I stop and turn—and it’s Jack, smiling slyly. He smells like a ski slope—frosty pines and wood smoke. “That was rather rude of your partner,” he purrs. Without giving me even a moment to respond, his smile widens and his eyes narrow in invitation as he points a long finger straight up.
I look up slowly…and see an enormous wad of mistletoe dangling from a lamppost over our heads. Oh shit.
My cheeks burn as I look back at him—just in time for his lips to come in contact with mine for a kiss I was barely expecting. I freeze, absolutely stunned.
It’s not unlike any of the other mistletoe kisses between strangers and acquaintances that I’ve witnessed regularly since being here. He hasn’t even wrapped an arm around me; it’s really not very dramatic as far as kisses go. Externally, anyway.
Inside, however, the simple brush of Jack Whitman’s lips against mine sends a hard jolt of pleasure through me and leaves me as wobbly as a teen with her first crush. Oh my God.
He ends the kiss and moves on as if nothing happened. Meanwhile, I’m standing there as still as a statue just staring after him. His gentle chuckle drifts back toward me over his shoulder, and I simply can’t move. My heart is thundering in my ears so hard that when David catches up to me and says something, I can’t even hear it.
I turn my head to look at him and see him scowling at me. “What?” I mumble with irritation, in no mood for anymore of whatever soap opera he’s trying to turn this into.
“You looked like you were enjoying that kiss,” he repeats loudly and slowly, eyebrows drawn down with anger.
I just…stare at him, incredulously. “Actually the whole thing caught me by surprise, thanks. And you were the one trying to turn a peck on the cheek into full on face-sucking with Gabby not two minutes ago!”
His belligerent look crumbles and he backs off slightly. I glare at him and then turn to see where Jack wandered off to. He’s strolling down the street, getting further away from us with every second.
“I’m going to catch up with our subject. You stay here and sulk if you want.” Without a second look at David, I turn and hurry after Jack, going as fast as I can trust my boots to take me on the ice-coated sidewalk. With all the extra money coming in, you’d think they would spend a bit on extra bags of salt!
“Wait!” I call after Jack. He comes to a stop and looks back over his shoulder, a look of bemusement on his face.
He turns to face me as I wobble up. “If you’re wanting another kiss, you should at least buy me a drink first,” he advises. I draw up short, blinking at him, so at a loss that he bursts out laughing and shakes his head. “I’m kidding! What can I do for you?”
“I need your help,” I say simply, worried that I'll start stammering if I even try to discuss that kiss. Although…it was still very, very noteworthy. I haven’t had very many kisses that have left me trembling and breathless, like I'd just swept down a slope in a toboggan.
He lifts an eyebrow. “Me? Oh, well then. What are the details, Miss Andromeda?”
“It's just Andi. I need your help nailing down an interview with your father within the next two days. Three tops? We have to move on after that, and our investigation just won’t be complete without a word from him.”
He winces slightly. “I can't make any promises, unfortunately. I wish I could. Your work really does fascinate me. But my father, as you have no doubt learned, is notoriously hard to pin down.”
“Jack, please.” I draw a bit closer to him. He must have a very well-insulated coat; I couldn't feel much warmth coming off of him when he leaned against me to kiss me. And I feel nothing coming off him now. “I hate being pushy, but we’re in a tight spot here.”
He strokes his slightly pointed chin. I can hear David belatedly puffing up behind me, and I ignore him. Jack's brilliant blue eyes flick over to David and then back to my face. “How so?”
“Everything points to your father’s involvement. And yours, for that matter.” I stare back at him as he smirks at me. “Say what you want, but you know it’s true. You and your dad are the two biggest Christmas enthusiasts that either of us has ever seen.”
“Winter enthusiast, in my case, not just Christmas. Really, holidays are far more his bag, especially this one. But go on.” His eyes are twinkling at me like he thinks this is all a very funny joke.
