Coming Home for Christmas (12 page)

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Authors: Fern Michaels

BOOK: Coming Home for Christmas
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Chapter Four
Max stormed out of the room before the kid could pose any more nosy questions. He hadn't missed the questioning look from the woman.
Grace.
He'd be damned before he revealed his personal life to a total stranger. It was one thing to invite them into his home; he really hadn't had a choice. It didn't mean he had to get chummy with them. Though he admitted to himself, the girls were cute and seemed well behaved. But not his problem.
Downstairs in the den, Max aimed the remote at the giant plasma television. Nothing happened. He tried again, then concluded the satellite was out. That was nothing new, especially during a snowstorm.
When he'd purchased the land at the height of his career several years ago, he'd assumed that by the time he built a vacation home, not having cable TV, satellite TV, not to mention Internet service, would be something he'd never have to worry about. Of course, he'd built his so-called vacation home a lot sooner than he'd originally planned. Blow Out Hill was still as undeveloped as it had been two years ago, when he'd moved into the giant log home.
This was supposed to be his and Kayla's, and any children they'd had, home away from home, from the mansion in Denver that he'd practically given away after Kayla's death. When he had purchased the land, he'd envisioned teaching his kids to ski on Powder Rise, the mountain, albeit a small one, behind the house. Those were dreams, and nothing more.
All his hope for the future died when Kayla, a police officer, was shot and killed in the line of duty two years earlier on Christmas Eve. No more holiday celebrations for him; it was too painful. Memories gouged him like a sharp knife, each twisting deeper, the hurt lingering like a bad odor. Friends told him his grief would lessen, the hard, brittle edges softening with time. So far they'd been wrong. There wasn't a day that he didn't think of his and Kayla's life together, what could have been. Putting his memories aside for the moment, Max hurried into the kitchen.
Searching for the transistor radio and batteries he always kept for such an occasion, he found them in the kitchen drawer next to the Viking stove. Top-of-the-line. He bought the best appliances money could buy in memory of all the times he and Kayla had spent together on Sunday mornings making breakfast and whatever else Kayla decided. Now they just sat there like a silent reminder of all he'd lost.
Putting fresh batteries in the radio, Max tuned to a local station, searching for an updated weather report. When he found the station he usually listened to, he turned the volume up. The meteorologist's static-laced report filled the kitchen, then Max heard something about roadblocks, but the rest was bleeped out. No doubt the storm at work. He made a few adjustments to the dial again, and this time the reporter's voice was loud and clear:
“
And it appears as though residents of Eagle, Colorado, and the surrounding areas will have a white Christmas after all. We're expecting more than three feet of snow before morning. A travel advisory is in effect until further notice . . .”
Max put the four empty mugs in the dishwasher, not liking the direction his thoughts were headed. If the report was accurate, and he had no reason to believe otherwise, his “house guests” could be there for a while.
“Damn!” he cursed out loud. Max wasn't prepared for a snowstorm. Hell, he'd be lucky if there was enough food in the house for
him
to get by on for a few days, let alone two children and another adult. He could kick himself for not planning ahead. He'd been taking care of himself for a very long time now without giving a thought to another human being. The way he figured it, his lack of preparation was justified as far as he was concerned. Then he remembered the freezer in the shed. Maybe someone had remembered to fill it.
Soft footsteps startled him from his thoughts. He wasn't used to anyone in his house other than himself and the two Huskies, who were curled up on the leather sofa he'd vacated earlier.
“I just wanted to thank you again for putting us up. It was stupid of me to take the girls out on a night like this,” Grace said.
Max wanted to agree, but in all fairness he couldn't. If she were telling the truth, and he had a gut feeling she was, there was nothing wrong with her taking two children to see a Christmas ballet. Rotten luck had placed her in the wrong place at the wrong time.
He looked at Grace,
really
looked at her. She was tall for a woman, a bit on the thin side. Milky white skin made him think of the clichéd term “peaches-and-cream complexion.” Long black hair reached the middle of her back. Her eyes were an unusual shade of green, reminding him of the wild grass that grew alongside the mountain in the summer, their color so bold. He wondered if they were contacts, but something told him everything about this woman was real, even though she'd been evasive with information about herself. Really, he didn't blame her. She didn't know him any better than he knew her. Add to the equation she had two little girls with her, alone on a mountain with a strange man. He wouldn't be quick to offer information either if he were in her shoes.
