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document.write (" ") document.write (" ") document.write ("Mr. Pearson had never personally requested Celia’s presence in his office before. The thought that he did so now sent her heart pounding in her chest. Not that he was cruel. No, the gaunt old man who’d headed the Eastside Orphanage for the past thirty years was strict, but Celia recognized a gentleness in his watery blue eyes that belied his sometimes harsh words. ") document.write ("She hesitated before the partially opened door, then pulled her shawl tighter across her shoulders in an effort to ward off the chilly Boston air. All winter it seeped through the cracks and crevices of the old building with long, icy fingers. The children, always cold, didn’t mind sleeping two or three to a bed, and Celia continually worried about them getting sick. ") document.write (""Celia, girl. Don’t stand there. Come in and close the door. Yes. Sit, sit." Alfred Pearson stood with his back to the single window, his height still impressive despite the slight bend to his shoulders. ") document.write ("Celia obediently sat in the straight-backed chair facing the desk. "Is there something wrong Mr. Pearson? Have the children made mischief? Did I do--" ") document.write (""Sit, child. Sit." ") document.write ("Celia hadn't realized she'd risen from the chair. She lowered herself back on the hard wood. ") document.write (""I wish to talk to you about Jonathan Kimball." ") document.write (""Johnny?" There is was - the gentleness again. Celia knew she wasn't the only one with a soft spot for the pale, sickly boy. ") document.write (""There has been a request for Jonathan to spend the holidays out west. The southwest, to be exact." He glanced at a sheet of paper on his desk. "Silver Springs, Arizona." ") document.write (""A request by whom? Why Johnny?" Celia moved to the edge of her seat. ") document.write (""Nathan Clemens. A friend of the boy's parents." ") document.write (""But--" ") document.write ("The old man held up his hand. "I have done some investigating. He is a rancher in good standing in the community. Although I cannot prove his claim, it could be a chance for Jonathan to have a real home." ") document.write (""But, why after all this time?" Celia whispered. ") document.write (""Mr. Clemens claims to have made a promise to care for Jonathan should anything happen to the boy's parents. He has only just been able to track Jonathan to the orphanage." ") document.write (""A likely story. No doubt he wants free labor for his ranch." Like many of the men who came looking for older boys, she thought. ") document.write (""That is why you'll be accompanying Jonathan. You are to send me a telegram reporting your findings." ") document.write ("She gasped. "Me?" Only rarely had she been out of the orphanage and never out of Boston. ") document.write ("Mr. Pearson leaned on his desk. "You leave the day after tomorrow." ") document.write (""So soon? But what of the other children?" ") document.write (""Emily is old enough to take on more responsibility." His voice softened, matching the look in his eyes. "You are the only one I trust to do this, Celia. I would go myself, but must consider my duties here. It will do the boy good to be out of this cold weather. And it's high time you saw a bit of the world." ") document.write ("Perhaps Mr. Pearson was right. The orphanage had been her home for as long as she could remember. She had always been a caretaker. Even as a child she had tended the others. Yet, she'd often wondered what lay beyond these brick walls. ") document.write ("Besides, Johnny's nagging cough worried her. From what she had read, Arizona's warm, dry air might be good for him. The thought of traveling so far excited her even as it scared her. ") document.write (""Then it's settled." She stood. "I'll tell Johnny." ") document.write (""You are a good girl, Celia." ") document.write (""Thank you, Mr. Pearson." She smiled. "I shall miss you over the holidays." ") document.write (""And, I you. Go on with you now," he said gruffly. ") document.write ("She nodded and left the room. ") document.write (" ") document.write ("The stagecoach, pulled by six galloping horses, thundered into town, announcing their arrival to the residents of Silver Springs. Sticking his head out the small side window, Jonathan bounced with excitement. ") document.write (""Are we there yet, Miss Celia?" ") document.write (""Yes, Johnny." She brushed back a lock of brown hair that had fallen across his pale forehead. "This is Silver Springs." ") document.write (""Will Mr. Clemens be here to meet us?" ") document.write ("All Johnny talked of on their long and tiring trip across country was Nathan Clemens and the fact that he knew Johnny's mother and father. Celia understood how much the child yearned to feel a sense of belonging. It was a longing she herself experienced, one she'd learned to bury years ago. ") document.write (""I'm sure he will, just like his letter promised." ") document.write (""Silver Springs." The driver called out. The carriage slowly rolled to a stop. Passengers shuffled about in the cramped interior, gathering what belongings they had carried on. ") document.write (""Stay close," Celia reminded Johnny once they'd disembarked and their luggage had been unloaded. ") document.write ("Fifteen minutes passed and still they waited. The other passengers, and those meeting them, had long since departed, leaving Celia and Jonathan alone. ") document.write (""Where's Mr. Clemens?" ") document.write ("The disappointment on Johnny's face fueled Celia's anger. Refusing to wait a moment longer, she picked up their two bags. "No sense standing here while the hotel gets booked up." She strode forward. ") document.write ("Johnny followed, his feet dragging. ") document.write (""If Mr. Nathan Clemens wants to find us, he will have to look a little harder." ") document.write ("She glanced at Johnny to be sure he was behind her. "Oomph!" She barreled into the solid wall of a man's chest. The impact sent her stumbling backwards, and she would have fallen if not for the large callused hand that reached out and grabbed her arm. As it was, both bags hit the ground. With horror, she watched hers pop open, scattering her unmentionables in the dirt. ") document.write ("Heat suffused her cheeks. "I'm s-sorry." She scurried about, trying to stuff her clothes back into the valise. "I should have watched where I was going." ") document.write (""No harm done." His deep baritone held a hint of amusement. "You missed one." ") document.write ("She looked up to find the dustiest, dirt-encrusted man she'd ever seen holding her worn chemise. ") document.write (""Allow me." He bent next to her, lifted the lid, and placed her chemise inside, along with a smattering of dust that fell from his hand. She wrinkled her nose at the powerful smell of horses, leather, and sweat surrounding him. ") document.write ("Picking up both bags, he stood before her. "I believe you were saying I'd have to look a little harder if I wanted to find you?" His eyes sparkled beneath the dust on his face. ") document.write (""If you--" She rose and stepped back, placing her hand on her hip. "You're Mr. Nathan Clemens!" ") document.write (""Nate." He nodded. "And you must be Celia Stanton." ") document.write (""Miss Stanton," she answered primly. The nerve of the man, standing there fondling her chemise without introducing himself immediately. She felt Johnny sidle up to her and clutch her skirt. ") document.write (""I'm Jonathan. Thank you for inviting me to Christmas, Mr. Clemens." ") document.write ("Nate's frown appeared, then vanished so fast, Celia thought she must have imagined it. She heard him chuckle and silently dared the man to say anything to disappoint the boy. ") document.write (""Pleased to make your acquaintance, Jonathan. I've been looking forward to your arrival." ") document.write (""Do you think Santa Claus will find me here, Mr. Clemens?" Johnny's eyes were hopeful. ") document.write ("Nate frowned again. ") document.write ("Afraid of what the man might say, Celia quickly