One Perfect Christmas (Short Story) (6 page)

“Miss Jane, there you are!” Robby exclaimed, bringing Fickle to a sliding halt in
front of her and Lord Needles. “Beggin’ your pardon, but it’s Reg. He’s gone missing
again. And I fear for him in the coming storm.”

Jane gasped at this closer view of Robby. Her old friend was wrapped in a hand-me-down
coat she’d thought ripped to bits for rags years ago. He was shaking from the cold
and his teeth were literally chattering.

Jane removed her hand from Lord Needles’s and reached for Fickle’s reins. “Come, Robby,
off you go.”

The footman obliged and carefully slid his small, wiry frame down the side of Fickle
until both his feet touched the ground.

“How long do you believe he’s been gone?” Jane asked, stepping around to Fickle’s
left side.

“Close to three hours.”

She gestured for Robby to give her a leg up.

“Miss Merriweather, though it is not my place,” Lord Needles said, rounding the big
horse to reach her, “I do not think it wise of you to be out in this storm any longer
than is absolutely required.”

Jane glared at Robby until he knelt down and took her foot in his hands. “Lord Needles,
though you’ve no reason to do so, I would ask that you grant me one last kindness.”

He stood motionless, neither agreeing nor disagreeing with her request.

“Take Robby to the vicarage and ask Vicar Jones to see that he’s given a blanket and
a bit of warming broth,” Jane continued, throwing her leg over the draft as gracefully
as she could, considering her attire.

Though she would appreciate Lord Needles’s kindness until the day she died, Jane needed
to be away from the man and the secure future that he would take with him.

“And my answer is no, my lord. I am not willing to give up. Thank you for reminding
me of who I am,” she added, backing Fickle away before turning him ’round on the path
and setting off in search of Reginald.

“Why do you hate me so?”

Lucas stared down at Reginald, Jane’s blasted ass, as he munched on a tangle of thistles
he had apparently uncovered in the snow.

He’d ridden the borders of Cavanaugh lands and cut through the south property intent
on heading for home. His emotions were no more in check than when he’d set out, but
the weather had worsened, the storm finally making an appearance and fulfilling the
dire predictions. He could not stay out-of-doors much longer without risking injury.

Nor could Reginald.

Lucas blew out a breath of resignation and jumped down from Horatio’s broad back,
his booted feet landing in snow that reached well above his shins. “Come along, Reginald.”

The donkey stopped chewing for a moment, as if considering Lucas’s words, then continued,
clearly unconcerned.

Lucas held on to Horatio’s reins and reached out for Reginald’s halter, before realizing
there was nothing to tie the two animals together.

The driving wind cut through Lucas’s greatcoat like a knife, icy air prodding his
shoulder blades. He squinted at the donkey through the blowing snow. “I don’t suppose
you’d simply follow, eh?”

Lucas tugged Horatio forward and pulled gently on Reginald’s halter. The donkey remained
where he was in answer to Lucas’s question.

“I could just leave you to the elements,” Lucas explained to the ass, looking about
for something to use as a lead. “And I should, really. Poor Horatio here doesn’t deserve
to freeze to death simply because you wouldn’t leave your precious thistles.”

Lucas pulled harder on the leather lead. Reginald seemed rooted to the spot, his head
bobbing forward with each tug, but his body not moving one step.

“Dammit,” Lucas swore, looking up at the pregnant sky while he considered his options.

The animal responded with a loud snort.

“Be quiet, you ridiculous ass,” Lucas grumbled, lowering his head to look at the donkey.
Just beyond one of the animal’s overgrown ears he caught sight of a small man-made
lake he and his brother had fished many times as children. On the opposite side of
the lake, behind a small hill that lay near the banks of the well-stocked water, there
was a small cottage.

Lucas gave Reginald an apologetic look. “Here is the situation: I cannot possibly
drag you to Juniper Hall. It’s too far and we would freeze to death before we got
there. But that”—he pointed past the lake—“I believe we could manage. If you will
cooperate.”

He was reasoning with an ass. It was absolute madness.

Reginald abruptly backed up and turned in the direction of the cottage, threatening
to pull Lucas’s arm from its socket.

“Or not.”

