The wind and snow slapped at the windows, and it was mere minutes before the frigid temperatures leaked into the car, turning it into an icebox. She peered in the backseat for her coat, but found nothing but a flimsy running jacket.
“I’ve got to get out of here and find help.” Her breath puffed from her lips. “I don’t want Sylvie to find my body tomorrow, frozen like a fish stick.” Good heavens, she was already talking to herself. Probably the first sign of hypothermia.
Straining to open the driver’s side door, Emma was shocked by a whoosh of brutal air and the thud of the door hitting the bank. Crawling out of that tiny opening would be impossible. Flinging off her seatbelt, she grabbed the doll and climbed over the console and opened the passenger door. It would be a small drop, but she had taken five years of gymnastics as a child. Emma could dismount with the best of them. In third grade she’d gotten the junior Olympic—
She landed butt-first in a mound of snow and mud. Emma blinked against the sleet snapping against her skin and pushed herself to her feet. Up the hill was a series of houses. And that darn nativity.
The road was glazed as an ice rink, so with doll under her arm, Emma trudged through the ditch and climbed to the top. She spied what used to be her junior English teacher’s house and crossed through her yard.
Nobody was home.
Fine. There were lights on in the house across the street. She’d try them.
So cold. Her shivering lips tasted ice.
Stepping onto the street, Emma stayed upright an entire thirty seconds before her feet betrayed her and went two different directions. The fall sent her to her knees on the grass. Just in time to see headlights coming her way.
A truck stopped and Noah rolled down his window. “What in the hell are you doing?”
Her hair clung to her face in frozen clumps. “Making social calls. What does it look like I’m doing?”
“Crawling on the ground with some kid’s doll.” He hopped out of the truck and ran to her as if he were so athletic, so stealthy, he was immune to the ice. “Hang on. I’ve got you.” Noah slipped his arm around Emma and pulled her to him. “You look like a drowned rat.”
With numb fingers, she flicked a blob of mud from her sweatshirt. “Sometime you should Google ‘ways to compliment the ladies.’”
“Where’s your car?”
“In a ditch.” She pointed the opposite direction. “Down the hill a ways.” Taking a little siesta.
“Get in the truck.” Noah shucked out of his wool coat and draped it across Emma’s shoulders. He assisted her into his in truck, reaching across her body to pull out the seatbelt.
“Hey, watch the hands.” She slapped them away. “I can do that.”
His shoulder brushed against her cheek. “Would you just accept some help?” Noah was still shaking his head when he got in and put the truck in drive.
“Thanks for picking me up,” Emma said.
Noah cut her a sharp look. “You want to tell me what you were doing out here?”
“Fixing the nativity. Someone stole Jesus.”
He flexed his hands on the steering wheel. “Sylvie is going to kill you.”
“If Sylvie had been me, she would’ve done the same.” Or arranged for a drone delivery. “I need you to take me to the nativity.”
“The manger can wait. You could’ve been hurt on these roads. It only takes fifteen minutes of ice before they’re dangerous, Emma.”
Of course she knew this. Everyone who lived in the county knew it could go from zero to a Polar Slip ’N Slide in a matter of minutes. “Please drive me to the nativity.” She attempted to bat her eyes at Noah, but her lashes just stuck together. “I’ve come this far.”
Noah gave her a look that clearly communicated his doubts about Emma’s mental faculties, but he steered the truck in that direction. The nativity soon came into view, the great star suspended from a tree and illuminating the scene.
He parked the truck and held out a hand. “Let me have it.”
“It’s not your baby.”
“Thank God for that.”
Emma hopped out, but wasn’t surprised to hear his footsteps crunching behind her, along with some muttering that didn’t sound too Christmassy.
“That is one ugly doll,” he said.
“Well, don’t tell the Presbyterians.”
“What?”
“Nothing.” She swiped at her drippy nose and stopped to dump some snow from her shoe. “But I’m pretty sure they serve sour grapes for communion at Mrs. Carson’s church.”
