Same Time, Next Christmas (The Bravos 0f Valentine Bay Book 3)

by Christine Rimmer

  Just as Matthias had predicted, the rain had turned to snow. She gazed at a world gone glittering white.

  In the golden light that spilled out the cabin windows, the fat flakes fell thick and heavy. They’d piled up on the ground and decorated the branches of the western hemlock and Sitka spruce trees. There was a good three inches already.

  “So beautiful,” she whispered aloud and all of her worries just fell away, both at the mess that currently added up to her life and the challenges she’d faced in the past few hours.

  How could she be anything but happy in this moment? Christmas was falling from the sky.

  She knew what was coming. She would be staying in this cabin for at least a few days with the man who’d introduced himself by pointing his rifle at her. Should she be more upset about that?

  Probably.

  But after they’d gotten past those terrifying first minutes when she’d feared he might shoot her, things had definitely started looking up. He was a good patient, and he seemed kindhearted beneath that gruff exterior.

  And this situation? It felt less like an ordeal and more like an adventure. As if she’d fallen out of her own thoroughly depressing life—and into a weird and wonderful Christmassy escapade.

  Stuck in a one-room cabin with a big, buff injured stranger for Christmas?

  She’d take that over her real life any day of the week.

  * * *

  As it turned out, she didn’t need the car key. Matthias had left the Jeep unlocked.

  And there were treasures in there—three large boxes of groceries. Fresh stuff, greens and tomatoes. Apples. Bananas. Eggs, milk and cheese. A gorgeous rib roast, a fat chicken and some really pretty pork chops.

  It was a good thing she’d decided to bring it all in, too. By morning everything would have been frozen.

  She carried the food in first, then his laptop, a box of brightly wrapped Christmas gifts probably from his family and another boxful of books, as well.

  After the boxes, she brought in three duffel bags containing men’s clothes and fresh linens. Detouring to the bathroom, she stacked the linens in the cabinet. She carried the bags of clothes up to the loft, leaving them near the top of the stairs for him to deal with when he felt better.

  Her sick, surly stranger definitely needed some chicken soup. She hacked up the chicken. She put the pieces on to simmer in a pot of water with onions and garlic, a little celery and some spices from the cute little spice rack mounted on the side of a cabinet.

  The night wore on. She fished the cooked chicken from the pot. Once it was cool enough to handle, she got rid of the bones, chopped the meat and returned it to the pot, along with some potatoes and carrots.

  On the sofa, Matthias tossed and turned, sometimes muttering to the guys named Nelson and Mark, even crying out once or twice. She soothed him when he startled awake and stroked his sweaty face with a cold cloth.

  When the soup was ready, she fed it to him. He ate a whole bowlful, looking up at her through only slightly dazed blue eyes as she spooned it into his mouth. Once he’d taken the last spoonful, he said, “I’ve changed my mind. You can stay.”

  “Good. Because no one’s leaving this cabin for at least a couple of days. It’s seriously snowing.”

  “Didn’t I warn you?”

  “Yes, you did. And it’s piling up fast, too. You’re gonna be stuck with me through Christmas, anyway.”

  “It’s all right. I can deal with you.” He sat up suddenly. Before she could order him to lie back down, he said, “I really need to take a whiz—get me the cane from that basket by the door, would you?”

  “You need more than a cane right now. You can lean on me.”

  His expression turned mulish. “You’re amazing and I’m really glad you broke into my cabin. But as for staggering to the head, I can do it on my own. Get me the damn cane.”

  “If you tear any of your stitches falling on your ass—”

  “I won’t. The cane.”

  She gave in. He wasn’t going to. The cane was handmade of some hard, dark wood, with a rough-hewn bear head carved into the handle. She carried it back to him. “Still here and happy to help,” she suggested.

  “I can manage.” He winced as he swung his feet to the floor and then he looked up at her, waiting.

  She got the message loud and clear. Pausing only to push the coffee table well out of his way, she stepped aside.

  He braced one hand on the cane and the other on the sofa arm and dragged himself upright. It took him a while and he leaned heavily on the cane, but he made it to the bathroom and back on his own.

  Once he was prone on the couch again, he allowed her to tuck the afghan in around him. She gave him more painkillers. Fifteen minutes later, he was sound asleep.

  By then, it was past three in the morning. She checked her phone and found text messages—from her dad and also from Iris and Peyton, her best friends in Portland. They all three knew that it had ended with her fiancé, James. She hadn’t shared the gory details with her dad, but she’d told her BFFs everything. The texts asked how she was doing, if she was managing all right?

  They—her friends and her dad—believed she was spending the holiday on her own at the farm. However, with no one there but her, the farmhouse had seemed to echo with loneliness, so she’d told Nils and Marjorie Wilson, who worked and lived on the property, that she was leaving. She’d thrown her stuff in her Subaru and headed back to Portland, stopping off at the fish hatchery on the spur of the moment.

  And ending up stranded in a cabin in the woods with a stranger named Matthias.

  Really, it was all too much to get into via text. She was safe and warm with plenty of food—and having a much better time than she’d had alone at the farmhouse. There was nothing anyone could do for her right now. They would only freak out if she tried to explain where she was and how she’d gotten there.

