Page 31 of Santa of the Creek
“You leave it with me. Someone will swing by in forty minutes.”
“It doesn’t take twenty minutes to get to the square.”
“It’ll take you that long to get down your stoop and into the car.”
She has a point.
“Thanks, Gloria.”
“You’re welcome. Wrap up warm. It’s freezing out there.”
“I will.” I disconnect the call and regard my cat. “Sorry, princess, I’m off to rescue our Prince Dean from himself.”
Ariel chirrups as if she agrees with my plan.
She’s not so happy when I dislodge her from my lap and wriggle to the edge of the seat to stand up. It’s only ten past eleven but I need to get dressed. This could take a while.
By the time it’s eleven-thirty, I’m sweating and cold at the same time. But I’m dressed in pants and a nice sweater. I’ve got one shoe on and the boot on the bad foot. I sit on the couch in my jacket, waiting for the knock. I’m ready to go.
At eleven forty precisely, there’s a knock at the door.
“I’m coming,” I yell as I use my crutches to get me to the door.
I fling it open to find the sheriff. I stare at him, then look behind him to see the cruiser.
“Is something wrong. Sheriff?”
“I’m your ride.”
I still stare at him. “You?”
“My deputies are busy, so she enlisted me to help.”
“But I can’t ask you to help.”
“You didn’t. Gloria did. And I’m not going to argue with her. Are you ready?”
“Uh…yeah.”
I pull my hand and gloves from my pockets, check I’ve got my keys and wallet, and step out onto the porch, nearly sending us both flying as I slip and end up in Morgan’s arms.
“Geez,” he mutters, grabbing me, before I send him hurtling down the stoop.
“Sorry.” I try to stand upright without going flying again. “Maybe Gloria had a point.”
“Getting you down the stoop? Gloria had that conversation with me too. I’ll help you down. We’ll go slowly.”
By the time we reach the cruiser, this time without incident, I’m sweating buckets and am ready to go back to bed…if I could face the stoop again. Morgan opens the passenger door, and Iback in, like Dean showed me before. I heave a huge sigh of relief when I’m safely in the car. I’m also dreading getting out.
The sheriff slides behind the wheel and regards me for a moment. “If you need to hurl there are bags here.”
I look at the bags and then at him. “Do a lot of people hurl in your car?”
“Occupational hazard,” he says drily as he reverses out of my drive.
“Thanks. I’m okay at the moment.”
“You’re the color of the snow.”