Lucas clucked to Horatio and the three set out for the lake, Reginald’s short, stubby
legs making their going excruciatingly slow.

Lucas’s frustration was so heavy, he could have shouted.

Instead, he focused on the falling snow. On the sound of his boots digging into the
downy blanket that stretched out before him as far as the eye could see. On the soft,
snuffling noises Reginald made when he grew tired and insisted on taking a momentary
rest.

On anything else but his broken, aching heart.

“Do you know, Reginald,” Lucas said out loud, addressing the donkey as he would a
human friend. “I have a rather dramatic flair—at least when it comes to your mistress.

“ ‘Broken, aching heart,’ ” he repeated his earlier thought with disgust. “Sounds
like something Jane would say, does it not, Reginald?”

The donkey’s furry ears pricked up at the sound of his mistress’s name and he brayed
three times in quick succession.

Lucas patted Reginald’s soft, hairy head. “No, my dear friend, your mistress is presently
entertaining one Lord Needles—perhaps even accepting his proposal of marriage. You
may have a new master in your future, in fact.”

They’d reached the lake and turned to take on the hill. “And it won’t be me.”

The three climbed in silence. Horatio snorted with impatience, his long, powerful
legs clearly itching to simply run up the incline and be done with it. Reginald lowered
his head and plowed forth, his short, squat bulk proving valuable against the fearsome
wind and snow. And Lucas walked between the two, the muscles in his thighs burning
with effort, his arms aching from keeping a firm hold on both equines.

Mother Nature was attempting to tell Lucas something, he felt sure of it. As he struggled
to stay upright, his
extremities pricking with a thousand needles, parts already completely numb, his body
and mind begged him to abandon the consuming anger and sense of betrayal that had
led him out into the storm to begin with. At last they reached the top of the hill
and Lucas could just make out the tiny cottage in the distance.

He paused, catching his breath and allowing his fellow wanderers to do the same.

He had no one to blame but himself. Jane could have been his wife long, long ago.
But Lucas had squandered time, traveling the world in search of his life, never realizing
that everything he’d ever longed for could be found at Juniper Hall.

Yes, he could feel disappointed in Jane. He still believed that she’d felt something
in his kiss—knew it in his bones, though they’d all but turned to ice. But she owed
him nothing. He’d given her no reason to pursue those feelings.

He could not be angry with her. Jane’s family had nothing left to save them but a
favorable marriage. She would have been a fool to ignore the opportunity Lord Needles
represented.

“You stupid, short-sighted ass,” Lucas mumbled, defeat settling on his exhausted chest.
“Not you, Reginald. Me.”

The wind shifted suddenly and the sound of pounding hoofbeats reached Lucas. He turned
in the direction of the thuds, narrowing his eyes to see the horse. A rider sat
astride a large draft, the horse’s powerful legs eating up the space between him and
the trio.

“Lucas, wait …” the rider yelled, each word warped by the capricious wind.

The animals spooked at the ghostly sound, both releasing a squeal of fright.

Lucas turned back around just in time to see the white in Horatio’s eyes before he
bolted for the bottom of the hill, Reginald rearing up on his hind legs, then scrambling
after the Thoroughbred.

Lucas held on to the donkey’s halter as his knees connected with the ground and he
began a fast, slippery descent down the hill. “Stop … this … instant!” he bellowed.

They were the last words Lucas spoke to the ass before a sudden and definitively violent
jerk parted the two of them.

The world began to spin as he took the hill end over end. Rocks of all sizes connected
with his flesh, sending a stinging sensation throughout his entire body. He forced
his arms to his sides and rolled onto his back, his greatcoat acting as a flying carpet
of sorts. The wind tore at his eyes and whistled through his ears as he picked up
speed and crossed an outcropping of small boulders, becoming airborne, then landing
hard just behind Reginald.

It occurred to Lucas that it would have been good fun, if not for the loose livestock.

He dropped the heels of his boots and employed them as a makeshift rudder, successfully
steering himself around the donkey.

He offered Reginald a charming grin as he passed, before concentrating on the fast-approaching
cottage.

It was too late. If he’d only remained a gentleman and refrained from taunting Reginald
when he’d taken the lead.

But he hadn’t.

