Love at First Snow: A Christmas Miracle (3 page)

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 in 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.

She gazed up at him through blurry eyes and
blinked. He smiled and wiped her tears away with a tissue. Those
hands were so incredibly gentle, those pale gray eyes sympathetic
yet showing no pity. Thank god. She didn’t want pity.

Sarah hiccupped and moved from the security
of his arms, suddenly embarrassed. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what
got into me.” Needing something to do with her hands, she picked up
the hot buttered rum she’d set down and took good long swallow,
letting the warm alcoholic mixture numb the raw parts of her.

“You don’t need to apologize. The holidays
are extra hard when you’ve lost people close to you.”

Again, that slightly evasive gesture: He
looked away, swallowed, and visibly gathered his wits. Which led
her to the conviction that Blake Daniels’s pain was submerged as
deep as her own.

Sarah wasn’t leaving until she knew his
story.

Chapter 4—Let it Snow

Blake’s heart was breaking. Sarah was so
strong, so brave. He saw how she tried to master herself, but she
was broken inside like he was. Those pieces were so shattered that
they might never be repaired. And they were all alone on Christmas.
Both of them. Her family clearly meant as much to her as his own
had.

He wanted to lift her into his arms and
carry her off to bed, feel her silky, warm skin against his and
make the hurt go away for both of them, if even for a moment. Could
it be so simple to soothe their pain? Was it something she might
consider?

“I should check on the kitten.” She walked—a
little wobbly, truth be told—over to the box he’d arranged in front
of the fire. The little cat slept soundly, one tiny paw over its
face as if to block out the Christmas lights. Ribs rose and fell in
a steady rhythm, and the beast seemed content.

Sarah peered down at the cat. “He looks
better already. He ate?”

Blake nodded, noting the empty food dish.
“Yeah, it appears he did. Unless your dog ate it.” He glanced over
at the big St. Bernard who was flopped in a corner.

Sarah shook her head. “Cyrus only eats his
own. You only fed this kitten a small amount, though, correct? He
needs to be fed several times a day, but small amounts so that his
stomach can handle it.”

“Yes, doctor.” Blake smiled, liking her
no-nonsense attitude. After the manipulative and catty women he’d
seemed to attract the last few years, her straightforward command
was a breath of fresh air. He also liked her vulnerability. What
red-blooded alpha male didn’t want to play the protector once in a
while? He sure as hell did. It had been years since he’d done
anything as enjoyable as holding her soft body in his arms and
letting her sob away the pain.