Trixie Belden licked bright green frosting from her finger and surveyed the results of her efforts with satisfaction. The kitchen table fairly groaned under the weight of the day’s baking, but it was totally worth it. Gingersnaps, shortbread, fudge, and pretzel bark fought for space along with the sugar cookies she’d just finished frosting. To counter the sugar, she’d popped a roaster of nuts n’ bolts in the oven, and the combined aromas made her wish her stomach were as big as her eyes. Or her nose. Something like that. In any case, she knew that the baking wouldn’t last long, not once her brothers and the rest of the Bob-Whites arrived in Sleepyside for the holidays.

“Trixie! My goodness!” Helen exclaimed, opening the back door and knocking the snow from her boots before entering. “It smells wonderful!”

“Don’t get too excited,” Trixie warned. “I’m leaving the yule log cake for you to make.”

Helen laughed and shook the snow from her coat before hanging it in the closet. “I’m way ahead of you, dear,” she said, and gestured to the second fridge. “I finished decorating the Buche de Noel this morning before you got here.”

Trixie sighed in relief. Cookies she could handle. Cakes that required rolling, shaping, and realistic meringue mushrooms as decorations she could not.

“Tonight is the Winter Solstice,” Helen reminded her daughter. “I wanted the cake to be ready in plenty of time since I was out with Maddie and Elaine today.”

“How was your day?” Trixie asked. “Was the city a zoo?”

“Of course it was! But Tom drove us so I didn’t even notice the traffic. And since we were seeing a show, we didn’t have to deal with all the last-minute shoppers.”

Trixie’s lips twitched. December 21 was hardly last-minute shopping in her mind. She’d often braved the stores on Christmas Eve herself, but this year she’d actually planned ahead and had all of her shopping completed before making the trip to Sleepyside. That hadn’t happened in, well, ever, as far as she could remember. But during the past year she’d put in far too many long days at her job at the forensics lab and had been ordered to take her accumulated overtime and vacation before the end of the year. So she’d finished her shopping (on the 20 ^th! A record!) and headed to Sleepyside to make the most of her time off.

“It’s still snowing, and the wind has picked up,” Helen worried aloud, pouring herself a cup of coffee. “Thank goodness the boys won’t be here until closer to Christmas.”

“And Bobby can stay put at the Lynches with the twins,” Trixie reminded her. “No one is going to go out driving in unsafe conditions. We know better,” she promised.

Helen raised her eyebrow but didn’t comment.

“Well, we know better now,” Trixie amended, remembering some of the risks she’d taken in the past. How had she thought that searching for Reddy in a snowstorm was a good idea? Granted, she hadn’t been driving, and she couldn’t argue with the results. Reddy might not have survived the night if they hadn’t found him and freed him from the hunter’s trap when they did.

“I think I saw some lights at the Manor House stables,” Helen said, rummaging through the cupboards to find containers for the baking. “Regan’s been working far too many hours lately. I wonder if I ought to send some of the left-over soup to warm him up.”

Trixie’s heart hammered at the mention of the groom’s name and she had to turn away to hide her flaming cheeks. She was over Regan, or at least as over him as she could get, seeing as how they’d never actually dated. Was it possible to get over something that had never happened?

“Would you mind running some food up to him?” Helen continued, still not looking at her daughter. “I’d feel better I knew he was at least taking the time to eat properly. And I don’t imagine the walk is far enough for the weather to be a problem for you. I don’t think the wind is quite as strong as it was even a half hour ago.”

Trixie swallowed. “Of course. Should I take him some cookies, too?” She opened the fridge with shaking hands and found the soup.

“Certainly!” Helen found a tin and started filling it with shortbread and gingersnaps.

“Don’t forget to send a sugar cookie,” Trixie advised, and added a wreath-shaped cookie with her most artistic (and that wasn’t saying much) holly berries to the container.

“And we may as well send him a slice of the Yule cake.” Helen retrieved the cake from the second fridge in the back porch and cut a generous slice.

She waited until Trixie had donned her heavy jacket and winter boots before handing her the carefully packaged food. “Don’t forget a flashlight,” Helen cautioned. “And text me before you head back. There’s no reason you can’t stay and visit for a while if you like. Your father and Matthew and Ed won’t be back from the Knicks game until late, and goodness knows when Bobby will be home, so there’s no need to rush back.”

