The Mountain Between Us (29 page)

“Good night, Lucas. Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas.”

She didn't move from her chair, so he saw himself out. When he stepped onto the porch the cold air hit him like a slap across the face, but it felt good. He could still taste the wine on his tongue, and he savored the taste as he trudged down the side of the road through the fresh snow. Even without streetlights, the road stood out clearly, the banks of snow on either side glowing white as if illuminated from within. The snow had stopped and the sky cleared, and thousands of stars shone overhead—the sky was almost white with them.

He stopped in the middle of the street and stared up at the sky, like a little kid searching for Santa Claus. But he didn't care about Santa, or about the cold, or even that he was alone on Christmas Eve. He thought about how big the world was, and how lucky it was that he was standing here right now, in the place where he was the happiest he'd ever been. He didn't know if he believed in God, but just in case such a being existed, he sent up a little prayer of thanks. “Merry Christmas,” he whispered to himself, then started walking home again.

 

By the time they reached the cabin and D. J. found the key above the door lintel and let them in, Olivia was so cold she was sure she'd never be warm again. She collapsed onto the old sofa in the room and watched, only half-aware, as D. J.—still dressed as Santa—knelt before the black iron stove and built a fire. As the first golden flames licked at the wood she felt a spark of life return, and she sat up to lean toward the welcome blaze.

“There's tea and some canned soup we can heat up on the stove,” he called from the cabin's little kitchen area.

She said nothing, staring into the fire. Was it possible for a brain to freeze? Hers felt encased in ice, too numb to function on more than a primitive level.

D. J. moved in front of her, setting a pan and a kettle on the stove.
I ought to get up and help,
she thought, but didn't move. Firelight silhouetted D. J.'s tall frame and broad shoulders. He'd taken off the Santa jacket and padding to reveal a red, waffle-weave thermal top. He might have been a miner, home after a day's hard work. But were miners ever this strong and sexy? Maybe so . . .

She closed her eyes, only for a second, and the next thing she knew D. J. was seated beside her, shaking her awake. “Drink this,” he said, putting a warm mug in her hand. “You'll feel better.”

She sipped the sweet, hot tea, and a low moan of delight escaped her. “Soup'll be ready in a bit,” he said. He settled back on the sofa, his arm still around her. She had no willpower left to fight the urge to curl against him, head on his shoulder, so she surrendered, and his arm wrapped around her more tightly.

“I can't think of anyplace I'd rather be right now,” he said. “Or any better Christmas present than being alone with you.”

The tears that stung her eyes surprised her, and she blinked furiously. He gently took the mug of tea from her hand and set it on the low table in front of the sofa. “Look at me,” he whispered, and put one finger under her chin to tilt her face up to his. He kissed not her lips, but her cheek. “Why are you crying?”

“Because I've done something so awful.” She couldn't hold back the tears now, and her words came out as sobs.

“No.” He held her tightly and rocked her back and forth. “Nothing you've done has been awful,” he said.

She wanted to stay here like this forever, letting him croon to her and comfort her. But she didn't deserve that comfort. Not yet. She forced herself to push away from him. “I have to tell you,” she said. “You have a right to know.”

He studied her, his face very pale against the darkness of his beard. She knew he was bracing himself against something horrible. “What do you want to tell me?”

“When you left for Iraq, I was pregnant.”

He frowned. “Pregnant?”

“I should have told you, but I was angry. I thought you should have known. You should have seen the signs. I thought you did know.”

“If I'd known, I never would have left.”

“I was stupid. And afraid.” Afraid if she had told him it wouldn't have made any difference. Pretending he'd known and left anyway had somehow hurt a little less.

“What happened to the baby?” His voice was strained, the words pinched off and distant.

“I lost it. A few weeks after you left. A miscarriage.”

“Oh, honey.” He pulled her into his arms once more. “I'm sorry you had to go through that without me there.” Something splashed on her cheek and she realized he was crying. She buried her face in his shoulder and sobbed, all the grief and worry of the past months pouring out of her. He held her while she wept and she thought he cried, too. How foolish they'd both been. How much time they'd wasted.

