Cross Country Christmas

Page 7

 

  Tim interrupted the moment when he rounded the vehicle carrying our bags. I wasn't sure if I was relieved or disappointed. With me tucked into his arms, Grant trailed behind Tim as they climbed the four shallow steps to the front porch.

  A bell chimed above the front door as Tim pushed it open. The foyer opened up to reveal a large grand staircase that greeted us as we stepped into the warm space that smelled like cinnamon and sugar cookies.

  "Uncle Tim, what are you doing out in a storm like this?" a plump, pleasant-looking woman who looked to be in her early thirties asked, stepping into the foyer.

  "Hey, Mags. These kind folks here ran into some trouble with the storm. Do you have any rooms available? I know you have that crew here from Georgia who come every year, but I thought maybe you could squeeze 'em in," Tim said, sliding his arms around his niece's shoulder. "Grant and Jamie, this is my niece, Maggie. Or Mags to those of us who watched her grow up from being a peanut. Maggie, this is Grant and Jamie. " He finished the introductions with a nod in our direction.

  "It's nice to meet you two. I expected to see you earlier after Aunt June called today," she said, reaching out to shake our hands, which was a bit awkward since I was still in Grant's arms. "You're in luck. I had a cancellation on the Washington room," she said, wiping her hands on her Christmas apron that was covered in flour. "Are you on your honeymoon?" she asked, probably wondering why Grant hadn't put me down yet.

  Her question was simple enough to answer, but for some reason, it suddenly felt like the white elephant in the room. I dared not look at Grant, afraid of the mocking that was sure to be there. Knowing him, he'd come up with some kind of joke at my expense. To beat him to the punch, I jumped in with the first thing that popped into my head. "Hell no," I all but shouted, hearing myself echo in the small foyer. An uncomfortable silence filled the room and I wouldn't have blamed Grant if he dropped me on my ass.

  "I mean, I hurt my ankle," I finally said, finding the rational answer. "That's why my friend Grant is carrying me. "

  "Oh, you poor thing. Let me show you up to your room," she said, grabbing an old-fashioned looking key off an elegant key rack that hung next to the small reception desk. "Do you want me to call Doc Jones, or are you going to go get him?" she asked Tim.

  "I'm going to fetch him. That ole pickup truck of his has been giving him some issues. I keep telling him it's time to drive to the city to get a new model. You know him though. He feels if he fiddles with it a little, it'll be good as new. "

  "That's Doc for ya. He feels there ain't nothing broken that can't be fixed," Maggie told us with twinkling eyes as she headed for the staircase. "I'll get these two settled in then," she threw over her shoulder.

  Grant followed behind her with me still tucked in his arms, which I was thankful for. After my slip of the tongue, he could have left me in a heap at the bottom of the stairs.

  Maggie led us down a long hallway, stopping at the last door at the end of the hallway. She inserted the key into the lock and pushed the door open. "Welcome to the Washington Honeymoon Suite," she said, holding her arms out in a grand gesture.

  "Oh hell," Grant mumbled under his breath.

  Chapter 8

  Turning my head, I took in the room. Our room. For a honeymoon suite, it definitely lived up to its name. Maggie got a fire started in the massive fireplace that was across from a king-sized sleigh bed, which would have dominated the space if not for how large the room was. Floor-to-ceiling bookcases covered the walls on either side of the fireplace. As beautiful as the room was, my eyes only seemed to be able to focus on the one bed.

  "You folks were actually pretty lucky. This storm made it impossible for the newlyweds who paid for this room to make it. They decided to fly to Bermuda instead, but that means all the amenities they bought are now yours," Maggie said, pointing to a bottle of champagne that was chilling by the fireplace next to a platter of decadent chocolate-covered strawberries. I would have laughed if the whole situation didn't seem so ridiculous. How did I go from flying home for the holidays to being laid up in a honeymoon suite with my high school crush?

  "This is fantastic," Grant said in a strangled voice, depositing me on the bed and backing up toward the door. "I better go see if the doctor is here," he said before fleeing from the room.

  Maggie looked at me questioningly as I burst out laughing. "He's a bit of a commitment-phobe," I said, though it really wasn't funny. I had officially lost it.

  "How long have you two been dating?" Maggie asked, taking my jacket and hanging it in the closet.