Trixie narrowed her eyes at her mother. Was she trying to set her up with Regan? Was it that obvious that she was attracted to him? But Helen steadfastly ignored her daughter’s penetrating gaze by wrapping an extra scarf around her neck. “Go on, now,” she urged, and opened the door for her daughter.

Trixie stepped out into the blustery winter night. She couldn’t see her breath in front of her, but only because it was so dark that she could barely see the trees flanking the path that led to the Manor House stable. She flicked on the flashlight, swinging it in a wide arc to give her a good view of her surroundings. She might have known the path like the back of her hand when she’d left home almost ten years ago, but ten years felt like almost a lifetime ago, in many ways.

Some things, however, didn’t change. She hurried to the stable, drawn by the welcoming lights winking in the windows. She cleared away the snow that had accumulated at the doorstep and pushed open the door, unsurprised to see Regan sitting at the makeshift table, ledger book open in front of him. He turned around with an expression of surprise so complete that Trixie couldn’t help giggling.

“Trixie!” he exclaimed, standing abruptly and knocking the ledger book to the pristine floor of the stable. He ignored it, crossing the room in three long strides. “I didn’t realize you were back in Sleepyside.” He extended his arms as if to hug her, but the containers of food were in the way. Trixie laughed breathlessly and handed him the food.

“I got in this afternoon,” Trixie said, following him into the stable as he set the food on his desk and picked up the ledger book. “And I’ve been baking.”

Regan took a second look at the containers and raised his eyebrows.

“My cookies aren’t as good as Moms’,” she told him tartly, “but they won’t poison you.”

“Oh, I know,” he assured her. “Three years ago when you made fudge for Dan I ended up eating most of it.”

“That stinker!” Trixie exclaimed, warming from his compliment. “He came back and asked me for more, but he never told me it was because you snaffled it from him!”

“I might have sworn him to secrecy,” Regan admitted sheepishly.

“Why would you do that?” Trixie asked. “I would have given you your own!”

Regan dropped his gaze, and Trixie regretted the question. She’d always had a sneaking suspicion that he’d been aware of her feelings for him. After all, she wasn’t known for her subtlety. It was more than a little humiliating to know that he’d felt the need to put distance between them.

“Well.” Trixie glanced at the door behind her, caught between the urge to leave and the desire to spend just a few more minutes with him.

“How is Carrots?” she asked, glancing toward the stalls.

“Growing faster than I can feed her,” Regan reported, beaming. “Why don’t you come say hello?”

Pushing her embarrassment aside, Trixie followed him. When Susie had foaled several years earlier, Trixie had been thrilled with offspring Apple Blossom, affectionately called Apples. Even better had been when she’d been home for Easter this year and Apple Blossom had foaled Carrot Cake. Trixie had felt an immediate kinship with the beautiful foal and made a point of visiting her every time she returned to Sleepyside.

“Where’s my little goober?” Trixie cooed, crowding close behind Regan as he stopped in front of her stall. “I don’t have a carrot with me right now, but I promise I’ll be back—” She stopped abruptly, alarmed when Regan’s back stiffened. She saw his freckled hand reach for the gate, but she didn’t hear the familiar click. Instead, the gate swung open at his touch. Regan stared for a moment, then moved so quickly that Trixie felt a breath of air.

“She’s gone,” he said flatly, standing in the middle of her stall, hands on his hips. “Gone!”

Their eyes met for one electric moment before Regan lurched past her. “Apples is in her stall,” he said, “and so are all the rest.”

She knew she ought to feel relieved, and she did, she supposed, but her anxiety over the location of the youngest horse in the Wheeler stables only intensified. “How could she have gotten out?” she asked, and then shook her head. It didn’t matter how she’d gotten out. All that mattered now was finding her.

“She likes the far corner of the paddock,” Regan said, and strode toward the door. Trixie followed hot on his heels, only pausing long enough to snag his coat from the hook beside the door. She tried to hand it to him, but he was too far ahead of her, and moving so fast that she could barely keep up. She jogged beside him, trying to keep her footing in the loose snow. Regan had remembered to flip the switch for the lights ringing the paddock, but it was still difficult to see into the shadowed areas. She hoped against hope that they’d find Carrots in her favourite spot, but she didn’t see any horse-shaped shadows. Anywhere.

Breathing heavily, she stopped next to Regan when they reached the far corner of the paddock. “She’s not here,” he said, stating the obvious. For a moment Trixie wondered if she’d see a display of his famous red-haired temper, but before he could open his mouth, Trixie pointed at the fencing.

