She left the room briefly, and Blake watched, liking how her jeans hugged the soft curves of her behind. A huge dog sprawled in its bed studied him through one half-closed eye, as if to say, Good luck, buddy.
On cue, Dr. Whitney walked back into the room. “How’s our patient?”
He gave the cat a glance. “Hanging in there. Hey, I’m sorry to take up your time on Christmas Eve.”
A shadow crossed the woman’s face, which quickly hardened into an emotionless mask. “No worries. My plans tonight consist of a good book, hot-buttered rum, and a roaring fire.”
“Sounds pretty good,” he admitted. Too bad a hot, intelligent woman like her had to be sharing that hot-buttered rum with a significant other. Probably another doctor or something.
“Yeah, quiet holidays can be a welcome relief from big gatherings with family and friends.” She spoke with conviction, but her eyes told a different story. He wondered if that story was similar to his own.
“Yes, sometimes that’s true,” he allowed. “No family dramas, no bickering or that type of thing….” He’d give everything he possessed for a family drama right about now. “I’m Blake by the way.”
“Sarah Whitney.” She stared out the window, her gaze faraway. The snow kept accumulating. “Sometimes snow seems so barren, so lonely. It blankets everything in white, beautiful…but cold and stark, especially at night.”
Especially when a person didn’t have anyone to warm their bed. Was someone warming Dr. Whitney’s bed? Was there anyone special in her life? But…why the hell did he even care? Sure she turned him on, but he barely knew the woman.
Part of him disagreed. He felt as if he’d known her for a very long time.
She continued to stare out the window, and Blake nodded, thinking again about what she’d said. He hadn’t seen snow the same since it contributed to his family tragedy. He didn’t say that, though. He just said, “I’ve been coming here since I was a child. I don’t remember a snowfall quite like this.”
“No, we don’t get it much here. And this is even worse than the Christmas Eve storm four years ago.”
Blake stiffened. He fought to breathe, like someone had slammed him into the boards from behind. He looked away and regained control. “Like I said, I apologize for keeping you.”
She glanced up, and he suspected she saw more in him at that moment than most people did in an evening. “You don’t need to apologize. You aren’t keeping me from anything.” She studied him then. “You’re not a local. I’d know if you were. Are you here for the holidays?”
“Yeah, I come every year.”
“You have friends on the island?”
“No, not really.”
“Oh. You’re here with family.”
“Nope, just me.”
His stomach clenched at the thought of how very alone he was, and something flickered in her brown eyes. Sympathy? Mutual commiseration? Understanding?
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to pry.”
“That’s okay.” Blake stroked the thin little kitten. Only it was as alone in the world as he.
“It would be best if you take him home with you tonight. I hate the thought of leaving him overnight in this clinic by himself, and I’ll have to wait until he’s stronger to deal with the leg injury. It’s an old one. I’ll send some medicine and some soft cat food with you.”
Blake opened his mouth to protest, to let her know he’d just done a good deed. That’s all. But the animal was a stray, had no one, just like him. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t abandon the little bugger. Not on Christmas Eve.
“Okay,” he said. “I’ll take him.”
“Do you live far?”
“I live at the end of Madrona Lane on the water side.”
“The big three-story A-frame?”
“Yeah, that’s the one.”
“Harlan Matthews, the former mayor of Friday Harbor, built that place years ago.”
He nodded. His dad bought the place from Harlan Matthews just before Blake was born, and it had been the family vacation spot ever since. Anymore, he only visited once a year—around Christmas, usually for a night—yet he couldn’t bring himself to sell it.
“Nice house. I didn’t realize anyone actually lived there.”
“It’s a vacation house. Doctor, what do I owe you?” he asked.
“It’s Sarah, and nothing.” She smiled a sad half-smile. “It’s Christmas Eve.”
“Well…I’d love to offer you something for keeping you so late,” he said.
She carefully wrapped the kitten in a towel and placed him in a cardboard cat carrier then filled a bag with cat food. “Merry Christmas.”
