Four For Christmas (2 page)

Which was fine with her. Who needed three demanding men always looking over her shoulder? Three men who each wanted all of her attention. It sounded like three potential heartbreaks waiting to happen. And far too kinky and complicated for someone like her to contemplate. Just the physical aspect alone boggled her mind. There were only so many positions after all.

She didn’t need that kind of company. She’d never needed anyone but her laptop and her dog.  As long as she had a power source and some kibble, she’d be fine.

She got out and looked up at the clouds that blocked the sun, her eyes squinting at the sharp wind that blew shards of snow into her eyes. She was safely on the side of the road, with mountains ahead of her and a wide, snow-filled plain beside her. No trace of civilization. No passing cars.

If any miracles were going to happen, Georgia was going to have to create them for herself.  First she’d fix this tire then she’d find her way to Connie’s house before Christmas. For her friend’s sake, if for no other reason. The last thing she wanted was her bad holiday karma to rub off on her dearest friend.

She had to lean against the wind to make her way to the back of the SUV. The rental place had assured her it was in prime condition for a winter road trip. They’d said nothing about the tires. At least she’d remembered to make sure there was a spare before she left Sulphur, Louisiana behind.

As she moved her bags out of the way and gathered the tire iron and car jack with fingers already numb with cold inside her leather gloves, she remembered how Grandpa Bale had taught her to change a tire when she was sixteen years old. Right after he’d given her his beat-up ’69 Chevy for Christmas.

She’d loved that old truck. She’d spent most of her summer sitting in his garage, holding up the work light so he could tinker under the hood while he told her stories.

He loved telling his tall tales. He had one for every occasion. Every problem or question she had, he would solve or answer by sharing one of his long-winded epics. And each time he told them they got a little bigger, a little harder to believe. But not for Georgia. She’d believed and never tired of hearing them. Those stories had inspired her to become a writer. Had made her believe she could do anything and be anything she wanted to be. Which explained why her first book had been about him. Her childhood hero.

Though she’d loved his tales of bayou monsters and city dwelling crocodiles, her favorite story had always been the one about how he’d met Georgia’s grandmother at a Christmas Eve dance.  How he’d been with a group of friends and noticed her coming out of the kitchen with a wobbling tray. How, by the end of that night, they’d kissed under the mistletoe and he’d known she would be his wife. She’d died long before Georgia was born, but from Grandpa Bale’s vivid descriptions, she had been beautiful. Dark curly hair, like Georgia’s, but unlike her own fair, freckly hue, her grandmother’s skin was dark enough to cause a scandal when Grandpa Bale had made her his bride.  But it was all worth it, he’d always assured his granddaughter. Because her smile, so brilliant and ever-present made him feel—in his words—“like Christmas morning everyday”.

She dropped the tire iron and swore, kneeling down to pick it up. She needed to stop reminiscing and focus on the task at hand or she would end up freezing to death on the side of the road, despite her layers of clothing.

Georgia heard a bark and an impatient scratch on the door nearest her head. “Are you sure you can’t hold it, Roux? You’re just as thin-skinned as I am. You won’t like it out here.”

Another scratch. Apparently she was willing to risk it. Georgia hurriedly opened the door before Roux could do any damage, and watched a blur of reddish gold leap past her and around the car, in search of a good patch of grass.

“Good luck,” Georgia called after her. “Just don’t wander too far.”

She wouldn’t. She never did. That was one of the things she’d always loved about her dog. Roux never left her behind.  Which was why the idea of leaving
her
in a kennel for Georgia’s first road trip, her first trip out of state, was unimaginable. Luckily, Connie had known that before inviting them both over for Christmas.

Roux had been another gift from her grandfather. A wrinkly-skinned puppy he’d given her the same day he’d told her he was sick. Georgia sighed. She was sure this would be the year she didn’t miss him so desperately. Didn’t think about him constantly. The year she made new, happy memories for herself.

