Page 13 of A Not So Merry Rescue
Her mouth opens but nothing comes out except a small squeak.
“Seems I’ve rendered you speechless.”
Without waiting for her response, I open my door, only bothering to turn off the truck and take the key because the SUV will be better equipped to handle the snow. I fetch her bags and head for the front door.
The cabin’s lit up with hundreds of lights, though I went less than in prior years. Much as I love the holiday, there’s something off about this year. Wish I could pinpoint what it was exactly.
Something twinges in my chest, and I rub the spot with my palm, coaxing away the weird jolt.
I unlock the door, depositing her bags inside. Holding the door open with my foot, I twist to watch Willa taking it all in. Her lips are moving, like she’s grumbling to herself, but it’s tooquiet for me to hear any of it. Her head moves from side to side, her eyes squeezing shut to block out the view. Except with the snow and the unfamiliar terrain, she can’t get to the porch without sight. One last shake of her head, she opens her eyes, casting them down to forge a path.
“Put a little pep in your step. I’m not planning on heating the neighborhood.”
I should have kept my mouth shut. My comments elicit her to stop all movement, her narrowed gaze seeking mine. Her head tilts to the side. “Do two cabins make a neighborhood?” she contemplates, serious as can be.
Why her mind fixates on that part of the comment, I’ll never know.
“Come inside and we’ll google it.”
Defiance eclipses her expression, and for a hot minute, I think she’s going to move slower. But the falling snow fixes her ass in gear, and she rushes inside, flinging her coat off the second she breaches the threshold. Both the action of jerking out of it and slinging it to the floor are odd. But then, so is she.
“What did that coat do to you?”
She looks down at it. Not with a sense of shame for her actions, but as if the coat maimed her. “It’s a straitjacket.”
I’m confused by her use of “straight,” until the metaphor dawns on me. “Too confining.”
The enigma is strong with this one.
I shake it away. I’ve got better things to use my brain cells for.
“Welcome to Evergreen Hideaway, your home for the night or two.”
She stands in front of the closed door, soaking it all in. I follow her eyes as they travel to the small kitchen on the left, passing over the hallway leading to the bathroom and bedroom, moving to the fireplace, and ending on the too-large Christmas tree in the corner of the living room. The lights aren’t on, but damn how I wish they were. Her reaction would be priceless.
I’m not foolish enough to turn them on. My mother raised meto be a gentleman. I never start trouble, but provoking it when it’s in motion isn’t out of my wheelhouse.
She glances around again, this time at the wall behind her, locates the light switch, and immediately flicks each one until the front yard goes dark.
Willa slumps against the door, a huge sigh drawing from her. “Oh my god. I can breathe. Hopefully, the dots in my vision don’t last too long.” She blinks her eyes, probably trying to clear the aforementioned dots. “It’s cozy in here. Besides for the abomination in the corner.”
I don’t have to ask to confirm she means the Christmas tree.
“It’s not even lit. Or do you have an issue with everything related to the holiday?” The thought makes me queasy. I’ll forgive the lights thing, but who doesn’t enjoy the best holiday of the year?
She’s quiet for longer than necessary, and I have my answer.
“What?” The question shoots from my mouth. Except I’m not sure I want to know how deep her hatred goes. How she can be so bothered by a tree or something as magical as Christmas. It’s inconceivable.
Unimaginable.
Incomprehensible.
“Nope. Never mind. I’m gonna pack a few things and be on my merry way.” I can’t help the dig. One, because it’s part of my nature. And two, because of her attitude.
Toeing out of my boots, I stomp to the hallway and into my bedroom, opening the drawers of my dresser a little too hard.
“Calm down, Beckett. So she doesn’t like Christmas. It’s not like it’s the best holiday ever.” My gentleman ways out the window, I shout the last part of my rant, hoping she can hear me. “It’s not like she’s forcing you to not like it. But when she turned off the outdoor lights, she killed the joy in the yard.” I yell that part, too. Exasperated, I’m not sure what I’m packing, tossing articles of clothing haphazardly into a duffle. Long as I have boxers, a T-shirt, jeans, and a hoodie, I can get the rest tomorrow.