When she smiled at Blake, a genuine heart-thumping, pulse-pounding, set-a-man-on-his-ass smile, he said, “I make killer hot-buttered rums, old family recipe. I just happen to have some batter.” Yeah, sorry soul that he was, he’d made some just that afternoon. Getting blitzed on hot-buttered rums on Christmas Eve had once been a family tradition.
“Are you inviting me for a drink?”
He never got embarrassed in front of the ladies. It just didn’t happen to him. But heat raced from his neck to his face. “I guess I am.”
Regret flashed in her eyes. “I’d better go home. Cyrus here is tired.” She pointed at the big lug of a dog snoring in the dog bed. As if sensing they were talking about him, the beast thumped his tail.
“Okay, well, if you change your mind, you know where I live.” Blake hoisted the cat carrier in one hand and grabbed the bag of food with the other.
The doc held the door open for him. “Thanks for the offer,” she called as he trudged to his SUV.
Blake got in and started the engine. Then he got out and wiped the snow off the windows. The accumulation was astounding. He hesitated, torn between leaving a woman alone to navigate the snowy roads and minding his own business.
With a sigh, he got back in and drove out of the parking lot. He could barely take care of his own troubles, let alone someone else’s.
Chapter 3—Ho, Ho, Ho, and Hot Buttered Rums
Sarah puttered around the clinic for another hour or so then left. She gripped the steering wheel with white knuckled hands as she drove down the county road. If it weren’t for the trees lining the sides, she’d never be able to tell where it was. Clearings proved especially tricky, and she crept along, her truck in four-wheel drive. Cyrus rode shotgun, now fully awake. Obviously, he didn’t like the road conditions either.
After a few miles, the snow came down harder, making it difficult to see anything, even the trees. The blinding snow cleared for one miraculous moment, and she recognized the driveway on her left: Blake’s house. Sarah slowed the truck to a crawl, pulled toward Blake and the kitten by some unknown force. Something about Blake drew her in, something that compelled her to stop, to check on him, even though it’d been less than an hour since she’d last seen him. A sucker for wounded animals, she guessed one damaged male fit in that category, too. Maybe she’d take him up on that hot-buttered rum, which sounded darn good right now.
No. She should drive on by, forget about him and the kitten. She’d given him her emergency number; he’d call her if the animal took a turn for the worse. Yet, Sarah had caught that flicker of hope on his face when he’d invited her for a drink. The man shouldn’t be alone on Christmas Eve. She knew that as sure as she knew her own pain.
Of its own volition, her Jeep turned down the steep driveway. Keeping her truck’s wheels in Blake’s SUV tracks, she wound her way down the steep road, sliding sideways at times, lower and lower, until the water from Madrona Channel gleamed in the moonlight a hundred yards below. As a lifelong resident of the islands, she knew this house. One of her best friends from high school had lived next door. She’d not seen Jenn in years, not since they’d both taken off for college. Jenn had sworn she’d never come back, while Sarah never wanted to leave. After eight years of undergrad and vet school, Sarah had returned to partner in her father’s vet clinic.
Even now thoughts of her father left her with a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach, the same feeling a person got when they were punched unexpectedly. He’d suffered a heart attack on Christmas Eve two years ago. They’d airlifted him off the island, but he died before the helicopter landed on the mainland. He’d left his business in a sad financial state, too, and the next several months Sarah struggled to stay above water, barely having time to mourn. Tonight his loss hurt more than the night she first heard the news.
Blake understood what she was going through because he’d lived through a personal tragedy, too. He radiated the same soul-deep loneliness and heart-wrenching pain that she recognized in herself. Sarah knew it; she saw it in his gaze. Those sad, hollow eyes had drawn her in, tugged at her heart, and she needed to know the source of that pain. They were kindred spirits drawn together by a stray kitten on Christmas Eve. If that wasn’t destiny, what was?
Parking her truck, she got out and sank up to her knees in snow. Cyrus jumped out after her.
Blake must have seen her coming. He stood in the doorway of the house, a warm, inviting light spilling out onto the white blanketed porch. “Changed your mind?”
