“Not on purpose. But you’ll want to pull your hand away before they get to the end.” He took out an apple slice and laid it on his palm. “And for these, you just hold them with your palm nice and flat, and they’ll lip ‘em right up.” He offered Victor the treat, and Nathan giggled as he ate it.

  “That was a funny sound. Pthpthpthpthpth.”

  “You want to try?” Will presented the bag to Julie. For a moment she just stood there, chewing her lip. Then she took an apple slice and set it on her palm.

  “Like this?”

  “That’s perfect.” Will watched her, smiling, as she approached the next horse in line, a big black and white one with speckles down its rump. It nickered when it saw her and stretched out its neck. Julie stood on tiptoe to feed it its snack.

  “Is it okay if we pet them?” She shot Will a shy glance and he gave her a nod.

  “They like their necks petted, or between their eyes.”

  Serena let out a long breath as Julie seemed to relax. Nathan was already stroking Victor, combing his fingers through his mane.

  “I thought Julie might be scared,” said Will, quietly so her daughter wouldn’t hear. “But look at that. She’s a natural.”

  “I don’t think it’s the horses,” said Serena. “She’s been moody since Jack left, and I think—well, I think she’s nursing some distrust toward men. She’s been taking it out on her pediatrician, her piano teacher, whoever gets in her way.” She made a pained sound. “She was all set to hate you, but I think you’re winning her over.”

  “That’s the magic of horses.” Will tipped her a wink. “Who could stay mad with horse lips snuffling up their palm?”

  “Oh, here you guys are.” Juniper appeared in the doorway, festive in red and green. She looked like she’d got into the glitter, silver sparkles in her hair. “Everything’s set for a great afternoon. We’ve just made a batch of gingerbread, so we’re going to build houses. Then we’ll paint some ornaments and fold some paper stars. Sound fun?”

  “Can we eat the gingerbread?” Nathan’s expression turned furtive. “I mean, not all of it. Just a little off the sides?”

  “Who are you, Hansel?” Julie elbowed him in the side. “Eat your own gingerbread. Leave mine alone.”

  “Kids, no roughhousing.” Serena moved to separate them, but they broke apart on their own, cutting around her and racing toward the house. “Sorry about that,” she said. “They’re excited, is all. This is so kind of you, letting them join in.”

  “Nonsense,” said Juniper. “I’m sure the kids’ll get on like gangbusters.” She struck out for the house, sweeping Serena along with her. Serena had to admire her, her boundless good spirits, her bubbly charm. She was one of those people who scattered happiness like the spring scatters flowers.

  “I’ll warn you, I’m the quiet one.” Will steadied Serena as they headed up the steps. “The rest of my family, well—”

  Juniper flung the door open, and chatter came bubbling out, and the drone of a TV, and a voice singing Christmas carols. One kid shrieked, then they all shrieked, and someone laughed a booming laugh. Serena stood overwhelmed, not just by the sounds but by the delicious smell of cooking, and by the glittering ornaments hanging from every beam and rafter. Wreaths twined up the stairs, twinkling gold and silver. Red and green lampshades hung on every light.

  “This is incredible,” Serena murmured, but incredible hardly described it. It was Santa’s village come to life, garish and tacky and wonderful all at once.

  “Wait’ll you see what we’ve got for the kids.” Juniper led the way to the living room where a long table had been set up, groaning with craft supplies—jellybeans and sprinkles for the gingerbread houses, foil and colored paper, paints and beads and tubes of glitter. The effect was so dazzling Serena nearly missed the old man rolling up in his wheelchair.

  “Hello, there. I’m Abbott, and I’m sure you know Alex and Travis.” He gestured at his boys, then at a slender brunette gluing stars to a picture frame. “That’s my nurse, Scarlett, and her foster son, Denver.”

  “Pleased to meet you,” said Serena, a little faintly. Christmas at her parents’ house had never been like this, all loud and chaotic, full of messy joy. Ma was big on classy ornaments—popcorn strings instead of tinsel, white lights instead of colored. And glitter was her nightmare, the way it got everywhere.

  “Have a seat,” said Will, and he pulled out a chair. Serena sat and let the Harveys’ chatter wash over her. The kids were already busy gathering pieces for their gingerbread houses. Lizzie was eating hers, and soon Nathan was too. Julie was arranging hers in neat little piles, but she too snuck a jellybean when she thought no one was looking.