“Em, I’ll take that for you.” He reached for the doll.
“Get back! This is my job. I will tend the manger . . . and watch the flock by night.” Delirium was clearly setting in. The cold had passed through her wet yoga pants and gone right to her bones. Even her underwear was wet. She’d walked miles and miles on the snowy sidewalks of New York, but never in her life had she endured frozen knickers.
On stiffened legs, Emma approached the nativity nestled in the middle of the town square. With a numb hand, she swiped the melted flakes from her face like a windshield wiper. Speakers piped holiday carols, and she paused long enough to slip her arms into Noah’s coat and gaze at the scene around her.
God had dropped her in a storybook village.
Every good citizen of Sugar Creek was bundled inside their toasty homes, and the world was a quiet hush of falling snow and soft, lilting music. Lights haloed the nativity, with the Wise Men offering gifts, Mary staring at the manger in wonder, and Joseph with his head bowed in prayer.
“A local artist from Eureka Springs carved and painted every piece.” Noah came up behind Emma as they stopped before the holy family.
“It’s . . . beautiful.”
Noah’s hands rested on her shoulders and lightly squeezed. “Very beautiful.”
“Oh, the cards. Still a tradition, huh?” She walked to the manger and picked up one of hundreds littering the hay. Even though the nativity had changed, the littering of prayers had not. Every season, folks would write prayers on cards and leave them at the nativity until they formed a floor for the manger.
Dear Jesus, she read.
It’s been a tough year. I’m praying for healing for my husband. He has stage three cancer . . .
Emma sent up a silent prayer for the person and picked up another card.
God, I don’t pray that much, but I need your help. I’ve been out of work for a whole year and . . .
She read three more before the cold and sorrow were too much. “Such desperate pleas.”
Noah hugged her shivering body to his and ran his hands up and down her back. “I guess you know something about desperate Christmas prayers.”
She closed her eyes and rested her head on his dampened shirt. “There’s something about the season that makes us think anything is possible. And we will ourselves to hope . . . just one more time. Believing—” She couldn’t even finish her thought. There was no sense in revisiting those dark memories, when she’d spent all Christmas Eve on her knees, begging God to heal her mom. But God had had other ideas, and her beloved mother had been gone by morning. And in so many ways, so had her dad.
Noah kissed the top of her soggy head. “No matter what happens, your hope is never wasted.”
She blinked back tears. “I wish I could scoop up all those cards and grant every one of their wishes.”
“It’s not your job, Emma.” Noah hugged her closer. “It never was.”
Chapter Thirteen
From the warmth of the dark cab, Noah looked at her car with its front end sticking up like it wanted to wave howdy-do. Body tense, he set his jaw and slowly turned his head to Emma. “You were in a ditch.”
She graced him with a gentle smile. “I did tell you that part.”
“Do you see the other side of this road?” His voice vibrated dangerously low. “You could’ve killed yourself.”
“Not likely.” She employed Smile Number Seven, the one reserved for celebrities re
ady to storm off the set. “There’s lots of snow. Look how plush it is.”
Noah’s eyes narrowed, and she pried his right hand from the steering wheel and held it. “I’m okay, Noah. It was a stupid idea, but I don’t want any of the Christmas plans to derail. If that magazine had—”
“Forget the magazine.” He punched the button for her heated seat and resumed their drive. “The doll could’ve waited ’til the roads cleared. The least you could’ve done was call me.”
“I didn’t want to bother you.”
“Did you think I wouldn’t have helped you?” He turned onto Harrison, the street lights strangely dark.
“Come on,” she said quietly. “It’s just in the last week you’ve even let yourself talk to me.” She regretfully let his hand go, only to for him to grab hers right back.
“You’re freezing.” He placed her hand on his thigh and briskly ran his fingers across her skin. “Why didn’t you call when you hit the ditch?”
“Left my phone at home.”
