Miracle Creek Christmas

by Krista Jensen

  She nodded enthusiastically. He didn’t need to be asked twice.

  “You want pie, now?” he asked after he’d put the snowmobile away. He followed Riley on the shoveled path.

  “Yes.”

  “My face is frozen. I’m ready to try that apple crisp you brought.”

  She glanced at him over her shoulder. “Are you?”

  “I meant to say so earlier.”

  She had the decency not to mention again how he’d barely said a word to her before and during dinner. He hadn’t meant to. He’d become so used to being close to her, he wasn’t sure how to be distant.

  She took a step off the path into the snow. Standing on the gentle slope next to the driveway, she faced him, then fell flat back. She began slowly waving her arms and legs in the snow. “Snow angels.”

  She hadn’t put her hat back on after removing her helmet, and her hair was all messy waves, splayed against the snow. With her pink cheeks and open smile, she was killing him.

  “Come make one with me,” she said.

  “I’d rather watch.”

  “Get over here.”

  He trudged over to the clean spot next to her. “Aren’t you cold enough?” He fell backward, landing with a whump. He put his hands behind his head and closed his eyes. “I think my angel is a non-flyer.”

  She laughed. “Please? I’ll make sure you get extra whipped cream.”

  “Well, in that case . . .” He waved his arms and legs a couple of times. “Don’t tell Gus.”

  “My lips are sealed. Let’s see what they look like.” She sat up but paused at how to get all the way up without ruining the impression she’d made in the snow.

  “Just a sec, I’ll give you a hand.” He pulled himself up and leapt out of his angel, then reached back to take both her outstretched hands. “One, two, three—” He heaved her into the air as she jumped, both of them overestimating the strength needed to get her out of the snow, and she plowed him over. He stumbled, falling backward, and she landed on top.

  After a shocked silence, she began to laugh.

  “How many of these did you want to make?” he asked, trying to ignore how good she felt in his arms, how good her hair smelled, how the weight of her could have held him there for a good long time.

  She pressed her face to his chest, trying to catch her breath.

  “You did that on purpose,” he said, more for his sake than hers, keeping things light. Because heaven knew his heart was not thinking light things.

  “Me?” She met his gaze, grinning. “I’d like to see the replay on that.”

  “I think the officials would see it my way.” He reached with his gloved hand and brushed her hair behind her ear.

  “Why is that?”

  “Because we’ve been down here for about thirty seconds now, and you’re still on top of me.” His breath wavered as she stilled, watching him with those pale green eyes. He couldn’t look away. One thing was certain, his face wasn’t cold anymore.

  He willed his arms to be still, willed his heart to stop thumping so wildly. “Didn’t you want to see how the angels look?” he asked, his voice husky.

  They were both still breathing hard, her gaze locked on his, when she suddenly scrambled off him, pushing herself up and brushing snow off her legs and arms. He rolled to his knees and took a deep breath. He looked over at their snow angels and stood.

  “What do you think?” he asked, feeling cold where she used to be.

  She was brushing off her backside, turning in a slow circle as if that would help her get it all. “I think I really need pie.”

  “No,” he said, laughing. “What do you think of the snow angels?”

  She stopped her dance and looked over their creations. Two clear snow angels floated next to each other on the slope. “They look good, don’t they?”

  “Yep.”

  “I can’t remember the last time I made those.” She looked up at him. “Thanks. That was fun. All of it.” She looked behind him. “Don’t forget that one.” She smiled before hurrying into the warm house.

  He glanced at the mess of an impression they’d made where they’d fallen together. “That one’s my favorite,” he murmured, and followed her inside.

  While Cal and Yvette played a game of gin in the dining room, Riley sat on the carpet, warming herself in front of the woodstove as she leaned back against the couch. The football game was on, and two empty pie plates and forks sat on the floor next to her. She was acutely aware of Mark stretched out behind her.

  She’d have felt utterly content if it weren’t for two things. One, playing with Mark in the snow had turned her inside out and upside down, and even now her heart beat harder with the nearness of him, and two, she couldn’t stop worrying about what people might think about her time spent with him, especially if rumors were spreading.

  “Mark?” she asked, almost not wanting to.

  “Hm?” He sounded drowsy, and she felt his fingers briefly tousle her hair.

  She turned and sure enough, his eyes were closed. He lay on his right side, his hat off, his face relaxed. She could almost see him whole, a man without a care in the world.

  He rolled onto his back, slowly blinking his eyes open underneath dark brows. They furrowed. “Hey. You okay?”

  In that moment, that brief glimpse of before and after, she wanted to tell him he was beautiful, either way. Before and after. Would he ever see that?

  She settled on her knees. “I think I should go.”

  He lifted himself up on one elbow and pushed his hand through his mess of dark hair. “Really?”

  “Yeah, it’s getting late.”

  “It’s, like, six.”

  “Six thirty.”

  His brows rose. “Wow, that’s almost midnight.”

  His sarcasm didn’t faze her.

  He sat up and patted the space next to him. She obeyed, folding her legs beneath her, the warmth from the woodstove replaced with the warmth of his body heat where he’d been dozing. He placed his arm behind her, resting it across her lower back.