  "Oh, no, we're not dating," I said, leaning back against the stack of pillows that lined the headboard. "We went to school together. It just so happens we ran into each other on our way home for the holidays. The funny thing is the trip has turned into something right out of the movies. "

  "That sounds like an interesting story. "

  "You could put it that way, but it's almost more appropriate to call it a disaster story," I admitted, launching into an explanation of everything that had happened in the last twenty-four hours. Maggie found the retelling of our adventure extremely humorous. We were both laughing when Grant returned with the doctor.

  "Hello, young lady, I'm Doc Jones," the elderly gentleman said, holding out his hand. "I heard you hurt your ankle playing in the snow," he added, winking at me.

  "That's one way to put it," I answered as Maggie giggled again. I grinned back, which turned into a laugh when Grant looked at both of us like we had sprouted an extra head. Doc Jones paid no attention as he moved to the foot of the bed where my sore ankle was propped up over a stack of pillows.

  "The first thing I'm going to do is remove your boot, which will cause some discomfort," he said, tugging on my boot. Discomfort was a total understatement. I wanted to yell the whole dictionary of curse words, but I didn't want to shock everyone in the room. I leaned back against the pillows, panting as the doc examined my foot. I tried to appear tough for my audience, but all I really wanted to do was cry. My ankle, which had been merely throbbing, now felt like someone had taken a sledgehammer to it. Only when I heard Maggie clucking her tongue sympathetically did I raise my head off the pillows so I could peer at my right ankle. I studied it critically, not believing it was mine. It was easily twice its normal size, if not bigger. The most startling aspect was the color. The normal creamy tone of my skin was gone and replaced by an icky rainbow of blues, blacks and purples that all blended together into a bright swollen mess.

  I sank back against the pillow again as Doc Jones continued to probe at the monstrosity that was now my ankle. I knew he was being gentle as he could, but it felt like he was running it through a meat grinder. I turned my head from the others as a tear crept out of the corner of my eye. I wanted to tell him he was examining a swollen ankle, not working in a pottery class.

  "Well, I'm ninety-nine percent sure it's just a really bad sprain, but I'm going to wrap it good until we can get X-rays done to make sure. The closest hospital is twenty miles away, but we should wait until the storm has passed," he said, pulling a bandage from his bag. By the time he was done, a thin layer of sweat had beaded up on my forehead, but the pain was at least bearable now that the ankle was wrapped.

  Finally, when my foot was propped up again, I looked over at Grant, who had remained stoically silent during the examination.

  "Maggie, dear, will you get Jamie something to drink for her pain pills?" Doc Jones asked, pulling out a sample pack of pills. "These will help with the pain and might make you a little loopy, so no alcohol," he said, looking pointedly at the champagne.

  "Can't I just take ibuprofen?" I asked, not liking the idea of taking pain pills with Grant around. Especially if they were supposed to make me loopy.

  "Ibuprofen should work tomorrow, but for tonight you're going to want to take these," he said, popping two of the pills out of the pack.

  Maggie handed me the glass of i
ce water she had poured from the ceramic pitcher on the highboy dresser. She winked at me as Doc handed over the pills. She knew why I didn't want to take them.

  I stuck my tongue out at her before dropping the pills into my mouth. She laughed as she headed for the door. "I better go check on supper. Are you up to joining us in the dining room, or would you like me to bring a tray up?" she asked me.

  "I'd like to join you if that's okay," I said, looking at the doctor questioningly.

  "As long as you keep your foot propped up, that will be fine," he said, closing his bag.

  "Would you like to join us, Doc?" Maggie asked. "I made pot roast," she added, trying to entice him.

  "Damn, I sure hate passing up your pot roast, but June and Tim already invited me over for dinner. You know it's dang near impossible for me to turn down June's chicken pot pie," he said, smiling at Grant and me. "You take it easy, young lady. I'll come back tomorrow evening to check your ankle," he said, heading for the door.

  "Wait, what do I owe you?" I asked.

  "Think nothing of it. Maybe one day you'll pass through again and take me out for a fancy dinner," he said, winking at me before leaving the room.

  "I can't believe how nice everyone has been," I said, completely perplexed.

  Grant laughed. "I know, right? But you know what? I'd like to think anyone in Woodfalls would do the same thing if two strangers like us needed a hand. Maybe when we get home we can think of some way to pay them back. "

  "That can't happen soon enough, let me tell you. Tomorrow we're calling the rental company and figuring out a way to get us another car so we can get home.

  "You know we're going to have to wait until the storm passes, right?" Grant said, snagging two of the strawberries off the tray. He handed me one before popping the other in his mouth.

