Page 19 of Horsemen and Hot Chocolate

A pleasant shiver raced down her spine at how her name hummed from his mouth—the sound soft as a sacred vow.

“I’ll need somewhere to sit,” she said suddenly to distract herself. “Let’s find a spot for me to work—other than the ground.”

“We could go to my cabin,” he suggested.

Her brows shot to her forehead. “You have a cabin?” she asked.

“Yes, it’s where I rest,” he said innocently.

Rest or haunt? She wondered but didn’t dare to ask aloud, lest she offend him.

Without another word, he waved for her to follow. They walked silently with Inferno clomping beside them for twenty minutes until they came across a wall of dense brush. The Horseman moved a cascade of vines where a large tunnel was carved into the shrubbery.

The light from his pumpkin guided their way until she stepped into a clearing. On the tall grass, a small log cabin with a dilapidated stone chimney slanted to the left. Parts of the wooden roof had collapsed inward, and undergrowth climbed the walls into the gaping holes. The cabin must have been abandoned for several years, but the Horseman pushed the creaky door open like an eager host. It was a one-room cabin with dirt floors and a lone straw bed in the corner. However, her mouth parted as she stepped inside.

Moonlight danced against the sheets of parchment, scraps of newspaper, and torn pages from books that were tacked on the wall. Dark charcoal lines filled the haphazard collage. Half-formed faces and buildings merged with abstract shapes as if he were desperately trying to recall the images and failing. Stray fingerprints and charcoal dust lingered on the edges of the parchments. Some drawings were like unfinished puzzle pieces, while others she recognized.

Katrina approached some drawings of the bakery in town. She noted the details in the windowpane and the carvings on the doorframe, and she wondered if he had been there before. Another piece had drawings of people in the village, some she recognized as the Reverend and the vendors selling their wares. Her eyes wandered to the sketches of her family estate captured from various angles: the orchard, the fields, and the farm.

Warmth settled in her chest as she traced the dark lines of his drawings, seeing her world through his pumpkin eyes for the first time.

Then, something tucked in the corner of the cabin seized her attention. The Horseman lingered behind, watching as she drifted toward the sketches of a woman. The drawings were softer and detailed, free of lingering smudges. A delicate face with wide, expressive eyes and a familiar curve of lips stared back at her. A breath snagged in her throat.

It was her.

Katrina stepped closer, her pulse racing as she raised the drawing. There was another. And another. Images of her tilting her head back in laughter, an outline of her silhouette, her side profile, and some capturing a thoughtful but sad expression in her eyes. With each page she peeled back, another drawing of her likeness replaced the next.

“It’s me,” she said, barely above a whisper.

The Horseman did not respond, but he shifted from the corner of her eye. Turning on her heel, he would not meet her gaze, and the golden light flickered uncertainly.

“Why did you draw me?” she asked—anticipation built in her chest, competing with the frenzied butterflies swarming her stomach.

“I thought I might have answered that question last night,” he replied.

Brows furrowing, she recalled his words, which she hadn’t been able to free herself of since.

“You have this glow, a… soft radiance I cannot ignore. Since I laid eyes on you, I’ve been unable to turn away.”

“But… I still don’t understand,” she said, gesturing to the countless images of her. It wasn’t just because he’d drawn her; it was how he captured the quiet moments when she thought no one was looking—a side of her she thought no one noticed.

But he did.

“I do not know why I draw you,” he admitted, the light wavering as he spoke. “Only that my thoughts turn to you when I feel the darkness pressing in. I find you, and I find the light. I feel a connection to you that I cannot explain.”

“Have you been watching me?” she asked cautiously, eyeing the paintings from when she was a few years younger. “Before you saved me on the bridge?”

“Yes.”

Katrina’s mouth parted, blinking to process his answer. She couldn’t determine if she was more shocked by his bluntness or the idea that a ghost had been studying her.

“For how long?”

“For at least ten years. I… have been watching over you.”

Katrina’s eyes widened. A pinwheel of emotions spun through her as she stared at his carved, jagged smile. However, fear and disgust did not tear through her as she thought they should. Instead, her pulse spiked. The scent of charcoal and fall leaves mingled with the tentative, unspoken tension brewing between them.

He had been watching her all this time? Perhaps her theory that her brother sent a guardian angel wasn’t too far off.