Even after these years apart, Graham’s stamp on her seemed permanent, like a tattoo. Indelible. Undeniable. Oh, she’d fought it. Still fought it, telling herself it would fade with time. But a large part of her wondered if it ever would.
“Grace,” he said, his tone dead serious. “I have to tell you something.”
“What is it?” Her heart dropped down to her ankles, like that High Striker game at an amusement park. He’d met someone? He had cancer? His parents were sick? Instinctively, she clutched the dashboard for support.
What happened next seemed to happen in slow motion. One minute, they were staring ahead, into the swirling whiteness. The next moment, something big and brown was visible ahead of them, a shadowed mass in the road that loomed large and suddenly struck. Graham slammed on the brakes, but it was too late.
The car made contact with the enormous mass—an animal. Windshield glass shattered, air bags swelled and detonated. Grace’s head snapped backward and her arms flew up to shelter her face. White was everywhere, a massive cloud of airborne powder that made her cough and choke.
Then suddenly, all was still. She could hear the quiet shuffling sound of the snow as it landed on the windshield, obliterating it in seconds. A hissing sound emanated from the engine. Grace patted her chest, her arms, her face. All intact. The air bags had done their job.
As soon as she gathered her senses, she looked over at Graham. He was slumped over the wheel. Oh God, slumped! It took Grace a second to realize his airbag never completely deployed—and then she saw why. There was a massive antler sticking through the windshield. It must have pierced Graham’s bag at exactly the right time so it could not inflate.
Graham was unconscious—oh dear God, please, not dead. Not dead.
Panic paralyzed her. She was awful in emergencies. That was why she was an author! Yet she had to think and act. She unbelted herself, grasped Graham’s strong, broad shoulders, now dead weight, and shook them a little, calling out his name. No response.
Should she move him? You weren’t supposed to do that, were you?
Where the hell was her cell phone? Her purse had flown forward, and she could feel the contents crunching under her boots. In the icy blackness, she couldn’t see a thing.
Graham was as limp as a wrung-out rag. She laid him as flat as she could, reclining his seat, and rested him back against it.
“Graham,” she called, saying his name again and again. Tears blurred her sight, but she blinked them back. She somehow had to keep her shit together so she could think. Because they could not end like this. Not with so much unsaid.
All the emotion she’d been fighting, that she’d kept dammed up inside her, rushed out. She still missed him; she still thought about him. Spending this time together made her realize the ache in her heart for him had simply not healed. The sense of unfinished business between them was so strong, it made her tremble.
She’d been afraid of the truth. She should’ve been afraid of never getting the chance to tell it.
Back in high school, Grace had taken CPR when she worked at a summer camp, and she’d always had good intentions to take it again but…what was it she remembered? ABC…let’s see. Airway, Breathing…yes! That seemed a good place to start. She climbed over Graham, trying to ignore the sharp antlers sticking through the windshield. The wide-open eye of the dead deer seemed to stare at her like some kind of macabre Rudolph, adding to her sense of panic.
She opened his coat and leaned near his face, trying to hear or feel his breaths. Pressing a finger next to his windpipe, she felt for a pulse, but she was so panicked, nothing registered except her own erratic heartbeat.
She took a couple of deep breaths to calm down. Puffs of white air came out when she exhaled. As if she didn’t already know that being in this car was a ticking bomb, and time was quickly running out.
Despite the seeping cold, she unbuttoned a few buttons of his shirt. He wore a white undershirt, just like he used to so long ago, and for some reason, that made more tears spring up. Resolutely, she pressed her ear against his chest. It was hard, all curved, chiseled muscle. As she nestled her ear against his pec, she heard it. The strong, definite strum of his heart. Underneath her cheek, his chest rose and fell in a steady, strong rhythm.
Oh, praise Baby Jesus, he was breathing and pumping blood. The relief let loose a veritable waterfall, rolling down her cheeks, dotting his white dress shirt. She touched his face, felt the familiar sweet roughness, brushed back a lock of hair that fell close to the bloody gash on his forehead.