He was happy to see her. That wide smile welcomed her and warmed her heart.
“Do you mind if Cyrus comes in? It’s too cold to leave him in the truck.”
Blake stared at the dog and gave her one of those who-are-you-kidding looks. “Isn’t he a St. Bernard? Don’t they rescue people in the Alps?”
“Oh. Uh, yeah. But he’s spoiled. He doesn’t like cold.”
Shaking his head and chuckling, her soon-to-be host stood back and waved them inside.
Cyrus made a beeline for the rug in front of the fireplace and plopped down. Blake took Sarah’s coat and hung it up while she pulled off her boots.
“About that drink?” she asked.
“One Daniels special hot buttered rum coming right up.”
Blake headed for the kitchen, smiling as if she and her dog were the best thing to happen to him in a while. Maybe they were, Sarah allowed.
She looked around the festive great room with its two-story windows and rustic décor. Artificial cedar boughs hung from the staircase. A large artificial tree sat in one corner, lights twinkling and decorated with a combination of vintage ornaments and newer ones.
“Wow,” she said. “I feel like I just walked into a holiday magazine.”
The house indeed looked like something out of the Better Homes and Gardens Christmas edition. The place smelled exactly like one of those magazine spreads should smell, too. Sarah inhaled tantalizing smells of home-cooking mixed with the scent of nutmeg and cinnamon, and her stomach growled in response. Christmas music played softly in the background.
Hadn’t he said he was alone? No one went to this much trouble for themselves. In fact, Sarah hadn’t even put up a tree this year, though her assistant decorated an artificial one for the clinic. His guests must be coming later or on Christmas morning.
Blake glanced around the two-story living room with its expansive wall of windows as if seeing it for the first time. He almost seemed embarrassed, as if she’d discovered some revealing little secret. “I didn’t do this. Someone else did.”
Oh, Lord, the man was married. The decorations spoke of a woman’s touch, not a man’s. She shot a quick glance at his left hand.
No ring.
“I’m not married. My family decorated this house.”
“Oh.” She couldn’t come up with a response. He’d read her mind, but his family wasn’t here; not that she could see. He’d said he was alone this Christmas, too. Confusion warred with caution.
Blake walked over and handed her a large, steaming mug topped with whipped cream and nutmeg.
“Thank you,” Sarah said. Still not sure how to continue the conversation, she turned and approached the collection of nutcrackers on the mantel and examined each. “They’re incredible.”
“My mother collected nutcrackers.”
His use of the past tense wasn’t lost on her. She chose to mind her own business and instead took a sip of the drink. It was warm and to die for. “This is the best hot buttered rum I’ve ever had.”
“Old family recipe,” he replied.
Sarah resisted the urge to gaze around the room. Where the heck was the family who went with the recipe? “It’s fantastic. I could get drunk on a few of these.”
“Yeah.” He took a sip and watched her over the rim of his glass.
Sarah moved to a group of pictures on a bookcase of an attractive, smiling family, pictures documenting all ages of development. But the most recent pictures seemed somewhat dated.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Blake tense and look away. Did he think she was being too nosey? Well, maybe she was, but nosiness happened to be one of her best traits. She couldn’t help her innate curiosity. It served her well in her job, because she loved to research odd diseases and disorders to find solutions. And he hadn’t tried to draw her away from the bookcase yet. Besides, a good doctor always checked on her patients.
Sarah picked up one of the pictures, a slightly younger version of Blake in full hockey gear and holding…the Stanley Cup? It looked like the Stanley Cup. She wasn’t a huge hockey fan, but her grandfather had been Canadian, so she knew something of the sport and watched occasionally. “You’re a hockey player.”
“Was.” That one simple word spoken in a grim tone said a lot.
“Oh.”
She waited for him to say more. He didn’t. Then it dawned on her. Blake Daniels. Of course. He wasn’t a huge star, but she’d heard of him. “You’re Blake Daniels?”
He nodded, watching her warily.