  Sabra wished them each a merry Christmas. She mentioned that it was snowing heavily and implied to her girlfriends that she was still at the farm and might be out of touch for a few days due to the storm. To her dad, she wrote that she’d gone back to Portland—it wasn’t a lie, exactly. She had gone. She just hadn’t gotten there yet.

  Though cell service in the forest was spotty at best, a minor miracle occurred and all three texts went through instantly—after which she second-guessed herself. Because she probably ought to tell someone that she was alone with a stranger in the middle of the woods.

  But who? And to what real purpose? What would she even say?

  Okay, I’m not exactly where I said I was. I’m actually snowed in at an isolated cabin surrounded by the Clatsop State Forest with some guy named Matthias Bravo, who’s passed out on the sofa due to illness and injury...

  No. Uh-uh. She’d made the right decision in the first place. Why worry them when there was nothing they could do?

  She powered off the phone to save the battery and wandered upstairs, where she turned on the lamps on either side of the bed and went looking for the Christmas decorations Matthias had to have somewhere.

  Score! There were several plastic tubs of them stuck in a nook under the eaves. She carried them downstairs and stacked them next to that gorgeous tree.

  By then, she was yawning. All of a sudden, the energy had drained right out of her. She went back to the loft and fell across the bed fully clothed.

  * * *

  Sabra woke to gray daylight coming in the one tiny window over the bed—and to the heavenly smell of fresh coffee.

  With a grunt, she pushed herself to her feet and followed her nose down to the main floor and the coffee maker on the counter. A clean mug waited beside it. Matthias must have set it out for her, which almost made her smile.

  And Sabra Bond never smiled before at least one cup of morning coffee.

  Once the mug was full, she turned and leaned aga
inst the counter to enjoy that first, all-important sip.

  Matthias was sitting up on the sofa, his bad leg stretched out across the cushions, holding a mug of his own, watching her. “Rough night, huh?”

  She gave him her sternest frown. “You should not have been up and you are not allowed to speak to me until I finish at least one full cup of coffee.”

  He shrugged. But she could tell that he was trying not to grin.

  She took another big gulp. “Your face is still flushed. That means you still have a fever.”

  He sipped his coffee and did not say a word. Which was good. Great. Exactly what she’d asked for.

  She knocked back another mouthful. “At least you’re not sweating anymore. Have you taken more acetaminophen since last night?”

  He regarded her with mock gravity and slowly shook his head in the negative.

  She set down her mug, grabbed a glass, filled it with water and carried it over to him. “There you go. Take your pills. I’ll need to check your bandage and then I’ll cook us some breakfast.”

  He tipped his golden head down and looked at her from under thick, burnished eyebrows. His mouth kept twitching. Apparently, he was finding her extremely amusing.

  “What?” she demanded.

  He only shook his head again.

  She marched back to the counter, leaned against it once more and enjoyed the rest of her coffee in blessed silence.

  “You don’t happen to have an extra toothbrush, by any chance?” she asked once she’d drained the last drop from the mug. He just gave her more silent smirking. “Oh, stop it. You may speak.”

  “You’re such a charmer in the morning.”

  She grunted. “Toothbrush?”

  “Under the bathroom sink. Small plastic tub. There should be a couple of them still in the wrappers and some of those sample-sized tubes of toothpaste.”

  “Thank you—need more coffee before I go in there? Because I am completely serious. For today at least, you’re not getting up unless you really need to.”

  He set his mug on the coffee table and reached for the bottle of painkillers. “No more coffee right now. I’ll have another cup with breakfast.”

  The fire was all but out. She added a little kindling and another log. As soon as the flames licked up, she faced him. “Do not get up from that couch while I’m in there.”

  He was stretched out on his back again, adjusting the afghan, but he dropped it to make a show of putting his hands up in surrender. “I will not move from this spot until you give me permission.”

  She grabbed her pack. “That’s what I wanted to hear.”

  * * *

  In the bathroom, she didn’t even glance at the mirror. Not at first. The coffee had gone right to her bladder, so she took care of that. It wasn’t until she stood at the sink to wash her hands that she saw what Matthias had been trying not to laugh about.

  She had three deep sleep wrinkles on the left side of her face and her hair was smashed flat on that side, with another ratty-looking section of it standing straight up from the top of her head.

  A little grooming was definitely in order. She took off her clothes and gave herself a quick sponge bath, after which she brushed her teeth, put her clothes back on and combed her hair, weaving it into a single braid down her back.

  By then, she almost looked human.

  Snow had piled up on the sill outside the tiny bathroom window. She went on tiptoe to peer through the clear part of the glass.

  A blanket of unbroken white extended, smooth and sparkly, to the tree line. The trees themselves were more white than green. And it was still coming down.

  Everything out that window looked brand-new. And she felt...gleeful.

  She had someone to spend her Christmas with. And a gorgeous tree to decorate.

  So what if that someone was a stranger and the tree wasn’t hers? This totally unexpected interlude in the forest was just fine with her. She felt energized, very close to happy. And ready for anything.

