Christmastime on Donner's Mountain

by Laura Strickland

  “That fierce beast won’t eat me, will she?”

  “Gyp? I doubt it. She’s just a little protective. Usually there’s nobody here but the two of us.” He pushed past her in the limited space and unbolted the door. “What are you doing way up here anyway?”

  Becca shrugged. “I got restless at the house. To tell you the truth, Rob and I got in an argument. I didn’t intend to stop here—I wanted to drive up to the overlook.”

  Restless, right. She’d spent half her life in that condition. Oh there’d been great times when she lay quiet and seemingly at peace in his arms, when they’d laughed together and he’d dared think about the future. Times rare and far between.

  “That’s crazy,” he told her. “You should remember what this road’s like in the snow.”

  “What can I say? I’m still reckless.” She shrugged. “Some things don’t change.”

  No, they didn’t, he thought bitterly as he ushered her into the cabin. Not even the way he felt when close to her. And certainly not the threat she represented to his state of mind.

  He flipped the light switch on the wall and groaned. “Power must be out—probably a line down somewhere. Here, Gyp, down.” He fended off the dog, who had launched herself at him before growling at Becca.

  “Okay, okay.” Becca calmed the dog while Jack fumbled for the hurricane lamp. “It still smells the same in here, at least—wood smoke and old pine. Brings back memories.”

  Jack turned with the lighted lamp in his hands. Already she’d soothed Gyp with a touch and won her over. The dog sat huddled on Becca’s feet, pressed against her thigh.

  Jack caught his breath against the sheer wonder of having this woman here again—alone with him, the stuff of a thousand fantasies. He wanted to say memories didn’t hurt, but he couldn’t. He knew it would be a lie.

  Chapter Five

  “I always was what you used to call ‘stupid confident’—too cocky for my own good.” Becca eyed the marshmallows bobbing in her mug of hot chocolate with mixed emotions. Jack invariably insisted on marshmallows; she’d never had the heart to tell him she detested them. In the past she’d chugged them down quick so she could enjoy the rest of the drink.

  Now one sip told her he’d put in something besides marshmallows. Tasted like brandy. Much better.

  Jack stomped his feet back into his boots and shrugged into his jacket without comment. Becca lifted her eyes to his face. “And you always were the one who paid the price. Jack—”

  Calmly he interrupted her. “I’ll be right back after I look at your car. For God’s sake, stay put till then.”

  She nodded. Curled up on one end of the sofa with Gyp half in her lap, she didn’t plan on moving unless he got the wagon started. In which case she meant to run right back down the mountain.

  Away from this place. From him. And all the memories.

  He went out, and Gyp gazed into Becca’s face with melting brown eyes. Jack hadn’t been exaggerating; the dog was no pedigreed beauty. But she had a quality far better than mere beauty, and it spoke volumes about Jack, who’d taken her to his heart.

  “I hope you’ll prove loyal to him,” she whispered in Gyp’s ear. “He deserves that. Do you know how lucky you are he loves you? He loved me once.”

  Being here in the cabin brought it all back, even though the place didn’t look much the same. Jack’s family, a fiercely independent clan who didn’t like the rules of nine-to-five and who practiced conservation long before it became fashionable, had always farmed trees up here on the mountain. They harvested only so many each year and replanted two each spring for every one they had taken the previous winter. If Jack had a religion, it was rooted here on the mountain.

  Back when she’d been seeing him, the cabin was a rough and ready place with mismatched furniture and bunk beds. Now it looked and felt like Jack had settled in. The bunk beds had been replaced by a big iron four-poster in the corner, and a large table with a rough-hewn top was laid with a place setting for one. The items Jack used frequently lay scattered about, but it looked comfortable rather than untidy. And the spicy, woodsy fragrance of the place went straight to Becca’s head.

  She’d lost her virginity here, to him. Not in one of the bunk beds but on a rug in front of the fire. She felt half relieved to see that rug no longer lay where it once had. Some memories were too beautiful and hurt far too deeply.