responded. "I'm sure Santa will know where to find you, Johnny. But first we must get there ourselves. Unless, Mr. Clemens plans on keeping us standing here all day." ") document.write (""My apologies to the lady." He tugged the brim of his Stetson, shading his eyes. "If you'd be so kind as to follow me." ") document.write ("Celia's fury refueled itself as they hurried to keep up with Nate's long strides. "I'm glad to see you didn't waste a moment preparing yourself for our arrival." Her gaze raked his dusty, lean frame. But instead of making her point, she felt an unsettling flutter in her belly similar to the time she had unwittingly gulped spoiled milk. ") document.write ("He stopped in front of two chestnut mares hitched to a wagon. "An axle broke on the way here. I mended it best I could." He placed the bags in the wagon bed. "It should get us home." ") document.write (""Should? You're not sure?" She glanced at him warily. ") document.write (""There's not much I'm sure about in this life, Miss Stanton," he drawled, offering her a hand up. ") document.write ("She placed her fingers in his, instantly regretting the move. His touch sent tingles clear up her arm to her shoulder. Clearly, the weariness from her extended travel caused the strange reaction. She needed a nap. ") document.write ("Johnny scrambled up after her, coughing from the exertion. ") document.write ("Nate slid into place on the long bench, eyeing first the boy then her, but he made no further comment. Releasing the brake, he unwound the reins from the lever, and clucked to the horses. The wagon jerked forward. ") document.write (" ") document.write (" |
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document.write (" ") document.write (" ") document.write ("Mr. Pearson had never personally requested Celia’s presence in his office before. The thought that he did so now sent her heart pounding in her chest. Not that he was cruel. No, the gaunt old man who’d headed the Eastside Orphanage for the past thirty years was strict, but Celia recognized a gentleness in his watery blue eyes that belied his sometimes harsh words. ") document.write ("She hesitated before the partially opened door, then pulled her shawl tighter across her shoulders in an effort to ward off the chilly Boston air. All winter it seeped through the cracks and crevices of the old building with long, icy fingers. The children, always cold, didn’t mind sleeping two or three to a bed, and Celia continually worried about them getting sick. ") document.write (""Celia, girl. Don’t stand there. Come in and close the door. Yes. Sit, sit." Alfred Pearson stood with his back to the single window, his height still impressive despite the slight bend to his shoulders. ") document.write ("Celia obediently sat in the straight-backed chair facing the desk. "Is there something wrong Mr. Pearson? Have the children made mischief? Did I do--" ") document.write (""Sit, child. Sit." ") document.write ("Celia hadn't realized she'd risen from the chair. She lowered herself back on the hard wood. ") document.write (""I wish to talk to you about Jonathan Kimball." ") document.write (""Johnny?" There is was - the gentleness again. Celia knew she wasn't the only one with a soft spot for the pale, sickly boy. ") document.write (""There has been a request for Jonathan to spend the holidays out west. The southwest, to be exact." He glanced at a sheet of paper on his desk. "Silver Springs, Arizona." ") document.write (""A request by whom? Why Johnny?" Celia moved to the edge of her seat. ") document.write (""Nathan Clemens. A friend of the boy's parents." ") document.write (""But--" ") document.write ("The old man held up his hand. "I have done some investigating. He is a rancher in good standing in the community. Although I cannot prove his claim, it could be a chance for Jonathan to have a real home." ") document.write (""But, why after all this time?" Celia whispered. ") document.write (""Mr. Clemens claims to have made a promise to care for Jonathan should anything happen to the boy's parents. He has only just been able to track Jonathan to the orphanage." ") document.write (""A likely story. No doubt he wants free labor for his ranch." Like many of the men who came looking for older boys, she thought. ") document.write (""That is why you'll be accompanying Jonathan. You are to send me a telegram reporting your findings." ") document.write ("She gasped. "Me?" Only rarely had she been out of the orphanage and never out of Boston. ") document.write ("Mr. Pearson leaned on his desk. "You leave the day after tomorrow." ") document.write (""So soon? But what of the other children?" ") document.write (""Emily is old enough to take on more responsibility." His voice softened, matching the look in his eyes. "You are the only one I trust to do this, Celia. I would go myself, but must consider my duties here. It will do the boy good to be out of this cold weather. And it's high time you saw a bit of the world." ") document.write ("Perhaps Mr. Pearson was right. The orphanage had been her home for as long as she could remember. She had always been a caretaker. Even as a child she had tended the others. Yet, she'd often wondered what lay beyond these brick walls. ") document.write ("Besides, Johnny's nagging cough worried her. From what she had read, Arizona's warm, dry air might be good for him. The thought of traveling so far excited her even as it scared her. ") document.write (""Then it's settled." She stood. "I'll tell Johnny." ") document.write (""You are a good girl, Celia." ") document.write (""Thank you, Mr. Pearson." She smiled. "I shall miss you over the holidays." ") document.write (""And, I you. Go on with you now," he said gruffly. ") document.write ("She nodded and left the room. ") document.write (" ") document.write ("The stagecoach, pulled by six galloping horses, thundered into town, announcing their arrival to the residents of Silver Springs. Sticking his head out the small side window, Jonathan bounced with excitement. ") document.write (""Are we there yet, Miss Celia?" ") document.write (""Yes, Johnny." She brushed back a lock of brown hair that had fallen across his pale forehead. "This is Silver Springs." ") document.write (""Will Mr. Clemens be here to meet us?" ") document.write ("All Johnny talked of on their long and tiring trip across country was Nathan Clemens and the fact that he knew Johnny's mother and father. Celia understood how much the child yearned to feel a sense of belonging. It was a longing she herself experienced, one she'd learned to bury years ago. ") document.write (""I'm sure he will, just like his letter promised." ") document.write (""Silver Springs." The driver called out. The carriage slowly rolled to a stop. Passengers shuffled about in the cramped interior, gathering what belongings they had carried on. ") document.write (""Stay close," Celia reminded Johnny once they'd disembarked and their luggage had been unloaded. ") document.write ("Fifteen minutes passed and still they waited. The other passengers, and those meeting them, had long since departed, leaving Celia and Jonathan alone. ") document.write (""Where's Mr. Clemens?" ") document.write ("The disappointment on Johnny's face fueled Celia's anger. Refusing to wait a moment longer, she picked up their two bags. "No sense standing here while the hotel gets booked up." She strode forward. ") document.write ("Johnny followed, his feet dragging. ") document.write (""If Mr. Nathan Clemens wants to find us, he will have to look a little harder." ") document.write ("She glanced at Johnny to be sure he was behind her. "Oomph!" She barreled into the solid wall of a man's chest. The impact sent her stumbling backwards, and she would have fallen if not for the large callused hand that reached out and grabbed her arm. As it was, both bags hit the ground. With horror, she watched hers pop open, scattering her unmentionables in the dirt. ") document.write ("Heat suffused her cheeks. "I'm s-sorry." She scurried about, trying to stuff her clothes back into the valise. "I should have watched where I was going." ") document.write (""No