The words he said under his breath would’ve curled Christmas ribbon.
The ice and snow intensified, battling one another for dominance as they fell onto the truck. Noah’s wiper blades screeched in protest to a hard night’s work against the frozen elements. The feeling began to return to Emma’s limbs, and though she was chilled to the core, a different sort of warmth unfurled at the feel of Noah’s skin on hers.
He blew out a resigned sigh. “You’re doing a good job, Emma.”
“Oh.” She hadn’t expected that. “Thank you.”
“But the manger could’ve waited.”
“I wasn’t going to be able to sleep if I didn’t fix it.” And all those notes scattered around it just proved how much that nativity meant to the town.
“You about slept in the ditch.” Not only did Noah’s gruff tone not intimidate her, it made her smile.
“I was about to get help when you showed up. Why were you out, by the way?”
“Took some firewood to your grandma. She tried calling you while I was there. She was worried.”
“Like she doesn’t have a tracking device on all her grandchildren.”
“I called her when I saw you sprawled in the snow. She can rest easy now. But if you get pneumonia, she’ll probably kill the both of us.” He gave her hand a squeeze. “Silently and without leaving evidence.”
Emma’s grin slipped. “You missed my driveway.”
Noah pulled into his own driveway and locked those electric eyes on Emma. “You’re spending the night with me.”
Emma’s breath stalled. “I don’t think so.”
Ignoring that, Noah shut off the truck, grabbed a flashlight beneath his seat, and seconds later opened her door. “The electricity’s out in the whole neighborhood. Did you get your chimney cleaned?”
Shoot. “I did think about it.”
“Then you have no heat.”
Heat was the one thing she wanted. Well, and if she were honest with herself, maybe a little more cuddle time with Noah. “I can just bundle up. I’ll be fine.”
“I’m not having your frozen carcass on my conscience.”
“Gosh, I love it when you talk sexy.”
“Come on. I’ve already promised Sylvie I’d take care of you.” Noah gently put his hand under her arm. “Let’s go, babe.”
Babe. He used to call her that all the time. Holy hand warmers, she had missed it.
With his arm covering her like a wing of protection against the relentless snow, Noah led her inside his darkened home. He pulled a shivering Emma through his foyer, past the living room with a crackling fire, and toward his staircase.
“Wait, what are you doing?”
“Taking you to my bedroom.”
She tried to read his face in the faint glow of his flashlight. “Noah?”
Noah laughed quietly and pushed a strand of wet hair from her cheek. “You need to change into some dry clothes.”
“I have clothes at my house.”
He tilted his head and regarded her, looking more than a little charming. “Afraid you can’t trust yourself with me in my bedroom?”
“Of course not.” Well, maybe a little. Okay, a lot. Like a whole, whole lot.
Noah’s mouth curved. “We’ll get your clothes tomorrow.” He shined the light on the staircase and motioned for her to lead the way. “After you cook me breakfast.”
Oh, now that was funny. “Dream on.”
“You owe me, Sutton,” he said, using her television last name. Legally she still carried the last name of Casey, but when she’d gotten her first television gig, she’d used her mother’s maiden name.
It was hard to navigate stairs when your feet were blocks of ice. Emma stumbled halfway up, but strong hands were there to steady her. “Okay, if the power’s back on, I owe you breakfast.”
They reached the landing, and Noah guided her to the master suite. The room was cast in shadows, but she could see it had been renovated. A king-sized bed sat against the far wall, and thick crown molding framed the entire space. Emma wondered if he’d remodeled it himself or if he’d had a woman’s input. She didn’t want to think about that.
Noah disappeared into a walk-in closet, only to return a moment later, filling her hands with a pile of clothes as well as the flashlight. “Go take a hot shower.” He pointed to the door on the opposite wall. “I’ll have the fire waiting for you downstairs.”
A half hour later, Emma padded into the living room. The snow tapped against the fogged window, but Noah stood at the fireplace and stoked the coals, as if determined to battle the cold away from them. The flames crackled and hissed a melodic, soothing’s Emma’s weary heart.
