Page 63 of Mistletoe All the Way

“Do you want me to get it?” Noah asks.

I shake my head, shaking off his chivalry. “I’m all good.”

I steal away down the steps, then march across the snow. I reach the barn, ready to do a quick sweep of it for any errant ribbon, when I spot Stephen taking a photo of Honey. I stop in my tracks. He must not have heard me. Holding my breath, I stare as he walks past the other stalls, snapping photos of each horse.

What. The. Hoof?

This little spy needs intel. I stop hiding and walk in. “Oh, hi. I thought I left my tampon case out here.”

His phone slips out of his hand, but before it falls, he catches it with his other hand. “Oh, hey, have you seen my sunglasses? Thought I might have left them in here.”

Liar. “They’re on your head.”

A laugh bursts from him as he lifts a hand, grabbing his aviator shades. “Oops. My mom always used to say I’d forget them if I didn’t have them on my head. I guess that’s true.”

“Sure is,” I say with a fake smile that I hope appears real. “You must be a fan of horses, taking pictures and all.”

He scratches his jaw. “Yeah, I thought it would be nice to put a photo up in my bar. Since my place is St. Nick’s Hangout, after all, and the horses do have a Christmas vibe, it just makes sense.”

Is he selling it too hard? I think he is.

“Great way to spread some cheer,” I say, like I believe him.

He makes a show of looking at the time on his phone. “I should go.”

He jets out of the barn. I blow out a breath, trying to process what I just saw.

Why would he really be taking pictures of the horses? Is he aiming to sell them if he wins the farm? Replace them with younger ones? Selling is bad enough, but what if he sells them to someone unsavory? Or someplace that might hurt them?

My heart feels like it’s been punched. Selling the horses instead of caring for them is not handling things with hard work and determination. It’s the opposite.

As I conduct a thorough scan of the barn, discovering a snoozing Maine coon on a bale of hay, I debate whether to tell Noah about the photos. But he’ll be helping out this afternoon, and that regret in his voice from earlier weighs on me. I don’t want him to carry this while he’s trying to do right by his grandpa by handling the sleigh rides. And tomorrow’s the first competition.

Best that I tell him after the parade. For now, I’ve confirmed no ribbon was left behind, so I say goodbye to the horses—but not before I ask Honey if she knows anything.

She doesn’t say.

18 PRANCER

Noah

Stephen cruises down Main Street in his red convertible, riding at one or two miles an hour, an elbow hanging over the driver’s-side door, his Santa hat on, green garlands crisscrossed along the hood of the car and mistletoe hanging on the rearview mirror. Even from my vantage point on a curvy side street, I can tell the ride looks sharp.

So annoying.

J.J. is next, sporting reindeer antlers and a Hawaiian shirt, riding a skateboard, while holding a boom box on his shoulder. It’s playing “Blue Christmas,” and it looks like he’s lip-syncing to the tune.

Not bad either. With the tropical shirt and a neat fade, he’s just got a cool-guy vibe going on.

Henry is next, and he’s outfitted a golf cart like a Christmas train. He’s wearing his red conductor’s hat.

The streets are stuffed with locals and tourists, kids licking candy canes, parents decked out in festive sweaters, and shopkeepers ringing bells as the parade rolls by.

I seriously can’t believe I’m doing this. A heaviness descends on me, like it did the other day in the town square, but I try to slough it off quickly.

No time for that, since Sebastian’s next, and he’s riding a unicycle while dressed in a red turtleneck. Somehow, he’s tucked a book under his arm.

I dart my gaze down the street, where Eloise and I wait in the wings with Honey. Her horse trailer is parked in a lot nearby. I could hop up and ride off the other way, into the sunset.