harm done." His deep baritone held a hint of amusement. "You missed one." ") document.write ("She looked up to find the dustiest, dirt-encrusted man she'd ever seen holding her worn chemise. ") document.write (""Allow me." He bent next to her, lifted the lid, and placed her chemise inside, along with a smattering of dust that fell from his hand. She wrinkled her nose at the powerful smell of horses, leather, and sweat surrounding him. ") document.write ("Picking up both bags, he stood before her. "I believe you were saying I'd have to look a little harder if I wanted to find you?" His eyes sparkled beneath the dust on his face. ") document.write (""If you--" She rose and stepped back, placing her hand on her hip. "You're Mr. Nathan Clemens!" ") document.write (""Nate." He nodded. "And you must be Celia Stanton." ") document.write (""Miss Stanton," she answered primly. The nerve of the man, standing there fondling her chemise without introducing himself immediately. She felt Johnny sidle up to her and clutch her skirt. ") document.write (""I'm Jonathan. Thank you for inviting me to Christmas, Mr. Clemens." ") document.write ("Nate's frown appeared, then vanished so fast, Celia thought she must have imagined it. She heard him chuckle and silently dared the man to say anything to disappoint the boy. ") document.write (""Pleased to make your acquaintance, Jonathan. I've been looking forward to your arrival." ") document.write (""Do you think Santa Claus will find me here, Mr. Clemens?" Johnny's eyes were hopeful. ") document.write ("Nate frowned again. ") document.write ("Afraid of what the man might say, Celia quickly responded. "I'm sure Santa will know where to find you, Johnny. But first we must get there ourselves. Unless, Mr. Clemens plans on keeping us standing here all day." ") document.write (""My apologies to the lady." He tugged the brim of his Stetson, shading his eyes. "If you'd be so kind as to follow me." ") document.write ("Celia's fury refueled itself as they hurried to keep up with Nate's long strides. "I'm glad to see you didn't waste a moment preparing yourself for our arrival." Her gaze raked his dusty, lean frame. But instead of making her point, she felt an unsettling flutter in her belly similar to the time she had unwittingly gulped spoiled milk. ") document.write ("He stopped in front of two chestnut mares hitched to a wagon. "An axle broke on the way here. I mended it best I could." He placed the bags in the wagon bed. "It should get us home." ") document.write (""Should? You're not sure?" She glanced at him warily. ") document.write (""There's not much I'm sure about in this life, Miss Stanton," he drawled, offering her a hand up. ") document.write ("She placed her fingers in his, instantly regretting the move. His touch sent tingles clear up her arm to her shoulder. Clearly, the weariness from her extended travel caused the strange reaction. She needed a nap. ") document.write ("Johnny scrambled up after her, coughing from the exertion. ") document.write ("Nate slid into place on the long bench, eyeing first the boy then her, but he made no further comment. Releasing the brake, he unwound the reins from the lever, and clucked to the horses. The wagon jerked forward. ") document.write (" ") document.write (" |
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document.write (" ") document.write (" ") document.write ("Jenny Profitt threw a handful of dirt on her mother’s fresh grave. It splattered over the shiny casket that would be her mama’s eternal resting place. Scalding tears trickled down her cheeks and she swiped them away with the back of her hand. "Bye Mama." Her words choked in her throat. "Sleep tight." ") document.write ("The cancer that had ravaged her mother had finally won its battle. Her father had died several years before and she was an only child of only children. She didn’t even have any close cousins she could call family. Sharp November wind bit into her flesh, mocking her as if whispering you’re all alone. Thanksgiving and Christmas loomed dreary and she could well understand why this was the most depressing season of the year. ") document.write (""All alone," she mumbled, clutching her coat lapels against her throat. She hated the sound of that, almost as much as she hated the sound of this terrible silence that could only come from long dead souls - hundreds of them, maybe thousands. It was creepy, especially as the fingers of night cast shadows all around; shadows from ancient oak and maple trees and worse yet, shadows from grave markers and obelisks. Creepier still as her footsteps crunched fallen leaves that tumbled across the grounds. ") document.write ("She’d overstayed her welcome. It was past time the gravediggers lowered her mama’s casket six feet deep, sealing her for all eternity, hiding her beautiful, frozen face forever from her. ") document.write ("Drawing in a long sigh, her body shuddered. What should she do now? Where should she go? She’d quit her job when her mama’s illness became so bad she’d needed total care. Fed up with lack of attention, Brandon, her fiancé, had broken their engagement and stormed out of her life for good. On one hand, she couldn’t blame him, and yet she did. He should have stuck by her through good and bad and he hadn’t. But he no longer mattered. Only her mama mattered, but she could no longer tell her. ") document.write ("Tired swollen eyes took in the dispassionate city below in the valley as she stood on the high hilltop. Maybe this was one of the famous seven hills of Cincinnati she stood so high. The wind sure whipped and howled enough way up here that it wouldn’t surprise her. ") document.write ("Cincinnati had always been her home, yet the tall majestic buildings, did nothing for her, cared nothing for her. There was nothing and no one left for her here. She didn’t want to stay where there were memories of her mama on every corner and in every building. Maybe someday the memories would comfort her, make her smile and laugh. But she was still too raw and too wounded, to deal with them - especially during the holidays. Falling autumn leaves reminded her that Thanksgiving was less than two weeks away. She’d prayed she’d be given one last Thanksgiving with her mama, but her prayers had gone unanswered. ") document.write ("Pained eyes lifted Heavenward as her foot lifted to carry her away from this accursed place. "How could you take her? She was all I had? All I wanted." Sobs racked her body, but she pressed forward, away from her mother’s final resting place, out of the increasingly chilly wind. Snow scented the air, but she couldn’t remember what the weatherman had said on the radio that day. Had she even turned on the radio on her way to the cemetery? Everything was a blur - she couldn’t remember most of what she’d done that day. ") document.write ("Although she averted her gaze from the marble gravestones, she was well aware that she had promises to keep and a mission to perform before she could start a new life. Back home, at her mama’s tiny trailer that was all hers now, a puzzle awaited her. She frowned, trudging to her Toyota Celica. Or was it more of a mystery? ") document.write ("An amateur genealogist, Linda Sue Profitt had been researching their family history for the past decade. It seemed to be a comfort to Linda to gather so many beloved family members close and to get to know them through old letters, journals, and history books. Her great-great-grandmother’s brothers were rumored to have been the infamous Jarvis Gang that terrorized eastern Kentucky and Tennessee in the 1880s-1890s. Her mother had been on their trail, trying to prove links between Rhodie Jarvis and Uriah, Zeke, and Ike Jarvis, the cornerstone of the gang. ") document.write ("For some odd reason that Jenny couldn’t quite fathom, it had been so important to Linda that she’d made Jenny promise to continue the research. ") document.write ("The light ten feet in front of Jenny’s Celica turned red catching her attention last second yanking her out of her deep reverie. Adrenaline flooded her and she stood on her brake. Tires squealed piercing her eardrums. Burning rubber scratched her nose. Her nerves tingled and her abdomen clenched with nausea. ") document.write (""Watch where you’re driving!" a man yelled. Looking in her rear view mirror, she cringed when the driver behind her stuck his pudgy head out of his open window and shook a fist at her. Tufts of gray fluff stuck out from under a Cincinnati Red’s baseball cap. "You trying to kill us all?’ ") document.write ("Lip sinking to the man’s mirror image, "I’m sorry," she sped away as soon as the light turned green. Somehow she made it home on autopilot, her mind a jumbled mess, her heart shattered. ") document.write ("She hesitated at the trailer steps dreading going into the empty house where her mother’s imprint was on everything. How long she stood on the threshold, a pathetic sight for all the neighbors, she wasn’t sure, although it was long enough for the sun to set and the last melting rays to dissipate into the black morass of night, like the void in her soul left by her mother’s death. ") document.write ("But she was wrong. It was as if a heavy mist shrouded the interior, almost as if a ghost floated from room to room. "Mama?" The name rolled off her lips before she realized she’d spoken aloud. ") document.write ("She sucked in a deep breath. There were no such things as ghosts or spirits or specters. She didn’t believe in the paranormal. Mama was in Heaven, and she, Jennifer Marie Profitt, was completely, totally alone. ") document.write ("A puff of wind from nowhere blew an envelope off her mother’s desk. It landed on her feet face up. Her name stared up at her in her mother’s scrawled handwriting. ") document.write ("Her heart stopped beating. She must be dreaming - or hallucinating. Had she stepped into some freaky movie? ") document.write ("Dream, movie, or whatever, she picked it up and tore into it. She extracted a long handwritten letter on creamy paper. Her mother’s scent wrapped around her flushing out a new round of tears. ") document.write ("Crumpling to the floor, she read and reread her mother’s words: My dearest Jennifer, I love you with all my heart and soul. I want you to be happy, to be with family who loves you. Go to my first cousin Barbara Jasper in Pulaski County, Kentucky. Spend the holidays with her family. Let them help you get on your feet and find our ancestors…" ") document.write ("Travel down to Kentucky in this cold, snowy, treacherous weather? Impose on distant relatives she’d never met and who quite possibly had never heard of her? ") document.write ("Crazy! "I know you mean well, Mama, but I can’t do this." She sniffed back tears that welled in her eyes. "I don’t know Cousin Barbara or her kin. I can’t just show up on her doorstep." ") document.write ("Gulping back tears, she read further. Be happy my darling. Find your special someone. Hold him tight and never let him go. Have lots of babies and name the first girl after me. Don’t ever be lonely. Don’t ever lose sight of your dream. ") document.write ("Her dream? What dream was that? Her life had been on hiatus so long due to her mother’s illness that she’d not given any thought to her future. ") document.write ("And now the future was here, she seemed to hear her mama say that it was time to move forward. Please hand-deliver a special letter to Cousin Barbara for me. It’s very important you grant my final wish. Do this for me, Baby. Don’t let me down. ") document.write ("She was still hugging the letter close to her chest four days later as she crossed into Pulaski County. Her nerves jittered as she consulted the map unfolded on the front seat beside her. Soon she’d come upon Somerset. ") document.write ("The snow flurries that had started when she crossed the Ohio River into Northern Kentucky from Cincinnati had increased to near blizzard proportions making driving near impossible. All the hotels were filled by truckers and since the map told her she was within a hop, skip, and a jump of the hollars of Pulaski, Kentucky, she decided to push forward and reach Barbara's house before sundown. But that was before she realized what steep mountain roads lay ahead of her or just how bad the storm would get. ") document.write ("Her pulse throbbed with fear when a hairpin curve loomed dead ahead, when she looked down a sheer cliff of ice and snow to the holler below. "Oh God, I can't see." Her breath fogged the windows in the chill mountain air, hindering her vision. Tapping her brakes, she leaned forward to wipe off her windshield with her coat sleeve, but beautiful ice crystals resisted her attempts at erasure. The cliff dropped off to her right, thus she hugged the left lane by the sheer mountain wall praying no one would come upon her at this juncture. Why oh why did anyone make narrow, windy roads without shoulders? Why did anyone choose to live so far away from civilization, so high they almost touched the clouds? ") document.write ("Almost immediately an ear-splitting foghorn blasted through her, making her jerk the wheel to the right to avoid head on collision. But she veered too far and she stomped on her brakes too late. The Celica's tires skid on the icy pavement as the brakes locked up. The car spun around in a dizzying vortex, clipping the other vehicle, and then was hurled off the cliff's edge. It happened so fast, she had no control, no clear recollection of events, just a giant, horrifying blur. ") document.write ("Her high-pitched screams mixed with those of her squealing tires, crunching metal, shattering glass, and the hissing engine. Oily, greasy smoke billowed throughout the car, permeating her body, choking her. The car door flung open from the impact of the crash, and she was hurled clear of the burning car, away from the deadly smoke. Searing pain slashed through her head when it hit a boulder. Blood trickled down her face from several cuts, tasting bitter on her swollen tongue. Her mouth filled with blood. ") document.write ("When she squinted her eyes to look for her car, her mother floated before her instead, stretching out her hand. ") document.write (""Mama?" Jenny tried to lift her arm, to take Linda's hand, but her strength evaporated. The muscles in her shoulder screamed when she tried to move. Blessed cold started to numb the pain, as the snow melted and washed away some of the blood and dirt covering her. And then, everything grew fuzzy and her eyelids grew very tired. ") document.write (" ") document.write ("Zachariah "Black Jack" Roy had just finished up a miserable mission on a miserable night. He'd buried the Leech baby and he was in a cussed mood. That young 'un hadn't stood a chance coming two months early in the middle of a blizzard when the mother battled the grippe. It cut close to the quick, surfacing the heap of pain his own young wife and babe's death had caused. That was going on five years ago now that Lucy and their infant son had passed on, but the pain was as fresh and as raw as if it had happened yesterday. ") document.write ("The snow fell fast and furious, and Belle, his mare hadn't wanted to venture into the fluffy white stuff, but he couldn't stay in that house full of grief one more moment for fear of going stark raving crazy. The scent of death lingered in the air. Lou Jean's wails of despair sliced through him. She had Frank to comfort her and there was nothing much more he could do anyways, so he didn't feel guilty leaving their cabin. ") document.write ("Snow hit him in the face, but when he went to wipe it from his eyes, he drew back a gray hand. "What the devil?" He peered at it closely and sniffed. "Ashes. Something's burning." ") document.write ("Lifting his nose high in the air, he sniffed. Smoke. But it had an odd twinge of something he'd never smelled before. But smoke was smoke and that meant fire. No one but a crazy man would be out in this blizzard. The thought tugged a wry smile to his lips. Yeah, he was slightly crazy, but he made an exception for himself, especially under the circumstances. But he knew darn well that no campfire would even light in this storm, much less burn. That meant a cabin or a barn must be burning. ") document.write ("He cut the reigns sharply