Blood trickled in a dark stream down his temple. She unwound the scarf from her neck and pressed it against his wound. While she waited for it to stop bleeding, she tried to figure out what to do next.
Unconscious, Graham looked like a different man. His square jaw didn’t seem quite so stubborn. The scowl of displeasure he often wore when he looked at her was gone, and in its place was a vulnerability, the childish innocence of a man asleep.
She whispered a quiet oath that she would take care of him. Better than she had the first time around.
There was not a soul on the road, no one to flag down. She flicked on the hazard lights and groped around on the floor for her cell, which she found scattered among her wallet, hairspray, and loose change. No bars. No fucking bars. She leaned her forehead against the side of his chest and sobbed.
“I’m sorry, Graham,” she whispered. “So, so sorry. For everything.”
It was going to end like this. On a misplaced mission to be somewhere for Christmas Eve, somewhere she’d insisted on going, regardless of how foolish a trip it was. Yes, she loved the hospital and the kids, but how much of her insistence was because she was dreading the holiday, that she wanted to feel needed and loved in a way she simply wasn’t by her own family? And now Graham was going to die and they were both going to freeze to death without being able to tell each other anything of real importance.
Suddenly, something grazed her back, faint and warm—Graham’s hand. She bolted upright, in time to see his eyes flutter open. The man who’d caused her so much heartache and pain, but who’d also given her so much joy and happiness, was alive and awake, an unspeakable gift.
She fumbled for his hands and clutched them tightly. They were a little cold, and a little shaky, but he squeezed back, his big hand encompassing hers. The reaffirming feel of his hand reminded her for some reason of walking out of the church after their wedding ceremony. They’d clutched each other’s hands tightly, full of promises and anticipation and nerves.
“Don’t cry, Grace,” he said, his voice low and barely audible. “I’m really sorry Rudolph didn’t make it.” His mouth turned up in the tiniest quirk of a smile.
It was horrible about the poor deer. But the fact that Graham was back to being Graham—and trying to make her stop crying—made her inexplicably happy.
CHAPTER 3
Grace unabashedly kissed Graham’s cheeks. His forehead. She was beyond thrilled that he was all right, talking and moving. Her lips hovered over his, and she caught herself at the last moment—what was she doing? Whoa! She’d almost really kissed him! Smooched him right on those beautiful, full lips. When she drew back, he was staring at her.
Not just staring. His gaze held more than a you are crazy, woman expression. It held a look she knew all too well. His gypsy-brown eyes darkened and threw heat that shot straight through to her abdomen and radiated everywhere despite the penetrating cold. A gaze that told her in no uncertain terms that he wanted to cover her lips with his and kiss her until she was boneless and panting.
Grace’s breath caught. His gaze slid down to her lips, and her insides turned into a warm, melty puddle. The car suddenly felt stifling, claustrophobic. She sat up, struggling to get some space between them. A big wave of strong, heady emotion always seemed to cloud her reason and her judgment when she was around him. One thing about Graham Walker was certain—he did not elicit halfway feelings, good or bad.
“Are you all right?” she
asked, trying to keep her focus. Now that he was conscious and talking, they had other things to worry about. The car was freezing, getting buried under snow, and no one was around for miles. Plus, the engine wouldn’t start when she tried the key, and her toes were already starting to feel like tiny little ice blocks.
“I have a whopping headache.” He brought his hand up to his forehead, but she caught it before he could touch his wound, which had mostly stopped bleeding but still looked nasty.
“You have a gash. It looks like it needs a couple of stitches.”
She had to get them some help. But how? “I’m going to start walking. I’ll flag down the first person I see.” She opened the door and saw for the first time the massive body on their hood, which was dented like an accordion, the engine still hissing loudly. The hazard lights reflected off a sign, half covered with snow. “Welcome to Mirror Lake…Population 1000.” Wherever that was.
