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The horse released a chuff and blinked at him with wary eyes.
“I can tell you take good care of her,” I said.
Boone kept his back to me, his attention on the mare. He rubbed his knuckles along the horse’s jaw and rested his other hand on her forehead.
“Yeah, well. She’s a good horse. Always has been.”
This time, he rotated and sniffed. His nose was rosy-red, but the traces of snow had blinked away from his lashes.
Wind slashed against the barn’s sturdy exterior. I hugged my arms around my torso, listening for a few moments before Boone spoke.
“We’ll have to leave the sleigh out there and unbury it in the morning once this all dies down.”
“Will it be okay?” I asked.
“It’ll be fine.” He sniffed and raised his gaze to the rafters as if trying to see the wind ravaging the barn’s boards. “This old place has withstood many storms.”
A statement like that packed a punch. It conjured all kinds of theories in my brain, making me picture how old the barn was—and if the cottage was just as old, that meant it had probably seen many storms come and go, too.
I wondered about the people who’d been through those storms.
After ensuring that Hazelnut was fed and that she had plenty of water in her trough, Boone secured his hat onto his head.
“Ready to head back out there?” he said.
“You said your cottage is close, right?” I wasn’t exactly warm, but I did appreciate the barn’s shelter from the wailing wind and whirling snow.
“Yes.”
His cottage was undoubtedly more comfortable than this. Probably smelled better, too.
“Ready when you are,” I said.
Joining his side, I helped push the barn door open wide enough for each of us to squeeze through. The wind had changed direction, making the door too stubborn to close this time, where before, closing had been all it wanted to do.
“Push!” Boone shouted.
Feet deep in the snow, I braced my hands against the door and pushed with everything I had. Together, we finally got it to slide closed.
“Hopefully, we won’t have to dig too much to get it back open in the morning,” he shouted through the storm. “Come on.”
He pointed to the left where a small but sturdy stone cottage peeked through the snow’s swirling flurries. His hand then captured mine—and the touch knocked a shock of surprise into me like a tongue to a battery. The gesture plunged right through to my stomach.
“So we don’t get knocked over,” he said.
By “we,” he probably meant me. Fair enough.
I nodded, and he tugged me along through the shin-deep snow, helping me until we stomped toward the snow collected against the cottage’s front door. Working together, kicking snow aside, I helped clear the drift until soon, we stepped inside.
By now, the sun had fully set. Darkness greeted us, and I blinked, letting my eyes adjust. Once more, the wind was shut out, and this time, its whirling howls didn’t penetrate the cottage’s thick, stone walls the way it had the barn’s thinner boards.
“We made it,” I said breathlessly.
I was ready to sink to the floor. Between the fear of frostbite and wolves, and the prospect of getting lost in such frozen circumstances—and the adrenaline and energy pumping through me as a result of getting Hazelnut into the barn and making our way through more snow than I’d ever stood in—my body was beyond weary.
“That we did.” Boone removed his hat and gloves. He parted a pair of curtains that were more feminine than I would have expected a rugged grouch like him to have in his home. “And none too soon.”
He left the curtains open. The darkness outside accentuated the snow’s bright bursts through the air. It was like fluffy white rain.
