Page 35 of The Mistletoe Kisser

“Sam,” he said finally.

“Huh? What?” she asked, tearing her gaze away from the hard-on he was trying to will away.

“What do we do now?” he asked.

“What do you want to do?” she asked. Her voice was breathy which didn’t help Operation Exorcise Erection at all. At least her dazed attention made the situation a few degrees less embarrassing. He was an adult with superb self-control. He didn’t go around getting inappropriate hard-ons.

“About the chicken,” he said, pointing to the derpy bird pecking at a fence post.

“Oh.Oh!Right. The chicken.” She took a big step back and almost went ass up over a tractor tire in the yard, but he caught her by the shoulders.

He felt just the tiniest bit better. “Are you sureyou’reokay? You seem distracted.”

“Oh, shut up,” she said. “Help me get the bird.”

They caught the damn chicken and returned her to the pasture. On the walk back to the house, Sammy lectured him on how to get the birds and the sheep into the barn before dark and what to feed them.

“I don’t know why you’re telling me this,” he said. “I’ll be on a plane tonight.”

“On the off-chance that you’re still here, you’ll save me a trip tonight,” she said, humoring him. “This must not be a big emergency if you can resolve it that fast,” she noted.

“I’m confident it’s a misunderstanding that can be easily straightened out.”No small-town bank stood a chance against his expertise.At least, not as long as his blood flow returned to his head.

She looked skeptical. “Yeah, well, do me a favor and text me if you do get on a plane so I can make arrangements for our farm friends here.”

“Fine.”

They made it back to the house without any further farm animal attacks or erections. While Sammy scrawled her phone number on one of his uncle’s many sticky notes, Ryan unwedged his feet from the too-small boots and put on his other pair of non-ruined loafers.

“Good luck with your hangover and finding Rainbow,” Sammy said.

“Good luck with whatever it is you’re doing today,” Ryan said, holding the front door open for her. It felt oddly domestic, seeing her off to work in the morning. He found that weird and unsettling.

She stopped on the front porch and offered him a hand. “It was truly an experience meeting you, Ryan.”

He accepted her hand and shook it slowly. “On that, we agree. I’d appreciate if you didn’t mention… any of this to my uncle when he gets back.”

“So you don’t want me to tell Carson about the sheep abandonment and the drunken nudity and the erec—”

“Goodbye, Sparkle,” he interrupted, giving her a nudge toward the steps. She laughed all the way to her SUV.

He climbed behind the wheel of his clown car trying not to analyze the vague feeling of dissatisfaction settling in his gut.Maybe it was his spleen? He’d get it checked in Seattle, he decided.

He didn’t have time to be hungover or worry about vague feelings of uneasiness or pretty, overly thoughtful veterinarians. Ryan had a bank president to intimidate, a farm to save, and a plane ticket to book. With a renewed sense of energy, he stabbed the vehicle’s start button.

Nothing happened. The tiny, useless engine didn’t even attempt to turn over.

He stabbed it again. “Oh, come the fuck on,” he growled.

He heard the toot of a horn and looked up. Sammy waved as she started to pull away.

“Wait!” The window wouldn’t lower and the interior of the car was so small when he tried to wave his arms to stop her, he cracked his elbow on the glass. “Ow! Dammit!”

He wrestled the seatbelt off, threw open the door, and sprinted after her arms waving over his head. “Come back!”

His right foot went through the thin crust of snow and found the icy, mud puddle beneath. He sank in up to his ankle.

“Oh, come the fuck on!” he snarled, kicking snow and mud into the air. “I really liked these shoes.”