Grace got back in and shut the door.
“I don’t want you to leave the car.” Graham struggled to get up.
“Don’t move until help comes.” She paused. “Please don’t move,” she rephrased. “Maybe you hurt your neck or back.”
“I’m fine, Grace,” he said through gritted teeth. He sighed. “What I mean is, I’m not helpless. It’s going to take both of us to get us out of here.”
She put a hand on the center of his chest. “I’m just so damn happy you’re alive. Please don’t ruin it by going back to your obstinate self. And it’s not safe to move. You need an ambulance.”
He raised a brow. “You’re happy I’m alive?” For once, he didn’t sound sarcastic.
“Yes, I’m thrilled, okay? You scared the bejesus out of me!”
He grinned, full on, and wouldn’t you know it, out popped that damn dimple.
The intense flashlight beam that suddenly shone inside the car prevented Grace from thinking too much about that.
Grace looked up to see a cop on the driver’s side, knocking on the window.
Oh, thank God. Alive and saved, all in the same day.
“Officer!” she said.
A tall, dark-haired man assessed the situation with a calm and steady gaze. “I’m Chief Tom Rushford of the Mirror Lake Police Department,” he said. “I suppose you two didn’t get the memo that there’s a blizzard out here.” He had kind eyes. That alone was enough for relief to cascade through her.
They would live to tell this tale. More importantly, something between them had shifted, something that could finally throw open the possibility of understanding each other. And that was suddenly massively important to her.
Tom took in the windshield, the punctured air bag, and the gash on Graham’s head. “I see you seemed to do a little better than the deer. How are you feeling?”
“Great, Officer,” Graham said.
Typical male. “He hit his head on the steering wheel, and he was out for about five minutes.” Grace felt a little like she was back in the third grade, tattling without hesitation. Graham tossed her a dirty look, but she shot him one right back.
In the distance, red lights flashed. The officer squinted into the driving snow. “We’ve got an ambulance coming.”
“I don’t need an ambulance,” Graham said, trying to sit up, but Grace pushed against his chest again.
“Just sit tight,” Officer Tom said. “We’re going to take you to our community hospital. They’re going to have to backboard you until your neck checks out.” He looked at Grace. “You keep him still, okay?” He turned to Graham and patted his shoulder. “Listen to your wife. She obviously loves you.”
“She’s not…” He started to explain, but the officer was already gone, trudging through the snow to greet the ambulance crew. His gaze met Grace’s.
“Are you all right?” he asked when they were alone.
“Me?” she said. “My airbag went off, remember?” She took a breath. This time, she was going to be honest. “The worst part was being afraid you—I was afraid something happened to you.” She couldn’t bring herself to say died.
Strong fingers wrapped around hers, squeezing firmly. A burst of warmth torched through her despite the bitter cold.
“Thank you, Grace. For worrying about me.”
She nodded, pretending to straighten her coat, anything to look somewhere else besides into his warm, sincere eyes that were making her feel very strange inside.
He spoke again, sounding a little resolved, a little amused. “Guess we’re going to be spending some time in—what’s this place called again? Mirror Lake?”
She had no idea what Mirror Lake, Population 1000, was like. But she had a feeling they were probably going to find out. Graham was in no condition to go anywhere, plus the entire front end of the car looked like it had been run through a giant trash compactor.
She flicked her gaze back at him and smiled. “All right, then. Mirror Lake it is.”
* * *
It was after midnight when Graham and Grace walked into the lobby of the Grand Victorian hotel. Graham could hardly believe the final twist of events of this weird day that had led them straight from the CT scan at the Community Hospital to a room at Mirror Lake’s best (and only) hotel.
