The Trouble with Christmas

by Amy Andrews

  Then everyone’s eyes turned to Simone’s creation, gathering around it to admire and compliment. As far as Suzanne knew, her mother had never carved ice before—in fact she’d put money on her mom not even having considered ice sculpting art—but there was certainly no evidence of that in the delicate loveliness of the angel glistening in a stray sunbeam that had managed to poke through the blanket of gray. She supposed her mother had worked in much more difficult mediums but to make a figure carved from ice so vibrantly warm and alive was a true skill, and her mother had outdone herself.

  The icy wings were gossamer-thin and practically translucent as water droplets dripped off the bottom, but more than that was the tangible supplication in every curve of the angel’s body and the beatific devotion on her face angled toward the heavens. The bodice of the gown was made up of fine icy strands, like silken webs, and the skirt flowed effortlessly as if being stirred by a breeze.

  “I wish my wife was here to see this!” Ray exclaimed, stepping forward to examine the statue as the crowd started to disperse. He slid his glasses on his face as he bent to get a closer look at the bodice. “She’d think it was the most divine creature she’d ever seen.”

  “Why thank you, Ray. I wish your wife were here, too. If this statue wasn’t doomed to melt, I’d have given it to her.”

  Ray stood momentarily surprised by the suggestion before sending a warm smile in Simone’s direction and reaching out his hand, which she took. They stayed clasped like that for brief seconds before their hands slid away and the moment passed.

  “What inspired you to sculpt an angel?” someone asked from the crowd.

  Simone didn’t answer for a beat or two, clearly giving her response some thought. “Well,” she said slowly as if she wasn’t absolutely sure from where the artistic creation had sprung, “it’s Christmas, isn’t it?”

  Suzanne blinked. She doubted her mother had ever been inspired by the festive season. In fact, she always said that December was her least creative time because there was so much artifice. But the crowd ate it up. So did her father, who bent his head to kiss his wife on the mouth.

  It was brief, but Suzanne’s heart sang a little at the intimacy both in it and in the smile they were sharing. It was just like old times, and Suzanne hoped like anything that this icy Christmas angel was the start of something wonderful.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Suzanne woke the next morning to an empty cabin—again. She had seen Grady last night, but only briefly when he’d come in at eight thirty and headed straight for his office. There was a note waiting for her, though, as she entered the kitchen. A note with instructions in his big, bold handwriting to go into Credence and pick up supplies for her parents’ cottage so they were prepared for the blizzard that was supposed to touch down later tonight.

  She assumed Grady was always prepared, so nothing was needed for the cabin.

  Candles and matches were on the list as well as spare batteries for the two large flashlights he’d left on the bench top. Also on the list—a supply of bottled water and some cans of food.

  Beans are good.

  That’s what he’d written. Suzanne struggled to think of a time she’d ever seen her parents eat baked beans, or any kind of ready-to-eat meal out of a can, and failed. But if the power went out, which it probably would at some point, they’d only have their gas cooktop so cans it was. Thankfully, the gas fireplace in the cottage meant there was no need for Suzanne to worry about her parents running out of firewood and risking a trip outdoors for more in the middle of a blizzard.

  Unlike Grady’s cabin with its wood-burning fireplace.

  But Suzanne had noticed yesterday that Grady—or somebody anyway—had stacked up a supply of wood and two huge baskets brimming with pine cones around the fireplace and against the cabin on the back porch under the overhang of the roof. The wood was neatly piled and tightly packed, looking like enough wood for a week and, as far as she knew, the weather station said the worst of it should be over in two days.

  Fingers crossed.

  Suzanne shivered. The wind was already picking up outside, and she was grateful to be inside, unlike poor Grady and his men, who must be freezing their balls off out there. Sure, it seemed right up his ex-military, tough-guy alley to be out battling these kinds of elements, but yikes…

  Rather him than her.

