Page 67 of Mistletoe and Christmas Kisses

Caleb didn’t have the language to describe what was happening to him.

How possessed, howconsumed, he was with someone he’d known mere weeks. How her name circled his mind like a chant.Macy, Doc, Mouse. How she made him feel alive and sheltered and confident. How she’d made winter warmer, the sun brighter. Even Christmas was growing on him. He’d found himself humming one of those godawful carols the other day.

Maybe the words wouldn’t come—but the feelingshad.

The quiet collapse of his heart.

So many things had mastered any objection he might have about letting himself fall. When he caught her chewing on her bottom lip as she reviewed medical texts. Pausing at his front door to shake out her crumpled skirt before he walked her home in the dewy darkness. Holding back her laughter, which she did more times than not and for what reason he had no clue. The way she smelled like roses one day and lilacs the next. Her incredible mind, which spun as quickly as the guts of a timepiece. Her slightly crooked smile, one of the few imperfections he had found.

And he’d looked. When one was fascinated, one looked.

Closely.

One night had bled into sixteen, when he wanted his time with her to bleed into the days. So he could come to know her mind as well as he was her body. In the past two weeks, they’d made love all over his house and hers. But mostly in the warehouse, which suited them both the best. Up till dawn, talking and tangling the sheets. Those picnics he was coming to cherish before the fire or sprawled out on his bed.

Besides his heart, really, all he was losing was rest.

He’d fallen asleep in Zach’s office yesterday and received a blistering brotherly lecture about burning the candle at both ends. Then Noah had to jump in and tell them where the term came from, which was so dull he’d gone right back to sleep.

Only more frightening than the incredible sex was the fact he was telling Macy things he’d never told another soul. Things that made him feel like a lost little boy while he was doing the telling. The kid who’d been so terrified, so sad.

He crossed his arms and blew out a breath that frosted when it hit air. He was falling in love as surely as Christmas wreaths adorned every door in town. Heck, maybe he’d been there since she kissed him in that cloakroom and turned his world upside down. Love sneaking up out of nowhere and biting him in the ass would be a kick, now, wouldn’t it?

What to do aboutthat? What to do abouther?

God sure did have fun with all the situations he put people in.

A resolute gust whipped down the street, nearly taking his hat with it. He caught it before it hit the boardwalk and bumped his way through the door of the mercantile. He was waiting on a final item for Macy’s present, and with Christmas only four days away, time was sneaking past. A quick telegram to Raleigh to check on the delivery, then he could get to the warehouse, where his girl had promised to go after she gave medicine to Lilian Quinn’s seventeen-year-old, should-already-be-dead cat. Macy had said, while wrapped snugly around his body the night before, that although she was not a veterinarian, animal patients were better than no patients, though he wasn’t sure he agreed. Damn fool town. He must have shown twenty people his scar and bragged on how straight and fine it was,muchbetter than anything Magnus Leland had ever done. Someone better visit her broken-down office soon and ask for medical attention, or he was going to get irritated. And no one wanted an annoyed Caleb Garrett running around town.

Mr. Scoggins nodded to him from behind the counter but didn’t pause sorting ribbons, which were selling by the wagonload with all the gifts to wrap. The scent of peppermint sticks and chocolate stormed him as he made his way to the back of the shop and the combined post and telegraph office. A gaggle of women were there, arranging cards and licking stamps, the feathers on their hats twitching like birds in the throes of death. He rolled his eyes and rocked back on his heels.Great.

He wished he’d brought his sketchpad. An idea for a rudder design had come to him on the walk, while he’d been daydreaming about the dainty satin ribbon on Macy’s drawers, and he’d like to capture it before it slipped away. The design, that is.

He’d get home soon enough and work on those drawer ribbons.

As the ladies prattled, he ran calculations in his head, practically an expert on ignoring idle chatter. Noah talked more than a girl, always had, and Caleb had long ago gotten used to letting it flitter in one ear and zip out the other. But then they mentioned Macy, and he straightened like someone had lifted him to the balls of his feet by his collar.

“Where did you say the telegram came from?” This from Mrs. Petersen, whose husband owned a whaling boat and was one of Caleb’s best customers.

“Philadelphia. A woman’s hospital. For womenonly.” Bet Tuppert, who’d put two husbands in the ground and was working on killing number three. “Can you imagine?”

Yes, he could.Macy had mentioned a training program for new doctors. One of the best in the country.Most competitive, was exactly how she’d phrased it. His heart stuttered and sank to what felt like his feet. She had gotten accepted.

Considering the expense, no one sent a telegram unless the news was good.

Quitting the mercantile, he stumbled home without feeling the chill ripping through his open coat. He patted his bare head. Left his hat on the telegraph counter. Or maybe he’d dropped it along the way.

It didn’t matter. What he’d known was going to happenwas. Macy was going to leave Pilot Isle and become who she should be. Which was not a brilliant doctor who practiced on half-dead cats. Married to a boatbuilder and living in a rambling house overlooking the sea.

Not her future.

And she, not his.

She was going to leave. And, by God, he was going to let her.

Pack his heart back in his chest for thelasttime and let her.

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