Page 35 of Quiver

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure, deny there’s an issue. That’s your thing, right? Boy, we’ve both learned our parts so well. What were you saying earlier about building habits without meaning to?”

Fletcher closed her eyes. “I don’t remember.”

“Then maybe we should review that lesson before our next session,” Kylie said, “because when it comes to habits, it seems like we need to break a few of them.”

“Or we could not.”

“Sure, if you’d rather we keep taking potshots at each other for weeks”—Kylie started to walk away, but made it only a few steps before calling back—“but if that’s the path you land on, I don’t think you can lean too heavily on the argument that I’m the button-pushing drama queen, Grumpy Mom.”

Chapter Eight

Fletcher had done all the work a person could do in a day in January in Vermont. She always planned meticulously for the winter. The climate here was too unforgiving not to, but today she found herself almost wishing she’d left more undone, if only so she’d have something to occupy her hands and her head.

She could practice. She could always practice, but as she stepped into the tack room, she caught a lingering hint of Kylie’s perfume, and the sensory trigger caused her to take a step back. Closing her eyes against memories she didn’t want to summon, memories of a time when this entire place hummed with the echo of her ghost. She’d spent years exorcising them all, and she didn’t intend to go back there. She’d worked too hard to let the present haunt her in addition to the past.

As if sensing her tension, Winston snorted and bumped against the end of his stall until he rattled the gate.

She smiled slightly and turned to him. “What do you want, old man?”

He tossed his head, shaking his mane indignantly.

“It’s cold outside, buddy, and your joints are getting creaky.”

He stamped his hoof and stared at her.

“Pouting won’t get you anywhere, you spoiled baby.”

He huffed like a sullen teenager and bumped his door again.

She sighed. “What would we even do? I’m not going to run you right now, and if I take you in the arena, you’ll get bored and impatient.”

Once the words left her mouth, she realized she might be talking to herself as much as the horse and rolled her eyes. Maybe Winston wasn’t the only one going stir-crazy.

“Okay,” she said as much for herself as for him. “If we’re going out today, I’ll need company and a chance to keep warm, which means the sleigh, and if we’re hitching up the sleigh, you know who we have to call, right?”

He took a couple of high steps, and she couldn’t say for certain if he understood or merely picked up on her tone, but, either way, her own spirits lifted at the prospect of going for a ride with Gram.

It was nearly an hour later by the time she’d gone through the rigmarole of preparations followed by a short ride around a mountain path and through a small orchard to the large, white farmhouse, but she’d put the jingle bells on Winston’s harness so Gram would hear them coming.

Sure enough, she stood on the porch waving to them. Gram was small in stature and a little hunched with age, but she still looked vibrant with her wide smile and mischievous eyes, the only things visible under her long, thick coat and fur hat with full earflaps.

“Hi there, handsome,” Gram called, then added, “and hello to you, too, Fletcher. Thanks for bringing my boyfriend to visit me.”

“I did promise, didn’t I?”

“Yes.” Gram edged down the stairs. “But you also left Christmas without saying goodbye.”

“I’m sorry.” Fletcher hopped down out of the sleigh to help her into the seat, then offered several blankets to tuck around her. “Something came up, but I should’ve found you before heading out. That was bad manners.”

Gram nodded as if she found the apology satisfactory. “Honestly, I was a bit surprised you showed up in the first place. I suppose I should be happy with you popping in when it suits you.”

She clicked the reins and Winston took off at a reasonable clip.

“Attaboy,” Gram encouraged the horse. “He knows the way.”

“He believes he’s in charge.” Fletcher tried to steer him toward a more level and open field to their left.