  …

  At eight that night, Grady still wasn’t home as Suzanne waved her parents off at the door. “Are you sure you don’t want to wait the blizzard out here with us?” she asked them. “There’s a spare room.”

  Her mother looked around at all the tinsel and other Christmas tack and shook her head. “No thanks, darling, we’ll be fine.”

  At another time, her mother’s obvious distaste might have annoyed Suzanne, but frankly, she was relieved her mother had declined. For starters, it meant she and her father would spend more alone time together, and then there were the sleeping arrangements…

  Yes, there was a spare bedroom. Right next to Suzanne’s. Except Suzanne was supposed to be sharing Grady’s room—Grady’s bed—so it could be hard to explain if that little fact were uncovered.

  God…she couldn’t wait for her parents to return to New York so this pretense could end.

  “When did Grady say he’d be home?” her father asked.

  Suzanne shook her head. “He didn’t.” She was trying not to think about him out there in the increasing wind. She hoped he wouldn’t be too much longer. The bureau had predicted the blizzard currently making its way across Kansas and Nebraska to arrive just before midnight.

  “Before the blizzard hits, I hope,” he said.

  “Me too.”

  “Oh, hey.” Her father pulled her in for a hug. “You’re worried about him.”

  Yes. She was. Surprisingly. She knew Grady knew what he was doing and that he wasn’t out there alone, but she was still antsy. She supposed seasoned rancher wives/girlfriends were used to this kind of thing. They were probably cool and calm in the face of an approaching biblical-ass storm. Hell, they’d probably be out there among it with their men.

  But Suzanne couldn’t help but think of a hundred things that could go wrong. “At least with all these lights, he’ll be able to easily find his way home,” Albie said, attempting to make a joke but hugging her a bit harder.

  Suzanne laughed. “Grady does love his Christmas.”

  The lie didn’t sit well. She had zero doubt the lights would be gone as soon as her parents hightailed it out of Credence. But her father was right, the lights flashing outside the cabin were visible for miles and, on a night like this, she was relieved to have them blinking away.

  She hoped Grady was, too.

  “Do you want us to stay?”

  Suzanne shook her head and pulled back. “No.” She wanted her parents to spend as much alone time together as possible. They’d been smiling at each other a lot today, and who knew what being snowed in could lead to? “Josh will be home soon. You two go and batten down the hatches while you’ve got the chance. It’s already starting to really blow out there. Just remember you’ll probably lose power and phones, so if anything happens and you need us, either come across or tie the red washcloth around the outside doorknob.”

  “We’ll be fine, darling,” her father assured, and, with one last round of hugs, Suzanne opened the door.

  The wind whistled, pushing Arctic fingers into the warm cabin. Her parents braced themselves for the short walk to the cottage, and Suzanne watched them from the doorway as her parents trudged away, hunched into their coats, their flashlights lighting the way on the cold, dark night, gusts of wind making the short walk challenging. When they reached their door, they turned and waved, and Suzanne waved back before shutting the cabin door and the inclement weather outside where it belonged.

  Outside with Grady.

  …

 
Nine o’clock came and went. Ten o’clock did, too. Grady had told Suzanne to not wait up, but she couldn’t go to bed with the wind howling outside and him still out there in it. True, it hadn’t started snowing yet, but it wouldn’t be long.

  Where was he? She’d texted him half a dozen times, and her head was full of worst-case scenarios.

  In an effort to keep her mind off Grady’s absence and her infuriatingly silent phone, she’d kept herself busy. She’d showered and regularly stoked the fire so the cabin would be toasty warm when Grady finally did arrive home. She’d baked a batch of brownies that were cooling on the kitchen bench top, and she had a saucepan full of warmed milk ready to go because surely a hot chocolate would be appreciated after coming in from the storm?

  She’d turned on some Christmas carols for company, painted her toes, and cleaned out her handbag sitting on the rug in front of the fire. And now she was on the couch, her legs pulled up under her, a fleecy blanket over her lap and a glass of red by her side, trying to concentrate on her e-reader. She’d turned off the carols in an effort to improve her concentration, but it hadn’t worked, as she stared once again at the Christmas tree, her thoughts whirring.