to the left, in the direction of the acrid smoke, reeling Belle around about a hundred degrees. She protested, not liking the rocky mountainside where foliage gave way to rocks and cliff. But the smoke grew stronger and he could see flames licking the sky. They were a dull yellowish orange, almost washed out by the heavy blanket of falling snow, but there was a definite glow. Like something he'd never seen in all his thirty-three born years and it gave him an awful feeling in the pit of his stomach. A betting man, he'd bet something terrible lay ahead. He wasn't called Black Jack for nothing. ") document.write (""What in tarnation would glow like that?" The flames came from the direction of the Parson cabin - or maybe the Purdy's house. Somebody was in a heap of trouble and he might be the only soul who even knew about it. Digging his boot heels into Belle's flanks, he goaded her onward and upward onto icy, slippery rocks. ") document.write ("Belle lifted her head and neighed, pulling back, but he held tight, the tendons in his arms straining to control the spirited mare. ") document.write (""Steady girl. We have to help." That was one of his fatal flaws. He had to assist people in trouble, no matter the cost to himself. His daddy swore it'd be the death of him, but as far as he could see it was only those around him who kept dying and he was left here to go on alone. Well, not totally alone, not with eight living brothers and sisters, a passel of aunts, uncles, and cousins, and his daddy living just down the road, but he'd felt alone since Lucy's death and since his only son had died. ") document.write ("The closer they got the less hazy things became. Finally, he spied the flames dancing like a living thing, but there was no cabin, not even a barn, at least not any more. ") document.write ("Belle reared up, refusing to go a step closer, so he jumped off her back and tied her reigns to a low hanging branch. The tall pines looked Christmassy covered in fresh fallen snow. Pinecones looked like Christmas ornaments. Their tangy scent tickled his nose when they brushed against him. ") document.write ("The snow must be at least a foot deep, higher in the drifts as they reached his knees in places, spilling powdery cold snow into the tops of his boots. His socks and feet were soaking wet, and his toes could barely wiggle. He was afraid he’d get frostbite if he didn't hurry up and check out the area. He couldn’t wait to return to his warm cabin where he'd stoke a fire in the fireplace and thaw out. ") document.write ("The fire was mighty high, shooting sparks into the heavens. It had to burn hot to burn despite the near blizzard. He tried to get a look at it and it wasn't a cabin or a barn. It wasn't a structure of any type - rather it was a buggy or a carriage of some kind. ") document.write ("Then he heard moaning above the snapping flames. It was low, barely audible, but he was sure he’d heard it. His head snapped around in the direction from which he'd detected it, higher up on the rock face. Straining his ears, he listened as he climbed, trying to block out his own labored breathing and the crackling fire below. Belle snorted more than once, and whickered a few times as if to tell him to hurry up and get her home to her snug stable. Despite the wicked cold, perspiration trickled down his back and across his brow from exertion and fear. If somebody was out in this cold, injured, his or her chances were mighty slim of surviving. Frostbite was a killer. And if they'd been in whatever that contraption had been - his guess was a buggy of some sort, they were probably hurting pretty badly. ") document.write (""Can anybody hear me? Is anybody out there?" He hoped for an answer to his hollers, but didn't necessarily expect to get any. If someone had been in that hunk of burning metal, they probably didn't look a whole lot better than it did. He tried not to cringe at the thought. He didn't know if he could take two deaths in one night. If he didn't hurry, that moaning would stop forever. No one could survive this cold for long, injuries or no injuries. Then he heard it again. Not an articulate word, but groaning, loud enough he could follow it. ") document.write ("His toes stubbed against something, making him look down. He expected to see a boulder, but instead, he saw a young woman, buried in the snow, her head and arms barely visible in the mounting drift. Alarm flickered through him, panicking him into action. ") document.write ("He brushed snow off the body, digging icy chunks away with his fingernails. The woman was a wisp of a thing with gaunt cheeks, cuts and bruises all over her. Her lips were swollen, puffed to about three times normal sized lips. Her flesh tone was about as white as the snow surrounding her. Despite the discoloration and disfiguration she looked like an angel fallen to Earth. He wished he had more doctoring know how to tell if she had broken bones or not, but that wouldn’t make no difference now anyhow. If he didn’t get her to a warm, dry place fast, she wouldn’t survive the night. In fact, he wasn’t sure she was breathing. She didn’t look as if she was. ") document.write ("Bending low on one knee, he unbuttoned her coat and he laid his head to her chest. Relief flooded him when he heard the faint but steady beat of her heart. ") document.write ("Carefully as if picking up an injured bird, he scooped her into his arms, hoisting her against his chest. Short blonde hair, shorter than was decent on a woman, tickled his arm. Long black eye lashes fluttered rapidly against her cheeks. Blackish soot stained her face. He’d never seen anything like it. Nor like the clunky white shoes that laced. Demon lights winked at him. They turned on, then off with no set pattern, as if a living thing opened and shut its eyes inside the shoes. Could they be possessed? ") document.write ("Clearly, she wasn’t from these parts. He’d been to a few big cities - Louisville, Frankfort, and Nashville but no one wore duds like these. ") document.write ("He stumbled back to Belle with the girl. She didn’t look like she weighed more than a feather, but limp and unconscious, she was very heavy in his arms. That combined with the wet snow sucking at his feet, made his path back to Belle rough going. ") document.write ("But he was strong as an ox and he wasn’t about to be overcome by this storm. Before he knew it, he was back at his clapboard cabin with his patient, faced with a new dilemma. They were soaked through and would catch their death from the grippe if he didn’t get them out of these things and warmed up right quick. He’d have risked his life for nothing. ") document.write ("He eyed the woman lying on his bed wondering how to get her changed without violating her privacy. There was no way in this storm, he concluded unhappily. His closest female kin lived a couple of miles down the path and he couldn't afford a telephone. He stuck a toothpick in his mouth and rolled it around with his tongue, pondering his options. ") document.write ("He couldn’t leave the woman alone and he sure couldn’t take her back out in that storm. If he let her be in those wet clothes she’d catch her death. He had no options, God help him. He had to strip those wet things off her and bundle her up. ") document.write ("First, he took a minute to stoke the fire and change his clothes. Unlike the fire on the mountainside, this one seeped into his bones and wrapped around him like a lover. The smell of oak burning tickled his nostrils and he reveled in this scent. ") document.write ("He found one of Lucy’s old dresses stuffed away in a drawer. Eyeballing it, he figured it should be a pretty fair fit. This woman was a mite smaller than his wife had been. ") document.write (""Yellow," he called himself when he still hesitated. Her kinfolk might just hang him for this. If he were her husband he’d whoop the tar out of any man brazen enough to lay hands on her. ") document.write ("That made him pause. Husband? Could this angel be married? Stepping closer, he didn’t spy a ring but she wore no manner of dress he’d ever seen before. She had a timepiece on her arm that didn’t have any hands. It didn’t tick but it winked eerily, just like her demon shoes. And she wore dungarees as if she were a man. But those luscious hips and that tiny waist sure as shooting didn’t belong to any man. Those hips would be perfect to birth babies. Maybe she was from someplace a far piece away like Paris or London where everyone acted a mite touched. Maybe even the Far East although her eyes didn’t slant like anyone from the Orient he’d ever seen. ") document.write (" ") document.write (" |