“How long has that board been loose?” Trixie asked, pointing to one of the rails.

And then Regan did swear. Creatively, and with feeling.

“She’s out there,” he said when he’d run out of curses.

Trixie nodded and waved the flashlight she’d forgotten she was carrying. “I’ll start looking for her,” she said gesturing vaguely down the bridle path. “You can take the path leading toward Maypenny’s.” Before he could object, she tossed his coat at him and took off at a run down the path she’d indicated, training the light ahead of her. She thought she heard more cursing behind her but dismissed it as she plunged into the preserve. It might not be smart to separate, she knew, but they had to find the filly as soon as possible.

“Here, Carrots,” she called, slowing to a brisk walk. She swung the flashlight from side to side. Carrots probably wouldn’t leave the path, but anything was possible. “There’s sugar back at the stable,” she cajoled, hoping that Carrots would recognize her voice. She made the clicking noises that had always worked to soothe Susie, but it didn’t elicit an answering whinny. Though she was mostly sheltered in the preserve, the wind gusted and threw snow across the path. Any hoofprints Carrots had left had probably been obliterated long ago. If she’d even taken this path. She could only hope that Regan was having better luck.

Another gust of wind sent snow swirling around her, this time so high that her vision was obscured. She stumbled on the uneven path and went down on one knee, her flashlight tumbling further down the path, the arc of light careening wildly. Snow soaked her jeans, chilling her thoroughly. Biting back a few of the choice words Regan had used earlier, Trixie peered into the dark, following the path her flashlight had taken. It had tumbled to a stop and still attempted valiantly to light the night. The snow gusts, however, meant that even in the path of light, she could only make out shadows.

Shadows that looked an awful lot like legs.

“Carrots?” Trixie gasped, but there was something about the legs that weren’t equine. She froze.

“Regan?” she whispered, but she knew it wasn’t possible. He hadn’t passed her on the path and he couldn’t have made it to the fork and doubled back to meet her so quickly. The figure took a step as if he were about to leave the path and Trixie sprang to her feet. Before he could disappear, she scrambled to her feet, snatched up the flashlight, and plunged into the preserve after him.

“Wait!” she cried, loose branches snapping under her feet as she left the path. “I need help! Have you seen a foal? She got out of the stable and—”

She tried to arrest her momentum when the figure stopped ahead of her but slid on the fluffy new snow and skidded right into him.

“I’m so sorry!” she babbled, clutching his cloak to steady herself. It slid under her fingers and she recoiled in surprise, bringing a glossy green leaf with her. The figure turned to face her and Trixie’s knees buckled. She sank to her knees in the snow but didn’t feel the cold seeping through her jeans. Instead, her attention focused to a pinpoint on the strange figure in front of her, and most specifically on the crown of branches atop his head.

She couldn’t move, couldn’t think, could barely breathe.

He turned away from her and Trixie was galvanized into action. She lurched forward, grasping his legs before he could take a step.

“Please!” she cried. “Please. A horse is lost in the preserve. Have you seen her?”

“I see many things,” he told her, his voice rumbling from deep within his throat. “And I know far more than I see. Can you not read the signs?”

The signs? Trixie blinked. What signs? For a half second all she could picture were speed limit signs on the highway, but she knew that wasn’t what he meant. She had a feeling the being in front of her had never been near a highway.

“The signs of the forest,” he said, his voice cold. “They are there for all to read.” His disappointment was palpable.

“But the snow covered her hoofprints,” Trixie protested. “And it’s too dark to see if she broke the branches of trees. And I don’t even know if she would have! She’s only a foal, after all. If she stayed in the middle of the path, she wouldn’t disturb the trees at all!”

“The trees talk to those who listen,” he replied enigmatically.

Trixie threw her hands in the air in despair. “She’ll die!”

“As all things must do,” he agreed, holly leaves rustling.

“But not yet,” Trixie said, resolved. “I’ll find her.” She turned her back on the figure and retraced her steps to the path. She would not leave Carrots to suffer, alone and afraid, in the stormy night. And if she couldn’t read the signs—whatever that meant!—she’d figure out a different way.

Stupid, she scolded herself. She’d wasted time talking to the strange leafy man (who was probably a figment of her imagination—he almost had to be) when he obviously couldn’t care less about Carrots’s plight, and to top it off she’d lost the flashlight as well. She could only hope that Regan was having better luck than she was. She stumbled down the path, doggedly making her own tracks through the fresh snow, even though she could barely see where she was going.