“In the end, I don’t want to do anything either of you isn’t comfortable with. But you cannot pull an event—or prank, or whatever you want to call it—this big, so big that it makes national news, and expect people not to be curious about how you pulled it off.” I can’t keep the plea out of my voice.
He stares at me almost neutrally, just a gleam of humor in his eyes, neither confirming nor denying his involvement. Again. “Regardless of who is behind this and what method was used, I still don’t understand. How will knowing the specifics of Phoenicia’s little miracle help anyone?” he asks cryptically.
I blink up at him, wrapping my coat more closely around me. The cold seems to be cutting through it more sharply with every gust of wind. This exact coat saw me through a Canadian winter. Why can’t it handle this? “What do you mean?”
“Some things are fueled by belief, not by facts, my dear. Many of the best experiences in life have little to do with logic.” He looks past me again at David. “Take romance, for example.”
“What about it?” David grits out through clenched teeth. I feel my blood pressure rise, but I don't confront him. Getting the interview is too important.
“Well,” Jack says mildly, as I struggle to keep warm and find myself failing. “People do not fall in love because they present each other with a list of logical arguments why they are a good and compatible choice, though they might try to come up with one to justify their choice.
“But that,” he continues with a widening smile, “is something humans come up with entirely after the fact. Our hearts make the decision before our brains can kick in—or sometimes, in spite of what our brains think. And we must simply trust that the one we love is worthy of our devotion.
“Love is irrational, my friends, and though it must make sense to us, we base much of it on faith. And it is the same with miracles—even silly little ones like this.” He winks.
I'm so cold. I need to duck back inside and get some more coffee into me before we take one single step further down the street. “We’re paranormal investigators, Jack. We’re here to try to make sense of things. I understand that you think removing the mystery will remove the magic from the situation—”
“Yes, I absolutely do,” he replies mildly. “Take out too much of the mystery and you remove the wonder.” He seems to notice my shivering, and a concerned line appears between his brows, but he doesn’t comment on it yet.
“What makes you think that our investigation has that kind of power? Jack, look. We will probably write a book and also present to a convention or two on this, which will mean even more tourists and more positive attention for your town. Unless we end up with conclusive proof either way, all that David and I can do in the end is present the evidence, and let people draw their own conclusions.” Talking so much seems suddenly exhausting. I’m shivering harder and harder.
David steps up beside me finally, giving me a glance that actually looks concerned. “I think what Andi’s trying to say is, no matter what evidence is presented, some people will always believe, and even those who don’t will probably enjoy it anyway. And their kids will believe, because it’s a great little story. If we ever have kids, I’ll tell them this one myself.”
We? Hold the fucking phone! Everything goes screeching to a halt inside of me, and I start shivering harder.
That was a Freudian slip, I tell myself firmly. And of course, it was—but I still stand there with my heart pounding, wondering if David is aware of what he just said. He doesn’t seem to be. He just stays focused on the conversation.
“That’s interesting,” Jack murmurs. “So, what you are saying is, no matter whether you actually reveal w
hat happened, or lead people in entirely the wrong direction, you think people will simply take the details you’ve provided and draw their own conclusions?”
Jack sounds incredulous—like it never occurred to him that we wouldn’t actually be out here trying to dissect a Christmas miracle and to change everyone’s minds. We’re not here to take the magic out of Christmas. Just determine whether there is any.
“That’s it exactly,” I say in a tiny, shivery voice, and both men turn to me with almost identical frowns of concern. “Informing people is not the same as telling them what to think. I’m sorry if I made you think we were here to…debunk Phoenicia’s miracle.
That was never the aim. We’re chasing wonder up here. David kicks the tires on everything we do, but in the end, that’s only so that we can have something that stands up to real debunkers.”
I shift my weight, feeling a little wobbly, and am completely surprised when David grabs my arm to steady me. Catching Jack’s eye, I repeat, “Please. Just an interview, so we have something to wrap this investigation up.”
“I’ll ask my father directly and then call you,” he replies, suddenly looking very troubled. “I’m very sorry about this. Perhaps you should go back inside and warm up.”