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document.write (" ") document.write (" ") document.write (""Imagine what? Maybe I didn't hear you right? I thought you said you were putting men…on the auction block?"Alice nodded enthusiastically. ") document.write ("Sabrina grabbed Morgan's chin, turning her face toward her. "Is this true?" ") document.write ("Morgan raised her eyebrows and tried to smile, though it proved understandably difficult with her cheeks pressed together. ") document.write ("Still holding onto her sister, Sabrina turned to Alice Darby who took a sip of her wine cooler and grinned. ") document.write (""Isn't it brilliant?" She giggled. ") document.write ("Sabrina felt Morgan prying her fingers lose from her face. ") document.write (""And you thought I'd love this idea? And I bet Rick hasn't got a business trip either, does he?" ") document.write ("Morgan gave her a chagrined look. "Are you mad?" Her sister's smile was weak. ") document.write ("Alice piped in defense of the idea. "We've invited all the eligible bachelors in town and all the single women within a thirty-mile radius. We'll make a fortune! Think what you may get to go home with." Alice wiggled her brows, then she laughed in uninhibited glee, producing an unlady like snort at the end. "Oh, pardon me." ") document.write ("Sabrina stared at Alice. This woman had already given new meaning to the word enthusiastic. ") document.write ("She gave her sister a narrow glare. ") document.write (""Oh Bri, it'll be fun. Look at all of them! I feel like a kid in a candy store!" ") document.write (""You're married. You can't taste." Sabrina admonished her. ") document.write ("Morgan smiled. "That’s why I brought you." ") document.write (""Well, I hate to disappoint you big sis, but on my salary I sure can't afford to do much. Besides, there are plenty of young women here already." Sabrina relaxed in her chair and crossed her leg, leisurely swinging her pink taffeta slipper. ") document.write (""Oh no you don't." ") document.write ("Sabrina glanced at her sister. There were few times when Morgan jumped the invisible line from "hurt-sister" to plain "won't-take-no-for-an-answer." Apparently, this was one of them. ") document.write (""Excuse me?" Sabrina was not without her own form of stubborn behavior. She crossed her arms in defiance; aware of the sensation of being stared at. Glancing to the next table, she caught the smile and nod of a muscle-clad blond Viking. ") document.write ("Sabrina turned slightly in her chair to avert his gaze. ") document.write (""I did this in part for you!" ") document.write (""That is so thoughtful. Here I thought it was for the Little League lights." Sabrina leaned toward her sister, trying not to make a scene. ") document.write (""That’s secondary." ") document.write ("Sabrina shook her head, then smiled. "You slay me, you know that? What makes you think I would fight a bunch of women for the opportunity of a date with a total stranger?" ") document.write ("Morgan glanced at Alice with a smile. "Well, I guess that largely depends on the stranger." ") document.write ("She closed her eyes in disbelief. ") document.write ("Alice, who'd been sipping on an umbrella-topped concoction, stood without warning and broke into a huge grin. "Let the games begin." Alice raised a hand in the air, waving it frantically. ") document.write ("Sabrina followed through to the woman's gaze, checking the object of her enthusiastic response. She touched her heart to make sure it hadn't stopped. ") document.write ("With a slow and easy gait, he wove his way through the crowd. His face set, as though intent on his victim. Perhaps Alice? Sabrina suddenly hoped not. ") document.write ("She observed entire tables of women craning their necks to catch a glimpse of him as he walked by. The sheen of his bare chest glowed in the candlelight and he had a dark cape thrown carelessly over his shoulders. Though it covered his arms, it still provided ample view of his chiseled torso. ") document.write ("He reminded her of a great panther, dark and powerful. His eyes glittered ebony, with dark brows and lashes adding to his mystery. Sabrina wished she were his prey. The thought warmed her, sending smoke curling deep inside. ") document.write ("Sabrina leaned toward her sister. "Now, for that I might wrestle every woman in this room, though he looks like he has his eyes set on Alice." ") document.write ("As he approached, she cast an appreciative glance to his trim waist that disappeared into the low-riding cotton harem pants. He carried a wicked smile and his dark eyes sparkled devilishly. One thing she knew for sure-this dark sheik was enough to clear the sand in her head. But how would he treat her heart? ") document.write ("Sabrina licked her lips. Heck, deal with that later! ") document.write (" ") document.write (" |
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document.write (" ") document.write (" ") document.write (""You know, I'm having the hardest time trying to figure out if you were a hooker or bank robber in your last life." From behind the only cluttered area at The Carter Center for Disease Research, Paige Wilkins leaned her elbows on her desk. She stared narrow-eyed at her best friend, Eden Tyler, the psycho. ") document.write (""What a thing to say!" Despite her pout, Eden's eyes flashed with a wicked twinkle. ") document.write (""Oh, don't even try that shocked routine on me. You're preening, for crying out loud. Besides, look on the bright side." Paige dropped her gaze slyly, and straightened the tiny plastic ghosts, ghouls and jack-o-lanterns lined up on her computer monitor, the only personal thing she allowed herself in her otherwise all business office. "You have two costume choices for Halloween, and you're equally suited to both." ") document.write ("Eden swung her perfect sun-streaked hair over her shoulder and offered up her oft-used "I've been found out" grin. "Still, you shouldn't say things like that about me." ") document.write ("Paige threw up her hands in defeat. "Well, what do you expect me to say?" She knew she should be used to Eden's stunts by now-she'd been pulling them since Kindergarten and age hadn't slowed her down, but "used to it" was impossible. "You come in here all excited, telling me you've 'secured our attendance to this year's Masquerade.' Yet, you refuse to explain how you came to be in possession of not one, but two five-hundred-dollar tickets, except to say 'not in the usual way.'" ") document.write (""How do you know how much the tickets are?" ") document.write (""Never mind that. I'm not discussing this anymore until you explain what "not the usual way" means." Eden leaned her hip against Paige's desk and grinned. "Come on, Ed, please tell me they're legit. If they're scalped, then you know they could be stolen." ") document.write ("Paige searched her friend's face looking for something in her expression that would alleviate this sinking feeling in her stomach. She would settle for a little remorse. ") document.write ("Eden merely continued to grin. ") document.write (""Stolen! Larceny! Do you get it? I know we would never get to go any other way, but..." ") document.write (""But nothing. You have other plans for Halloween?" Eden's tone was the same firm one she'd used countless times in the past eighteen months. She planted her palms flat on the top of Paige's desk. "Come on! It's time you stopped moping and got on with your life. Jeff's a creep. He chose a job in Denver over a life with you. He wouldn't know a good thing if it jumped up and bit him on the---" ") document.write (""Look, he