  “You can build a house too,” said Scarlett. “Or help me with mine, once I’m done with this frame.”

  “That would be great.” Serena’s eyes stung as a great warmth washed over her, a sense of happy acceptance she’d never expected to find, at least not among people who were nearly strangers. She and Jack had gone to various Christmas celebrations with people in their social set—elegant, elaborate, tasteful, and dull.

  Serena brushed off the memories and reached for the gingerbread. Scarlett glued one last star to her frame and set it aside.

  “Fair warning—I’m awful at this,” she said.

  Serena grinned. “So we’ll build a haunted house. Those are supposed to be crooked.”

  Scarlett burst out laughing, and the two of them set to work. By the time they got through, the snow on the windowsills was orange with sunset, and the kids were putting the final touches on their ornaments. Juniper clapped her hands for their attention.

  “I have one more project in mind,” she said. “But I’ll need you kids to run out and collect pinecones, as many as you can find.”

  The kids took off running, shedding glitter and crumbs. Serena followed them outside and stood watching from the porch as they darted among the pines. Will came up beside her and leaned on the railing.

  “Having fun yet?”

  “You know, I am.” Serena smiled as Denver tossed a pinecone at Nathan. Nathan tossed one back and they both ran off giggling. “This feels like a special place,” she said. “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen the twins this happy.”

  “They’re great kids.” Will moved a little closer, till his shoulder bumped hers. “And they’ve got a great mom.”

  Serena’s breath caught in her throat. Will was so close, the sunset glinting in his eyes. She felt warm standing next to him, warm inside and out. “Thank you,” she breathed. “Not just for the compliment—for today, for the kids...” She rose on tiptoe and kissed him, a quick peck on the cheek that left her own cheeks burning.

  “Serena—”

  “You should have a carnival out here. Or a fair. A Christmas festival.”

  Will chuckled, brows raised. “A what, now?”

  Serena could’ve kicked herself. She’d kissed him without thinking, then blurted out some nonsense to hide her embarrassment. Still, she pressed on, turning her head to hide her blush. “A Christmas fair. You could get local businesses to pitch in—food stands over there, and games for the kids. Pony rides, prizes—you know. A fair. A big country fair, to promote the clinic. It would be a way to meet everyone, show them who you are.” She paused to catch her breath, and Will grabbed her hands.

  “That’s a great idea,” he said, and he broke out in a grin. “Genius, in fact. I’ll talk to Alex. We’ll do it.”

  “Really?” Serena’s head was spinning, her heart beating fast. Will’s cheeks were red as apples, pinched by the cold. She thought he might kiss her, this time on the lips, but he swept her up instead and spun her round and round. She threw her head back and laughed, her heart bursting with joy.

  9

  “So if I stop feeding her ham, she’ll stop crapping on my floor?”

  “I almost guarantee it,” said Will. “A bite or two won’t hurt her, but much more than that, you might as well grease up her insides and set her loose on your carpet.” He held out a business card, one of the new ones Serena had gotten printed up. “If you’re still having problems next week, bring her by the clinic. I’d be glad to take a look.”

  “Trust me, you wouldn’t. Not at that mess.” Mrs. Frith pulled a sniffy face, but she took his card. “I’ll be seeing you in a week. Or I won’t, if you actually know your stuff.”

  Will stood and stretched as Mrs. Frith walked away. He’d made ten for-sure appointments since he’d set up his booth, answered dozens of questions, even clipped a candy apple out of a collie’s coat. Serena had called it: the fair was a hit. The carnival stands were hopping, kids tossing rings, pinning the tail on the pony. Parents had congregated around the long picnic tables, nibbling on fried snacks as they watched their kids play. A pair of placid reindeer presided over the petting zoo, lowering their big heads to let the little ones pat their velvety noses.

  “Hey, Doctor Harvey.” Nathan was smiling up at him, a red candy-apple grin.

  “Hey, Nathan. Where’s your sister?”

  “Getting her face painted. I told them to make her a zombie, but she wanted butterflies.”