She got the spare tire on and rolled the old one out of the way when she heard Roux’s bark. Was it the wind that made it sound so far away? “Roux?”

The next bark sounded even farther away. Had the high pitch of anxiety to it. Not a good sign. She got up with difficulty, her limbs aching from the chill, and panicked. She couldn’t see Roux. Where was she?

Georgia cupped her hands over her eyes to keep out the icy wind, searching for that familiar reddish fur and black muzzle. “Roux, come back. Now!”

The dog’s long body was there for a moment, then disappeared again behind a sea of white. “Damn it.”

Her heart was racing. What had she been thinking? Roux never needed a leash, but they weren’t in Louisiana anymore. For all Georgia knew, there could be bears or mountain lions along this stretch of road. If she lost her…

Georgia ran. Or tried to. She swore again as her jeans were instantly drenched in the densely packed snow. With each step her feet sunk deeper. But no matter how many times she called, Roux would not come back. Or couldn’t. All the possible reasons why she couldn’t were about to give Georgia a heart attack.

The ground rose up into a small hillside, the snow receding to her ankles. She could see Roux clearly now on the other side. And finally, she understood. Georgia groaned. “Oh, give me strength. I thought you and I both agreed we’d stop rescuing broken men.”

She came closer, surveying the damage as Roux finally stopped barking, dancing around the prone figure with her tail wagging furiously.

“Yeah, yeah I see him.”

A man and a very fancy looking snowmobile that was currently on its side, looking too expensive to be so horribly abused. Strapped to it, seeming very out of place atop the shiny monstrosity, was the ugliest, strangest looking little fir tree Georgia had ever seen. Intact enough, despite its tumble. The man, however, might be another story. He wasn’t moving.

He was facing away from her on his side, covered head to toe in snow gear. Georgia rolled him carefully onto his back, making sure as she did that she didn’t jar him. “Sir? Can you hear me?”

She was about to take her glove off to feel for a pulse, wondering if she would be able to feel anything at all when he groaned. “Oh thank goodness.” Georgia smiled up at Roux. “He’s alive.”

He made another grunting noise, his eyes opening just long enough for her to admire their light green color before they closed again. She dragged the ski-mask up to reveal his face, and noticed the gash across his temple as well as the bruise forming along the square line of his jaw. Did he have a concussion? “Hey guy, we need to get you out of the snow.”

He didn’t move and Georgia looked him up and down. The man was huge. At least six feet tall, probably taller, and really broad shouldered. Maybe he was wearing an oversized snowsuit, but somehow she doubted it. Why? Because she knew what she would have to do if he wouldn’t wake up.

It was just how she was raised.

“Tree.”

Georgia had just covered his face back up and lifted him by the fabric around his shoulders to drag him to her car when she heard him speak. She dropped him in surprise and his breath rushed out in a loud huff. “Oh, damn I’m sorry. What did you say?”

He didn’t respond, but she’d figured it out. She started dragging him again, muttering at Roux all the while. “If he thinks I’m going to carry him
and
his sad Charlie Brown tree all the way back to the car, well, he can just think again. You had to go sniff him out, didn’t you, Roux? In this weather, after the day we’ve had, you had to find the only man in the state of Colorado who apparently doesn’t know how to drive a snowmobile.”

Thankfully his slick , colorful snowsuit made his transfer easier than it should have been. The man was well over two hundred pounds of pure heavy. Solid muscle, Georgia was willing to bet. Perfect muscle to go with his Photoshop face. And apart from his bruises, it
was
flawless . A thing of beauty. But she knew handsome didn’t necessarily equal smart. Any man joyriding on a death machine in this mess couldn’t be all that clever.

The tree. He’d mentioned the tree. Maybe he had a little daughter he wanted to surprise, and no money for anything better. But then the snowmobile wouldn’t make any sense. Maybe he was going to propose to his girlfriend, and this was part of some mountain people ritual. First a scraggly tree, then the fur of the elusive Sasquatch, and then a ring.