  For the first time in a long time, she looked forward with real anticipation to whatever was going to happen next.

  Chapter Three

  Matt was feeling almost human again. Yeah, his leg ached a little. But he’d taken his temperature before he made the coffee. It was down two degrees. His headache was gone.

  Sabra came out of the bathroom looking a lot more pulled together than when she’d gone in. Though really, she’d been damn cute with her hair sticking up every which way, giving him the evil eye, ordering him to keep his mouth shut until she’d had her coffee.

  “How about some oatmeal?” she asked as she refilled his coffee mug. “Think you could keep that down?”

  He had zero desire to eat mush. “Did I dream it or did you haul everything in from the Jeep last night?”

  “No dream. I brought the food and your other things inside.”

  “And you made soup.”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “It was delicious. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate everything you’ve done and I would like eggs, bacon and toast. Please.”

  She handed him the mug and then stood above him, holding the coffee carafe, her head tipped to the side as she studied him. “I’m not going to be happy with you if it all comes right back up.” She put on her don’t-mess-with-me look, just to let him know who was boss.

  Damn. The woman had attitude. And she took care of business. She was tough and resourceful and pretty much unflappable—with a dry sense of humor.

  Not to mention she looked amazing in panties and a sports bra.

  Matt liked her. A lot. He was a little blown away at how much. As a rule, he was cautious around new people. But for her, he would definitely make an exception. He said what he was thinking. “I could have done a lot worse than to get snowed in with you.”

  For that, he got a small nod and a hint of a smile. “I’m glad you’re feeling better. I just want you to be careful not to overdo it.”

  “Eggs,” he said longingly. “Toast. Bacon.”

  She made a disapproving face, but then she cooked him the breakfast he asked for. He did his part and kept the food down. After the meal, she changed his bandage. His leg wasn’t pretty, but there was no sign of infection.

  Once she’d changed the dressing, she got him some sweats and clean underwear from the duffel bags she’d brought in from the car. She even allowed him to hobble into the bathroom on his own steam.

  He brushed his teeth, cleaned himself up a little and changed into the stuff she’d brought downstairs for him. When he emerged into the main room, she said he looked a little green and ordered him to lie down.

  “I have a request,” she said as she tucked the old afghan in around him.

  “My Jeep? My bank account number? The deed to this cabin? Whatever you want from me, it’s yours.”

  She laughed. The sound was low and a little bit husky. Every time she bent close, he could smell her. She’d used the Ivory soap in the bathroom, yeah, but beneath that, her body itself smelled clean and sweet, like fresh-baked bread or maybe sugar cookies. Sugar cookies and woman.

  A knockout combination.

  Really, she had it all going on. He’d never realized before that he might have a type. Hi, I’m Matt Bravo and I like my women hot, smart, competent and bossy. As soon as he was capable of washing up in the bathroom without needing a nap afterward, it was going to get really difficult not to put a move on her.

  Now, though? He was weak as a baby and fading fast, making her one-hundred-percent safe from his bad intentions.

  “Keep your bank account,” she said with a grin. “It’s your tree I’m after.”

  He imagined reaching up, running a finger down the velvety skin of her neck, maybe tugging on that thick braid down her back—and what was this he was feeling? Like he had a crush on her or something. />
  Matt didn’t do crushes. He’d been in love once and it had all gone to hell like everything else in his life at that time. Nowadays, he went out occasionally with women who wanted the same thing he did—satisfying sex. And no sleeping over.

  Although, in all honesty, if he was going to crush on a woman, it would have to be this one.

  “Matthias? You okay?”

  He picked up the conversation where he’d dropped it. “I noticed you found the decorations and brought them down.”

  She grinned. “It’s Christmas Eve. You’re in no condition to decorate that tree and it’s not going to decorate itself. Is it all right with you if I do it?”

  She was way too much fun to tease. “You sure you don’t want the Jeep? It’s a Rubicon. Super fancy. You can go off-road in it, take a seventy-degree downhill grade on rugged terrain without even stopping to consider the risks—because there are none.”

  A sound escaped her, a snappy little “Ffft.” She gave him a light slap on the shoulder with the back of her hand. “Stop messing with me. Say yes.”

  He stared up into those beautiful brown eyes. “Yes.”

  “Well, all right.” She retucked a bit of his blanket. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

  He reached back and punched his pillow a little, all for show. “Have fun.”

  “I will.”

  “And try to keep the noise down. I need my sleep.” He turned his head toward the back of the sofa and closed his eyes.

  But not two minutes later, he rolled his head back the other way so he could watch her work.

  Methodical and exacting, that was her tree-decorating style. She found the lights, plugging in each string first, replacing the few bulbs that had gone out. There weren’t many bad bulbs because Matt took care of his gear. Also, the lights weren’t that old.

  This was his third Christmas at the cabin. His great-uncle Percy Valentine had given the place to him when Matt was discharged from the service. A few wooded acres and a one-room cabin, Matthias, Uncle Percy had said. I’m thinking it will be a quiet place just for you, a place where you can find yourself again.