  “Butterflies are sort of like zombies,” said Will. “There’s a stage between caterpillar and butterfly, a gross, icky goo stage they’ve got to go through before they get their wings.”

  “But once they come back, do they eat other butterflies?”

  Will snorted laughter. “Nah. They sip nectar. But they’re still pretty cool.” He turned his booth sign from OPEN to CHECK BACK LATER. “Hey, my customers have thinned out. Wanna go pet the reindeer?”

  Nathan glanced at them, frowning. “I was waiting for Mom, but everyone ate all her cookies. She went inside to make more.”

  “No law that says you can’t play with ’em twice.” Will shot Nathan a lopsided grin. “Besides, I’m dying to meet them. I’ve been stuck here all day, all on my own.”

  Nathan chewed his lip, eyes fixed on the reindeer. “Mom says if someone’s lonely, I should go play with them.”

  “So you’ll come with me to see Rudolph?”

  “Those aren’t Rudolph,” said Nathan. “Their noses aren’t red. But, yeah. We can go.”

  Will headed after him, smiling to himself as Nathan bounded ahead, the pompom on his winter hat bouncing as he went. Will shaded his eyes to peer up at the ranch house and was rewarded with the sight of Serena and Juniper on the stairs, both of them laden with trays of fresh baking. Their merry laughter carried down the hill.

  “His nose is so soft,” called Nathan. “Come feel his nose.”

  “These two are both girls,” said Will. “You can tell because it’s December and they’ve still got their antlers. The males drop their antlers some time in November.” He reached out and fondled the reindeer’s soft nose. “I brought carrots, if you want to feed her.”

  “Yeah!” Nathan thrust his hand in Will’s pocket and grabbed his bag of carrots. “Can I give them one each?”

  Will glanced at their handler, who nodded his approval. “Sure, go ahead.”

  As Nathan fed the reindeer, Will turned to watch Serena set out her fresh treats, human cookies on one side, dog biscuits on the other. She’d really gone all out, not just with her stand, but with the whole event. Will had expected five stands at best, plus a food cart or two, but Serena had been all up and down Main Street, spreading the word. She’d rounded up artists and store owners, performers and parents. Folks had brought homemade ornaments, paintings and trinkets, and set up an artists’ alley ten tables long. The Humane Society had sent a face-painter to daub kids for charity, and judging by the bouncing mob of mermaids and zombies, they’d made out like bandits.

  Will’s eyes narrowed as he spotted Doug Hawthorne making his way toward Serena with Chekhov in tow. The big mastiff was grinning, reveling in the attention of a throng of eager kids. Serena was watching them, her mouth a tight line.

  Damn it, Doug. Play nice. Will edged toward them, ready to intervene if Hawthorne got grumpy.

  “I heard you had dog treats,” said Hawthorne, scowling down at the packets tied with festive ribbon. Chekhov had spotted them too, and was shaking his hindquarters like he was doing the rhumba.

  “We sure do,” said Serena. “We’ve got three flavors, all healthy—chicken, peas and carrots, and sweet banana-blueberry.”

  Hawthorne made a harrumphing sound. “Chekhov’s pretty picky. He’ll spit out most treats.”

  “He’s welcome to try a sample.” Serena was watching Chekhov, and Will could see she was nervous. Still, she got down the sample tray and set it on the table. “Which do you think he would like?”

  “Sweet banana-blueberry,” said Hawthorne. He stood with his arms crossed, as though issuing a challenge.

  “Banana-blueberry it is.” Serena took a biscuit and held it out to Chekhov, flat on her palm. Will’s heart swelled with pride as Chekhov slurped it up. Serena hadn’t flinched, and her smile hadn’t wavered.

  “Would you look at that? No spitting.” Hawthorne reached down and ruffled Chekhov’s fur. “I’ll take two bags. Will you be selling these at the clinic?”

  Serena hesitated. “Maybe. I’m not sure. I’ll have to ask Doctor Harvey.”

  “I’d have no objections,” said Will. “If Serena’s willing.”

  “Of course. I’d love to.” Serena positively glowed. Success suited her, thought Will—and today had been just that, successful from start to finish.

  “I thought I might take a sleigh ride,” said Will. “I was wondering if you’d join me.”

