Wicked Winters: A Collection of Winter Tales

by Lucy Smoke

  Can alpacas sense fear? Or is that horses?

  “Well, come on. She won’t bite,” Peter says, and I wholeheartedly think he’s lying to me.

  Lady looks like she wants to take a chunk out of my jacket and make no apologies for it. I watch as Evan walks right up to her, laying one hand in the curly fur on the side of her neck, but she doesn’t take her eyes off me as she continues chewing whatever is in her mouth.

  Just freaking swallow already.

  “Right, so, Peter, I just really needed to see them and maybe see vet records that show they are healthy.”

  “The best way to check is to get close to them. See, they each have their own personality, but you don’t know it until you bond with them.” Peter steps out from between two of the other standing behind Lady. “These two are Jasmine and Havana.”

  “You named them Jasmine and Havana?”

  “Yes, they wanted fancy names. Who am I to tell them no?” Peter says, rubbing his hands underneath both of their faces.

  Their owner?

  “What are the other three named?”

  “Tula, Vista, and Vera. The last two are twins. And Tula here is pregnant; she won’t be racing.”

  Peter grins, and I want to roll my eyes again. Of course we won’t make the pregnant alpaca race. This whole idea of racing alpacas is ludicrous in the first place. I feel my control as the director slipping from between my fingers.

  “They are beauties,” Evan says, walking between each one and affectionately patting them.

  He would be an animal lover. And it seems they love him back. He’s the picture of ease while I’m sweating underneath this jacket—and not from the warm layers.

  “Darn right,” Peter says, grinning again.

  I swear all that man does is smile and talk about his alpacas.

  “Right, I still need to see the vet paperwork,” I say, looking pointedly at Peter.

  He gives me a slight nod and starts to walk toward the gate.

  “Where are you going?”

  “Got the papers up at the house,” he says, pointing back toward his two-story white house.

  “Well, don’t leave me in here,” I say, quickly walking toward him before he can get out the gate and shut it. “Evan?”

  “I’ll stay right here. We are bonding.” His voice comes from the center of the group of alpacas.

  I make it a point to later look up what a group of alpacas is called.

  I pull out my phone and check the time. We’ve already been here thirty minutes. Longer than I thought we would be. I consult the schedule I programmed in my calendar last night and see that I need to be at the bakery at ten forty-five. I’ll be cutting it close. I lean my back against the fence, shoving my phone back in my pocket and tilting my head up toward the sky. I blow out a breath, watching the small white wisp rise into the air before disappearing.

  Suddenly, my hat is pulled from my head, and I reach my hand up to try and stop it, only grabbing my hair in the process.

  “Hey,” I protest, turning.

  I see Evan laughing and an alpaca standing a few yards away, my favorite winter toboggan latched firmly in her mouth. If I didn’t know any better, I would say she had a smile on her face.

  “Come back here, you fluffy piece of filthy animal.” I put one foot on the lower rung of the fence and step up, extending one arm out like I expect her to bring it back and nicely lay it in my open palm.

  Evan walks toward her, murmuring softly, and I bring another foot up, hooking it over the top rung so I can shift over and bring my other leg down, jumping back into the pasture.

  “Come here, Lady,” Evan says, still advancing slowly.

  I keep an eye on the other alpacas as I walk toward Lady and Evan. Lady backs up a few steps, and I stop, but Evan doesn’t. She tosses her head from side to side, my toboggan flapping in the wind. I send up a prayer that her teeth haven’t cut into the yarn since I’m sure our small boutique doesn’t have any more.

  “Here, pretty girl.” Evan has one hand outstretched, moving at a snail’s pace and making a clicking noise with his mouth.

  Lady just stares at him as I walk up behind him, and then she huffs. Lowering her head, she charges a little toward us, and Evan throws his arms out.

  “Ahh, Evan. Save me!” I scream as I latch on to the back of his jacket.