  The wind blew hard against the side of the cabin, and Gyp cuddled closer. Becca put out an arm and drew the dog in.

  Her mug of spiced chocolate was empty and both she and Gyp were dozing when the door rattled and Jack came back in. At least she assumed it was Jack—plastered with snow as he was, she could hardly tell. Gently she nudged the dog aside and went to him, where she began to brush him off.

  “Jeez, you look like the abominable snowman.”

  From amid ridges of white, his blue gaze met hers. “Bad news, I’m afraid. The storm’s closed in. I’m not sure I could get my truck down the mountain now. And I didn’t get the wagon started.”

  Becca froze with her hands on his shoulders. Snowed in here at the cabin with Jack and all those memories. Must be fate sticking its tongue out at her again.

  “Not good,” she agreed.

  He unzipped his jacket and pulled the whitened cap from his head. “Seems to me we have two choices. I can try to get my truck turned around and attempt to run you back to town, or you can stay here for the night.”

  ****

  Stay. In his mind Jack supplied the word he wanted to hear pass through Becca’s slightly parted lips. Not just because he didn’t relish driving down the mountain in this storm. Not even because he thought anything would happen between the two of them here tonight. But because being in her company again made him see how much he’d missed her and prodded open a wound he thought he’d healed all too carefully.

  Stay.

  She glanced at the window and at Gyp, still cozied up on the sofa. “I’m not sending you out in that, not to drive down the mountain. I guess you’ll just have to put up with me for the night.”

  Gladness flared inside him. She must have seen its reflection in his eyes because she backed off a step and added, “I’ll sleep here on the sofa.”

  “Okay. But call your brother. Let him know you’re safe.”

  “I will.” Yet she made no move to pull her phone from the pocket of her jeans.

  He hung his hat and jacket on pegs beside the fire. “I mean it, Becca. Rob and your grandpa will be worried sick about you.”

  She shrugged, her expression cautious, and plucked out the phone at last. He stirred up the fire and pretended not to listen while she made the call.

  “Rob? I’m stuck in this storm, don’t think I can get home. Can you handle Gramps on your own for the night?” She listened before saying, “No, I guess you don’t. I’m okay—somewhere safe. Never mind. Just safe.”

  A flurry of squawking issued from her phone. Impatiently she said, “I’m up the mountain, all right? At Jack’s.”

  Silence. She ended the call without another word and turned to face Jack. “Honestly! Who appointed him my nursemaid? But he’s at the house and will look after Gramps.”

  “Good.”

  “Thanks for offering me a port in the storm, Jack.”

  How could he tell her it still felt as if she belonged here, even after all this time? In fact, it felt like he’d been missing something every day of his life here—like living without a limb. He’d learned to cope, but now he felt complete again. Despite her difficult nature, she made him whole.

  Again he wondered what it was about this one woman, this one impossible woman. Maybe he was just crazy.

  “You hungry?” he asked.

  “I could eat.” She laughed a bit uncertainly. “I can always eat.”

  “Yeah, I know.” He flicked her a glance. “How do you keep so slim?”

  “I burn off all the calories in angst.”

  He gave a grunt of laughter. “Leftover stew okay?”
>
  “Is it your mom’s recipe?”

  “No, sorry. It’s my recipe—almost the same. You set another place at the table while I heat it up.”

  “Dishes and everything where they used to be?”

  “Everything’s the same.”

  And for a few minutes while they moved around the room in companionable silence, he almost believed it was. The years dissolved between them, and memory took hold so sharp and strong he wanted to shake himself. Just because fate and the mountain had caught them alone together didn’t mean he had to fall into that old trap. Hadn’t he learned that loving Becca brought pain? Did he really want to go through that another time?

  He still hadn’t decided when he filled their bowls with hot stew and put out a loaf of crusty bread. They sat facing each other at the table, and he fumbled for a topic of conversation.

  Becca spoke first. “I’ve just noticed something.”

  “What’s that?”

  “The man who sells Christmas trees has neglected his own cabin. No tree for you?”