Her vivid imagination kept her occupied and her griping down to a minimum until she got him to the SUV.  “Now I just have to get you inside.”

Getting him into the passenger seat was difficult. She was glad he wasn’t awake, and that no one was around to witness all the tugging and pushing and groping she had to do to get any leverage. Or the fact that she might have given him an extra bruise or two in the process. Honestly, she could hardly believe she’d done it. 

She was gasping for air by the time she was done, but at least the activity had warmed her a bit. She’d just leaned her forehead against his shoulder when he moaned again. Damn.

“We need to get you some help. Let me just lower the carjack—“

“Tree,” he mumbled. “Have to get the tree.”

Really? The man must have knocked whatever brains he had loose in his fall. She knew it. “I just saved your life. You can get another tree, guy. A better tree. I’ll buy you one myself, with all the trimmings.”

He tried to shake his head, inhaled sharply, and passed out. The rise and fall of his chest told her he was still breathing, but Connie was the nurse, not her. She had no idea how badly he was hurt, yet all he could think about was that damn tree.

Georgia hopped up and down on each leg for warmth, breathing into her cupped hands. She was a sucker. “Fine. Fine. I’ll get the tree. Roux, get back in the car so you can get warm while you watch him. And if I freeze to death, you have my permission to bite him. Hard.”

She followed the path his body had made in the snow, untied the tiny tree from the snowmobile and grabbed the keys from the machine while she was at it, though she doubted someone would make the effort to steal it in this weather. She headed back as quickly as her heavy limbs would allow, feeling the strangest desire to lay down in the whiteness. To make an angel while she still had the chance. To take a nap.

Why was she so tired?

The tree in her arms mocked her. All of a sudden it seemed symbolic of her fruitless quest for a happy holiday. It looked nearly as forlorn and alone as she felt. As hopelessly stubborn.

Stupid tree.

There would be a kind of poetry in it. Dying in the snow with a forlorn tree in her hand. The obituary would bring a tear to the eye. Her publisher would make sure of it.

Roux raced to her side, nudging her with the weight of her body, pushing Georgia forward.  “I told you to stay in the car. You should be guarding your new boyfriend, girl. I’ll get there as fast as I can.” Breathing was starting to hurt. “What do you say to staying home next year? Sure it’s muggy and boring, but excitement is overrated. Maybe we can rent a snow machine and those little spray cans of snow for the windows. All the fun, none of the cold. Sounds like a plan to me.”

Roux whined. It sounded vaguely like the honking of a horn.

Georgia closed her eyes and saw nothing but the same bright white as when her lids were lifted. She’d only been in it for a few hours, but she was already beginning to hate the snow.

Adamant honking mixed with sudden barking rang in her ears and made her force her eyes open again.  Maybe the tow truck driver had finally arrived. Surely he would help get snowmobile guy to safety. As for Georgia, as soon as she could feel her toes again she was hopping the next boat to Cozumel in honor of Connie, and following through on her promise to give up once and for all on Christmas. She’d pick another holiday to obsess over.

Maybe Groundhog Day.

Chapter Two

If she’d thought her injured snowmobiler was huge, she knew now she had been mistaken.  Perhaps he was average size for Colorado. Maybe there
was
something in the water here. Everything was over the top. Multiple partners. Large mountains. Large men.

Large, sexy mountain men.

Georgia saw the new specimen of testosterone gone wild arrive as she clutched a tree and stood knee deep in the snow. He was
not
the tow truck driver from triple A. His uniform was her first clue. A uniform that imbued him with authority as much as the unbelievable span of his shoulders, or that monster of a truck he’d arrived in, complete with flashing red and blue lights.

He’d backed up until he was in front of her SUV and then strode swiftly toward the passenger side of her rental, where snowmobile hunk seemed to be regaining consciousness. The two men were speaking as if they knew each other. And large snow patrol hunk was obviously upset with large snowmobile hunk about something.