  “Talk,” he said.

  She glanced toward the easy banter coming from the dining room and the commercial on the TV. Mark moved to turn it off, but she stopped him.

  “No, I’d rather have the noise,” she said. She sighed and spoke quietly. “This has been really nice.”

  “Why do you want to leave?”

  “I don’t want to overstay my welcome.” That was partly true. Her determination to keep her distance was a quivering pile of jelly, and she didn’t like it.

  “It’s Thanksgiving. You’re supposed to eat all our food and take advantage of our hospitality.”

  She smiled. “Is that right?”

  He nodded, then his gaze swept the room, and he frowned. “You’re bored.”

  “No, it’s not that. Like I said, it’s been really nice.”

  “Then don’t go.” He swept his hand softly across her shoulders.

  “Okay.”

  He chuckled. “That was easy.”

  It was too easy. The afternoon had reminded her of those few holidays she’d spent as a child in Montana. Easy, family days with shoes off and dirty dishes on the floor and snow falling outside. No fighting.

  “What would you like to do?” he asked. “Play a game? Map out the next move on your house?” He tugged at a lock of her hair and arched his brow. “Make more snow angels?”

  She smiled. Curse the snow angels. “I thought you were embarrassed making those.”

  He still played with the lock of her hair. “They weren’t so bad. Some of us could use all the angels we can get.”

  She nodded, unsure if she believed in angels. Hers had been mysteriously absent at the times when she could’ve used some.

  His hand stilled, as if realizing he’d been playing with h
er hair. His gaze lifted to hers, and he studied her. She wasn’t sure what he wanted from her. Her face grew warm. In one move, he could lean forward, lift her face to his, and kiss her. As if he read her thoughts, his gaze dropped to her mouth.

  “You kids still alive in there?” Cal called out from the dining room.

  Riley blinked, and Mark dropped her hair. “No,” he answered. “Pie overdose.”

  Riley fell back against the couch and drew her knees up.

  “How’s the game?” Cal called again.

  “Somebody’s losing,” Mark answered. He stood and stretched with his back to her.

  Riley pressed her hand to her warm neck. Her pulse flitted like a hummingbird.

  “Somebody here is winning,” Yvette said. “Gin.”

  Cal groaned. “Mark, pick a board game and you two get in here. My ego’s taking a beating.”

  “Be there in a minute.” Mark faced Riley, his hands at his hips.

  She peered up at him, reading the question in his eyes. She spoke barely above the noise. “I’m complicated.”

  “You’re not the only one.”

  He reached out his hand. She took it, and he pulled her to her feet. Before he let go of her hand, he pulled her closer, leaning down to her ear.

  “Complicated or not,” he whispered, “I’m thankful you’re here.”

  Riley swallowed, and he turned to a game cabinet and grabbed a few boxes.

  “It’s a shame, really,” he said, “that I’m going to have to mop the floor with you now.”

  She smiled, her chin lifting. She eyed the boxes he’d chosen. “It’s going to be fun seeing you try.”

  Mark trudged out to Riley’s car, carrying her now-clean dishes she’d brought her food in. He set them in her car, brushed the snow off her windows, then trudged back to the house, where Riley was saying goodbye to his dad and Yvette.

  He’d lost. Three games. But Yahtzee was a game of chance, so that one didn’t count, right? It felt like it counted. He opened the door as Riley turned to meet him, and just behind her, he caught his dad taking Yvette’s hand and pressing a kiss to it.

  He froze at the unexpected gesture, then spun away before his dad found him watching. Riley walked past him.

  “Walk her to the car, Mark,” his dad said, before closing the front door.

  “Mark?”

  Distracted, he felt a tug on his sleeve.

  “Earth to Mark.”

  He nodded and took her elbow. It had been snowing lightly the last couple of hours, and the walk was slick again.

  “Come on, it wasn’t that bad.” She peeked up at him. “Was it? I mean, you seemed to enjoy my victory dance, at least.”

  He suppressed the smile that came with the memory of her final Yahtzee, how she’d danced, whooping and bumping her hip into his shoulder as he slumped in his chair. He’d wanted to grab her and sit her down in his lap and kiss her until she retracted her win.

  But he couldn’t do that.

  He looked back at the door.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked.

  She was already shivering. It was late, and he’d kept the woodstove stoked all night because she’d seemed so chilled after snowmobiling. But still, she looked at him, waiting for him to explain why he suddenly couldn’t think straight.

  He began walking again, taking her hand through his elbow. “I think I saw my dad kiss Yvette when he thought we weren’t looking.”

  Her eyes widened. He stopped at her car.

  “He kissed her? Just now?”

  “On her hand, yeah.”

  “On her hand?” She smiled. “I can believe that.”

  “You can?” He couldn’t shake the image, or the confusion it was causing him.

  She pulled his elbow closer. “They get along really well. It was a good evening. That’s all.”

  He looked down at her in the light from the porch. “You think that was it?”

  She nodded. “Remember when you kissed me?”

  “Uh—” His pulse ticked up as his brain scrambled.