had the chance to make a name for himself at the Denver station." ") document.write (""I've got a name for him." ") document.write ("Paige stood with a chuckle. "You get entirely too much enjoyment from bad-mouthing him. The anchor's position was an opportunity he couldn't pass up. You know that." She pushed her chair under her desk, grabbed her clipboard, and turned to the door. "I don't have time to listen to this. I've got to check on my baby viruses." ") document.write ("Eden stepped in front of the door, successfully barring her way. Her expression was a comical mixture of shock and revulsion. "I'm not even going to get into how weird that sounds. Only you could look at a snot specimen that has the potential to wipe out human-kind as we know it, and think of it as a baby virus." ") document.write ("Paige laced her smile with saccharin. "Well, let me by and I promise not to bring any home in my pockets. It would keep quite well in the fridge until the next time you stop by at midnight." ") document.write (""Can I help it if some of us have a social life?" ") document.write ("Paige knew the late night visits had nothing to do with her social life. She worked two full-time jobs to raise money for her design business. Eden hardly had time to sleep, but she managed to come by and check on her. ") document.write ("Paige was lucky to have suck a good friend. Even if she was---out there. ") document.write (""Paige, I'm not moving until you say you'll go to the masquerade." ") document.write (""You've got to be crazy. Ted Turner, Elton John and probably even TLC will be there, and they'll be bringing everybody who's anybody in Atlanta. It wouldn't surprise me if one of those Backstreet Boys showed up. That baby-faced one just married some girl from Marietta, I think." ") document.write (""Well, there you go." ") document.write (""There I go what?" ") document.write ("Eden stared at her with an exasperated look on her face, as though Paige were being purposely obtuse. "There are still a couple single ones left." ") document.write (""Oh, give me a break." She started to push past her friend, when Eden's tone abruptly changed. ") document.write (""Please, Paige. I can't stand to see you this way. You've shut yourself off from the rest of the world for too long now. You're not a widow and you're not dead, either. I know you love Jeff, but honey, is he really worth that?" ") document.write ("Paige tried to edge past her again, but Eden grasped her arm. ") document.write (""I know you want to believe Jeff is coming back, and sweetie, if that's what you want, then I hope and pray he does. But ask yourself this, when he does come back, do you want him knowing you sat around mooning over him the entire time he was gone?" Before Paige could protest, Eden grasped her hand and adopted a pouty look. The twinkle in her eye belied the act, though. "Besides, what else have you got to do on Halloween?" ") document.write (""Give out candy, of course." ") document.write (""And just how many trick-or-treaters do you think you're going to get in a high rise?" ") document.write (""A few." Paige felt her resolve weakening the way it always did. Her friend must have seen the chink in her armor, because she brightened a little and rushed on. ") document.write (""I'll take care of everything. I'll get us the perfect costumes. Mata Hari and Gypsy Rose Lee, I think." ") document.write (""And you'll become a statistic." Paige smiled sweetly. ") document.write ("Eden grimaced. "Okay, if you insist, tasteful it is. After all, we'll need to keep a low profile." ") document.write ("Paige closed her eyes and groaned, rubbing her fingers across her forehead. "Why am I even considering this? They'll have high-tech security, and pick off the "unusual" tickets in a heartbeat. We'll cap off the evening by going to jail for crashing the party of the year." ") document.write (""But what a Halloween story to tell your grandchildren." ") document.write (""What grandchildren?" Paige pushed Eden away from the door and muttered over her shoulder. "I'll be grabbed up by Bertha, Fulton County Prison's star inmate who murdered the bag boy for not double-bagging her pig's feet and head cheese." ") document.write ("Eden's laughter followed her down the hall to the lab. "Well, at least you'll make some new friends." ") document.write (" ") document.write (" |
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document.write (" ") document.write (" ") document.write ("Kayla rushed around like one of Santa's elves on a sugarplum high, trying to get everything just so. A major case of the holiday guilts had pushed her into a decorating frenzy. ") document.write ("She wrapped garland around the porch railing and set out artificial holly in a pot beside the door. The outdoor lights she briefly thought about hanging over the garage didn't work. She threw the string out, along with a bag of old candy canes that had melted together sometime during the summer. ") document.write ("Truth be told, she was grateful the Christmas lights didn't work. The thought of tacking anything up so high gave her the heebie-jeebies. Her body shuddered, just imagining it. And candy canes were not her favorite decoration. Their little necks always broke when she handled them. Talk about depressing! Anyhow, for someone who put off decorating until the last minute, she hadn't done half bad. ") document.write ("Now she was tackling the front door. ") document.write ("Holding a nail against the wood, she hammered at lightning speed. She didn't have much time left to get everything together before her best friend, Kirk, was due to arrive. Running late as usual. They'd probably chisel that on her tombstone. Mentally chastising herself, she made a resolution to try and manage her time better from now on. ") document.write ("The hammer glanced off the nail and banged her thumb. Pain exploded up her hand, and before she could stop it, an unholiday-like word escaped her lips. She raised her hand to her mouth and sucked at the wound. ") document.write ("Self-consciously, she glanced over her shoulder, expecting to see nosey, old Mrs. Crumbly standing on the porch across the street, shaking her head in disapproval. Thankfully, the stoop was empty. In fact, the neighborhood looked uncharacteristically void of activity, except for two small children trying in vain to form snowballs out of icy slush at the end of the block. ") document.write ("A wire pricked Kayla's skin, and she glanced with disdain at the circle of fir hanging from her arm. She'd never understood the purpose of putting a wreath on the door. It only scratched the wood or got stolen by the neighborhood kids before she could take it down. However, she'd conform to the tradition. But she did so only because the traditions of the season meant so much to Kirk. And Kirk meant so much to her. ") document.write ("She hung the decoration, trying and failing to get it straight. Something round shouldn't have a top and a bottom. She stood back, trying to gauge which way it would hang best. If whoever designed the wreath hadn't loaded it down with poofy ribbons, she could stick it up any which-way. ") document.write ("As she eyed her handiwork, the cold seeped into her bones. She pulled down the sleeves of her thin sweater, but it didn't stop her shivers. At least the really ferocious winter storms hadn't moved in yet. After another unsuccessful wreath adjustment, she gave up. So -- it hung a little lopsided. ") document.write (""Good enough." Her thumb still throbbing, she cursed the evils of hammers and holidays, and dropped the tool into the box at her feet. ") document.write ("She knew she needed a major attitude adjustment. But after her parents had died, her enthusiasm for the holidays had pretty much died, too. She would try to make her home feel festive, though and maybe, eventually, the spirit of Christmas would return to her soul. ") document.write ("A cold breeze snatched her attention, and she rushed inside to get warm. She shut the front door and entered the utility room. Pushing aside a pile of junk in the packed closet, she located the stepladder