Page 91 of A Cozy Christmas Blizzard
She laughed. The musical sound was carried by the wind and seemed to echo in the trees around them. “How can you complain? This is wonderful. Riding along like this makes me want to sing.”
He grumbled something unintelligible under his breath.
“What are you complaining about now?”
“Who says I’m complaining?”
She grinned, her head bobbing slightly with the gentle sway of Sampson’s gait. “I’m beginning to know you.”
“All right, if you insist on knowing, I happen to be humming. My enthusiasm for this venture doesn’t compel me to burst into song. But I’m doing the best I can.”
Holding an unexpectedly contented feeling to her heart, she tried not to think about what would happen when they reached the Wilkens place. She was prepared to smile at him and bid him farewell, freely sending him out of her life. Butthat would have been easier before he’d held her in his arms and she’d experienced the gentle persuasion of his kiss. So very much easier.
Together, their horses side by side, they ambled along, not speaking but singing Christmas songs one after the other until they were breathless and giddy. Their voices blended magically in two-part harmony. More than once they shared a lingering gaze. But Shelly felt her high spirits evaporating as they neared the landmark that marked the half-way point of their journey.
“My backside is ready for a break,” Slade announced unexpectedly.
“You aren’t nearly as anxious to scoff at my picnic idea now, are you?” she returned.
“Not when I’m discovering on what part of their anatomy cowboys get calluses.” A grin curved his sensuous mouth.
They paused in a small clearing, looping the horses’ reins around the trunk of a nearby fir tree.
While she took the hot chocolate and some homemade cookies from her saddlebags, he exercised his stiff legs, walking around as though he were on stilts.
“We’ll have to share the cup,” she announced, holding out the plastic top of the thermos. She stood between the two horses, munching on a large oatmeal cookie.
Slade lifted the cup to his lips and hesitated as their eyes met. He paused, slowly lowering the cup without breaking eye contact.
Her breath came in shallow gasps. “Is something wrong?” she asked with difficulty.
“You’re lovely.”
“Sure.” She forced a laugh. “My nose looks like a maraschino cherry and—”
“Don’t joke, Shelly. I mean it.” His voice was gruff, almost harsh.
“Then thank you.”
He removed his glove and placed his warm hand on her cold face, cupping her cheek. The moment was almost unbearably tender, and she swallowed the surging emotion that clogged her throat. It would be the easiest thing in the world to walk into his arms, lose herself in his kiss and love him the way he deserved to be loved.
As if reading her thoughts, Sampson shifted, bumping her back and delivering her into Slade’s arms. He dropped the hot chocolate and hauled her against him like a man in desperate need.
“I told myself this wouldn’t happen again,” he whispered against her hair. “Every time I hold you, it becomes harder to let you go.”
Her heart gave a small leap of pleasure at his words. She didn’t want him to let her go. Not ever. Everything felt right between them. Too right and too good.
How long he held her, Shelly didn’t know. Far longer than was necessary and not nearly long enough. Each second seemed to stretch, sustaining her tender heart for the moment when she would have to bid him farewell.
Not until they broke apart did she notice that it was snowing again. Huge crystalline flakes filled the sky with their icy purity.
“What should we do?” he asked, looking doubtful.
Her first instinct was to suggest that they return to the house, but she hesitated. The thought of their inevitable goodbye became more difficult to bear every minute.
“We’re going back,” he said, answering his own question.
“Why?”