After only a few hundred yards, she came to a small clearing that she could have sworn she’d never encountered before. As soon as she stepped into it, the moon peeked out from behind the clouds, the temperature dropped, and the wind wailed. Trixie gritted her teeth against the elements and aimed for the far side, where the path continued through the preserve. A sprig of red caught the corner of her eye and she pivoted, convinced that the odd leaf man had followed her. Instead of spotting his bizarre crown made of branches and sprigs of holly, she saw what could only be a holly tree. At least, she wasn’t aware of any other trees in the preserve that sported red berries. Of course, she also wasn’t aware that the preserve had even one holly tree. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew that the New York climate wasn’t ideal for the tree.

It had been foolish to rush into the preserve alone to find Carrots. She didn’t know for certain that the horse had even taken this path, and even if she had, it would be almost impossible to find her in the current weather conditions. Her shoulders drooped and her heart sank. Was there any point to continuing the search? After all, she didn’t want to compound the night’s disasters by getting lost herself.

Her hand brushed against the branch of the holly tree, and she realized that it was laden to the point of breaking with heavy snow. She knocked the branch gently to dislodge the wet flakes and the branch rose, returning to its proper position. Still undecided if she would continue the search for Carrots without a flashlight, Trixie decided to clear the rest of the branches. It didn’t take long, and when she finished, the tree was transformed. Even through the swirling snow, the tree looked as if it were lit from within, the red berries gleaming.

“It’s beautiful,” Trixie breathed, stepping back to get a better look at the tree.

“It is, isn’t it.”

Trixie’s heart stuttered and she would have stumbled and fallen again, but a strong arm caught and steadied her. “Don’t do that!” she snapped, irritated beyond reason with the antler man. “It’s not okay to sneak up on people!”

He raised a snowy eyebrow. “Much as you did only a short time ago?”

“That was different,” she protested hotly, though she wasn’t exactly sure that it was.

“You gave aid to my tree,” he observed, studying the holly tree.

She shrugged, disconsolate. “I know it probably would have been fine. Most trees recover and the branches bounce back as soon as the snow melts. But what if they don’t? It doesn’t hurt to help, does it? When it’s in our power?”

He shook his head slowly. “No. No, it does not hurt to help. All things must die, but it does not follow that it must be now.” He paused, looking steadfastly at the tree and not her. “I have read the signs and know where the horse is. I will see it safely home. Now if you do but read the signs, you, too, will find shelter.” He turned away from her but continued speaking. “Though my reign comes to an end, this night is still long. Read the signs.”

Before she could question him, his cloak of leaves rustled and he disappeared into the preserve, though Trixie couldn’t see any sign of a path. The wind howled at his departure and the full moon disappeared, obscured by snow-laden clouds. She closed her eyes against the onslaught of snow and when she opened them, the clearing was changed. At least, what she could see of it was changed. The holly tree was shadowed, blending in with the pine trees around it. And just in front of it was a large stone she could have sworn hadn’t been there when she entered the clearing.

She frowned, a memory tickling at the back of her mind. She’d thought the clearing was unfamiliar, but now she wasn’t so sure. What was it about the boulder…? Trixie snapped her fingers through her mittens. Of course! This was the clearing in which she’d found Dan and Luke all those years ago, when Bobby had been trapped in the cave.

The cave!

Was this what the holly antler man had meant when he’d told her to read the signs? She decided it didn’t much matter what he’d meant, as long as she found shelter. She had no way of knowing if he would truly find Carrots and take her back to the stable, but she somehow trusted that he would. If she was where she thought she was, she could find the cave and shelter until morning, or until someone found her.

Even though she hadn’t been to what she referred to as the bobcat cave in years, she found the right path immediately. The distance seemed shorter than it had when she’d been frantic with worry for Bobby, and when she saw the cave opening, she ducked into it gratefully. The relief from the wind was immediate, the cave an oasis after battling the elements. Suddenly cold and exhausted, she sank to the ground, her back against the cave wall. She was far enough inside that she was shielded from the wind, and not so far in that she would miss the calls of anyone foolish enough to venture into the preserve looking for her.

Foolish. That’s what she’d been to take off after the horse when she had no idea where to start looking. That’s what she was being right now as she trusted Carrots’s fate to a man who wore branches on his head. And foolish was apparently what she’d been for the last several years when she’d thought that she was over her feelings for the red-haired groom.

