Page 94 of Booked for the Holidays
The driver gives us instructions on how to sit on the attached platform, talking about weight and balance. He advises us to fill the front first, before moving toward the back. I slow my steps and Theo falls in time with me, away from the rest of the pack.
“It looks so pretty out here,” I say wistfully. “With the stars and the lights and the fresh air. I can pretend we live somewhere other than a flat, warm state where it’ll be seventy-five degrees on Christmas morning. It makes me believe the holidays are almost here. Minus the snow, of course.”
“No snow in the forecast,” he says. “And only two weeks until Christmas. Have you gotten your shopping done?”
“God, no. I’m behind this year. I’m having fun with the competition, but it’s also making the days fly by much quicker than in years past.”
“I know what you mean. I’m not counting down the seconds until January, which is a rarity for me. I’m anxious for Christmas Day and to see Mac’s reactions when she opens up her gifts.”
“What are you getting her?”
“Books, obviously. She also wants a cheap laptop for writing. Some soccer stuff.”
“She’s so freaking cool,” I say.
When we get to the tractor, I stop in my tracks. Bales of hay sit in rows on the trailer bed attached to the back of the vehicle. It’s high off the ground, probably close to seven feet. I gulp and take a step back.
“Oh, shit,” Theo mutters. His hand glides against mine, then he leaves it there, our palms just barely touching. “Do you want to wait for everyone back at the lodge? You don’t have to get up there, Bridget.”
“No.” I shake my head. “I can do this.”
“I’ll be here with you. You say the word and we’ll find a way off, okay?
“Promise?” I ask.
Theo chuckles and his knuckles run up my arm then back down again. “I promise.”
“I jump, you jump?” He raises his eyebrows in surprise. “Mac might have spilled the beans that you likeTitanic,” I confess.
“That little shit,” he grumbles. “Yes, Bridget. You jump, I jump.”
His assurance gives me courage, and I climb the rungs of the ladder, keeping my attention on the tractor, and not the ground. I can sense Theo beneath me, though, waiting in case I ask for help.
I sigh in relief when my feet reach the top.
“Are you okay, Bridge?” asks Chandler. She knows about my fear and she gives me a worried look.
“I’m good.” I smile and walk to the last remaining bale of hay in the last row and plop down.
The straw is covered with a blanket, keeping my legs free from scratches. Theo climbs up the ladder with ease, eyes finding mine as he trots down the aisle.
“How’re we doing?” he asks. The tractor rumbles to life, loud and clanky, and drowns out his words. The wheels jut forward, beginning to move down the dark dirt road. I pluck a spare blanket off the planked floor and drape it over my legs.
“Better now,” I answer. We’re the only people in the back and I scoot closer to him. His hand drops to my thigh hidden by the cover. His fingers squeeze my leg.
“Good. I had an idea to help distract you,” Theo whispers. His nose runs along my cheek and his lips press a kiss to my ear.
“What kind of idea?” I ask.
The tips of his fingers drag over my stocking, stopping where the wool gives way to bare skin.
“Are you trying to kill me, Bridget?” he asks. The question comes out like a tortured groan as he toys with the lace hem.
“I didn’t think I’d have your hands between my legs when I got dressed this evening.” My eyes close, shuttering out the twinkle of Christmas lights and the gleam of the stars in the cloudless night sky. My head lolls to his shoulder, nestling in the crook of his neck and finding the spot where I feel like I belong. “Handsy hayride wasn’t on the agenda.”
His thumb traces the curve of my jaw, following the path to my chin. “And now that it is?”
The answer to the obvious question is my thighs parting. My back arching and leaning further into his embrace. “Distract me,” I say softly. “Please.”
