Page 32 of A Merry Mountain Christmas

“No, ma’am,” I say. “Your husband…I’m afraid he’s having a heart attack.”

There’s a pause on the other end of the line, and I expect a more sympathetic response from her this time. I’m shocked when she says, “Well, give his daughter a call. He’s no husband of mine. Not for much longer.”

“He’ll be at Highland Hills Hospital,” I blurt, hoping she’ll think better of it.

“I’m in California,dear,” she says. “Taking the first vacation I’ve had since marrying that man. I’m not going to cut it short because of him.”

And then she hangs up.

I tap the phone with my fingertips, tempted to call Olive and ask her what in the world I should do, because that wasbrutal, and I don’t intend to tell someone, mid-heart attack, that his wife is a…well, bitch. Sometimes only a swear will do. No matter what he did, her reaction has to be unwarranted. Then again, I don’t know Jay. I only know what Rowan has told me about him, and our perception of the people around us is always colored by our own perspective.

That’s exactly the reason for the majority of my mistakes.

But I don’t have time to describe all this craziness to Olive, so I put on my big girl panties, as she’d put it, and head back over to Rowan and his stepfather. Jay’s lying on the gravel now, his upper body reclined on Rowan’s lap, and Rowan has the look of acornered animal. I know he’s afraid he’ll have to watch someone he loves slip away in front of him. Jay’s still conscious, though, which is good. It’s even better that I hear sirens approaching.

Unfortunately, I’m not saved by the bell, because Jay’s eyes seek me out as I hand the phone back to Rowan, who takes it from me with cold fingers, his thumb brushing the back of my hand in thanks. A shiver shakes through my body from that light,voluntarytouch.

“Kerry?” Jay asks.

I crouch down next to them. “I wasn’t able to get through to her,” I lie, feeling horrible about it, but sometimes a lie is better than the truth. “I left her a message to call you.”

“Thank you,” he says, closing his eyes.

The sirens get louder.

“You and Harry need to go,” Rowan says, the words a rumble from his chest.

I barely notice Harry whispering, “Oh, thank God,” because pain is stabbing me through the middle. It feels like so much of my life has revolved around me being sent away from important or unpleasant things. From anything at all, really.

“Oh, okay. You’re right. Everything’s under control, and this moment is for family.”

“That’s not why, Princess,” Rowan says, and with the arm not cradling his stepfather, he reaches over to tip up my chin, his eyes burning into mine. “You’re not supposed to be here. Neither is Harry. I don’t want either of you to get into trouble. You’ve helped us. A lot. Now, you need to help yourself.”

“But I don’t want to leave you,” I say, the words spilling out even though I know I’m giving away far too much. I’m not supposed to like him. I’m supposed to dislike him, if anything.

He smiles. “I’ll come see you. Now, go.”

I get to my feet, my whole body shaky. It still feels impossible to leave him like this, with his stepfather in his arms. And hedoesn’t even know about the whole Kerry thing. At the same time, he’s right. Harry and I aren’t supposed to be here, and we’ll get in trouble if we’re caught. There’s something else Rowan’s not saying: if it gets out that Harry and Iwerehere, the producers might try to make it a storyline for the show. Jay probably doesn’t want that, particularly if he’s having marital problems.

They’re more than problems.

“You’ll come to me?” I ask. I hate the note of pleading in my voice, but it’s terrible to think that I might walk back into the news blackout of Labelle Manor and hear nothing about Rowan or his stepfather for days.

“I’ll come to you,” he says, his eyes searing me. “Don’t forget your shirt.”

I pick up the bag from where I dropped it, and Harry joins me.

“Don’t worry about the water bottles,” Harry says to them. “Those are yours. Staying hydrated is the best thing you can do in a crisis, and…anyway.”

“I’ll give you a call,” Oliver tells him with a nod. He’s smiling slightly, so at least he doesn’t mind Harry’s verbal flatulence.

“And I’ll answer it,” Harry says, then gets pink. “Obviously I will.”

The sirens are getting louder. It won’t be long now before the emergency response vehicles pull into the parking lot.

“Go,” Rowan tells me once more.

And we do.

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