Page 11 of Misfortune: Christmas With Scrooge (Miss 1)

He wasn't looking at her but she could read the blank, detached expression on his face.

So, it was back, the ugly face of his character. She sighed, then turned to open the door.

He stopped her with a hand on her arm. “I'll help you to the house.”

“Really, that's not necessary.” But he was already out of the vehicle and around to the passenger side and scooping her back up. “I'm sure I'm capable of making it to the door perfectly fine.”

Still no response, just continued smoothly until he reached the top step of the verandah. “Key?”

“There's a spare in the mailbox.” It was then when at last he deposited her gently on the welcome mat outside the front entrance.

After successfully unlocking the front door, he turned around and dropped the key in her hand. “You'll be fine from here.”

She had half-expected him to continue until he properly deposited her in bed where she was to remain for the next few days.

“I would have been fine from the hospital.” She told him. “But thank you.”

His eyes focused on her face for the first time. Suddenly, she became self-conscious under his dark scrutiny and nervously shifted from one swollen foot to the other.

He glanced down at them and said in a commanding voice, “Stay off your feet.” Then turning, he left her standing gasping after him.

A spark, somewhere in the deep crevices of her being didn't want him leaving. She leaped forward reaching the wooden banister and leaning over it. “Wait!”

He stopped and looked back. His expression blank.

“I-I mean, wouldn't you like to come in for some coffee or—a Christmas drink!” Her eyes lit up suddenly. “It is after all Christmas morning.”

“No thanks.” He shunned her offer immediately and would have continued on his way as if she had never stopped him.

“Wait!” This time she sprang into action swiftly, following him down the steps.

She heard him swear, followed by the sound of crunching snow as he retraced his footsteps. “What the blazes do you think you're doing?”

Coming to a direct halt on the second last step, she came face to face with an angry Dexter. “I just want to thank you for saving—”

“Well don't!”

Stunned, she stared at him. His eyes were so dark they were almost a charcoal black. Something horrific in his expression caused a chill to shoot down her spine.

“What do you mean—?”

“I mean I don't want your thanks. I did what needed to be done. Case closed.”

“But you saved my life—”

“What I did had nothing to do with you.” He looked as cold and listless as the northern climate around them.

On a whisper, she replied, “You're wrong. It had everything to do with me.”

The coldness in his face could have turned her to stone. “Don't get any stupid ideas. I'm no hero! You were right about me. You mean absolutely nothing to me and I would have gladly left you in the ravine.”

Hurt, she stared deeply into unmoving eyes and whispered, “But you didn't.”

“No,” he agreed. His own voice low but hard. “But I easily could have.”

Then he swung away leaving a wounded Laura staring after him, her emotions scattered at her feet. As she stood there feeling every wretched sensation, she became unexpectedly bitter and a tiny flame of resentment was lit once more. She wasn’t terribly sure why Dexter O’Reilly should leave her feeling as if she was just stung. All she knew for certain was that dreadful void of loneliness had returned.

Once in the sanctuary of her own little home, Laura paused in the entrance and took a deep steady breath. What she wanted was for this day to end, once and for all. Along with all the memories of her horrific crash down Suicide Point, the terrifying moments subsequently when she remained alone and in the dark, and most certainly her unceremonious rescue.

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