At last she had no more tears. They sat together on the sofa, rocking in each other's arms, until D. J. suddenly bolted up. “The soup!” he said, and rushed to pull the burning pan from the stove. Smoke poured from the charred contents. He raced to the door and threw the whole thing into the snow.

Olivia burst into laughter and he joined her. It felt good to laugh together. Healing. “I can open another can,” he said.

“Maybe later. I'm not hungry right now.” Not for soup. She held out her arms and he came to her.

He kissed her lips, then pulled back.

“No,” she protested.

“I just have to get rid of this ridiculous wig.” He grasped the mop cap and tugged, and it and the gray wig came free. Olivia reached up and took out the hairpins that confined her real hair, and it fell down around her shoulders.

“That's better.” He smiled and kissed her again. His lips moved down to her neck and the tops of her breasts as he peeled away the ridiculous Mrs. Claus costume. She traced her hands across his shoulders and back, rediscovering the once-familiar contours of muscle and bone. “I've wanted you so much,” he whispered, his voice trembling.

“Yeah,” she answered, too moved to speak. “Yeah.”

They made love slowly, cautiously, as if they were both afraid of shattering this wonderful, fragile dream. Olivia felt feverish with need, and her skin burned wherever he touched her. How would she ever be cold again? When he slid into her, she cried again, tears of joy and triumph and love. “I love you,” she cried. “I never stopped loving you.”

“I know,” he said. “In my heart, I've always known.” Then they didn't speak again, focused on emotions too big for words.

Later, they fell asleep in each other's arms. As she drifted off, Olivia thought it was probably past midnight. “Merry Christmas,” she whispered. He didn't answer, and that didn't matter. They were together. It was Christmas. She'd never hate the holiday again.

 

Olivia awoke to a heavy, thudding noise. She burrowed out from under the blankets D. J. had piled on them and sat up. D. J. sat also. “What the hell?” They stared at the door, which shook with the force of the blows.

D. J. climbed over her on the sofa and reached for his pants. Olivia grabbed the ridiculous Mrs. Claus dress and pulled it over her head. “Maybe a search party from town came to rescue us,” she said.

“Maybe we didn't need rescuing.” He headed to the door. “Who is it?” he called.

The muffled answer was unintelligible. D. J. jerked open the door and a figure all in white stumbled into the room and fell to its knees on the floor. D. J. knelt beside the intruder, who appeared to be a man, covered in snow and ice. “Help me get him out of these frozen clothes and over to the fire,” D. J. said.

Together, they peeled off the man's pack, hat, and gloves. Olivia brushed snow and ice from his beard and face, and a pair of familiar eyes stared back at her. “Jameso!”

He tried to speak, but his teeth chattered so badly the words were unintelligible. “Get closer to the fire,” D. J. said, taking hold of Jameso's arm. “Olivia, bring those blankets over here, and could you make a cup of tea?”

While Olivia fussed with blankets and tea, D. J. stripped Jameso of his remaining clothes and laid him out in front of the fire. She found empty Lexan water bottles—the kind people took camping—in a cabinet over the sink and filled them with hot water from the kettle on the stove. “Put these around him,” she said, handing them to D. J.

“Good idea.” He tucked the bottles at Jameso's feet and stomach. “What the hell were you doing out there on a night like this anyway?”

“G—got to g—get to Eureka,” Jameso gasped. He tried to sit up, but D. J. pushed him back down.

“You're not going anywhere right now,” he said. “You'll be lucky if you don't lose fingers or toes to frostbite.”

Olivia knelt and held the cup of tea to Jameso's lips. “Drink some of this,” she said.

He sipped the tea and made a face. “Needs whiskey,” he said.

Olivia laughed. “We looked, but apparently the owners of this cabin are teetotalers.”