Max waved his hand in the air. “Not a problem.” It was, but he wouldn't tell her that. He figured he'd been rude enough already. Resigned to the loss of privacy for the next few days, Max decided he'd better inform Grace just how unprepared he was.
“The weather report doesn't look good.” He nodded toward the radio on the countertop. “They're saying three feet of snow before daybreak.”
Grace stepped into the kitchen. “I have to get out of here at first light. Stephanie will be sick with worry!” Grace eyed the phone. “It's still not working?”
He took the phone off its stand, punched a button. “Nothing. Phone's always the first to go and the last to be repaired. People around here are more concerned with the roads.”
“If they clear the roads so quickly, then my getting back to the van shouldn't be a problem,” Grace stated flatly. The thought of staying under the same roof with their host for more than a night sent a shiver of alarm down her spine.
“The roads will be cleared as soon as it's safe. Eagle County is well prepared for winter storms. They'll start with the main roads first. Blow Out Hill is always last on their list.”
“I take it there's no other way off the mountain?”
“Some of the local pilots keep their planes in the hangar over at Eagle County Regional Airport. They won't come out unless it's a true emergency. Life or death. Especially in this weather. So to answer your question, there is no way off the mountain other than by foot. I don't think you want to risk taking those two kids outdoors in three feet of snow. Even if this were a true emergency, I wouldn't be able to contact the airport.”
Contemplating her circumstances, Grace took a deep breath. As much as she hated the idea of being stuck there with a man she didn't particularly care for, she realized she had to stay put. With any luck, a police officer would run across her van and remember they'd stopped her.
Maybe
, and it was a big
maybe,
one of the officers would run her plates and remember her. Someone had to figure out who she was and contact Hope House.
She said a silent prayer that her mother had decided to spend Christmas with her this year instead of staying home in Denver. She knew she would offer comfort to Stephanie until they discovered Grace's whereabouts.
Bryce, her younger brother, was due to arrive Christmas Eve. This year would be the first time her entire family would spend Christmas together at Hope House. Since its opening, Grace had always stayed at Hope House during the holidays if there were guests. She missed her mother and brother, but they both understood her need to make the women and their children feel as comfortable as possible. In some cases, a few of the women-only Christmas celebrations had been at Hope House. She prayed Stephanie would stay put until she could get word to her that the girls were fine and not in danger. Or at least not in any danger from the man that they'd been running from when they'd been brought to her doorstep by a police officer. Husband and father. It made her cringe just thinking of what the women at Hope House had gone through before they arrived. She was committed to doing whatever was humanly possible to assist them in turning their lives around. Being stuck on a mountain was simply a bump in the road compared to what they'd been through.
Lost in thought, Grace was about to sneak a quick glance at her host when everything went black.
“It never fails,” Max said in the darkness. “I've got flashlights and candles somewhere in here.”
Grace heard him opening and closing drawers. Rummaging through a few, he found what he was looking for when a thin beam of light illuminated the small space between them. “I've got a generator in the shed out back.”
“That'll help,” Grace said as she inched her way to the kitchen table.
“Yeah. I've never used it. Never had a reason to.”
Grace wanted to ask what he normally did when the power went out, but she heard his heavy footsteps bounding up the stairs before she could get the words out of her mouth. Instead, she ran a hand along the countertop until she found a small box of matches beside a box of candles. She lit one, then another, placing both candles bottom side down on the counter while she searched for something to use as a holder. Searching the cabinets, she found a rock glass that would serve her purpose. Putting the candles in the glass, she headed toward the stairs to check on the girls when a gust of icy air blew in from an open door, extinguishing her light.
She heard a door slam. Grace called out into the darkness, “Max?”
When she didn't receive a response, she called again. She heard the apprehension in her voice when she spoke. “Max, is that you? I . . . never mind.” Wishing she'd brought the box of matches along for such an emergency, Grace inched her way back to the kitchen.
