One Winter's Night: The Twelve Dates of Christmas / Frozen Heart, Melting Kiss / A Cadence Creek Christmas

“I know. Drat. Stupid suggestion.” She sighed. “Might as well just go home.”

He pulled out his cell phone. “Now, hold on. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.” He hit a button. “David? Can you do me a favor and arrange a carriage ride?” He paused, then laughed. “Right now, actually.” He paused again, waiting a minute or two before he said, “South entrance? Great. Thanks.”

“So it looks like we have a carriage.”

She gaped at him. “It’s raining!”

“It’s also what you want.”

She sighed. The one time she really and truly didn’t want him to be nice to her, when she wanted him to be his usual self-absorbed self so she could just go home and wallow in her own misery, he decided to be nice.

“I want the carriage ride on a sunny day or a warm night.” Now she sounded like a spoiled child. “Not a night when it’s raining.”

“We got a carriage with a roof. And they have blankets.”

He seemed so happily proud of himself that she had to fight not to roll her eyes. She wouldn’t talk him out of this, and she had always wanted to go for a carriage ride through Central Park. Might as well just enjoy it. She’d have plenty of time to wallow in misery on Christmas day.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” He tapped the window to give Norman instructions. In ten minutes, the limo stopped.

The entire street sparkled with raindrops. Although there were no stars, the moon hung overhead, a bright round ball. White clouds rolled by, sometimes hiding it, but eventually it would appear again, as if smiling at her, telling her to relax, everything would be okay.

After a short chat with Norman, Ricky helped her onto the red seat of a white carriage, sat beside her and tucked the covers around her.

“You’re going to be cold in that cape.”

“I don’t care.” And suddenly she didn’t. She’d wanted one of these rides since she was a little girl. She would listen to the moon and not miss a minute of it.

As the horse-driven carriage clomped its way into Central Park, she huddled tightly under the blanket.

“So of all the places to go, things to do, why this?”

“Once when we drove past as kids, I almost had my dad talked into a ride. But my mother vetoed it at the last minute.”

“Oh. Sorry about that.”

“Not your fault.” She laughed. The brisk air filled her lungs. The shiny wet path sparkled like the road to a fairy-tale castle. “Besides, I’m here now.” She cuddled into the covers, leaned back and took a long drink of the fresh air again.

He pulled a bit of the blanket onto his lap. It wasn’t cold enough to snow, but it was wet, the kind of damp cold that seeped into bones. She didn’t blame him for wanting to cover up.

“I’ve never done this either.”

She peeked at him. The steady clip-clop of the horse’s hooves filled the dark, wet air. “Really?”

“Though I did bring my son here...to Central Park.”

Ricky’s tongue tripped over the awkward words. He shouldn’t have mentioned Blake. All that did was open floodgates for questions. But tonight’s mistake had been big enough that she’d cried. She’d tried to hide it or stop it, but she’d lost the battle and he’d lost all control. He’d have given her every cent of his fortune to get her to stop.

A carriage ride was a small price to pay.

Before she could ask questions that would lead to answers he wasn’t ready to give, he added, “Blake loved it. It was summer.” He huddled more deeply under the blanket, bringing them closer together as they passed bare trees, shiny with cold rain that might turn to ice. “I took him to the carousel, but there are a bunch of baseball fields near there, and he went nuts when he saw them.” He laughed and shook his head. “It’s hard to tell an eighteen-month-old that he can’t play with the big kids.”

Her gaze stayed on his face, her expression curious but tempered. She’d wanted to know about his circumstances and he’d refused to tell her. She would recognize this was a huge concession.

He cleared his throat. “Anyway, I’d thought about taking him on a carriage ride, but, luckily, he got tired and we went home.”

“You have a son?”

He shrugged, not able to tell her Blake had died, if only because he knew he couldn’t handle the pain remembering his son’s death would bring.

But he also felt oddly free that he’d spoken about his little boy. Because everyone was so silent about him, sometimes it felt as if he’d never existed. “Yeah.”

She caught his gaze, examined his face and said, “You and his mother aren’t together?”

He shook his head. “No. We were essentially strangers who created a child.” He winced. “We sound like terrible people. We weren’t.”