  Lady gets spooked by my screeching and jerks to the side before continuing her previous course, headed right for us. Evan pushes me to the side, jogging the opposite direction to distract her, but it doesn’t work. Lady doesn’t change course, still running straight toward me as if my fear is a homing beacon she’s locked in on. I swear, if looks could kill, she would murder me right then and there and put one hoof on top of my fallen body while her loyal alpaca subjects gathered around, bowing. Like that one scene in The Lion King.

  “Damn it, Milly. Get out of the way,” Evan yells before his body plows into my frozen one, knocking me flat on my back as he lands on top of me.

  I would almost laugh at how cliché it all was if I hadn’t just looked death in the eyes.

  Lady. She’s no lady.

  I groan, trying to catch my breath, as Evan pushes up with his arms, taking most of his weight off of me. He catches my eyes, and I expect him to be grinning, but he has a somber look on his face as we peer at each other. His blue eyes are fastened on mine, and from this close, I can see a slightly darker ring of blue on the outside, making them even more striking. He slowly blinks, and then I watch as his eyes dart around—to my hair, my nose, landing on my mouth. And my breath catches. It’s almost like he wants to kiss me, but surely, that can’t be right.

  My lips part on an exhale, and his eyes sharpen, watching my mouth move as he bites his lip, a crease forming in his forehead before his eyes snap back to mine. He slightly shakes his head before pushing the rest of the way off of me.

  I had to be imagining it. He didn’t want to kiss me. He was just making sure I was uninjured with his slow perusal. Anyone else would have done the same thing. My heart rate is out of control as my thoughts go wild.

  This is so out of character for me. I’m very much type A. I have a plan and a schedule, and I stick to that schedule. Sure, I’ve had boyfriends in the past, but they always left, most citing that I was too uptight. I’m not uptight though. I can have fun. I just enjoy a little order in my fun.

  Evan reaches his hands out, grasping mine as I stick them up in the air. In one swift, effortless pull from him, I’m standing again, a little too quickly, and I stumble, falling into his chest.

  “You are super light,” Evan remarks, and for some reason, it strikes me funny.

  I giggle against his chest and then still as I register how quickly his heart is racing against my hand, mirroring my heartbeat. Maybe he’s more affected than he lets on. His strong grip comes around both of my upper arms as he helps to right me for the second time, that frown still present on his face.

  “Sorry,” I whisper as I look down at my clothes, coated in a thin layer of dust. I start to wipe it off with my hands, only succeeding in smearing it everywhere.

  Evan reaches up, the pad of his thumb softly hitting my cheek as he drags it back toward my ear, pressing down a little harder before letting up, and I raise my head to look at him.

  “You had a little dirt there,” he murmurs.

  I raise my hand to touch where he just did, a small trail of tingles left in his wake.

  “Here it is,” Peter yells from the gate as he opens it, waving some papers in the air.

  Evan and I jerk apart as if electrocuted.

  “Sorry, they were in the wrong drawer, or I would’ve been back much sooner.”

  “That’s okay,” I say with a smile, taking the papers from him and holding them against my chest, a barrier to keep the feeling rolling around inside me at bay.

  “Hey, uh, do you know Lady has your hat?” Peter furrows his brow, pointing.

  I instinctively reach up to pat my hair, a laugh escaping. “Y
eah, we weren’t successful in getting it back,” I say, pointing to my outfit that needs a thorough cleaning now.

  I will have to amend the schedule, so I can go home and change, I think as I bring my watch up to check the time—10:42. Late, late, late.

  Peter whistles, and Lady trots over, dropping my half-chewed-up hat into his hand.

  He hands it to me, saliva coating most of it. “Sorry about that. Lady is such a prankster.”

  I hold my hat between my thumb and forefinger, not sure whether to laugh or cry about the events of the day, and it’s not even noon.

  “Right, a prankster.” I smile at Peter before glaring at Lady, who only blinks at me, her lips flapping a little in what I assume to be a victorious smile. I turn, papers in hand, and make my way toward the gate. “Come on, Evan. There’s still work to be done.”

  “We aren’t done for the day?” he asks, raising his eyebrows when I look back at him.