Maybe Max hadn't heard her
, she thought as she skimmed the surface of the countertop searching for the matches. When her fingers brushed against the small box, she grabbed it like a lifeline. Striking two matches at once, she relit the candles, and was relieved when the room flickered with their soft golden light. Tucking the matches in her pocket, Grace went back in the direction of the stairs when she heard a noise. Something creaked, like hinges on a door.
“Max? I don't think this is funny.”
She stopped in the center of the den, waiting for a sarcastic comeback. Getting no reply, she yelled, “Max” so loud she was sure she'd wake the girls. Feet rooted to the floor, heart rate accelerating, Grace felt perspiration dot her forehead even though the room was chilled from the burst of cold air.
Becoming increasingly uneasy as the seconds ticked away, Grace tried another strategy. Using a stern voice usually reserved for the fearful women she dealt with, she called out, “Mr. Jorgenson? Max? If this is some kind of game, I don't want to play.”
Standing still, she heard the floorboards above her creaking. No doubt her shouting had awakened the girls. Putting her anxiety aside, she carefully made her way up the unfamiliar staircase. When she reached the top, she raced to the master suite to check on Amanda and Ashley.
She remembered leaving the door open when she'd left the room earlier. Now it was closed. Maybe the gust of air from the door's opening downstairs had somehow caused it to close. Telling herself this must be what happened, she turned the knob, careful not to make too much noise in case the girls were still sleeping. Pushing the heavy log door aside, she stepped into the large bedroom.
Holding the candles in front of her as she tiptoed over to the king-size bed, Grace leaned across the wide expanse to make sure the girls were covered. When her hands continued to feel nothing but cool, smooth sheets, she knew something had gone terribly awry.
Because both girls were missing.
Chapter Five
“Amanda? Ashley?” Grace called out into the darkened room. Remembering their fear of the dark, she tried another tactic, hoping to calm their fears. “The power went out. Max is fixing it now.” She hoped. He didn't seem to know his way around his own home.
When she received no response, she tried again. “Girls, this is one of those times that your mother would want you to show yourselves. There's nothing to be afraid of.”
Slowly, so as not to startle the girls, Grace entered the bathroom. Just as she'd expected, both girls were huddled in the tub. She lowered the candle so they could see that it was her. The damage their father's cruelty had inflicted upon them infuriated her.
“We got scared when the lights went off. Then we heard pounding on the steps. Mommy always told us to hide and cover our ears when Daddy got mad,” Ashley said in her defense.
“Oh, sweetie, your daddy isn't here. The noise you heard was Max. He had to race upstairs for his warm clothes before he went outside to the shed. There's nothing to be frightened of.” Grace held a hand out to assist the little girls as they climbed out of the bathtub.
“Miss Grace, could you tell us another Christmas story?” Amanda asked.
After leading them back to the bed and making sure both were warm and snug beneath the quilt, Grace eased in next to them. “Absolutely.”
Ten minutes later, and a condensed version of
A Christmas Carol
minus the ghosts of Christmases past, present, and future, both girls were sound asleep. Grace quietly slid off the bed and went downstairs. Surely Max had had enough time to find the generator.
With the flame of the candle as her guide, Grace went from room to room in search of him. “Max?” she whispered loudly, but not so loud that she would wake the kids.
She searched downstairs and was about to give up when she felt a burst of cold air enter the room. “Max? Is that you?” she called.
“Yeah. I couldn't find the darned generator. I was sure Eddie put it in the shed,” Max said.
When Grace heard him, relief flooded through her. “I have to admit I was getting a bit concerned.”
“Why?” Max asked as he dropped a large bag on the floor.
She could've kicked herself for telling him that, but it was too late now. “You were gone a long time.” Grace approached him as he entered the den.
Max slung off his worn leather jacket, tossing it on the back of the sofa, where both dogs slept peacefully. “There's a freezer out there. Loss of power won't affect it since the temp's below freezing. I figured I'd better scope out its contents since we're going to be stuck here for a while. It's stocked with everything we'll need though I haven't a clue who took the time to bother with it.” Probably Eddie. The man thought of everything. He was due for a raise this month. And a paid vacation, too.
Grace eyed the large bag on the floor. “If you'll bring that to the kitchen, I'll put everything away.”