Regret overtook his senses the precise moment before he crashed into a snowbank.

Jane held tight to Fickle’s reins as the big draft horse raced down the slippery slope,
her eyes focused on Lucas at the bottom of the hill.

He wasn’t moving.

Her horse lumbered past Reginald and Horatio, and Jane glanced quickly at them. Both
horse and donkey appeared to be in one piece still—if somewhat dazed by their recent
ordeal.

Jane urged Fickle on. “Lucas!” she cried out, willing him to move.

She pulled Fickle to a sliding stop and kicked her foot free of the right stirrup,
swinging her leg over the draft’s back before dropping the second stirrup and sliding
down to the ground.

“Lucas!” she yelled again, rushing to where he lay, unmoving.

She bent over him, overjoyed to see his eyes were open. “Lucas?”

“There’s no need to shout, Jane.” His familiar dry tone reassured her as little else
could have. “I am, after all, right here.”

Jane watched him sit up and brush at the ice and dirt covering his clothing. “You …”
she began, wrestling internally with the relief she felt for his safety and the formidable
ire his statement stirred.

“This is all your fault,” Lucas informed her, rolling to his knees and staggering
to stand. “If you’d kept your
mouth closed rather than screaming like some crazed banshee back there on the hill,
the horses never would have spooked—that is ‘horse.’ One horse, and an ass.”

Jane pushed a sodden lock of hair from her face and narrowed her eyes at him. She
was colder than she’d ever been before. Her legs ached from straddling Fickle’s monstrously
wide back. And now that she’d destroyed any future with Lord Needles, this was as
good as life was going to get. In fact, it might only grow worse. “My fault? Is that
so? Well, perhaps you’ll keep your hands off my ass from now on?”

Lucas pulled at his greatcoat to examine a gaping hole situated directly between his
shoulder blades. “You think I’m responsible for Reginald’s escape? Hardly! I was just
the poor, unfortunate chap who found him. If not for me, your donkey would have frozen
to death.”

He yanked his coat off and flung it to the ground, exposing the clothing beneath.
Jagged tears mapped the wild ride Lucas had taken from the top of the hill, not one
stitch of fabric having remained unscathed. And he was wet from head to toe.

And slightly blue.

Panic rose in Jane’s throat, overriding her extreme discomfort and abject irritation
with Lucas. “We must get you inside at once, before
you
freeze to death.”

Lucas examined his appearance as if he’d not been aware of the risk. “Not without
an apology.”

“You cannot mean to play with your own health? Go inside. I will see to the horses,”
Jane countered. She turned and called to Reginald and Fickle. The donkey began to
trot toward her, then slowed, deciding instead to walk on and stop in front of the
barn’s double wagon door. The draft followed closely behind.

Lucas put two fingers in his mouth and an ear-splitting whistle sounded. “Apologize.”

Horatio tore across the snow-covered ground and circled Lucas before joining Reginald
and Fickle at the gate.

“They are tired and hungry, Lucas,” Jane implored, walking to the animals. “As am
I. If it is an apology you require, then you shall have one.”

Jane breathed in deeply, the pungent scent of snow, wet horse, and sodden wool filling
her nostrils and settling her sense of defeat squarely on her heart. “I am sorry you
were the one to find Reginald. I am sorry for shouting in an attempt to gain your
attention. I am sorry the horses spooked and caused you to sail down the hill in a
most undignified manner. I am sorry for all of it, Lucas. Absolutely everything.”

“Well,” he replied, shifting his gaze to the frozen ground. “That was quite thorough.
I accept your apology.” He cleared his throat and gestured at the horses. “I’ll help
you get them settled.”

Jane hurried around Reginald’s hindquarters and reached for the gate. “You will not,”
she said firmly. “I gave you an apology. It is your turn now to do as
I
asked.”

“What would Lord Needles say if I were to abandon his betrothed to the elements?”
Lucas asked, adjusting his filthy cravat. “He’d challenge me to a duel, perhaps. Or
force me to engage in a conversation concerning his work.”

Jane had had enough. “I’m not his betrothed, nor will I ever be,” she ground out,
freeing the door latch.

“You surely cannot say so with finality,” Lucas replied, walking her way.