What the hell am I doing?

I should be watching the traffic. Instead, I'm focused on this girl, where she sits in the carriage, heaves frosted breath into the night air. Her eyes are equal parts saddened and wondered by the bombardment of holiday cheer. The girl. I don't even know her name.

I don't want to know it. I don't want to care. I don't want to be guiding Rusty through the roundabout for a woman. Yet here I am.

She's exactly my type. Dark hair, bright eyes, freckles over neutral skin. Puffy furred jacket, jeans, knee-high boots. I can see the vague shape of her body. Slender, but with healthy weight. Something to grab onto and curves to slide my hands over.

"So," she starts. "How long have you been in Antioch?"

"Few years."

She shifts in the seat, wrings her hands. "For college?"

"No."

Her azure eyes narrow as if she's debating berating me for the short answers. "Okay, do you have family in the area?"

"Yes."

"Who?"

I glance at her in the mirror as I shift lanes, smile despite myself. "Mom."

"Siblings?"

"No."

She gives an exasperated huff, "Do you say more than one-word answers?"

"Sometimes."

I feel like a dick. I shouldn't, but I do. Usually, the passengers talk among themselves. Conversation with me is limited to the history of the town, the traditions, the best places to eat, or dance or drink. I'm out of my element.

She sits back, gazing forlornly at the unlit Christmas tree as we pass. There's a glassiness to her eyes, either from the wind or unshed tears.

Even though I haven't seen her before, I know she can't be a regular tourist. She got her hot cocoa from Mrs. Stokoe, knows where to look for the Christmas displays without my prompting. Only locals do that. But I would've remembered her, she's hard to miss.

I clear my throat, try to make my gruff voice gentle. "How long have you been painting?"

That surprises her. "I'm sorry?"

"Your hands," I offer, clear my throat. "You have paint on them."

The girl stands, moves from the forward-facing seat and across. She's out from under the cover, snow falling into her long tresses and against the fur of her hooded jacket. The precipitation doesn't seem to trouble her as she sits on her knees, and purposefully puts less distance between us.

"You noticed?"

I pretend not to focus on her clear blue eyes as I change lanes. "Keeps me out of trouble."

"Sounds dark, want to share?" Her tone is teasing, but there's an undertone of genuine curiosity. No.

Cars whoosh past; I draw the reins in tighter. "You didn't answer my question."

She sasses me with, "A few years."

"You enjoy it?"

"Yes."

"Are you making fun of me?" I hate that she makes me laugh.

I catch her stunning smile. "Maybe."

There's sorrow in her shoulders, her eyes. So strange juxtaposed to the delight at seeing the festivities. It makes me want to know her, bare her, peel back layers, understand the sadness, and fix it.

"That's why I came over, actually," she muses. "I want to draw Rusty," she pauses, eyes fluttering past me to the road beyond, "and you."

Something inside me stutters. "I'd love to see that."

What? No. Shut up.

She blinks and looks at me, expression open. "You would?"

"Rusty loves showing off for the girls," I deflect, shrugging.

There's a brief pause as I pull past the dorms of Antioch College. They stare, point, whisper. I ignore it. I know what they're saying. Kate went here, after all. My jilting is no secret.

The girl glances at the people and frowns. Turning back to me, she prompts, "And what about you?"

"What about me?"

"Showing off for girls." She wrinkles her nose into an adorable, reddened button. "You don't even know my name."

"I know you like horses." I turn, which is a massive mistake.

She's so close. I smell the delicate floral scent of her perfume, the slight sweetness of spilled cocoa. Her crystal gaze glitters in the descending moonlight. Something tightens in the pit of my stomach, and I feel inexplicably drawn to her.

"I like a lot of things; Rusty isn't the only one here." The flirtatious tone in her soft voice makes my chest throb.

I scoot away, put some distance between me and those damn eyes. "Rusty's the only good one here."

She considers that then seems to ignore my warning. Instead, she extends her hand, absolutely drowning in my gloves. "Nicasia Crest; Nikki."

"Forest Kirschner." I fold the reins in my lap, meet the gesture. "You're welcome to sketch Rusty anytime." Seriously, shut the hell up.

Nikki leans back on her heels, mouth quirking into a smile as we pass the college. "It won't just be Rusty I sketch, and I tend to get what I want."

My traitorous gaze drops to her lips. Full, pink, and chapped with cold. "And what is it you want?"

She pauses, seems to consider for a moment. Then, "You're a pretty person."

I chuckle before I can stop myself, cover my staring with a shift of the reins. "Pretty?"

"Yes, pretty." She nods emphatically.

"What part of me is pretty?"

Those freckles flush a brighter red. I lean closer, dare her to engage whatever electricity is sparking between us. There's no taking it back. She opened this door; she'll acknowledge it.

