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She didn’t have to be asked twice, the slip of her skin against his sending delicious tingles through her. “This is nice.”
The night had just started cooling off and it felt good to lean into Heath’s warmth, to have his solid presence next to her. It was the first time they’d been out together in public and being on his arm felt like something… official. Which was stupid. Neither of them had said anything about their relationship, beyond their plan to celebrate Christmas together. Worse, when she’d brought up Hunter Sullivan’s offer Heath had gone all weird, his expression a frozen mask. It was kind of a lot, what she’d been suggesting. Too much. She’d had to change the subject. Abruptly. Unfortunately, turning his focus to the busy street had been another mistake.
Judging from the traffic and the full car park, the event was going to be crowded, and if Heath had already been close to having a panic attack, Lena knew those feelings could come roaring right back.
At the entrance, several volunteer firemen held charity donation buckets, and she slipped her arm free of Heath’s to pull out her purse.
“Let me.” Heath stopped her, taking out his own wallet.
“But, I dragged you out—”
“Nah. Go on then. I’ll see to the firies.” He gestured her and Copper past, but the instant he’d done the gentlemanly thing and dropped a few bills into the pail, she took his hand and pulled him right after her.
She didn’t let go, either. She kept holding on as they followed the signs towards the racetrack, where a temporary stage had been set up on the infield under bright lights. A group of ballet dancers—some of them the tiniest of little girls, in pink leotards and smoothed-back buns—were taking a bow as the audience clapped. Someone, one of the children’s dad’s most likely, let out a piercing whistle. Copper whipped towards the sharp sound, ears pricked, and Lena flinched, which was the opposite of what she ought to be doing, if she wanted to help Heath stay calm.
“You want to sit in the grandstand? Or find a seat down there?” She pointed towards the field in front of the stage, where there was a smattering of plastic chairs available.
Heath glanced at her shoes, then blew out a breath, like he was bracing himself for something unpleasant. “Grandstand.”
She had to stop herself from asking if he was sure. The last thing she wanted to do was get him thinking about what might set off a panic attack again. “Can you take Copper? I don’t want him to pull me off balance.” It was a thin excuse, but it worked. Heath took the dog’s leash. She hoped having to keep track of Copper would help keep Heath in the present moment.
She had to focus carefully on each step, so as not to lose her balance in her stupid heels, and by the time they’d made their way up into the stands, the next group of performers—a concert band—had set up. The air filled with the cacophony of musicians running scales and practicing tricky bits. The audience added to the chaotic buzz, and once they’d sat, Heath’s knee went to bouncing again. Finally the conductor appeared, the crowd settled, and she took her first real look around. The flickering light of candles—actual, real, burning candles!—danced throughout the audience.
“Oh gosh, there really are candles?”
Heath snorted. “It’s called Carols by Candlelight.”
“I thought that was just… I don’t know… a marketing thing? This is so nice.” It really was. To be sitting next to Heath, Copper at their feet, being part of something the whole town had put together.
As the band played the opening notes of “Silent Night,” she let her head rest on Heath’s shoulder, hoping her calm would seep into him, that her steady breathing would be like a metronome for his. It was a trick she used with nervous horses all the time—in hopes of getting their bodies to mirror hers. Even with her worry that the event, the crowd, the noise might all be too much for Heath, everything felt…right. Despite the hint of tension in Heath’s arm, and the thud of his heartbeat, a touch too fast, and even the way he kept holding his breath a few seconds too long—he was there, with her. And when Heath kissed the top of her head, the moment felt more than right.
She stayed like that, her head on his shoulder, her hand in his, through “O Christmas Tree” too. When the jaunty, jingly strains of the next song filled the night air, she sat up.
“Oh, I love this song!” It was “Sleigh Ride” and she knew all the words, mouthing them almost silently as the band played. Heath hadn’t exactly relaxed, so she did what she could to keep him in the moment, giving his hand a little squeeze at the bit about lovely weather and being together. He shook his head, half embarrassed, half amused at the way she shimmied her shoulders when the song went jazzy—and then she remembered what came next. The whip crack. It, along with the trumpet simulated horse-whinny had always been her favourite parts of the song, a musical nod to the horse pulling the sleigh.
Before she could think what to do, one of the percussionists in the back of the band held up the two ‘slap sticks’ with a theatrical flourish and whacked them together.
The crack they made was sharp and loud. Heath’s reaction was immediate. He jerked straighter in his seat, his grip on her hand no longer soft and warm, but desperately tight.
Maybe it would’ve been fine if the song had only had one whip-crack sound. But two more came in rapid succession. Heath ripped his hand from hers and was on his feet, causing a stir among the people seated directly behind him, which only got worse when he let out a curse that was loud enough for everyone around them to hear.
And then there was another whip-crack.
He bolted.
16
FACE THE MUSIC
Heath’s boots thundered on the stairs. The voice in his head bellowed at him to move.Move move move move!They were chasing him, hunting him down, shooting at him. Searing pain exploded in his shoulder and he was darting through the narrow street, flying around a corner, a target on his back, hot blood dripping down his arm. And Noah! Noah was—
No.
Heath jolted to a stop, his vision clearing.
“Sir?” A woman’s voice cut through the music in the distance.
He’d gone around the back of the grandstand, past the main entrance to the showgrounds, and had nearly crashed right into the booth where two elderly women were selling candles—both real and electric ones—for the evening.
