Page 9 of Frosty the Farmhand (12 Days of Christmas)

8

HARLAN

M y face hurts from smiling, and I feel like I’ve been run over by a snowplow and then backed over again. I could work a full day in the field and barely blink, but today has been something else. I’m exhausted.

Mentally.

Emotionally.

It’s like nothing I’ve ever experienced, and I’ve had some hard days at the ranch. Days where sweat soaks through your clothes the minute you step outside and you’re stuck like that until the sun sets. Even cold days where the wind whips at you, or snow and rain leave you chilled to the bone, had nothing on today.

“Great job, everyone,” Winston says as he saunters over. “You all did great today. Lots of compliments about what we’ve been doing here, improvements we made. Your hard work has not gone unnoticed.”

“Please make sure you’re up at the lodge in thirty minutes for supper,” Elora says, her cheeks pink as she rubs her mitten-covered hands together. “You’re joining us, right, Harlan?” she asks, drawing the attention of everyone gathered here.

I had planned on disappearing back to my cabin, to quietly remove myself and skip dinner knowing I wouldn’t be missed.

But Elora Sterling had other plans.

If it had been anyone else asking, I could have declined, but I know better than to refuse when asked directly by the boss’s wife.

“Yes, ma’am,” I reply even though it pains me. Her painted red lips turn up into a smile, and I stand there, resigned to my fate.

“Good, we’re so thankful to have you with us this season,”—her eyes bounce to her husband’s, and he gives her an almost imperceptible nod—“and we hope you’ll consider being here when the snow melts.”

“I appreciate it, ma’am. I’ve enjoyed my time here.”

The words are meant to be polite, to be gracious and enough to satisfy curiosities. But to my surprise, they’re also true.

Dammit.

And it’s all because of a certain nerdy tech guy with a tablet in his jacket, who smells like the mountain air and forbidden promises.

None of which I should be noticing but do anyway.

“No chance of getting you to call me Elora, is there?” she says wryly, her mouth kicking up on one side.

I mirror her expression and shake my head. “Not yet.”

“We’ll work on it,” she states and I have no doubt she means it.

“Harlan, can you give me a ride over?” Winston asks, clapping me on the shoulder and steering me toward the parking lot.

“Sure.” The single word is drawn out like an unspoken question. He chuckles, but now I’m thinking about him climbing into my 1980 Ford Ranger when the truck he has parked in the lot has all the bells and whistles and I’m just happy when I can find a decent radio station.

“Well, this brings me back,” he says with his hands on his hips as he stares at the truck, walking this way and that, a giant smile on his face. “I had one of these back in the day.” He chuckles as we climb in and the engine roars to life. “Never let me down.”

Nodding, I ease out of the lot and turn onto the main road. “It’s been my one constant over the years.” I chuckle. “I beat the hell out of it when I was younger, but those days are long gone. Now I make sure I do the oil change on time and watch for potholes.”

Winston laughs. “Just wait till you get to be my age. I sneeze too hard and I’m liable to throw my back out.”

I snort and settle into my seat a little more. This conversation would never have happened with Tobias Black. Any interactions outside of work in general were forbidden unless you wanted to be raked over the coals for wasting his time. It’s strange but kind of nice being able to talk freely.

“Make sure you try the cornbread. Elora makes it,” he says proudly. Then he adds in a stage-whisper, “It’s one of the reasons I married her.”

“I can certainly understand it.” I really can’t, but for his sake, I can imagine it.

Pulling into the drive, gravel crunches beneath the tires and there’s a weird twinge in my chest at our time being over.

“Thanks for the ride, Harlan.”

“Anytime.”

He nods slowly before raising his eyes to meet mine. “You let me know if there’s anything I can do to make your time well spent here.”

I’m not sure if it’s the words or his tone, but he’s stunned me into silence. Recovering as quickly as I can, I say, “I’ll do that. Thank you.”

“All right now, let’s go eat. It’s been a long day and I’m starving.”

The Lodge is a massive barn set on the Sterlings’ property. It’s an open room with durable wood flooring and three massive tables in the center. Banquet tables line one wall with those silver dishes that keep food hot.

It’s fancy—way fancier than I anticipated, and I can’t help feeling like I’m underdressed.

My clothes aren’t dirty like they were working on the ranch, but this space smells like mulled cider and the faintest hint of pine, and I’m pretty sure those are real plates and not the throwaway kind.

I look at my scuffed boots, and even though I look like everyone else, I wish I’d gone home to change. Back in Wyoming, we’d eaten meals away from the main house—fed but not within viewing distance of the people far more important than us.

Times like these, I want to kick myself for being so na?ve—for thinking I’d meant anything to Dante in the first place.

I rub the back of my neck, my body prickling with the sensation that someone’s watching me. Honestly, it could be anyone, but really there’s only one person who elicits that reaction in me.

Turning my head, I spot Reid talking to Beau near the entrance to the kitchen. He holds a beer bottle casually in his hand as he nods along to whatever his cousin is saying. Reid’s eyes flick to me and even from here, I can see the interest, the want, and the question as to what I’m gonna do about it.

It’s a fair question.

And one I don’t have time to answer because when Elora emerges from the kitchen, everyone hustles to help. Trays of hot food are placed in their designated serving dishes as everyone else lines up.

Plates are passed back and there’s the strangest feeling of comradery.

Of family.

It makes no sense, being in a room with people I barely know and feeling like I belong. Had I ever really felt like I belonged with Dante? The short answer is no.

But the long answer is a lot more complicated.

He’d always been quick to reassure me anytime I’d given a voice to my insecurities. We were from two different worlds, but none of that seemed to matter when we were tangled together in the sheets.

And maybe that was the problem.

We’d spent more time naked than we had actually being a couple, but I’d been na?ve, simply believing that things would work out the way he promised.

“Do you want me to tell you what’s good?” Reid whispers from behind me, his breath hot on my neck, sending a shiver down my spine.

“I think I can guess,” I murmur only loud enough for him to hear, because apparently I like playing with fire.

He chuckles, his arm brushing against mine as he points in the direction of the food. “Prime rib, scalloped potatoes, roasted vegetables—squash most likely—chicken pot pie, and cornbread.”

My mouth waters, and for the first time today it’s not because of him.

Not entirely at least.

“Sounds delicious,” I say, meeting his eyes over my shoulder before trailing my gaze down his body. He shifts on his feet, his cheeks turning a light shade of pink.

“It is.”

“I hope I can try everything.”

“You should.” He gulps, his lips parting as he blows out a shaky breath. “I mean you can.”

“I really shouldn’t,” I say and his expression falters, but it doesn’t last long when I add, “but I think I’ll regret it if I don’t.”

“Well, we can’t have that.”

“No, we can’t.”