“I love a good fire.” Emma settled onto the couch, tucking her legs beneath her.
Noah smiled as he took in her attire. “Nice outfit.”
“They’re a little roomy.” Emma wore a pair of his sweats, the waistband cinched, a thermal shirt, and a University of Arkansas hoodie. She leaned her nose into her shoulder. “I smell like you.” She wished she could bottle up that scent and pull it out on days when she ached with missing him.
Noah studied her in his sweatshirt, and his lips curved into a smile. “You feeling warmer?”
Oh, was she.
Emma burrowed deeper into the couch. “I remember sitting in front of the fire with my parents on Christmas Eve.”
The firelight cast wild shadows on the floor as Noah added more wood to the flames, then moved toward her. “So your Christmases weren’t all bad.”
She shook her head, the ends of her slightly-damp hair brushing against her neck. “We’d eat cookies and watch movies. My plans were always to wait out Santa Claus, but I’d fall asleep watching the flames, only to wake up Christmas morning in my own bed.”
Noah lifted a blanket from the end of the leather couch and spread it over Emma, his hands sliding over her as he tucked her in. “Those are the memories we hold on to. The good ones.”
He was right. But easier said than done. “I always thought if I had children, I’d make Christmas a big deal like my mom did. We’d bake fudge, trim the tree, read the Christmas story. Have some traditions.”
“Still lots of time for that.”
“Children don’t really fit into my life at the news desk right now. I travel a lot. Have long hours.”
He stared down at Emma. “Is that what you want?”
A year ago, she wouldn’t have even thought about her answer. She had worked her butt off to get where she was, and the lead anchor chair was right within her reach. Just a few more years, just a few more breakout stories.
Yet the thought of returning made her as frozen inside as the snow covering the city.
“My career’s been incredibly good to me,” she said finally. “Well, minus one very dramatic firing.”
“But is it still what you want?” Noah was not going to let that question go. “Does it make you happy?”
“No,” she said honestly. “But does anyone’
s job? As kids, we have this fantasy that we’ll grow up to be something that’s fun, that fuels a passion. But so few people get that.”
“I have that. I enjoy the law practice.”
“And you’re like a kid in a candy store with all the city planning.”
“If I didn’t like the work, I wouldn’t do it.”
“It’s not that easy. I have a degree and a lot of years invested in this career. And if I keep my nose out of trouble, I’m on the path that leads right to the lead anchor seat.”
“What would you be if you weren’t on the show?”
Emma hadn’t ever let herself think about alternatives. She’d just trudged on, as if the answer to her occupational melancholy had simply been more work. “I don’t know.” She ran her hand over the fleecy blanket and smiled. “Don’t tell anyone, but I’m kind of enjoying the marketing job, even if it is organizing events for a difficult holiday.”
“You’re good at it,” Noah said. “Melissa’s husband told me yesterday they’re not sure she’ll return to work. Apparently the thought of leaving her baby with a sitter has her crying on a daily basis.” He paused and watched Emma closely. “Know anyone who would want the job?”
The man was all temptation tonight. “It’s not me, Noah,” Emma said quietly. “I have my eye on a goal in New York, and I’ve got to see it through.”
“Even if you’re miserable?”
The wind howled and rattled the windows, and Emma shivered. She pulled the blanket to her chin and closed her eyes, leaving his question unanswered. “I don’t think I’m ever going to get warm again.”
The couch sank as Noah sat down, his thigh brushing hers. “Come here.” He pulled her to him and shifted them both until they were lying down, his arms holding her tight like a cherished present. He rested his chin on her head and absently stroked her blanket-covered arm. “Sylvie called while you were in the shower. She says to stay put.”
Emma smiled languidly. “I’m too tired to argue.”
“I guess you can add this to your Christmas memory collection.”
Sugar Creek Christmas Nook Page 9