Sleigh Bell Sweethearts. Teri Wilson

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СКАЧАТЬ poked his fingers through a square of the welded wire fence near the back corner of the pasture and checked for breakage. No doubt he was giving Palmer too much credit. Animals weren’t like people. They didn’t plot and plan, waiting for the perfect moment to run. More than likely, Palmer was an opportunist. When he saw a chance, he took it—just as Alec had done.

      It had been a week before his high-school graduation. He’d had an after-school job cleaning out cages at the local animal shelter. Grunt work. The kind of thing no one else wanted to do.

      Alec didn’t mind much. It was better than being at home, even though things had settled down somewhat. His father hadn’t hit him in almost a year. Two months had passed since either his mother or father had used. Sixty-one days.

      And Alec had started collecting paychecks. He’d thought he might even work full time once school was out and try to save enough money to get a place on his own. He’d already managed to squirrel away a few hundred dollars he kept hidden under his mattress in an old, beat-up Band-Aid box.

      But that day he’d come home and found both his parents passed out on the living-room floor and the Band-Aid box empty. He would never forget the bottomless feeling that had come over him as he’d looked inside that rusty box, and the hot sting of tears on his cheeks when he realized just what all his hard-earned money had paid for. He’d cried like a little kid.

      And then he’d just left. Right then. And he hadn’t shed a tear since. Not even when Camille had called off their engagement.

      It had been only days before Christmas when Camille slid his engagement ring off her finger. He’d foolishly thought his past was behind him, once and for all. He’d been honest. He’d told her about his parents as soon as they’d started dating. She’d been a Christian. Jesus was all about grace, right?

      Somewhere around Thanksgiving, Camille had begun to have doubts. By the time stockings all over the world had been hung by the chimney with care, her family had gotten to her and convinced her those doubts were as real as the evergreen tree Alec had chosen at the Christmas-tree farm and tied to the roof of his car.

      He’d forgotten all about the tree as he’d listened calmly to her explanation and accepted the ring she’d already removed and returned to him in a plain brown envelope. Then he’d walked right out the door. When he’d stepped outside and saw the evergreen strapped to the roof of his car, he nearly lost it. But he still hadn’t cried. He’d driven straight to the dealership and traded his car in for a motorcycle that very day, tree and all.

      He’d used up all his tears back when he was a teenager, the day he’d peered into that empty Band-Aid box and discovered his stash was gone. Without the missing money, he’d had only a few crumpled bills in his pockets. But it was enough to get him on a bus out of town. That bus had taken him to Port Angeles, on the edge of the Olympic Forest.

      His first job in the forest had consisted of walking miles every day through the woodlands, marking trees for culling. The isolation of it suited him. Every morning he’d welcomed the opportunity to get lost in the woods. In the shade of the tree canopy, he’d felt far away from everything he’d left behind. He’d felt free. As free as he could feel, anyway.

      Morning was still his favorite time of day. Especially quiet mornings like this one. He could hear nothing but the crunch of snow under his feet and the click of reindeer hooves behind him.

      Palmer, of course.

      Alec glanced over his shoulder. Just as he’d suspected, a certain reindeer with a white ring around his left eye was trailing his heels. “You know you can’t sneak up on me. I can hear you clicking. You sound like an old man with creaky ankles.”

      Palmer’s frosty white eyelashes fluttered. He was far from old. Alec’s best guess was five or six years of age, which meant he had a good four years left. Maybe more. The clicking sound—caused by a tendon in their rear hooves—was universal among adult reindeer. It was nature’s way of helping reindeer keep track of one another in blizzards. Or, in Alec’s case, of knowing when one was shadowing him.

      “If you’re hoping I’m going to lead you to an opening in the fence, then you’re sorely out of luck. You’re going to have to find your own escape route.”

      Palmer’s only response was a quiet grunt. And more eyelash fluttering.

      Alec reached out and rested his palm on Palmer’s muzzle. After only a day or two on the farm, Alec had learned how and when to pet the reindeer. They seemed to prefer being touched on the head or neck, with the nose being a particularly favorite spot. Some liked being petted more than others, but none of them craved attention like Palmer. Most of the time, he followed Alec around like a devoted puppy, which made his unpredictable disappearing acts all the more mystifying.

      “What are you running from, bud?” Alec rubbed the pad of his thumb against Palmer’s nose. It was covered in soft fuzz, a defense mechanism against frostbite. Palmer leaned into Alec’s touch, looking as happy as could be.

      Alec was stumped. He was certainly no expert in reindeer husbandry, but the animal seemed content. Why did he keep disappearing? And how was he managing it? The fence was 100 percent intact. Alec had looked at every square inch of it.

      “You don’t have it so bad around here, you know,” he muttered. “Trust me on this.”

      He dropped his hand back to his side and searched Palmer’s expression one last time.

      It was no use. He was no reindeer mind reader.

      He trudged through the snow back toward the barn. Palmer’s tendency to roam hadn’t been a problem up until now. He’d managed to keep out of trouble on his previous excursions, but taking a nap at the airport was obviously out of the question. And even though it technically wasn’t his problem, Alec felt responsible.

      Behind him, Palmer’s hooves clicked, an audible reminder of his predicament.

      Not my predicament. Zoey’s.

      He scowled. Why he wanted to help her was beyond him. He didn’t owe her anything. In fact, quite the opposite. One thousand times the opposite, give or take a nickel. And it wasn’t as though she welcomed his assistance. She’d made it more than clear that she could take care of things on her own.

      Yeah, right.

      She took the whole rose-colored glasses thing to a new level. But much to his chagrin, he found her unwavering spunkiness nearly as appealing as it was annoying. Given his past, he could appreciate a feisty, independent streak. Even if that independent streak was a little nutty.

      And she was kinda cute.

      There, he’d admitted it. It wasn’t as if he would do anything about it. It being her cuteness. He’d been down that road before. He had no inclination to go down it again. And he was more than certain that he wasn’t Zoey’s type. If she knew what was good for her, she’d avoid him like the plague.

      He inhaled a lungful of arctic air as the log-cabin-style barn came into view. He felt better somehow. The quiet, peaceful morning stretched out before him, and his head felt clearer. Wasn’t admitting the existence of a problem always the first step? He’d admitted his quasi-attraction to Zoey Hathaway. Now he could forget all about her and move on.

      He pushed through the back door, and in an instant his visions of a calm, stress-free morning evaporated. Through the wide double doors on the opposite side of the barn, Zoey strode toward him. СКАЧАТЬ