Page 53 of Knot what I want for Christmas
“Where are you?” I say.
“We made it into town,” she says. “We’re perfectly fine, but it’s too heavy for us to drive back right now. We’re going to have to stay here.”
“But it’s Christmas Eve,” I say.
“I know, I’m so sorry, Hollie,” she says. “I should have dragged you with us after all. Are you okay in the house on your own?”
“Annie, don’t worry about me,I’mworried aboutyou. What will you do if you can’t get home tonight?”
“At least ten different people have already offered to put us up for the night. We won’t be sleeping in the truck.”
The line starts to crackle again and I don’t hear her next few words.
“Annie? Annie?” I say. “Are you still there?”
But the phone goes dead, and when I look at it, I can see I’ve lost all signal. Great. It must be down to the weather.
I type her a text message anyway in the hope it might get through, and then I snuggle up under the blankets and try my best to watch the movie.
It’s just coming to an end – the heroine and hero smooching on screen and declaring their undying love for one another – when there’s a large, thumping knock on the front door. I scream so loud I swear half the baubles on the Christmas tree smash.
Dolly leaps to her feet and barks and even Kenny’s ears shoot up dead-straight.
I freeze.
This is how every horror movie I’ve ever watched starts off, right? The heroine by herself in the big house, trapped in the snowstorm, all alone, and then a knock on the door. There is no way in hell I am answering that door. It could be a bogeyman, or worse, it could be a yeti.
I hunker down in my blanket, close my eyes, and hope I imagined that thump. Except next thing I know there’s a loud knocking on the large glass windows. I scream again. Dolly barks like mad and Kenny starts thumping his back paw.
I know I shouldn’t look to see what’s out there, but I’m unable to help myself. And this is how every heroine dies. It’s always their curiosity that gets the better of them.
Yeah, but I can’t help myself. My gaze shoots that way and I scream a third time. Possibly the loudest. Forget yetis or mass murderers, there’s an abominable snowman glaring at me through the glass doors.
Dolly, far more brave than I am, goes charging toward the window, ready to protect me from the creature who is, any moment now, sure to smash through the door.
Except, Dolly doesn’t bark or growl or look intimidating in any shape or form. Instead, she jumps about excitably, her tail wagging like mad.
The snowman brushes snow from his face, and waves at us through the glass.
I almost cry with relief. It isn’t a yeti or a bogeyman or a mass murderer. It’s Clay, Nash, and Tucker, covered in snow and peering through the glass.
I untangle myself from the blanket and scurry their way, unlocking the back door and almost screaming again at the blast of cold, snowy air that comes hurtling right at me.
“Just came to check you were okay, Hollie,” Clay says. “We heard the others got trapped in town and that you were here alone.”
“Oh, you didn’t need to do that,” I say. “I’m hanging out with my new best pals.” I gesture to Dolly who is busy sniffing Clay’s boots and Kenny already dozing again on the couch. “You just gave me a bit of a scare, that’s all,” I press my hand to my still racing heart. Although I’m not quite sure if it’s racing now from the shock and the fear and the scary atmosphere, or if it’s racing because the three alphas in front of me are so startlingly good-looking it could set a girl to fainting. Especially when those three men are decked out in their winter gear, covered in snow, looking more manly than it’s possible for three men to look.
“You sure?” Clay says, eyes darting around inside the living room. “Is the heating working alright?”
“Erm…” I say, having no idea.
“We’ll start a fire for you, just in case it goes out.” He marches inside, the other two following behind him. They kick off their boots and then they set to work around the fireplace, loading it full of logs of wood, kindling, and old pieces of newspaper. Then Clay strikes a match and the whole thing leaps up into flame, and the fire’s soon roaring, toasty warm.
I’m not sure I’ve ever seen anyone build a fire so quickly and so effectively before, and I will now be squirreling that little image away in my brain alongside the tree cutting, the hay throwing, the horse grooming, and the kissing. Maybe Annie’s right. Maybe I am just one big horny pervert.
“Fill the sink with water – and fill some bottles too,” Clay tells me next. “Sometimes the pipes can freeze up if the heating goes out or we lose the electricity.”
I nod, twisting my hands behind my back.