  I gaped at him for a moment, ignoring the strawberry.

  "What?" he asked at my guppy-like expression.

  "We're not leaving tomorrow?"

  "Jams, have you missed the blizzard outside? We're not going anywhere until it passes and they clear the roads. Tim was saying it could be Friday. "

  "But, Christmas is on Thursday—in three days," I said, stating the obvious. There was no way I could spend the next three days holed up in some honeymoon suite with him. "What am I going to do about my mom?" I added.

  He sat on the edge of the bed beside me, which momentarily distracted me. Did he have to be so freaking handsome?

  He smiled at me. Oh hell, did I say that out loud? It was the damn pills. I could already feel their effect as my brain took on a hazy quality.

  "My mom wanted me home for Christmas," I said lamely, trying to cover up what I may or may not have said.

  "Jams, I've known your family my whole life and I'm pretty sure your parents would rather you were safe. Plus, you heard Doc Jones. You need to keep your foot elevated. "

  His words made sense, or at least I thought they did. Just to be safe, I nodded my head. Again, I think I nodded my head. I was finding it hard to concentrate on what we were even talking about. Whatever had been in the pills had broken my brain, but at least I could no longer feel the pain in my ankle.

  "Jamie, are you okay?" Grant asked, looking at me with concern.

  "I'm okie dokie artichokie," I sang, giggling at my rhyme.

  "I'm taking that to mean your pain pills are working," he said, moving around to the other side of the bed.

  "Just put it this way. I feeeeeeeeel good," I slurred.

  "I bet you do," he laughed, lying back against the pillows. For some reason, his action struck me as funny.

  "I've always wanted you in the sack," I blurted out. I sensed that I shouldn't have said that, but my tongue and brain seemed to be working against each other.

  "You have, huh?" Grant said, turning on his side. "Do tell. "

  I tried to focus on his face, but that had become fuzzy too. "Yep, since high school," I answered, closing my eyes. "Because I loooooved you," I sang, smiling at how the words chimed through my head.

  Grant said something else, but it took too much effort to decipher. And that was the last thing I remembered.

  Chapter 9

  My eyes fluttered open to the sounds of the wind howling outside and the fire crackling in the fireplace. I felt warm and cozy snuggled up in the bed with a large hand resting on my bare stomach where my shirt had ridden up. My groggy mind didn't connect the dots until I lifted my arms, spotting both my hands. Glancing down, I could see Grant's fingers splayed across my abdomen. Suddenly, hazy memories of last night began flooding my mind. I remembered Grant lying next to me on the bed and me saying something about how I wanted to get him in the sack. Oh God, it was the pills Doc Jones had given me. Were they pain pills or truth serum? I was pretty sure I told Grant I loved him too. I would have given anything for it to have been a bad dream, but the memories were too clear now. Grant was sleeping on his side, facing me, holding me securely against his body. I was tempted to stay there, basking in his embrace, but my mouth felt fuzzy from falling asleep without brushing my teeth. I shifted my body to climb off the bed, but when my foot touched the floor, my sprained ankle reminded me I wasn't ready to walk on my own.

  I crumpled to the floor, crying out in pain. The bed creaked and Grant's head peeked over the side, seeing me sprawled out on the hardwood floor. Glancing at the clock on the mantle, I saw it was barely five a. m.

  "What were you thinking?" Grant asked, appearing at my side. He kneeled down to help me stand.

  "I forgot," I answered, feeling like a complete ass. "I'm sorry I woke you," I apologized, looking at him. He was shirtless like the night at the roach motel. My already fuzzy mouth became as dry as the desert as I took in his taut muscles and defined six-pack abs. He had the physique of someone who was no stranger to physical labor. My fingers wanted to reach out and trace the contour of his pecks that because of his height were at my eye level. They became even closer when he scooped me into his arms.

  "Were you trying to get to the bathroom?" he asked. I heard his words, but they didn't quite register. My mind continued to be preoccupied with the fact that I was in his arms while he was practically naked. I ran my hand over his chest. His skin was as warm as I imagined it would be. My eyes found his as I continued to explore the planes of his muscular upper body. He didn't speak, but shifted his stance. I suddenly felt the stirrings of humiliation. Of course he felt uncomfortable. He had no interest in me. I pulled away from his body, but he tightened his hold on me. My breathing began to match my rapid pulse as his eyes focused on my lips. I was ready and hesitant at the same time. I wanted to feel those lips pressed against mine, but what would it mean for us?