  Serena’s eyes lit up, but just as quickly, her smile faded. “I can’t leave Juniper. We’ve just baked a fresh batch.”

  “Let me worry about that.” Juniper winked, eyes bright with mischief. “And it looks like Luna’s watching your kids.”

  Serena chuckled at the sight of Luna dancing around the twins, her big bushy tail swishing to and fro.

  “You sure you don’t mind? I’d hate to bake and dash.”

  “Bake and dash, pff.” Juniper laughed aloud. “Besides, with your back turned, I can nibble your wares.”

  “Nibble all you want,” said Serena. “And if Thora comes by, make sure she gets a gingersnap. She missed out on the last batch, and she seemed kinda bummed.”

  “I’ll do that. Now, shoo.” Juniper waved her off, and Serena turned to Will. Her smile was so bright, so cheery he felt his heart melt.

  “Adventure awaits,” she said, and they were off.

  “Here, to stay warm.”

  Serena’s stomach surged with butterflies as Will smoothed the blanket over her knees. He was so kind, so careful...and so very close, his stubble grazing her cheek as he leaned in to fix her scarf. She’d become fascinated with his hands, how they could be so callused and yet so gentle—hard-chapped from work, but his touch was so soft.

  “I have to thank you again,” she said as he settled in beside her. “Today’s just been—it’s been magic for the kids. I was so scared this Christmas might be a dud, but it’s shaping up to be the best we’ve ever had.” Her eyes pricked with tears, her joy overflowing.

  “You shouldn’t thank me,” said Will. “I should be thanking you for the way you pulled this all together. Talk about winning hearts—even Hawthorne was smiling.”

  “Well, we might’ve won Chekhov’s heart.” Serena gave a chuckle. “Hawthorne, on the other hand...”

  “Trust me. You’ve got him.” Will tipped her a wink, and those butterflies stirred again, a whole tickly nest of them fluttering in her stomach. The sleigh got going and she laughed with delight.

  “This feels like the start of something,” she said. “Like a whole new chapter. Like I could actually...”

  “What?” Will leaned in closer to be heard over the sleigh bells.

  “Succeed.” Serena swallowed back a tide of emotion. “It’s just, up till you hired me, it felt like I couldn’t do anything right. I’d lost three jobs in six months, all from stupid mistakes. But you believed in me, and it’s been... I feel like I could be this person I always wanted to be.”

  “That’s all on you,” said Will. “You work harder than anyone I’ve ever met. Harder than me, even, and I’m far from lazy.” A slow smile spread over his handsome face. Serena smiled back as the sleigh sped along. The sun hung low in the sky, casting the snow in shades of orange and purple. Serena’s fingertips tingled with the cold, and she wondered what Will would do if she took his hand. Would he twine their fingers together, or maybe take both her hands and rub them good and toasty? Or would he pull away and break the fragile spell?

  “You know,” he said, “I wanted to tell you, I’ve loved these last few days, all of us working together to set up the fair.”

  Serena’s hand twitched. She wanted to hold his hand, wanted that so badly. “You must be sick of us by now,” she said instead.

  “Sick of you? Impossible.” Will turned to face her, and was she dreaming, or was that a new fire blazing in his eyes? “Today’s been a miracle,” he said, “and you’re my miracle worker. You did this, and...you’ve made me a believer.”

  “A believer?” Serena could hardly breathe.

  “You’ve made me believe anything’s possible. Anything at all.” He leaned in and kissed her, and it felt perfect, warm and gentle—first a brush of his lips, then his fingers in her hair. Then she kissed back, faint with exhilaration. That fire from Will’s eyes had caught light in her too, building a blaze that banished all fear.

  When she pulled back at last, Will had snowflakes in his hair. He looked up just as she did, and they burst out laughing in tandem.

  “Would you look at that? It’s snowing.” Will brushed a snowflake off her cheek and kissed where it had landed. Serena grasped his hand at last, and her heart leaped with triumph as he gripped back tight.

  Anything was possible. Anything at all.

  10

  I kissed her.

  Will tried, in vain, to wipe the smile off his face—that massive grin he’d been sporting all week. He felt fifteen again, pining after Serena...except this time he’d kissed her, though it’d taken him years. Not only that, but they’d been flirting all week, little touches in passing, private jokes, secret smiles.