Well. If she hadn’t gotten over her feelings for him by now, it might mean that she never would. Sure, the crush she’d had on him as a seventeen-year-old had been just that, a crush. But even though she’d dated others during college and while she worked for a forensics firm, she’d never quite been able to forget about Regan. And every time she returned home, she found reasons to be at the stable. It was why she’d been on hand last Easter when Carrots was born. She closed her eyes, remembering the magic of witnessing the foal’s birth. It was like nothing she’d ever experienced, and she doubted that anything would ever compare. And on top of the magic of birth had been Regan as he provided support and guidance to the mare, Apple Blossom. Trixie had seen another side of the hot-tempered groom that day, and it had cemented her evolving feelings for him.

One tear tracked down her cheek as she pictured Carrots, alone and frightened, in the preserve while the snow steadily covered her. What would it do to Regan if the filly died? As strong as he was, she doubted that he’d recover easily from the loss. And though she didn’t make it to Sleepyside nearly as often as she would like, she didn’t want to imagine the hole in her heart losing Carrots would make. It would be like losing Susie all over again, she realized, and the tears flowed faster.

“Trixie! Trixie, are you there?”

Trixie scrambled to her feet and dashed the tears from her eyes. “Regan?”

Regan burst into the cave, his pale face pinched in worry. “Trixie!” he exclaimed, throwing his arms around her when she stumbled toward him.

“You’re crying,” he accused. “Are you hurt? What’s wrong?” he asked, holding her just far away enough from him to study her face.

“Oh, Regan,” she said, her breath catching on a sob. “It’s Carrots! She’s all alone, and it’s cold, and—”

“And she’s in her stall, a good sight warmer and drier than we are,” he assured her, fumbling in his pocket for a handkerchief to dry her tears.

“Are you sure?” Trixie demanded, gripping his flannel shirt with both fists and holding him still.

“Yes,” he said firmly. He dropped the handkerchief and placed his hands over hers. “I’m sure. I left Carrots safely tucked in her stall with Jay taking care of her. It’s the least he can do,” he said grimly, “seeing as he’s the one who left her stall unlatched. I also tore a strip off his hide for scaring you,” he continued. “And I’ll recommend that Mr. Wheeler let him go. I can’t have the horses I love running loose, and I especially can’t have people I lo—” He cleared his throat. “I can’t have people risking their lives to find them.”

Her heart thumped madly at what might have been an almost-sort-of profession of love and she held his eyes for one frozen moment before realizing that she was still clutching his shirt. She choked on nervous laughter and started to let go and smooth his shirt, but her hands had a mind of their own and ended up pressed firmly to his chest. He stilled so suddenly and so completely that she knew she’d been horribly, horribly wrong. She tried to pull away, determined to save as much face as she could, but Regan grasped her wrists, holding her in place. And then he pressed closer, his body flush against hers, and she could feel every muscle, every ridge, every inch of him. He hovered, his lips inches from hers, and she knew, knew that she would die of anticipation if they didn’t kiss now.

She heard a small noise of frustration and didn’t know if it came from her or from Regan. And then it didn’t matter. There was no gap. Their lips touched, and it wasn’t electricity—it was fire. A banked fire that blazed under the right conditions.

“Trixie,” he gasped, and pulled away.

She knew that he was hesitating, that he was worrying that even though she was twenty-eight, she was too much younger than him. That she still saw him through the dreamy eyes of a teenager.

And she didn’t care. He was wrong, and she’d prove it to him.

She wound her hands through his hair and tugged him back to her and within seconds, she was certain that he didn’t care either.

“I was so worried,” he said when they broke apart for air. “Trixie, I was so worried when you took off into the preserve.” He paused. “And proud.” He cupped her face with both hands, his eyes still trained on her lips. “You have always surprised and terrified and challenged me.”

She wasn’t sure if he was complimenting her or not. Again, she didn’t care. This time he kissed her, and it was his hands on her chest instead of hers on his. Her world narrowed to hands, lips, gasps, and sighs.

“Not in a cave,” Regan finally said, his voice rough.

Trixie tried to focus, but it still took a moment before she realized that she was lying on the floor of the cave, the lean length of Regan’s body covering her and protecting her from the wind and snow buffeting the cave entrance.

“And not tonight,” he said, his voice equal parts reluctance and resolve. Instead of standing, he sat up and pulled her close. “I have no doubt you’ll be the boss of me in every way that matters, but I’m almost a decade older than you and we won’t rush into this.”