“Sorry for what?” I manage to ask a moment before my knees buckle.
“Whoa!” David catches me and steadies me with surprising ease. “Okay, yeah, let’s get you back inside.” He bends down and tosses me effortlessly over his shoulder. “Give us a call later,” he yells over my body and starts heading back to the bed and breakfast.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” The edge in his voice is gone, replaced only with concern. He moves me down his torso, so he’s cradling me like a baby instead of marching me around like a sack of potatoes.
I drag my head up, barely able to meet his gaze. I’m numb, inside and out. The wind feels like it’s found a way through my clothes, skin, flesh…right through to my bones, coating them in a layer of ice.
“I’m so cold,” I mumble softly and then look up at him, astonished by how scared that suddenly makes me. I’ve only been outside maybe ten minutes. But I feel like I’ve been wandering around a mountainside without my coat. “Help.”
“Okay, sweetheart, okay,” he mutters as we turn up the walk. “Let’s get you inside and get a hot drink into you. Did your feet get wet or something?”
“I don’t know. I was just standing there…” My words are going away again. I feel a fluffy haze closing in over my vision like frost over a window. “I just got so cold.”
The blast of warm air as we step into the inn stings my skin, and I let out a little sob of relief. He leads me in through the lobby and sits me on the bench. “Hey, can we get a cup of coffee over here?” he calls out to Gabby.
She jumps up off her stool, staring at me worriedly. “She get a chill?”
“Yeah, it came on pretty suddenly. I figured we’d try a hot drink.” He gives her a tight business-smile, all hint of flirtation gone.
“Okay, yeah. Hang on.” She hurries into the breakfast room and comes back with a steaming cup for both of us. “You think you’re going to need help getting her up the stairs?”
I’m a little shocked. Did I misread Gabby? “I can get up the stairs,” I insist. And I damn well will. “Just give me a few minutes.”
I swallow down the coffee greedily, feeling a faint burn on my tongue but not caring. I need the warmth. But a few moments after taking the last gulp, I blink my eyes open and look around in confusion.
The warmth spreads inside of me…and then gutters out like a match struck in an Arctic wind. Fuck. What is this? Am I going to end up in the damn hospital like that biker?
“Let’s…just go upstairs,” I say through chattering teeth.
6
David
I try to keep my cool as I help Andi up the stairs. She’s shivering so hard that it’s actually freaking me out. I don’t want her to end up in the hospital because the wind chill factor left her hypothermic.
But if I can’t get her stable and warmed up in the next hour, the hospital is exactly where we’re going. I tell her this, quietly but firmly, on the way up the stairs. “And then we’re going home, sweetheart. We can do a phone interview with Whitman from my penthouse, damn it, with the heat cranked up to eighty.”
“We can’t give up now,” she protests quietly. I scoff.
“We damn well can and will, if it comes down to it. There’s no way I’m letting you end up hurt for the sake of another book. You’re too important. Now come on, let’s get you up the rest of these stairs.” I help her up the last few steps and then down the hall, where Gabby has unlocked the door and is busily bringing carafes of coffee, cocoa, and hot water with a basket of teas.
I feel a brief flash of embarrassment as she steps aside so I can help Andi through the door. She doesn’t even meet my eyes. Apparently, I read a whole hell of a lot more into that kiss she gave me than she had intended, and I don’t have the time or energy to live that down.
Stupid. And I know it upset Andi. That was why she went barreling ahead of me into the street, straight into a kiss with Jack that then pissed me off in turn. And then, somehow, this happened.
That’s the really horrible part; I don’t quite know how she ended up getting this chilled through. She wasn’t even on the street a quarter of an hour. She was properly bundled and her hair wasn’t wet. How did this happen?
“Thank you,” I tell Gabby on her way out as I help Andi over to the edge of the bed. She’s shivering and huffing even in the warm room. Very bad sign.