  “You kissed me on the cheek when I agreed to help you. Remember?”

  He had. He’d kissed her.

  “Your dad’s a gentleman. And Yvette likes him.”

  “She does?” That was news to him.

  “Yes. You couldn’t see that?”

  “I wasn’t paying much attention to Yvette.”

  She turned to him, a smirk on her face. “What were you paying attention to?”

  He met her gaze. “Mostly how to keep you from leaving.”

  “Well, you succeeded. I stayed for all of Thanksgiving.”

  That wasn’t what he meant, but he wasn’t in the mood to point it out to her. “I hope you had a good time.”

  “It was the best Thanksgiving I’ve had in years.” Without warning, she reached up and kissed him on the cheek. “Thank you.”

  She dropped down in the driver’s seat, and he held the door as she started her car.

  “Drive safely,” he said. “Careful around the curve.”

  She nodded. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Gotta get those walls painted.”

  “After lunch.” He shut the door, still distracted. He watched her drive away, the place where she’d kissed his good side sensitive to the cold.

  He drew in a deep breath of air and blew it out slowly. Because he knew exactly what he’d been thinking when he’d kissed Riley on the cheek after she’d agreed to help him with the nativity. And it hadn’t been all that innocent.

  Riley slept hard and woke before dawn with Mark on her mind. Her thoughts cycled between things she’d been told that stoked her fears and her reluctance to trust him, and everything about him that showed her he was genuine.

  After an hour of restlessness, she pulled her laptop into bed and distracted herself with lesson ideas. She clicked through web pages with samples of utilizing white space, then sat bolt upright. She grabbed her phone.

  Hey, can you take me out to Miracle Creek Bridge? Have an idea for a class project.

  She waited.

  He answered within seconds. Why are you awake?

  You’re awake.

  I am now.

  Riley glanced at the clock: seven o’clock. Oops. I want to catch the morning light. Could you take me?

  There’s a lot of snow.

  That’s kind of the point. Can your truck handle it?

  Yeah, my truck can handle it. When?

  Ten minutes?

  It’s a good thing I’m a morning person.

  Are you?

  Depends on your definition of morning. BRT C-fire.

  She smiled. Maybe this excursion would lighten the mood for painting later. Maybe she’d treat him to breakfast to thank him.

  Riley had just slipped into her winter boots when she heard the knock at her door. “Just a minute,” she yelled and hurried to the art room and grabbed her camera kit off the shelf.

  Mark smiled when she opened the door, and a warmth opened up in her stomach. Stop it already.

  “Hey,” he said.

  “Hey.” He looked good. Sleepy, but good.

  “So . . . what are we doing?”

  She held up her bag. “Taking pictures.”

  He frowned. “Of what?”

  “Snow,” she said brightly, grabbing her coat and stepping onto the porch.

  “The sun is barely up,” he said.

  “That’s why we’re hurrying,” she said, shooing him forward, trying to ignore how good he smelled. “Move.”

  He chuckled and got moving.

  They didn’t get too far out of town when she saw the sign for Miracle Creek Trailhead. “How have I been here all this time and not come this way?”

  “It’s nice to know we still have some surprises for you h
ere in Plunkheadville, Ms. Madigan.” He turned right at a road marker and parked in a lot that hadn’t been cleared of snow in a day or two. “For somebody who’s traveled the world, you’re disappointingly unfamiliar with our little valley.”

  “Give me some time,” she argued.

  “How much time do you have?” he countered, eyeing her.

  Instead of responding to his challenge, she turned to study the view out the window.

  The sun had barely come up and light shone across the surrounding peaks. She’d need the perfect angles to get the shots she wanted.

  “Is the bridge far?” she asked, hopping down and grabbing her gear from the truck bed where she’d packed it so the camera could acclimatize to the cold. She’d worn fingerless gloves for dexterity and hoped the bite in the air wouldn’t fog up her lens too badly.

  He shut his door and met her at the back. “You can see the top of the bridge, right between those pines.” He pointed, and she stood on her toes, barely making out the tip of a structure.

  “Perfect.”

  Though the air was crisp, the hint of sun felt good on Riley’s face. Untouched pillows of snow topped shrubs and trees, and as they rounded a bend in the trail, more snow hugged the roof of the old covered bridge, the railings, and the open window ledges, just as she’d hoped. She dropped to a crouch and pulled out her camera and her favorite lens for this kind of shot, grateful for no fog on the glass.

  “You’re going to start shooting right here?” Mark asked.

  She snapped a few pictures, turning the camera for a portrait angle. “Why not?”

  “Well, I haven’t even introduced you, yet.”

  She stood and aimed again at the bridge. “Your dad said there’s a legend.” She snapped a couple more frames. “When I asked about your mom’s painting in the dining room. Something about wishes.” She lowered the camera and quickly looked over what she had so far.

  “He told you that?”

  The doubt in his voice made her look up. “Yeah. What?”

  “I’m surprised he mentioned the wishing, that’s all.”

  She moved closer to the bridge, and he followed, grabbing her bag. “So, what’s the legend? How did it start?” She scrutinized the structure as if she could coax out its secrets.