Page 3 of Jingle Bell Flock
The goat, sensing my approach, took off at a trot toward the tree lots with a loud bleating noise that sounded suspiciously like laughter.
“Comet! Get back here!”
I was a grown man chasing a goat through rows of Christmas trees while families laughed and took videos. It was going to be all over social media. I’d never live this down.
I finally cornered Comet near a pile of trimmings that Jemma and I would weave into more garland when we got a free minute, lunging for his collar just as Harrison appeared on the other side, both of us reaching toward the animal at the same time.
Our hands collided. Comet bleated indignantly and tried to bolt. In the chaos of the moment, I stumbled over a branch and went down hard, Harrison crashing into me as we both tried to keep hold of the goat.
The frozen ground slammed into my back, knocking the air from my lungs. Cold seeped through my jacket immediately, snow melting against my neck. For one breathless second—literally breathless, since I still couldn’t quite get air into my lungs—Harrison was sprawled on top of me, his solid weight pressing me into the mud and slush, his face inches from mine. Close enough that I could see the flecks of green in his hazel eyes. Close enough to smell the woodsy soap he used. Close enough that his breath—coming in short, sharp gasps—ghosted warm across my freezing cheek.
His palm was splayed across my chest, right over my pounding heart. He had to feel it hammering against his palm.
“You okay?” His Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat as he swallowed hard.
No. I was not okay.
“Fine,” I bit out, shoving at his shoulder harder than necessary.
He rolled off with an effortless grace that I envied, getting to his feet in one fluid motion while I was still struggling upright. By the time I’d finally lumbered to my feet—my knee screaming in protest and my back promising to ache later—Harrison was already brushing snow from his jeans and reaching for Comet, who had suddenly gone placid now that the chase was over.
“Just get your damn goats and fix your fence,” I said, taking a mental inventory of all the places that hurt. “For real this time.”
“I’ve fixed it four times, Jeremy.” His voice was tight with frustration. “They’re escape artists. Maybe if you weren’t so busy being angry at me all the time, you’d realize?—”
“I’d realize what?” I took an involuntary step closer, my voice low but harsh, aware that we weren’t entirely out of earshot. “That your fucking goats keep destroying my property? That you moved here and bought the land next to my family’s without even thinking about how?—”
I cut myself off. I was saying too much. Revealing too much.
Harrison’s eyes blazed, all that easy charm stripped away to show the steel underneath. “How what?” he pressed, a muscle ticking in his cheek.
“Nothing. Forget it.” I looked away, focusing anywhere but on his stupid, handsome face.
“No, say it.” Another step closer. “How what, Jeremy?”
Out of the corner of my eye, I watched his chest rise and fall, the ragged edge of his breathing matching my own.
My hands were shaking—from cold, from anger, from having him this close after six months of carefully maintained distance.
I spun to face him. “How it would affect me, dammit! How seeing you every goddamn day would?—”
A car door slammed, cutting me off. We both turned to see Jemma’s SUV parked near the farmhouse, Charlie climbing out of the passenger seat.
My sister looked like she’d just come from the salon—blonde hair perfect despite the wind, wearing one of those expensive quilted jackets that somehow made doing farm work look fashionable. At forty-five, she’d finally found her way back to happiness, and it showed in everything from her confident stride to the easy smile on her face as she said something to Charlie that made him laugh.
They’d dated in high school, my sister and the mayor. I’d been too young to remember much about it, except that they’d broken up and gone to separate colleges. Then they’d each moved home to Mistletoe Bay, Jemma married to that fucknut Todd and Charlie married to someone else, and life went on.
But I’d clocked their connection the moment I moved home. The way they stared at each other when they didn’t think the other was watching, the careful dance of two people who were more than friends but didn’t know how to be more. I’d kept my mouth shut about it, especially after how brutal Jemma’s divorce had been. She deserved this. Deserved Charlie and his girls.
I watched as Jemma surveyed the scene—the goats, the families with their phones out, me and Harrison standing way too close while simultaneously looking like we wanted to murder each other—and her expression shifted from confusion to something that looked almost like ... glee?
No. That couldn’t be right.
She strolled over, Charlie trailing behind her with that easy smile he always wore.
“Harrison,” Charlie said warmly, extending his hand to my nemesis. “Good to see you again.”
Harrison shook his hand, and I watched some of the tension drain from his shoulders. “Hey, Charlie.”
