later and return to Colorado. Be done with this whole ordeal. But a pang of self-loathing swirls in my gut at the realization that my cousin has helped out in ways I haven’t. Stephen’s been around, and I’ve missed out on the opportunities to help my family.
This competition is helping my family in a way. Since I damn well know I’d be a good steward for Silver Bells Sleigh Rides. I can take good care of the horses and give them the life they deserve. That alone has to go a long way in spreading cheer and goodwill. In keeping the legacy alive.
Ignoring the pit of dread, I turn to Eloise. “I guess it’s now or never,” I say.
With a bright smile, she hands me a cowboy hat. “Which one’s it going to be? My vote is now.”
Before I answer, my gaze swings to the hat. It’s red, and she’s trimmed it with faux fur. For fuck’s sake. It’s so cheery, so ridiculous, so over the top that I want to sneer. But the thing is, she doesn’t think it’s over the top. She thinks it’s adorable. She thinks this whole thing is an absolute delight.
“You like that hat, don’t you?” I ask.
“Love it,” she says, and I can’t rain on her parade.
“Giddyap, Cowboy Santa,” she says, waggling her phone.
It’s picture time.
On Candy Cane Lane, right off Main Street, with its gentle hills, I step into a stirrup and swing my leg over the horse. She neighs, a playful sound, like she’s saying, Hi, it’s been a long time.
“Too long,” I say to her as I pat her shoulder, then admire all her glittery braids.
I turn to Eloise, who’s finished taking photos. I give her a tip of the hat. She’s staring at the horse though. Gold and silver are woven through Honey’s mane, along with red and green bows. Her tail is twined with shimmering ribbons too.
“She looks beautiful,” Eloise says, a little breathless.
As she stares at Honey, I look at the woman who’s helping me, taking in her mismatched eyes; her clever, sunshine smile; the red in her cheeks from the cold; the mittens on her hands; and, most of all, the unfettered excitement in her expression.
“Yes, she sure is,” I say, and it feels like a secret confession, one Eloise doesn’t quite catch since she’s not looking my way.
A few seconds later, she turns to me, offering a soft smile. “Go get ’em,” she says.
Her encouragement is like a shot of adrenaline to the heart. I gather the reins, but I don’t look away from Eloise. “By the way, the ribbon?”
“Yes?”
“I kept it as a bookmark.”
“You used the ribbon from my pants as a bookmark?”
I lock my gaze with hers. “Yeah, I like the way it slipped between the pages,” I say, full of innuendo.
She blinks. Licks her lips. “That sounds… nice.”
“It would feel even better,” I say, and I could stay here flirting with her all day. Hell, I’d rather do this, but I’ve got to keep my word.
I give Honey’s reins a little nudge and turn off Candy Cane and onto Main Street, joining the Christmas parade and hoping I can hold a candle to the other contestants. The only way I’ll even make it through this public event is if I keep my focus squarely on the animal.
I make sure she’s clip-clopping straight ahead and knows what I want her to do. But she knows. She practically prances down the street in all her Belgian draft horse glory, head held high, sending the message that she’s well aware she’s gorgeous.
She high-steps down Main Street. The whole way, kids gasp, shriek, clap. “She’s a Christmas pony,” one of them shouts.
Indeed.
We pass St. Nick’s Hangout, where my cousin probably did meet with lawyers to set him up for an inheritance he’s assumed he has in the bag. The town loves him, and Gramps wants someone who’ll keep the connection between the town and the farm alive. I’m not sure the town will ever love me, but maybe they’ll love this horse. I let Honey shine as she prances past my grandparents, my dad, his wife, my brother, and many others.
Twenty minutes later, we near the end of Main Street as “Jingle Bell Rock” warbling from the speakers in the town square grows fainter.
Maybe, just maybe, the parade wasn’t so bad.