In a few minutes, Jameso was able to sit up and hold the teacup himself. Olivia moved to the sofa and put on the rest of her Mrs. Claus costume, while D. J. dressed once more as Santa. “Is this some kinky Christmas fantasy I don't want to know about?” Jameso asked.

“We were delivering Christmas presents for the Elks and the truck got stuck.” D. J. sat on the sofa next to Olivia. “What's your excuse for turning yourself into an abominable snowman?”

“I was on my way back from Montana and the road was blocked, so I decided to ski the rest of the way. My skis are out there on the porch.”

“You decided to ski, in the dark, over an avalanche-blocked mountain pass, just for fun?” D. J. looked skeptical.

“It wasn't dark when I started, and I've done it before, a few years ago. With Jake.”

“At least you made it here before you froze,” Olivia said. She tried to sound cheerful. After all, she was glad Jameso was all right, even if he had interrupted her reunion with D. J.

As if sharing her feelings, D. J. slipped his arm around her. Jameso noticed the gesture. “I see you two decided to kiss and make up,” he said. “As soon as my clothes are dry I'll be out of your hair.”

“None of us are going anywhere until morning,” D. J. said. “We're lucky we found this cabin when we did.”

“You can stay, but I have to get to Eureka.” He struggled to his feet, clutching the blanket around his waist. “Where did you put my clothes?” He spotted them draped across the back of a chair and headed toward them.

“Jameso, don't be stupid,” Olivia protested. “You can't go back out there.”

“I promised Maggie I'd be home by Christmas and I have to keep my promise.”

“It's another eight miles into town, at least,” D. J. said. “If you don't get lost in the dark or fall into a snowbank or ski over a cliff, you'll freeze to death.”

“No, I have a plan.” He dropped the blanket and pulled on long underwear bottoms. “There's a steam tractor at the old Blue Bird mine. This is one of the miner's shacks for the mine. We can start the tractor and drive down to town. It's got tracks . . . it will get through anything.”

“A tractor that's been sitting at an abandoned mine for years is junk,” D. J. said. “It's not going anywhere.”

“It'll start. Jake and I fired it up just a few months before he died.”

“From everything I've heard, this Jake character had more than one screw loose,” D. J. said.

“He was crazy,” Jameso said. “But he wasn't stupid. And he saved my ass more than once. I think he was looking out for me tonight anyway.”

Something in his voice made Olivia think this wasn't just a casual remark. “What do you mean?” she asked.

He shook his head. “It was probably nothing. The cold making me hallucinate.”

“What happened?” she asked.

“I thought I saw Jake out there tonight. Skiing with me. Guiding me to this cabin.”

When D. J.'s eyes met Olivia's, she saw his skepticism. “People say all kinds of things can happen on Christmas Eve,” she said. “How far away is this tractor?”

“No!” D. J. said. “We are not leaving a warm, safe cabin on a crazy fool's errand like this.”

“It's not far,” Jameso said. “Less than a mile. There's an old mining road through the trees right behind this cabin that leads right to it. Once we get the tractor fired up, we'll be warm and safe in the cab all the way to town.”

“We aren't going anywhere,” D. J. said.

Jameso shrugged into his coat. “Suit yourself. You can stay here. I don't blame you if you do. But I have to go. I have to keep my promise to Maggie.”

“You're crazy.” D. J. stood, as if intending to block Jameso's way, but Olivia took hold of his arm.

“We should go with him,” she said.

D. J. stared at her.

“He might need our help starting the tractor,” she said.

“You want to help him with this crazy plan?”

She nodded. “It's Christmas and the man is in love. We have to help him.”

 

Maggie tried to embrace the Christmas spirit that filled the Last Dollar—not the alcoholic kind, though plenty flowed from the bottles Bob and Rick passed around, but the sense of friendship and community that warmed her in a way no liquor could. Even if Jameso couldn't be here, she had plenty to be thankful for this holiday season. The baby growing inside of her was a miracle she couldn't even have contemplated last year at this time, and though a lot of things about the future frightened her, her life looked a lot more hopeful than it had just twelve months before.