"Your eyes," she starts with a deep swallow.

"What about them?"

"They're dark, heady. But distant. Like a thundercloud trapped in a snow globe."

She's so fucking gorgeous. Those dense lashes framing electric blue eyes. If I were a different man – unbroken – I'd bring her back to my place. I'd show her all my secrets, my scars. I'd love her, break her, and love her again.

But I'm just me; worthless. My fiancée couldn't stand me, left me for another man – or men, who knows. What place would I have with her?

I bask in her closeness, her wonder.

Make me feel alive.

"Snow globe, huh?" I sneer. "How poetic."

Shatter me.

Nikki isn't bothered by my roughness. She's still smiling as she nods, raven hair falling into her eyes. "Not the cheap plastic ones though, the ones made of glass and porcelain."

Subconsciously, my hand raises to brush the tangled, wet strands away from her face. Thick tresses slide through my fingers, tickle the inside of my wrist. Soft and lovely.

Nikki inhales, freezes.

I do, too. The proverbial shoulder-devil jabs me in the neck with his pitchfork. Kiss her.

No. I shouldn't let this fantasy persist. The sleigh bells and holiday cheer are a mask. Love and loss have left me haggard and hurt. This pretty girl with bright, hopeful eyes isn't worth the pain.

A terrifyingly long moment yawns between us. Then she shifts and clears her throat, eyes roaming from me to Rusty and back again. I wonder why she's alone in all this tacky holiday cheer, not wrapped warmly beside a yule log watching ABC-Family reruns with loved ones.

I drop my hand and fist it around the reigns. I shouldn't have touched her. "Where do you live?"

Nikki's breath forms clouds in the air. "Just up the hill, but –" She breaks off, pulling her lower lip between her teeth. I watch her, see the wheels spinning rapidly in her mind, the fervent way her eyes flit between Rusty and me, how wild she looks when she's nervous. "I'd rather see where you live."

That gives me pause. Who the hell says that to someone they've just met?

I scowl, try to find her game. She wasn't one of those girls. I doubt she approached me on a dare like some do. Maybe she really is fascinated by Rusty...by me. Maybe...I don't have to be alone in this world.

You're better off alone.

I grit my teeth, square my shoulders. That's right. Less heartbreak.

I don't need people. I have Rusty, the herd, the property. If I want company, I'll darken some stool at Mom's bar, shoot pool with the seedy sorts. I don't need this girl – Nikki – at all.

"It's a ranch." I provide, like that might dissuade her. "You said just up the hill?"

Fire blossoms across her cheeks at my callous rejection. Defiance, sharp and bright, lights her eyes. She shifts, the movement spilling long raven hair over her shoulder. I imagine it in my fingers again, snarled, fisted against her scalp. I want to kiss the windburn from her face, her lips. I want to bring her home with me.

What the hell?

Nikki said something. Fuck me if I heard it, though. Her eyes drown me, make me forget everything except her nearness. This person I barely know drags me down like a riptide.

"Sorry, what?" I attempt lamely.

"I said forget it," Nikki grumbles. "Stop here. I'll walk."

Rusty jingles our way toward a narrow cape of cottages lined neatly around a cul-de-sac. Bedazzled Christmas lights glitter in the moonlit snow, golden light pools from windows like a Thomas Kinkade picture. It's nauseatingly charming, the kind of neighborhood where kids build snowmen on the lawn, warm with cocoa. Safe and quaint, far from the downtown alleys.

Away from me and my house along the forgotten backcountry lanes.

I rein Rusty to a halt. She was right; it wasn't a far journey. Maybe a mile or so. Still, I feel safer bringing her this far.

I open the door for her – force of habit – and offer my hand. "Big step."

Nikki takes it but hops down too quickly, skids on a slick patch. She windmills her arms backward, yelps. I grasp her hand before she can fully ass-plant on the ground. Except she's such a dainty thing, I end up yanking too hard, pull her flush against my front.

"Oh!" Nikki gasps. Hands on my chest, gazing at me wide-eyed. "Th-thank you."

I right her quickly, retreat into my own sphere. She felt way too good in my arms. "Yep."

Nikki gives me this shit-eating grin. "You really know how to get a girl to fall for you."

Wow. Even Rusty groans at that one.

"You slipped." I correct her, smiling despite myself. "And that was cheesy."

"Fits the scene," she gestures to the Hallmark backdrop. "Got you to give me more than a few words."

Something warm crackles in my chest, a smolder of what I thought was long forgotten. It melts the frost just a bit, pulls my face into the first genuine smile I've had all evening. "That you did."

"So." She shoves her hands in her pockets, rocks up onto the balls of her feet.

"So," I repeat, wanting to linger but knowing better. "You have a nice night."

That smirk again. "See you around." She hands over my gloves and sashaysup the hill.