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Page 26 of Love, Lies and Mistletoe

Layla’s thoughts drifted to Brant. He was a marvel in that way too. She couldn’t tear her attention away from watching him that night at the Rennselaer Hotel. People were drawn to his energy, his light. She understood what Kyle meant. She’d spent most of her young adult life wishing she possessed an ounce of that kind of self-confidence and charisma until she grew comfortable enough in her own skin.

He shook the last drops from his cup onto the ground before he stashed it back into his pack and held his hand out for hers even though she wasn’t finished.

“How about you?” he asked.

She gulped the last of her mug then gave him the cup. “Me?”

“Yeah. Do you have any exes?”

“No ex-husbands. There was a guy I met in college. We dated a few years. Came close to an engagement, but it didn’t work out.”

“No? Cold feet?”

Layla stood. She was suddenly weary of all this self-examination. Frankly, it was a little depressing. And she didn’t like Kyle’s practical explanation for his divorce, an overly heavy topic for such a bright day. Besides, she barely knew him.

“It didn’t work out,” she repeated.

He seemed to sense her thoughts. “Okay. Enough about that,” he said. Kyle hoisted the pack onto his shoulders again and slipped his sunglasses on. “There’s a lot more country to cover today before your snowshoe lesson is finished. Best be on our way.”

They navigated their way down the hill, doing more slipping than walking. There were still knee-high drifts to slog through and tree limbs and tangled foliage hidden beneath the snow to challenge them. By the time Kyle mentioned it might have not been the best idea, they were within one hundred yards of the Brenneman homestead. She wasn’t about to turn around without the payoff.

The house was indeed beyond repair. At one point, it had potential. The front door was missing its hardware, no longer able to stay closed, but it afforded her a peek inside. A primitive but solid wooden mantle stood over a space where the missing hearthstone once laid. Most of the crown molding on the main level was missing. And the hole in the roof was a doozy, all right. A large limb from the burr oak outside the kitchen window had pierced it. Kyle pointed to the room on the second story where it poked through one of the bedroom ceilings.

“It’s too bad. This is such a beautiful property.” Layla surveyed the yard and other outbuildings. There was even an outhouse, its door missing. She’d heard of people who excavated underneath outhouses, finding old bottles, pottery, and other household things.

“Part of me wants to hang on to it, but the practical side tells me to dump it. It’s no use to me. I couldn’t live out here.”

“No?”

He shot her a disgusted look. “Not this city boy. Sometimes I think Red Wing is even a little too backwoods for me.”

“Would your parents mind if you told them you wanted to sell?”

When she glanced at his profile, she saw him frown.

“They’ve more or less washed their hands of it.”

“No brother or sister wants it? A cousin?”

“Nope. It’s just me.” Kyle looked up toward the sky. She knew by the deep lines on either side of his mouth that it was a sensitive topic. Time to leave it alone.

She twisted at the waist, already feeling the effects of the arduous walk. “Should we head back? It might be dark by the time I manage to crawl up the hill again.”

The creases in Kyle’s forehead smoothed out as he glanced down at her. He grinned.

“Enough snowshoeing for one day?”

“My body says most definitely yes even though my brain is calling me a wimp.”

“Then we should listen to your body.” He gripped his trek poles tighter.

“I think you’re right.”

Two hours later,Kyle turned onto Grove Street while he recounted his trip to the Galapagos Islands last year. Listening to him, Layla realized she hadn’t taken a vacation—a real, pack-the-bags, book-a-flight vacation—in years. She’d always been a penny-pincher too, so even though she was now living comfortably, taking extended time off still seemed like such a luxury. Besides, she couldn’t close the shop for an extended time. Depending on Marybelle for so long would be out of the question.

Up ahead, an all-too-familiar truck was parked in front of the shop. The red Light the Night, LLC emblem on the back window confirmed it. She held her breath, looking for a sign of him.

“It was all-inclusive. The meals, side trips, everything. The company even gave each of us a custom-made, personalized—”