Page 60 of Mistletoe All the Way

I cross my arms. “Is it so wrong to like a time of year that’s all about friendship, celebration, being kind to others, and that tiny thing—peace on earth?”

He narrows his eyes, grumbling. “Fine, you got me on that last one.”

“Ha. The Grinch likes peace on earth,” I say, gloating.

“Eloise,” he says sternly, like a warning.

“Fine. The Cowboy Grinch likes peace on earth.”

“You’re impossible. And impossibly cheerful.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” I say.

“Of course you would.”

But it’s not said derisively, or sarcastically. There’s some nascent appreciation in his tone. At least, I think so. “Anyway, I just think this time of year shows you a better way—to happiness, to getting along, to kindness most of all. That’s why I like it.”

He nods, seeming to give that some thought. “I hear you.”

And I feel… heard. It’s a nice feeling.

We’re both quiet for several seconds as he pets Honey—spreading kindness in his way. A few moments later, he strides to the stall door. The light catches on his beard, shadows playing across his face from the cowboy hat.

He curls his calloused hands around the wood, and I try not to stare at those hands that can save a life, make a horse look prettier, or travel down my cheek, sending my pulse soaring.

The world goes quiet. My beating heart grows louder.

There’s another charged silence, then he gestures to my sweater. “There’s a piece of hay.”

“Oh.” Before I can lift a hand through, he reaches with his, brushing it off, his fingers coasting across my shoulder.

I nibble on the corner of my lips. My breath hitches. It’s just him and me, and the sound of Honey’s breathing as Noah’s hand grazes my sweater.

I should stop him. We agreed back in Colorado that this is a distraction. Even if we didn’t have a contest to nail, I live here, and he lives there. I’ve already been on the receiving end of a failed long-distance romance.

Right now, I’m hardly thinking about distance. I’m thinking about how I want to erase the rest of the space between us.

“This would be a distraction,” I whisper, but I’m leaning closer, desperately seeking… a touch, a kiss, something.

His hand coasts over to my hair now, and with the same tender affection he bestowed on Honey, he runs a finger across a lock, curling it, then letting the strands fall across his palm. “Such a distraction.”

My heart slams against my rib cage, wrestling to get out. I’m hot and achy everywhere. When he slides his thumb along my jawline, I’m a supernova.

“Yep. Just as soft as I remembered,” he says, and my whole body just aches. “As I keep imagining.”

He’s still thinking about our mistletoe kiss. Same here.

“Better make sure,” I whisper.

His lips quirk up. Yes is written all over his face. Slowly, he leans in. My skin tingles. Anticipation threads through my body. His mouth is inches from mine, and I desperately want another kiss.

My eyes float closed.

Until boots crunch across the snow, then a voice from outside the barn calls, “Hey there, boys and girls. Where are you hiding in there?”

My eyes fly open. It’s Stephen. Why the hell is he here?

“Shit, he likes to copy others,” Noah mutters as he wrenches away from me. “If he comes inside and heads toward the row of stalls, he might see what our plan is for the Christmas parade.”