Page 26 of Horsemen and Hot Chocolate

Her head jerked up in surprise before a wry chuckle escaped her lips. “If such a man were to come into my life, I…”

She paused and regarded the way his light grew brighter as she peered at him. The way it grew warmer in anticipation made her heart flutter. The words dried up in her throat. The thought—the passing fantasy—flickered in her mind, but she cast it aside. Even if it were possible, there was no way her parents or anyone in town would accept this mysterious specter as her husband.

The thought of bringing him into town and the wide-open stares, gasping, and screaming came to mind. She almost chuckled at the image. What a sight they would be. At least the Horseman wouldn’t try to kiss her without permission like Brom would; he had no lips to speak of!

But why was she considering him at all?

“But no such man has come into my life,” she finished sourly.

The light dimmed within the pumpkin’s head, and she felt a pang of guilt, but she wasn’t sure why.

After a spell of silence, he spoke again. “I am sorry for the news of your father,” he said.

More tears pricked at her eyes. The shock, grief, and swell of emotions grew hot in her throat, burning her from the inside out. He unwrapped one arm and dug into his coat pocket. Blinking tears away, she stared in surprise at the handkerchief he extended.

“Thank you,” she said and accepted the white cloth. Dabbing her eyes, the material had its familiar scent of fallen leaves and cedarwood.

“You’re welcome,” he said softly. “I may not remember much, but I’ve started to remember vague fragments of living as a young man—of knowing when to offer my handkerchief to someone who needed it.”

She graced him with a watery smile.

“Tell me, please. What do you remember about your past life? Any answer will suffice. I don’t have much time left.”

The Horseman shifted, taking a step back. “I remember… warmth,” he said.

It was a surprising answer, but more than he had ever admitted before. “Warmth?” she repeated. “What kind? Can you describe it for me?”

“It’s a mixture of emotion and flashes,” he said, his head hanging as though he were ashamed he couldn’t provide more for her. “But the closer I am to town, the stronger the feelings become. Images of… tarnished wood and the sweet scent of sugar.”

Katrina racked her brain for anything that reminded her of those things. It could be the bakery, the tavern, or the café. Or it could be a place she wasn’t thinking of at all, somewhere she would never have thought of.

“Have you been in town?” she asked.

He shook his head. “The closest I’ve come is the forest, near the church. I dare not venture further lest someone see me.”

Katrina paused to think. “Maybe we can find a way to get you into town without causing a stir.”

“How would we do that?” he asked, lifting his pumpkin head and gesturing to the space above his neck.

Katrina’s eyes widened with revelation.

Chapter fourteen

It was strange to be pulled into two different places simultaneously . While the Horseman’s physical body sat in the cabin, a part of his sight, smell, and hearing lay far away with Katrina as she carried his pumpkin head into the village.

The Horseman kept his expression still, wary of the emotions that may flash across his face, but he drank in every detail he could. A dozen sounds competed for his attention: the hammering on wood, the crying of a baby, the chatter between women, and the clomping of horses crossing the road. Golden leaves fluttered in the wind, their hue richer in the daylight. He had never stepped foot into town, yet every clack of her heels against the cobblestone streets and every quaint brick and wooden store they passed inspired affections inside him. The hollowness where the missing part of him lay dormant suddenly reverberated with faint echoes. The warmth of a fireplace—the smell of spices and sugar—flickered at the edges of his mind.

Katrina held the pumpkin by her side, her fingers wrapping around its base. People eyed her, inquisitive about the object she toted around, but she pushed her shoulders back and carried on nonchalantly.

A strange tightness coiled in his chest at how freely she could move around the village—at how close she could be around others. He’d lived in the darkness for so long that he forgot the taste of walking in the daylight without fear. A pang of longing struck his heart.

What would living as a normal man at her side be like?

When Katrina turned down the main road, his body stiffened inside his cabin in the forest. Something inside him lurched at the sight of a wooden structure with painted blue gables and shutters. Window boxes filled with late autumn blooms perked cheerily in the sun. Smoke curled from the chimney, and the sweet scent of almonds, chocolate, and apples carried on the gentle breeze. A blue sign with white painted words “The Sweet Mill” swung above the open door.

Warmth blazed through him at the invisible rope pulling him toward the building.

“This direction?” Katrina whispered, and he cooled when she turned left.