Of course the ER doctor, Ben Rushford, who was around their age, was the cop’s brother. “Your head scan is normal,” the very tall, bearded doc had said. “You’re good to go. Actually, my wife and I are happy to put you up at our place for the next night or two. We’ve got plenty of room. Five bedrooms, and with the kids, we only use four of them. Except I hope you don’t mind dogs, because I can’t promise one of them won’t accidentally wander in.”
Grace had been quick to thank him for his kindness, but she’d already gotten them a room at the hotel down the street.
Graham didn’t protest, because such small-town hospitality, while genuinely kind, made him a little uncomfortable. He also hoped a room was actually two, and that Grace was just playing along about the couple thing because it was easier.
So now they were standing inside a beautiful high-ceilinged lobby flanked on one side by a giant Christmas tree covered with the big old-fashioned kind of colored lights. He made out the festive scents of pine and maybe vanilla and cinnamon—except the tree and the pine smell were real.
Grace insisted on dragging her rolling suitcase and his duffel bag through the lobby, because the doctor said he shouldn’t lift things due to his concussion. Nevertheless, he attempted to take the duffel from her. “Please,” he said. “You’re emasculating me.”
She rolled her eyes and tugged it back. “You heard what the doctor said.”
Yeah. “Dr. Ben” had also said no reading, driving, TV, or sex for the next few days. Which meant they had to find some other way besides a car to get Grace to Philly. And as far as the no-sex rule…well, that was a good thing. Just in case he happened to be tempted. Which he had been—in the car, the hospital, and, come to think of it, right now, despite the throbbing in his head, twelve stitches, and the fact that he was exhausted.
He looked around at the looped garlands and the massive wreath hung over a big carved fireplace with a burning, crackling fire. “Nice place,” he said.
Grace turned to him and smiled. “Are you angry I did this? I know it’s a little high-end, but I felt a little uncomfortable accepting the invitation to the doctor’s house.”
“Yeah, I did too. And I don’t care how much the rooms cost.”
“One room. I have to wake you up for neuro checks every two hours, remember?”
“Grace, that’s really not nec—”
“The last I knew, you weren’t an MD, so since we survived our near-death experience, I’d rather just play by the rules, okay?”
He knew by the familiar set of her chin and the way she narrowed her eyes that she was digging in for the long haul. Fine. He was too tired to fight her on this one.
At the desk, a man in an immaculate suit with a close-cut beard introduced himself as the manager, Hector, and gave the usual spiel.
“Caroling’s tomorrow evening, if you’re feeling up to it. Everyone meets at the Irish pub around the corner at six. Folks start out at the senior center, hit the hospital, circle around to downtown, and end up at the square.”
“Sounds lovely,” Grace said. “Nice to meet you, Hector.”
They’d be gone long before caroling, which ordinarily would give Graham a sense of relief, since he couldn’t carry a tune if his life were on the line. But the fact that their time together would be coming to a fast end threw him a little. Tomorrow was Christmas Eve and they both had places to be.
As soon as they walked through the doorway of their room, Grace released a big breath and pulled off her boots. Graham placed the key on a tray on the antique chest near the door and shrugged off his coat.
His eyes were drawn instantly to the big bed. A four-poster with spiral carvings up and down the heavy, dark wood posts and a velvet canopy overhead.
“You take the bed,” Grace said. “I’ll take the couch.”
“The bed is huge. Surely we can be civilized and each take a side. May as well sleep in a comfortable bed if you insist on waking me up every two hours.”
While she considered that, he walked up to her and held her by the shoulders. “It’s been a long day,” he said. “I’m sorry for this.”
Up close, she smelled good. She was soft in his arms, and her lips were pink and full, and suddenly, he didn’t care about his head or his exhaustion or the wrecked car. He wanted to kiss her until they forgot about everything and all that remained was the feel of her mouth on his. He wanted to use his mouth and his hands to roam all over her, remembering all her curves and the special places he’d once known better than his own.
CAN'T MISS CHRISTMAS: A NOVELLA (Mirror Lake) Page 3