  He shrugged. “I usually don’t bother. No time. This is my busiest season, and it half pays the taxes for the year. I usually get home, eat a meal, and fall down to sleep.”

  “I understand. A tree would look nice in that corner, though.”

  “My folks never put one up here, just at the house in town.”

  “What’s become of that house?”

  “Mom and Dad rented it out. They moved to be near Julie and her kids after her husband split.”

  “I see. Think they’ll ever come back to Crawford?”

  “Don’t know. I guess it depends on whether Julie finds her feet. They’re keeping the house as an option, but I always knew I wanted to live here instead.”

  “So”—Becca spoke with her eyes on her bowl—“your sister’s marriage broke up? Does that mean she chose somebody like me—fickle and footloose?”

  His gaze flew to hers, which lifted and met him face on. For an instant he felt like he’d been punched in the chest.

  “You sure you want to talk about that, Becca?”

  “I think we have to, if I’m staying here tonight. It’s the monster in the room, isn’t it? The thing we’re both thinking about.”

  He tried for a careless shrug. “You’ve got me all wrong—it’s water under the bridge.”

  “Liar.” She drew a breath he felt all the way across the table. “Don’t you want to hear me confess what a coward I was and hear me say how sorry I am?”

  Chapter Six

  “Coward?” Becca Monroe might be a lot of things, but damned if Jack would ever apply that word to her. Impulsive and careless, yes. Selfish and occasionally cruel. Also warm and funny, and so loving it could steal a man’s sanity.

  But she seldom dodged anything. She met challenges head on with brash bravery, sparing neither herself nor others.

  “It seems to me, Jack, I owe you an explanation after all this time.”

  “You don’t owe me anything.” He got up and, no longer hungry, scraped the remaining contents of his bowl into Gyp’s.

  “I did, back then.” The assertion, spoken very softly, spun him back to face her.

  “Don’t do this, Becca. Don’t rake it all up again. Let it stay dead.”

  She rose from the table. “But it’s not dead, at least not for me. I see that, now I’m back here with you. I started to feel it as soon as I got to town—all those damn Christmas lights and the caroling. The plastic Santas. The cheer.”

  He smiled wryly at the dislike that filled her voice. “Good will to all men.”

  She lifted her chin a fraction. “Maybe if we talk it out tonight, then when I leave again, after Gramps dies, we can really put it behind us.”

  “Sure. Because opening up an old wound, going at it with pincers, making it all gory, and pouring on some salt is always a good idea.”

  “A wound that’s never cauterized tends to fester.”

  And was that what ailed him? Had he been festering over Becca Monroe? Was that why he couldn’t look at another woman and hadn’t had sex in over a year?

  Pitiful. Maybe she was right. Maybe here, now, trapped together in this den of old memories, they needed to have it out.

  “Right.” He walked to the ancient sofa and threw himself down. “Tell me. Convince me why I should forgive you.”

  ****

  Could she? Blinking at the tempting sight Jack made sprawled on the sofa, Becca doubted it—mostly because she didn’t believe she deserved forgiveness. She’d taken this man’s heart—the truest she’d ever known—and thrown it back in his face. Even before that she’d put him through hell, made him so miserable she thought he’d cast her off a dozen times.

  He hadn’t. She’d watched those clear blue eyes of his fill with anger, with confusion and pain, but never—not till that last night in this very room—with goodbye.

  Yeah, maybe they needed to rehash it here, for the sake of their sanity.

  She perched on the sofa beside him, almost near enough to touch. “I’d like it if you could forgive me, Jack. I’m not sure I have it coming, but if I could have one Christmas wish, that would be it.”

  “I see.” His gaze softened. Becca knew how compassionate his heart could be.

  She sucked in a breath. “I’m like Gramps. Hard to handle, hard to get along with. Seldom satisfied. But I should have been satisfied with you.” Any woman should have been.

  “You weren’t.” He threw that out in the spirit of the honesty upon which they’d agreed.

