Sleigh Bell Sweethearts. Teri Wilson

woods. In the shade of the tree canopy, he’d felt far away from everything he’d left behind. He’d felt free. As free as he could feel, anyway.

      Morning was still his favorite time of day. Especially quiet mornings like this one. He could hear nothing but the crunch of snow under his feet and the click of reindeer hooves behind him.

      Palmer, of course.

      Alec glanced over his shoulder. Just as he’d suspected, a certain reindeer with a white ring around his left eye was trailing his heels. “You know you can’t sneak up on me. I can hear you clicking. You sound like an old man with creaky ankles.”

      Palmer’s frosty white eyelashes fluttered. He was far from old. Alec’s best guess was five or six years of age, which meant he had a good four years left. Maybe more. The clicking sound—caused by a tendon in their rear hooves—was universal among adult reindeer. It was nature’s way of helping reindeer keep track of one another in blizzards. Or, in Alec’s case, of knowing when one was shadowing him.

      “If you’re hoping I’m going to lead you to an opening in the fence, then you’re sorely out of luck. You’re going to have to find your own escape route.”

      Palmer’s only response was a quiet grunt. And more eyelash fluttering.

      Alec reached out and rested his palm on Palmer’s muzzle. After only a day or two on the farm, Alec had learned how and when to pet the reindeer. They seemed to prefer being touched on the head or neck, with the nose being a particularly favorite spot. Some liked being petted more than others, but none of them craved attention like Palmer. Most of the time, he followed Alec around like a devoted puppy, which made his unpredictable disappearing acts all the more mystifying.

      “What are you running from, bud?” Alec rubbed the pad of his thumb against Palmer’s nose. It was covered in soft fuzz, a defense mechanism against frostbite. Palmer leaned into Alec’s touch, looking as happy as could be.

      Alec was stumped. He was certainly no expert in reindeer husbandry, but the animal seemed content. Why did he keep disappearing? And how was he managing it? The fence was 100 percent intact. Alec had looked at every square inch of it.

      “You don’t have it so bad around here, you know,” he muttered. “Trust me on this.”

      He dropped his hand back to his side and searched Palmer’s expression one last time.

      It was no use. He was no reindeer mind reader.

      He trudged through the snow back toward the barn. Palmer’s tendency to roam hadn’t been a problem up until now. He’d managed to keep out of trouble on his previous excursions, but taking a nap at the airport was obviously out of the question. And even though it technically wasn’t his problem, Alec felt responsible.

      Behind him, Palmer’s hooves clicked, an audible reminder of his predicament.

      Not my predicament. Zoey’s.

      He scowled. Why he wanted to help her was beyond him. He didn’t owe her anything. In fact, quite the opposite. One thousand times the opposite, give or take a nickel. And it wasn’t as though she welcomed his assistance. She’d made it more than clear that she could take care of things on her own.

      Yeah, right.

      She took the whole rose-colored glasses thing to a new level. But much to his chagrin, he found her unwavering spunkiness nearly as appealing as it was annoying. Given his past, he could appreciate a feisty, independent streak. Even if that independent streak was a little nutty.

      And she was kinda cute.

      There, he’d admitted it. It wasn’t as if he would do anything about it. It being her cuteness. He’d been down that road before. He had no inclination to go down it again. And he was more than certain that he wasn’t Zoey’s type. If she knew what was good for her, she’d avoid him like the plague.

      He inhaled a lungful of arctic air as the log-cabin-style barn came into view. He felt better somehow. The quiet, peaceful morning stretched out before him, and his head felt clearer. Wasn’t admitting the existence of a problem always the first step? He’d admitted his quasi-attraction to Zoey Hathaway. Now he could forget all about her and move on.

      He pushed through the back door, and in an instant his visions of a calm, stress-free morning evaporated. Through the wide double doors on the opposite side of the barn, Zoey strode toward him. Her blond hair was swept up in a high, perky ponytail, and her arms were piled high with three cardboard boxes.