“Sure,” said Max gruffly, hoisting the heavy bag over his shoulder.
Grace laughed.
“You find this amusing?”
“No, not at all. You just reminded me of Santa Claus.”
Max stopped in his tracks, dropped the bag and turned around to stare at her. Though the only light came from the candle, Grace saw the anger in his eyes. Cold and stark, like the harsh winter storm outside.
Between gritted teeth, he said, “Don't ever say that to me again!”
Grace had had enough. She didn't know what had happened to turn this man into such . . . a Scrooge, and she really didn't care. She was simply trying to make a joke.
“Look, Max. Whatever issues you have, they're not with me. If you can't take a little joke, you've got big problems. Might want to see someone, a professional. It could help,” Grace said, then dragged the heavy bag the rest of the way to the kitchen.
“Wait! You can't talk to me like that! Who in the heck do you think you are? This is my house. You're the guest,” Max ranted as he followed her to the kitchen.
“Yes I am, and you're the rudest host I've had the misfortune to encounter. If it's any consolation, I don't want to be here any more than you want me here. I'm an adult, I will make the best of it.” She wanted to add, “Unlike you,” but that would lower her to his level.
He raked a hand through his hair. On another man it might've been just an ordinary action. On him it was just . . . well, she wouldn't admit it to anyone, but it was rather sexy.
“Look, I don't like the holidays. Can we just leave it at that?” Max yanked the heavy bag off the floor and placed it on the counter.
Grace was right. He
was
a Scrooge! Biting her lip to keep from smiling, she announced, “What you like or don't like is no concern of mine. At daybreak, I just want to get to my van. I'm not really concerned with anything else at the moment.” Of course, she was, but her concerns were none of his business. Unlike him, Grace wasn't about to voice her likes and dislikes. Certainly she wasn't going to tell Max how Christmas was her favorite time of the year and how she detested those who spoiled it for others.
She wouldn't tell him that she'd already spent days in the kitchen baking cookies, cakes, and pies for several of the soup kitchens in Denver. And she wouldn't tell him how much money she had spent on gifts for Stephanie and her girls. What kind of person didn't like Christmas? Maybe he'd had a rough time as a child. Those incidents had a way of haunting one, even as an adult. As a professional she knew that. As a woman, she couldn't imagine being with a man who didn't celebrate and enjoy the Christmas season as much as she did. Christmas was the highlight of the year for her family.
Max peered out the kitchen window. “I don't think you're going anywhere come morning. Look.” He gestured at the window.
Reluctantly, Grace went over to the window and stood beside him. She couldn't help but notice the smell of winter and pine emanating from his skin. She breathed deeply, closing her eyes for a moment, wondering, then jerked her eyes open. The cold was getting to her. She glanced outside. Snowdrifts were at least three feet high. Big fluffy flakes of snow swirled through the inky night sky like miniature fairies with wings as light as a spider's web.
“I suppose a snowplow would be too much to hope for,” Grace observed as she turned away from the window. Another time this might amuse her. However, with two girls whose mother was probably frantic with worry, she was anything but.
“Yep, it would be. Like I said, I'm not very prepared for this. I came here to . . .” He paused. Grace waited for him to finish, but he didn't.
“Whatever your reason, I, for one, am glad I found you,” Grace added, hoping a compliment of sorts might draw him out of the black mood that seemed to hover over him.
Max removed the contents of the bag, placing them on the counter. “I'm not much of a cook other than bacon and eggs. You might want to see if there's something here you and the girls would like.”
Grace was about to tell him bacon and eggs were fine with her, then thought better of it when she realized that, without power, they wouldn't be able to cook anything.
“I'm going to get the fireplaces going. There's more wood in the shed,” Max said, before wandering outside again. At least he'd had the foresight to see to the wood supply. Or someone had.
She wondered if Max was incapable of taking care of his own needs. She knew his reputation on the slopes. Ski or die. She remembered Bryce telling her this during the Winter Olympics years ago. Why would she remember that now? Bryce was in high school then. Grace calculated it'd been at least twelve or fifteen years ago.