“That’s not a bad thing.” For some reason she felt the need to reassure him. She wanted to put another smile on his face, because something told her he didn’t smile often anymore. She wanted to know why, but not before he was ready to tell her.
“I’m not sure it’s a good thing to be me, either.”
That wry smile tugged at her heart. Sarah wanted to wrap her arms around him and make all the hurts go away. So typical of her, though. She couldn’t fix everything, as much as she tried.
“You’re with the Metros.”
“Not anymore.” He stared at his hands and shuffled his feet, as if uncomfortable talking about himself.
The pain in his eyes said it all, but she had to hear it from him. “What does that mean?”
“I got cut a week ago.” He tried to shrug it off, as if it were nothing. She knew better.
“Oh, Blake, I’m so sorry. Is there a chance you could land on another team?”
“So far, no. Are you a fan?”
“Only in passing. My dad and I watched the Stanley Cup every year in honor of my grandfather. He lived and breathed hockey.”
“Where are your dad and grandfather now, if you don’t mind my asking?”
“I don’t mind,” she said. “It’s funny, though, it still hurts as if it were yesterday. They’re both gone. My grandpa has been dead for years. My dad went on Christmas Eve two years ago. Massive heart attack. Nothing they could do.”
When her voice broke, he stepped closer. “And your mom?” His voice was soft and low and oh-so kind.
“She died after a long battle with cancer when I was only ten years old.”
“I’m sorry.” He looked as if he meant it, too. As if he understood how it felt to lose a family member. “Any brothers or sisters?”
“No. You?”
“Two brothers. One sister.” That’s all he said, but he looked so lost, she wanted to absorb his pain along with hers. Only, she wasn’t strong enough to carry them both. She wasn’t strong at all.
Oh, God, she was going to lose it in front of a perfect stranger, a man she barely knew. Yet, he didn’t feel like a stranger. She knew Blake Daniels. Some part of her had always known Blake, had waited for him and wondered why the heck it took him so long to show up in her life. She’d never before believed i
n such mystical crap, but Blake changed all that. Or at least he’d changed it so that she was now a believer in her own idiocy. She supposed she was so isolated she’d begun imagining stuff that wasn’t really there.
Sniffling, she shook her head to clear it. She’d always prided herself on being logical and predictable. This man wasn’t her destiny. Being alone on Christmas Eve had simply screwed with her head. Big time.
“Are you okay?”
He reached out a hand to touch her arm, and though he was ever so gentle her armor was brittle. It splintered, breaking open to reveal her soul. The ache started in her belly and spread like a glass of water spilled across a hardwood floor, drenching everything in its immediate vicinity. The pain crawled up her throat and wedged there, preventing oxygen from entering her lungs. She gasped. Several times. Then clutched at her throat. Tears filled her eyes until she felt as if she swam underwater. She fumbled to set the hot buttered rum on a table, not wanting to drop it.
Not here. Not now. These feelings of profound grief increased the closer Christmas came, which was another reason she’d planned to stay home alone tonight. Not that her friends wouldn’t understand, but she didn’t want to ruin their celebrations or make a fool out of herself. Now, here she was with a stranger—
Blake stepped forward and took her in strong arms. She clung to him as if he were the only person in the world, as if he could save her from herself. Burying her head in his shoulder, she felt her sobs choking her with their dizzying intensity. Her knees gave out. Blake held her upright, however, pressed her tight against his strong chest. His big hands stroked her back.
“It’s okay, have a good cry. Get it all out. You’ll feel better afterward. It’s not good to hold it all inside.”
She had a sudden sense that these were words he should follow himself, but she couldn’t go there. Not right now. She let loose like she hadn’t in two years. Blake Daniels understood. How she knew he understood, she hadn’t a clue, but she knew. And that made this okay. The grief rumbled through her like a bulldozer with no brakes rolling down a hill. Her entire body shook with grief, tears flushing the pain from her body, purging those repressed emotions and leaving her spent—and incredible relieved.
Love at First Snow: A Christmas Miracle Page 2