“First of all,” Trixie said, gathering her wits and pressing a kiss to his neck, “I won’t be the boss of you. We’ll be partners.” She moved to the spot behind his neck and discovered that he really, really liked it. “Second, we can wait if you want, but I won’t make it easy for you. I’ve been waiting for years, and I’ve never been known for my patience.” She drew skin into her mouth and suspected that they wouldn’t be waiting nearly as long as he might think.

“Not tonight,” he repeated his breathing ragged, “but you’re coming back to my apartment. Please.” He closed his eyes. “I just… I don’t want to let go yet.”

Since she had no plan to let him go, ever, she nodded.

Trixie giggled as they shuffled to their feet and righted their clothing. She hadn’t realized that she’d pulled Regan’s shirt from the waistband of his jeans, or that he’d tugged her hair free from her pony tail, but the evidence said otherwise. When Regan took her hand, she flushed, remembering the feel of his hands on other parts of her body. Regan chuckled, almost as if he could read her thoughts, and she supposed she ought to have been embarrassed. Instead, she was overwhelmed by a sense of rightness, that everything had come full circle in the best possible way.

They tramped companionably through the snow, Regan’s lantern casting an arc of light that penetrated the night much farther than her now lost flashlight had managed. It seemed to take no time at all to make it back to the clearing with the holly tree, though at first glance Trixie couldn’t spot it or the rock that identified the clearing as the one where she’d found Dan and Luke. When they were partway through the clearing, the wind howled, and snow from a tree fell from the branches and smacked Trixie in the face. She sputtered in surprise, but stilled when she saw that the now snow-cleared branches belonged to the holly tree. Before she could point it out to Regan, they both saw a man-sized shadow at the edge of the clearing.

“Was that—” Trixie asked, frowning as the shadow melted away.

“I meant to ask you about something,” Regan said, still staring at the same spot where the shadow had disappeared. “Did you meet a,” he paused, “a man in the preserve tonight?”

Trixie nodded. “You did too?” When he nodded, she ventured, “A man with some sort of branch crown? And a leaf cloak?” The description ought to sound ridiculous, but somehow, this night, it sounded perfectly plausible.

“Yes.” Regan released her hand to tuck his arm around her shoulders. She wasn’t cold, not exactly, but she burrowed into his warmth all the same. “He showed up at the tree line by the stable leading Carrots. Said the preserve had shown him where she was.” He moved further to the side of the narrow path to keep Trixie beside him. “And then he said something about everything having its season.” He squeezed her shoulder.

“How did you know where to find me?” Trixie asked. “Did he tell you that, too?”

She couldn’t see him flush, but she felt him stiffen.

“Did he give you some sort of line about reading the signs?” Trixie asked. “That’s what he told me. After making me feel ridiculous for not having found Carrots myself.”

Regan paused. “Not exactly,” he admitted. “He told me that if I wasn’t smart enough to read the signs by now, he didn’t have much faith I’d ever figure it out. He also said that I’d find you in the place where I found my heart the first time.” His posture softened, the tension draining from him. “When I found Dan helping you in that cave, well, I hadn’t loved anyone for a long time. My heart started again that night. I just didn’t know that it hadn’t started only for him.”

He stopped short and turned to her, eyes wide. “Not that I thought of you like that then!”

“I should think not,” she retorted tartly. “I was thirteen and a pain in your backside!”

“You weren’t a pa—”

“I most certainly was,” she corrected him. “And that isn’t likely to change. Just so you know.” Before he could argue, she barreled on. “When we get back into cell service range, I’ll text Moms and tell her I’ll be home in the morning,” Trixie said.

Regan’s Adam’s apple bobbed convulsively. “I have a pull-out couch in the living room and—”

“You can sleep where you want,” Trixie told him. “But I plan to be in your bed, in one of your old tee shirts and a pair of your sweats.”

Despite the wind and snow, sweat beaded on his forehead.

She pressed closer against him and slid her hand inside his shirt. “Can you think of a better way to spend the longest night of the year?” she asked, and felt his muscles jump under her fingers.

Regan’s answering chuckle was so warm she barely felt the wind and snow. “I can’t think of a better way to spend this night, or any other,” he told her, and Trixie felt the last of the tension of unrequited love she’d been carrying for too many years melt away. It might be the darkest night of the year, but the signs were clear that their season was changing.