Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 89572 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 448(@200wpm)___ 358(@250wpm)___ 299(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89572 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 448(@200wpm)___ 358(@250wpm)___ 299(@300wpm)
“Perfect.” I tuck my camera away. “Thank you.”
“You’re not allowed to film on the ride,” he says. “I probably should’ve mentioned that sooner.”
“That’s okay. I’ll be too busy watching you to record anything anyway.”
We trudge through the grass and around to the back of the library. The scent of hay, horse, and wet winter air assaults my nose.
“Whew!” I cover my nose and mouth with one gloved hand. “They’re, um, fragrant.”
“Declan!” Mr. Baxter shouts and hurries over to us. “There you are. I was starting to worry you wouldn’t show.”
“If I say I’m going to be here, I’ll be here.” Declan holds out his hand and they quickly shake hello.
Mr. Baxter’s gaze flicks to me. “Ah—hello, Emery. Nice to see you with your nose out of a book.”
“You too.” I stretch my lips into a warm smile.
His gaze pings between Declan and me. “Well, ah, I…nice to see you two…” He turns and points to the first wagon. “That one’s yours. You might want to test the microphone. Daphne’s your driver.”
“Great. Thank you.” Declan squints at the horses hooked to the front of the wagon. “Is that my buddy, Snickers?”
Mr. Baxter beams. “Sure is.”
“Let’s go say hi.” Declan curls his hand around mine and, nodding to Mr. Baxter, pulls me toward the horses.
As we approach, the horse lifts its massive head, steam puffing from its nostrils.
“Oh wow.” I stop short. “He’s…huge up close.”
Declan laughs under his breath. “He’s gentle, I promise.”
He reaches into the pocket of his coat and pulls out what looks like a handful of round cookies. “You want to say hello?”
I hesitate. The horse shifts, leather harness creaking softly, hooves stamping against the pavement.
Declan steps closer to Snickers, resting a hand against the horse’s neck. The animal leans into the touch.
Huh, Snickers kinda behaves like a giant dog.
“Hey, buddy,” Declan murmurs. “Want to say hello to Emery?”
My heart pitter-patters. This big grumpy man is an absolute marshmallow around animals.
Declan glances at me and holds out one of the treats. “Hold your hand flat and let him take it.”
“You promise he won’t bite me? His teeth are huge.”
“He won’t,” Declan promises.
“I really need my hand, buddy,” I whisper as I hold out the cookie the way Declan instructed.
Snickers’ lips brush my palm, surprisingly gentle as he vacuums up the treat.
I grin at Declan. “He’s a sweetheart.”
“Told you.” He strokes his palm over the horse’s nose. “You can pet him.”
The horse seems to know I’m uneasy around him. He stares at me with big, dark brown eyes, then ducks his head. I rub my hand over his head a few times before he turns to Declan. He noses Declan’s coat, apparently searching for more treats.
Declan offers another cookie to Snickers, then reaches over to give one to the horse next to Snickers—an equally large animal with a similar shiny brown coat and white markings.
“Ready to test out the wagon?” Declan says.
“I think we better.” I throw a glance at Mr. Baxter who’s standing by a different wagon, farther back. He keeps throwing worried looks our way. “Mr. Baxter seems eager to get the show rolling.”
Declan nods quickly. Our “wagon” is dressed up as some sort of gothic, Victorian-looking sleigh with black-and-gold panels along the side and silver garlands with little dangling silver skulls. Someone even painted curved runners on the wooden base to mimic a classic sleigh.
The wood creaks gently as the horses shift their weight, the bells on their harnesses jingling softly.
Declan holds my hand as I navigate the narrow set of stairs at the back of the wagon. Bales of hay are stacked along the low side rails. A microphone setup rests on a large wooden box at the front of the wagon.
“That’s my spot.” Declan points to the box. He grabs one of the hay bales near the front and sets it next to the box. “For my co-pilot.”
“Me?”
“I want to keep you close and your view will be better if you’re facing this way.”
Warmth spreads through me. He’s getting ready to entertain a wagonful of tourists, but he’s worried about my comfort.
“Thanks.”
He strides up front, his boots thudding along the wagon floor and kicking loose hay forward.
The box has a lid that Declan pries loose. He pulls a red-and-black plaid blanket out and drapes it over the hay bale closest to him. “Don’t want you getting hay stuck to your tights,” he explains.
If he does one more sweet thing, I’ll melt into a puddle at his feet. “Thank you.” I perch on the hay bale, waiting to see if it’ll hold me before getting too comfortable. But it’s sturdy and firm.
Declan picks up the microphone, testing it with a few low murmurs.
Lucy climbs into the wagon with us, settling into the corner opposite of me, and hands Declan a bottle of water. She stands and offers one to me.