“What the hell happened? You’re shaking like you were out there for hours.” I help her out of her coat, which feels perfectly dry…but when I touch her bare wrist in the process, it feels like she had it resting in a bucket of ice.
“I don’t know,” she chatters, peeling off her gloves to reveal almost colorless hands. “I feel horrible. I’m scared.”
She hugs herself and hunches forward as she sits on the edge of the bed, and I hastily pour her some cocoa and bring it over. “Here,” I tell her, and help her hold the cup so she can swallow the contents without sloshing it everywhere.
“I’m so cold,” she mumbles. She swallows down the cocoa so fast that I fear she’s burned her throat, but all she does is shake her head and push the mug back at me. “It barely makes a dent. I need more.”
“Okay. I’m gonna suggest you take your clothes off and get under the covers,” I say quickly, trying to ignore just how much this is freaking me out.
This is a million times worse than watching her get kissed by another guy. She’s suffering. I’d rather lose a limb than watch and do nothing.
She nods and starts peeling off her layers of sweaters, her hat and scarf, her boots. The skin beneath is so very pale, even for her. I lay a hand against her cheek and the chill there stings me. “Okay, sweetie, this isn’t good,” I mutter. “If we can’t get you warmed up, I’m driving you to the hospital.”
She looks up at me bleakly as she strips down to her long underwear. I check the sleeve cuff to find that it’s not damp either. It should be insulating. But she’s still sitting here with her teeth chattering.
“Please, no goddamn hospital,” she mumbles. “You know how much I hate them.”
“Yeah, and you know how much I hate the idea of you risking your health if it turns out you need a hospital.” I keep my voice gentle, but with an edge to it, because Goddamn it, Andi. “I’m giving this half an hour, and if you don’t start improving, off we go.”
She stares at me, her eyes starting to go bright, and her chin starting to tremble. Oh shit, I think, feeling a familiar panic try to fight past my control. I squash it, reminded again that I still love this woman, even if I can never be with her.
But then, before I can say anything reassuring, she bursts into tears.
Shit shit shit. Okay. Calm down, man. “Fuck. Okay. Andi, honey, what can I do to help you?”
“I don�
��t know,” she sobs, sounding disoriented and a little hysterical. “I’m so cold and I can’t think, but please, no hospital. People go there to die!”
It hits me, even as I scoop her up and help her get bundled into bed. She cries softly the whole time, mumbling “no hospital” as my heart sinks into my boots.
Of course she’s scared of hospitals. She doesn’t even want to explore abandoned ones for ghosts anymore. How much of her family has gone into a hospital in the last five years and never come out?
Her parents: car accident. Her grandmother: cancer. A cousin to suicide. Her favorite aunt who had gone in for appendicitis: dead two weeks later from sepsis. That last one, Andi had gone to the hospital every day and camped there as much as they would let her, just so Aunt Margaret wouldn’t be alone.
It’s only been two years, so of course she still feels wary.
She sits up in a ball against the pillows while I wrap the blankets and comforters around her, and then turn on the heated mattress pad I got her as a Christmas present.
“Okay,” I tell her, breathless but steady. “We are going to get you warmed up and rested, and once you’re feeling better, we’re going to do absolutely no legwork that does not take place in a heated car or a heated building.”
She nods, sniffling and shivering, her cheeks still coated with tears. “O-okay.”
Damn this cold. And damn me for not noticing sooner that something was wrong with Andi, all because I was too busy driving another wedge between us from jealousy.
And damn Jack—just for being Jack. And maybe for being more interesting than me.
I peel off my outerwear and get everything hung up while we wait for her to warm up. I bring her chamomile tea and check in halfway through her gulping it down; she’s still pale and cold, but the terrified look is weakening. Satisfied for the moment, I pull off my boots, noticing that the chunks of snow on them are still intact.
“How the fuck do any people live up here year-round?” I grumble as I put the boots on the doormat. Being willing to deal with this every day seems completely crazy to me.
A Kiss of Winter: A Second Chance Christmas Romance (Dreams Fulfilled Book 3) Page 4