Under the Mistletoe by Stefanie Sloane

Author:Stefanie Sloane [Sloane, Stefanie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781951176099
Publisher: Stefanie Sloane

Chapter 7

“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 where 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 wanted to shout his annoyance at the leaden sky.

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.

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