She could cook using an open fire. Searching through the food supply, she found several packages of meat. Bacon, a whole chicken, a roast, and a package of hot dogs. The latter might come in handy for a weenie-roast for the girls she thought as she proceeded to check the food supply. There were bags of frozen vegetables. Carrots, potatoes, peas, and there was even a container of frozen chicken stock. Loaves of French bread, white bread, and wheat bread. Peanut butter. Someone had known what they were doing when they'd stocked Max's freezer. In the cupboard she saw at least a dozen cans of soup, two boxes of saltines, and jars of strawberry jam and grape jelly. Max
was
prepared for a storm whether he realized it or not. Grace made fast work of storing the breads and peanut butter in a cabinet. Since it was below freezing outside, she repacked the meats and vegetables, placing them back in the bag before taking them to the front porch. She hoped there weren't any coyotes or bears in search of their next meal. If so, they were all in trouble.
Hurrying back inside, she observed Max as he placed more logs on the fire. Bright yellow flames shot up the flue, sending tiny red sparks shimmering everywhere. The woodsy smell reminded her of her father. He'd always kept a fire burning in the winter. They'd popped corn and made what her father referred to as hobo packs. Aluminum foil filled with ground meat, potatoes, and whatever vegetable they wanted. They'd toss them in the fire, then they'd finish off their campfire meal with either s'mores or toasted marshmallows.
One of Dad's burnt marshmallows would taste good
, she thought as she watched Max from a distance. She hoped he knew what he was doing. According to Bryce and those trophies and medals she'd seen upstairs, his expertise seemed strictly limited to the slopes. Briefly, she wondered what skills he brought into the bedroom.
What is wrong with me?
she thought as she watched Max. It hadn't been that long since she'd had a date!
“Like what you see?” Max asked.
Grace was sure he referred to the roaring fire. “Yes, it's perfect. And I think it's time we went to bed. I'm beyond tired. I doubt the girls will sleep late. Kids their age never do.”
“You seem to have a lot of experience with kids for a woman who doesn't have any of her own,” Max observed.
Grace wasn't sure if this was an invitation to reveal more about herself or just his way of making polite conversation. Something told her she could trust him even though he'd been rude and had frightened the girls. She recalled the look of pain etched on his face. He had suffered in his life. And not just physical injuries from his profession. He'd walked through the fires of hell. Grace wasn't sure if he'd completely returned.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” Max asked.
“I'm sorry. Professional habit I guess.”
“So you stare at people for a living? You an artist or what?” he inquired with a trace of humor.
Grace took a deep breath, unsure of how much she should reveal to him. While her gut told her she could trust him, she had to consider the safety of the girls and their mother before she revealed too much about herself. Not wanting to lie or reveal any details about Stephanie and the girls, Grace opted for a simple version of the truth. “I'm a counselor.”
“I see. So”—he took the fire poker from its stand and pushed several logs aside before adding more—“in your professional opinion, exactly what did you see when you were staring at me?” He waved a hand in the air. “Never mind. Don't answer that. I'm sure you see what everyone else sees. A burnout who's screwed up his life and doesn't care.”
Grace couldn't have been more shocked by his words. “Actually, I saw nothing like that at all.” She could tell him the truth, there was no reason not to. “I see someone who's been hurt by . . . a tragedy.” She paused catching his eye. “You've suffered a personal loss so . . . consuming that it's taken over the person you used to be.” Grace waited for a response, a reply, anything. He perched on the hearth, shaking his head.
“Well, you're wrong, lady. I'm the man I've always been. Nothing will ever change that. Trust me. I like to drink and sleep. Nothing more.” Max hesitated for a moment as though he was testing her reaction. “A real prize, huh?”
Taking a chance Grace replied, “I think you were a real prize, Max Jorgenson, at one time. Whatever happened to strip away your self-confidence, it's still there. You have to want it back.”
He looked at her for several minutes, a tense silence filling the space between them.
“Yeah? Well, you're wrong. I don't ever want to be the man I was. Never.” He looked down at the pine floors. “Never,” he added in a low, husky voice.
Grace wanted to say, “Never say never,” but it wasn't the right time. With this man, she wasn't so sure there would ever be a
right
time.
Putting concerns about her host's mental status on the back burner for the remainder of the night, she told him good night and went upstairs. As soon as her head hit the soft down pillow, she fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

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