  “Oh no, Co-Director. Far from it.” I smile and wave at Peter.

  Then, I make my way to my car, watching Evan climb up into his Jeep from the safety of my tinted windows. Blowing out a long breath and wondering what I’ve gotten myself into, I start my car, the hot air seeping from the vents heating my cheeks along with the memory of Evan’s body on mine.

  4

  Evan

  I’m not sure what Anna Potts got me into, but I do know that this is the busiest I’ve been in a while, and I can’t say I hate it. That’s one thing about being a rich recluse; there’s not much to spend your days doing, except for your hobbies. Mine include reading, swimming in my indoor pool, and then my job, talking to clients about their financial investments. Now that I’m out and about in the world, breathing fresh air and having real human contact, I feel alive again.

  Since my parents are off vacationing in some faraway land, I’ve had the complete run of the house, and it’s too big for one man to live in by himself. I spend way too much time at night staring at the ceiling, thinking about what could have been if I hadn’t walked in on what I did three years ago. Since I’ve started helping Milly with the Christmas Festival stuff, nights are a lot calmer and more peaceful. Dare I say, silent? My brain seems to be able to shut off, and I’ve stopped relying on memories of the past and started looking more toward the future.

  I turn over and check my phone, smiling like an idiot when I see that Milly sent me today’s schedule last night. No rest for the weary. I also see an email from my mother, and I roll my eyes. I can only imagine what silliness it will hold. That’s my parents in one word—silly. Content to use their money for their adventures, which never include me. I’m twenty-five, so there’s no issue there. But never having them home for the holidays doesn’t quite foster the familial connection. I click on it and read the first sentence.

  Evan, dear, your father and I are headed home. Will be there shortly.

  Short and to the point. I don’t even know what shortly means. Today? Tomorrow? A week from now? I shut my phone off and lay it down on the covers beside me.

  Getting out of bed and showering, I take the time to shave and then head to the closet to throw some clothes on. I check my work emails and don’t see any pressing matters, so I decide to head out.

  Sitting in the front seat of my Jeep, I open the schedule and look at the list of things to do today: pick vendors for the market, finalize the holiday meal menu, scout a track for the alpaca races. Beside that one, Milly has placed a laughing face emoji. Then, the final item on the list: hit up the bakery and go over how many cakes and pies to order. It seems easy enough, but I’ve come to find out, nothing is ever as easy as you think it will be when planning a large event. Not to mention, this Christmas Festival has to be the crème de la crème for the people in Clarissa Cove. Some of them work all year just to be able to enter their creations in the exhibition hall or the baking contest. People come from many towns over to view the decorations, the lights, and to pet actual reindeer that we bring in.

  I start my Jeep and pull out, headed to The Feisty Fox to meet Milly for morning coffee. Pulling up to the restaurant, I see Milly’s car isn’t out front, and I furrow my brow in confusion. She’s always early. Gets everywhere before me. I head inside and stop at the bar where Mitch, the owner, is drying glasses.

  “Hey, Mitch. Have you seen Milly around?” I drum one fist on the bar top as I talk and glance around.

  “Sure haven’t,” Mitch says, tilting his head. “That’s odd though, isn’t it? She’s been in here every morning at eight a.m. the last week.”

  I nod and glance around once more like she’s going to materialize right in front of me.

  “Okay, thanks. I’ll just try her cell.” I hold up my phone for emphasis, and he smiles.

  I head back out to my Jeep and call Milly twice, her phone going to voice mail both times. Looking over my shoulder, I pull out of the parking space and head toward her house. Or rather her parents’ house, which happens to be on the land adjacent to mine because our respective families would rather die than give up our hard-won land. Through the years, we have always chosen to ignore it and act like the other isn’t there.

  Pulling my Jeep into the drive, I kill the ignition and get out, the front door swinging open before I even step up to knock.

  “Evan MacAlister. Fancy meeting you here.” Mandy Collins, Milly’s younger sister, crosses her arms and leans against the doorframe. “A little early to be waking up the whole neighborhood with your gas-guzzling monstrosity.”