  Not even the tree gave her any pleasure tonight, despite the small pile of presents beneath it now. One each for her parents, even though they didn’t believe in gift giving. And Winona’s wrapped cookies. There was also a little something for Burl and Cora. And there was a present for Grady, because it would be weird if she hadn’t gotten him anything. And one from him to her that she’d wrapped and placed with the others because, ditto. They were just matching sweaters to wear to Christmas lunch, but there was still a pretense to be upheld.

  Glancing out the windows into the dark, Suzanne was grateful the power hadn’t gone out yet. The lights inside were comforting while she was here alone, and knowing the ones outside were shining like a beacon for her rancher was also welcome.

  She blinked. Her rancher? He wasn’t her rancher, she knew that, but right now with Grady somewhere out there in the wild weather and her safe on the inside, he very much felt like her rancher. He sure as hell was all she could think about.

  And she was getting madder by the second.

  Okay, sure, he couldn’t stop and answer every text she’d sent when he was working his guts out to get the ranch prepared for the havoc that was about to be brought down upon it, but surely he could answer just one? A quick I’m fine. Home in xyz amount of time. Was that so freaking hard?

  If he’d answered just one of her inquires, she wouldn’t have had to send a half dozen others. God…what if he’d slipped and fallen into a gully and was unconscious and his men couldn’t find him? What if he’d had an accident in his vehicle and they couldn’t find him? What if he was trying to pull another calf out of another bog and had been pulled headfirst into the muddy quagmire and they couldn’t find him?

  Not even the full-bodied red and the romantic flicker of firelight could soothe the slick of adrenaline stalking her system. She’d give him one more hour. And if he wasn’t back by then she’d… Hell, she didn’t know what she’d do, but she sure as hell was going to do something.

  Call someone. Burl maybe? He’d called earlier to check on her and assure her Grady would be home when the work was done, so he’d know if Grady’s prolonged absence was normal.

  That’s what she’d do. In one more hour. With that decided, she tamped down her fears and returned to her book, to the same page she’d read at least a dozen times now.

  The door opened abruptly fifteen minutes later, the wind nipping and snarling before it was shut out again. Suzanne’s nerves jumped and her heart leaped as she scrambled off the couch toward Grady, who was shaking snow out of his hair and stepping out of his boots saying, “Oh yes, thank you… It’s like the Bahamas in here.”

  “Grady!” She all but ran to him, launching herself into his arms, hugging around his shoulders.

  “Whoa there, slugger,” he said on a half laugh as his body absorbed the impact of hers.

  His jacket was freezing, as was his neck where she’d pressed her face, but she didn’t care. She hugged him fiercely, her pulse hammering madly at all her pulse points. Grady was here. Grady was safe. Grady was whole.

  “God,” she said, her voice husky, tears stinging her eyes, “I was so worried about you.”

  “As you can see, I’m fine.”

  The amusement in his voice grated. Grady was here and he was safe and the adrenaline that had held her hostage drained away like dirty dishwater down the drain, leaving her wrung out and nauseated. She pushed away from him and whacked his arm.

  It had all the impact of a feather through the thick layers of his jacket.

  “Where have you been?” she demanded and whacked his other arm. “I’ve been worried sick about you.”

  He chuckled. “I told you not to wait up.”

  She blinked hard to dispel the threatening tears. She would not cry when he was smiling at her like he was indulging a two-year-old’s temper tantrum. “I’ve been picturing you dead in a ditch,” she yelled, giving his chest a shove this time. It barely moved him, which made her madder. “Why didn’t you reply to one of my texts to let me know you were okay?”

  She shoved again, but he caught her hand this time, his smile dying. “Suzy…” His brow crinkled. “It’s okay. I’m fine. See?”