  “I wasn’t. But that was my fault, not yours. My damned nature. You were everything I could have asked, more than I had a right to expect.” Only look at what Gramps had put Grandma through. She hadn’t wanted to do that to Jack. She’d loved him.

  She still did.

  That thought, like a kick to the belly, made her gasp. Maybe love had brought her up the mountain this night. And love would make her give him back what she’d stolen five years ago.

  “I just want to be sure you know that,” she told him. “The break between us was all on me.”

  “You wanted to stretch your wings. You wanted to fly.” He smiled sadly. “Away from Crawford, which meant away from me. That was the part I couldn’t understand then. I mean, I got that you were like some magnificent butterfly fighting your way out of a chrysalis. I knew I was lucky you even looked in my direction—”

  “Don’t say that.”

  “But I couldn’t understand why you never talked about taking me along with you.”

  Somehow she met his gaze. “Leaving meant leaving. I was wrong. That’s what I want to tell you tonight, Jack. I was wrong.”

  He stared at her and repeated, “Wrong?”

  “Look at me.” She held out her hands dramatically. “Do I look like I’ve been wildly successful in anything? I’m still the person I was, only more so. I took my restlessness with me. It’s interrupted my life time and again. I’d have done better staying here and fighting to conform, the way Gramps did.”

  “Are you saying you’re here to stay, now?”

  “No—God, no. I burned all those bridges.”

  “I didn’t think so.” Despite the bitter words, he reached out and pulled her into his arms. “Then let’s see what’s left between us.”

  ****

  Becca fell into Jack’s embrace the way a woman might fall into a deep well—helplessly and with no hope of a fingerhold—a fast, sure plummet that stole her breath. All she could do was fall. But strong arms were there to snatch and cradle her.

  Jack’s arms.

  His warmth enfolded her, and her heart cried out in victorious relief. Traitorous heart! Once it had sworn to her it wanted nothing so much as away. No sooner had she followed its direction than it began to mourn Jack’s absence.

  Pride had kept her from slinking home again—pride and uncertainty at how he’d react. He’d been angry enough to tell her goodbye, in the end. Angry and hurt. So hurt.

  She tasted none of
that now as his mouth covered hers and parted her lips—only the searing relief and victory, the glorious sense of being at last where she belonged.

  She whimpered and dove into him, seeking his sweetness and strength, seeking his heart. It had been hers once. Now, though, she deserved no more than the privilege of kissing him.

  His tongue met hers in a shower of fire that traveled through her blood and straight to her toes. But he broke the kiss and gasped, “Do you remember?”

  Becca’s thoughts fluttered like a startled bird. She remembered so much. Being here in his arms with her soul singing; intimacy and laughter. Tears, and that damned, stubborn pride.

  Before she could summon an answer, he went on, “It was this time of year, or nearly. Almost Christmas. You said you’d found a job in Colorado.”

  And just like that she could hear his heart breaking all over again, the way it had that night when she told him.

  “I asked you to wait, Becca. Till after Christmas. You said you couldn’t.”

  “The job was for a winter trail guide. They wanted people for over the holiday and the New Year. I couldn’t wait.”

  “Wouldn’t wait.” He gazed into her eyes, and she shied from his pain. “I meant to ask you to marry me that Christmas. Did you know?”

  “Yes.” It had been part of what urged her to flee. She’d felt the net closing. She hadn’t been ready to settle. Was she, now?

  “I asked you to wait for me, too—to wait here.” Even as she spoke the words she knew how unfair they were. He’d waited too many times, been patient too long. “You said you couldn’t do it anymore.”

  “I couldn’t.”

  “You told me it was goodbye. Listen, Jack.” She seized his hands. “I know I pushed you to it. I made you say that goodbye.”

  “You wanted to see the Rockies.” Again he smiled wryly. “I told you one mountain was as good as another—especially when it came to Donner’s Mountain.”

  “I remember.”

  “So did you find what you were looking for out there?”

  Becca shook her head. “Not there or anywhere. It’s like Gran used to say—peace comes from inside you. I couldn’t find it outside myself. I don’t think I’ve found it yet.”