  She eyes my large Jeep with disdain, and I grimace. I sometimes forget how loud it is.

  “Hey, Mandy. Is—”

  “Ah, so you know my name. It’s a wonder you’ve stooped so low as to learn the name of the Collins who live next door.”

  I reach up and scratch at the back of my neck, momentarily stunned into silence.

  Is that what they think of me?

  I know we’ve had our past issues, but they aren’t my issues. I couldn’t care less what my great-grandfather got his knickers in a twist over.

  “I’ve always known yours and Milly’s names. I just had to put faces with them,” I say, squinting at the morning light coming in the window behind her.

  She nods and stands back up, sticking her hands in the front of her robe that she threw on haphazardly on top of her pajamas.

  “Anyway, is Milly here?”

  “Milly hasn’t lived here in four years since she turned eighteen. She has her own house down on Holt Street. What do you want with her?” She raises one eyebrow and looks me up and down. She has the condescending look down pat.

  “Okay, thanks. We are working on the Christmas Festival together.”

  “The Christmas Festival? Don’t you hate Christmas?”

  “No. Why do you think that?”

  “Just haven’t ever seen you or your family at the festival. Or much around the holidays for that matter.” I watch as she pulls a stick of gum out of her pocket and frowns at it. Then, she unwraps it while she stares at me before popping it in her mouth.

  This is probably the most awkward encounter I’ve ever had … and I’ve had some doozies.

  “Oh, my family is usually traveling.”

  “Mmhmm. And what about you?”

  What is this? Twenty Questions?

  “I just haven’t been in a mood to celebrate.”

  “For three whole years?”

  She looks at me incredulously, and I’m regretting coming here. I should have just stayed at The Feisty Fox, drunk my coffee, and waited for Milly to show up. She doesn’t need me to hunt her down. She’s a grown woman, fully capable of taking care of herself.

  “You know, the rumor is that you were in a terrible accident and have been holed up in your castle on the hill”—she cuts her eyes toward where my house is—“only venturing out for plastic surgery so no one would ever see your horrible disfigurement.”

  Is she on drugs right now? Is this real life?

  “Wow, you have a very active imagination. I can
say with absolute certainty that I was not in a terrible accident, nor was I left with horrible scars.”

  “Nor? Huh. Fancy talk. Well, Evan, it’s been nice chatting with you, but Milly’s not here. Oh, and if you want to remain without horrible scars, I wouldn’t let my parents know you and she are seeing each other.”

  “Oh, we aren’t seeing—”

  Mandy shuts the door in my face, cutting me off, and I step back, shaking my head.

  “Each other,” I mutter as I turn and walk back to my Jeep.

  What a completely odd encounter.

  Feeling like a stalker, I turn my Jeep in the direction of Holt Street and begin driving, only stopping when I see Milly’s car in the driveway of a charming little cottage on the end. It’s yellow with blue shutters, a small picket fence wraps around the yard, and the mailbox has a hanging planter on it, full of greenery and holly since it’s cold outside. I grin to myself as I pull my Jeep in behind her car and then frown when I realize what time it is and that she’s still home. Something has to be wrong.

  I step on her porch, laughing when I see her doormat that says Cover Charge: Tacos or Wine, and give three swift knocks against the door. After a minute, I knock again, becoming concerned. Right before I try kicking the door in—who am I, Rambo?—the door opens, and Milly is standing there, a short nightgown on and a blanket wrapped around her shoulders. Her eyes are squinting, like she just woke up, and her nose is red and puffy.

  “Oh my God, are you crying?”

  She opens her mouth to answer, and before a word comes out, she stares me dead in the eyes and sneezes, thankfully bringing her hand up in time to shield me from the worst of it.

  “Holy shit, how did you do that?” I stare at her in amazement. “I thought sneezing with your eyes open was impossible and that your eyes could pop out of your skull or something.”

  “That’s only a myth,” she says, sniffling and magically pulling a Kleenex out of nowhere to wipe underneath her nose.