  He held out his arms to show her he was whole and intact, and had he used any other name, she might have stayed stoic, but the way he said Suzy—the only man who had ever called her that—was her undoing. She felt absurdly like bursting into tears, but she didn’t. She threw herself at him again instead and just hugged him, his big, broad shoulders feeling like boulders in her embrace.

  He was fine. Grady was fine.

  “God, you’re so cold,” she said after a beat or two, the icy feel of his jacket permeating her pajama top.

  “It’s just the outside of my clothes,” he dismissed. “I’m warm underneath.”

  “Come over to the fire.” She let him go but tugged on his freezing hand, not prepared to take no for an answer. Thankfully, after a moment of resistance, he followed, that bemused look back on his face. He was humoring her again, but she was okay with that.

  “Stand here in front of this, and warm your hands. I’ll make you a hot chocolate.”

  Again she didn’t wait for his consent, just scurried to the kitchen on a cloud of relief.

  “I’d rather bourbon.”

  Right. Of course. He was a grown-ass man who’d been out doing hard physical labor for the last seventeen hours. The man deserved alcohol.

  “Good plan.”

  Suzanne headed for the drinks cabinet. She had to pass Zoom’s tank, which made her think of Bethany, but she quashed it as she opened the cabinet doors and grabbed the Wild Turkey bottle. Her hand shook as she reached for a heavy lead crystal tumbler and poured a hefty slug. Picking up the glass and the bottle—he’d probably want more than one—she headed back toward Grady.

  He’d taken his jacket off and was facing the fire, and even in this huge living room with its soaring ceiling and massive wooden beams, Grady dominated. Tall and broad, his back straight, his stance wide and confident. He was king of his domain, and damn if that didn’t send a delicious little trill right through her abdomen.

  Stopping to place the bottle down on the side table next to her wine and handbag, she picked up her glass and ferried both it and Grady’s bourbon over to where he stood. He had his hands thrust toward the fire, warming them as she’d directed.

  “Here.” She nudged his elbow with the tumbler.

  “Thanks.” He relieved her of it and immediately raised it to his mouth, taking a big swallow.

  Suzanne, still feeling edgy from the remnants of adrenaline, almost did the same with her wine but forced herself to sip it instead. Neither of them said anything for long moments as they
stared into the fire. She snuck a look at Grady’s profile as he took another mouthful of his drink. His eyes were shut as if savoring it, and then he tipped his head from side to side, stretching out the muscles of his neck.

  “You must be exhausted,” Suzanne said, noticing the fine lines around his eyes.

  His lids fluttered open, and he stared into the fire again. “I’m okay.”

  Of course he was okay. Couldn’t have surly rancher dude admit to anything as human as tiredness after two full days of manual labor.

  A sudden howl of wind shook the cabin, and Suzanne glanced out the window at the horizontal snow whipping past. “Did you get everything done?”

  “Yeah.” He nodded. “Just gotta hope for the best now.”

  “I’ll drink to that.” Suzanne raised her glass toward him, and their gazes met as he tapped his tumbler to hers. The glasses tinked, and Grady took another swallow as he returned his attention to the fire.

  “You must be hungry. I kept some food for you. There’s also a batch of brownies that’s probably still warm.”

  “Thanks.” He nodded. “I’ll get something soon.”

  “I can do it; you’ve done enough today.”

  She turned to go, but he put a stilling hand on her arm. “Suzy…”

  Suzy. God… Her belly looped the loop. Talk about heat. How did the man manage to make that name sound so damn sexy?

  “It’s okay. I just want to enjoy the warmth of the fire and the heat in this drink for a little while longer.”

  “Of course,” she said, standing beside him again, her gaze returning to the fire.

  The silence grew between them as they sipped on their drinks, which only made Suzanne more and more aware of him, of his brooding presence. What was he thinking about? Was he worrying about the storm? The ranch? That he hadn’t done enough? Or was he thinking about the long hours ahead with just him and her—alone. In this cabin.