Page 75 of Mistletoe

“Are you an animal? Incapable of thought? Or are you a man to be judged by his deeds and his words?”

“Deeds and words are a lovely turn of phrase for a poem, but they mean little in actuality. Others will judge me on my appearance. What your brother said, he’s correct. Hunters will come.”

Damn his extraordinary hearing.

Hal wasn’t done. “And there is the age difference between us.”

“It is a gap, I confess.” A two-hundred-year gap was considerable, and she could think of no one to ask for guidance.

“I do not know if I will age. If I can grow old with you or if I will remain unchanged only to watch you fade.”

“That’s the first truly concerning thing you’ve said all night,” she confessed. She hadn’t thought about his age and how he got to be so very old. Monsters could die under the right circumstances and with extreme difficulty, but no one ever mentioned how long they could live. “Are you immortal?”

“I do not think so.”

“You take damage. Less than an ordinary man, but today proves that you bleed as any other mortal,” she said, reasoning through the problem. “I don’t know how long a monster can live. I don’t know if anyone does, and frankly, I don’t care. A hunter could take you from me tomorrow. Or you could live another hundred years. I’ll be a bag of arthritic bones held together by spite, and you’ll still be the same damn good-looking man who stole my heart. I don’t care.” She paused, searching his face to see if he understood. “I want every day I can have with you. Every single one.”

There it was again, those feelings too big to contain. Sharing them with Hal, though, it felt correct. Still frightening, but correct.

“I’ve been trying to convince myself to leave, to do what’s best for you, but I can’t. I can’t bear the idea of being apart from you,” he said.

“What’s best for me is you.” She turned his hand over and kissed his palm. “Do we understand one another now?”

“I love you, Emma.”

“And I am pleased to reciprocate your affections,” she said in a haughty tone that was belied by her wide grin. She rose to her feet. “Now, let’s take an alarmingly cold shower and go to sleep.”

“Emma, that wouldn’t be proper.”

“Oh my word, Hal, have you even made my acquaintance? Since when do I care about proper?”

Chapter Eighteen

Emma

The shower had indeed been alarmingly cold. As much as she enjoyed getting an eyeful of Hal and his muscular backside, she hurried with the scrubbing and rinsing. Now, she sat by the stove in nothing but a robe and brushed her hair as it dried.

“Let me.” Hal took the brush. Gently, he worked her tangled hair in sections, starting from the bottom and working his way up until it was smooth. “Your hair is lovely. You should wear it down.”

That was the second time Hal had mentioned her wearing her hair down. The nature of farm life demanded that she keep her hair up or tied back. “Is that something you’d like?”

He took a moment to consider, which she appreciated. “It was the fashion where I’m from. In some way, it could be what I’m used to. However, the color is beautiful. It shines like gold in the light.”

“I’d like to, but the goats would chew it off if I left it down,” Emma said.

“In the evenings, then, when it’s just us.”

“When it’s just us,” she agreed.

When he finished, Emma returned the gesture, brushing out and braiding his hair. She changed the dressing on his arm as it got wet from the shower.

Hal pulled her into his lap. He wore nothing but a towel, and suddenly, that was too much.

“Don’t hurt yourself,” she said. “You’ll undo the stitches.”

“You stood up to your family for me.”

“Of course I did.”

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