and carried it into the entry. After positioning it carefully below the wood archway leading to the living room, she slowly climbed the three steps, muttering repeatedly, "It's not that high; it's not that high." If she kept saying the words, maybe she'd convince herself they were true. ") document.write ("She hated heights -- ever since she was seven, and that little dweeb, Lindsay Taylor, pushed her off a slide. Teetering dangerously on the top step, visions of broken limbs assailed her. ") document.write ("It's just a little stepladder. She breathed deep to calm her nerves, reached up, and secured a stiff, artificial sprig of mistletoe to the wooden beam. ") document.write ("The poor branch was nearly leafless from old age and as hard as a head full of hair spray. All the little white berries had long fallen off, leaving the mistletoe naked and not very Christmas-looking. She shrugged. Oh, well. Anyone with an ounce of holiday spirit would recognize what it was. ") document.write ("She carefully stepped down the ladder, her legs shaking like a pair of rubbery noodles. Relieved to be on steady ground again, she studied the sprig. ") document.write ("The mistletoe's sad state made her wonder why she had risked life, limb, and good sense to hang it up. It wasn't as though she ever used it. She should have thrown it out long ago with the other Christmas decorations she'd tossed. Mistletoe was simply another traditional holiday decoration Kirk had insisted she must have. ") document.write ("If not for him, she would have gotten rid of every last bit of her holiday items by now. Christmas was his favorite time of year though, and she hated to see the disappointment on his face whenever he stopped by and her house looked Scrooge- ish, as he once put it. For his benefit, she did what she could to make it seem like she enjoyed the season as much as he did. ") document.write ("With another glance at the mistletoe, Kayla did acknowledge that somewhere deep down she hoped one day to have 'that special someone' to try it out on. One Christmas kiss wasn't too much to ask, was it? Unfortunately, 'that special someone' she had in mind only viewed her as a good friend. ") document.write ("She returned the stepladder to the closet, then walked into the living room. The small Christmas tree, tiny box of multicolored bulbs, and sleeve of silver tinsel atop the coffee table caught her attention. She needed to decorate the scraggly tree, but didn't have the time or inclination right now to do a decent job. ") document.write ("Every year she bought an artificial Christmas tree, and each year the one she bought got smaller. This year the tree was tiny -- the smallest she'd been able to find, thinking she'd have less to decorate. Still, as little as it was, the chore seemed enormous, so she'd put it off. The tree was still sitting on the coffee table after a week, waiting for her to spruce it up. ") document.write ("She sighed, doubting she'd even bother with a tree next year. Maybe she'd just put out plastic poinsettias and bake Christmas goodies. That was festive enough for her, even though Kirk would complain. She didn't know why he cared how she decorated for the holidays. He always went out of town to visit his family on Christmas anyway. But he'd said once that she would never heal emotionally if she kept ignoring what caused her pain. ") document.write ("Unfortunately, the holidays brought that pain to the surface, and left her feeling raw and vulnerable. Her parents had died in a plane crash right before Christmas, during her first year of college. As an only child, the accident left her feeling totally alone in the new school so far from home. ") document.write ("After taking care of the funeral arrangement and putting the house on the market, she returned to school to finish her studies and grieve. She had nowhere else to go. ") document.write ("She missed her mother's nurturing, and her father's quirky sense of humor and comforting hugs. She'd shed many tears over the past ten years. Memories of joyous Christmas pasts, never to be seen again, made depressing holiday companions. ") document.write ("If it weren't for Kirk, she wouldn't even acknowledge the season at all. It would be easier to handle that way. But he was like a little boy when it came to Christmas. How could she disappoint him? Especially after he'd been such a good friend. Without his strength, caring, and companionship, she'd probably be a bag lady right now. ") document.write ("A quick glance at the clock told her it was getting late. She'd better put the cookies in the oven if she wanted them ready in time. ") document.write ("Kirk would be over soon to unclog her bathtub drain. It had become a ritual for him to do that for her once a month. ") document.write ("Her long hair had clogged many a pipe, and she never did have much luck with drain cleaners or getting it out herself. She was a total klutz with things like that. ") document.write ("Okay, so maybe she could get the hair out herself if she really wanted to try, but it gave her a perfect excuse to ask him over. He'd probably come just to hang out, but she knew he couldn't pass up a 'damsel-in-distress' call. It went against his nature. ") document.write ("All Kirk ever asked in return for his monthly de-hairing service was to sample some of her baking. Her heart did a funny little tumble as she recalled him asking for his Christmas cookie reward. ") document.write ("It thrilled her to know that someone enjoyed her sweeter-than-sin creations. Most people ran for the antacid when she brought out her goodies. ") document.write ("Not Kirk. He was her biggest fan. He loved everything she baked, no matter how sweet. Getting sugar-shocked was one of his favorite past-times. The lovable lug. ") document.write ("She fluffed the pillows on the couch, then dragged out the vacuum cleaner for a quick carpet run. The machine only picked up every other piece of lint. She needed to ask Kirk to de-hair the roller while he was here. ") document.write ("She didn't know what she'd do without him. He had been her best friend for what seemed like forever. ") document.write ("When she'd first met Kirk three weeks into her freshman year at college, they'd immediately clicked. Probably because she loved horror flicks, and he could never find anyone to go with him to one. ") document.write ("The type of women he dated didn't care to be scared more witless than they already were. Okay...that was catty. She knew it, acknowledged it, and still thought it. ") document.write ("Kirk could do much better than those boob-babes he had a tendency to date. Kayla didn't know where he found them, and frankly, she didn't want to know. ") document.write ("Back then, she'd sneak peaks at him, admiring his body and almost too rugged to be handsome face. She had often fantasized about stripping him bare and having her way with him -- still did. What was the harm? ") document.write ("Their classmates must have suspected her feelings, because they were relentless, always making fun of her. And Kirk always came to her rescue. Her hero. He'd call them 'immature idiots', then buy her a large cone of Chocolate Delight ice cream at the Student Union. ") document.write ("Now they were both out of school and had their own places. Her job as a computer analyst provided a fairly good income, and with a small loan, she'd moved from an apartment to a real home. ") document.write ("Kirk had landed a good position in a brokerage firm and found a nice condominium not far from her, but Kayla knew a handyman lurked inside him. He loved to tinker. So whenever she had a problem, he was the one she called. ") document.write ("The phone rang, disrupting her thoughts. She turned off the vacuum, then plopped down on the sofa and picked up the receiver. "Hello." ") document.write (""Hey, baby. You naked?" ") document.write ("Laughter bubbled up inside Kayla as she recognized the male voice. The greeting that had started out as a joke, long ago, was now a friendly routine, and the familiarity warmed her heart. "Aren't I always?" ") document.write (""I wish." ") document.write (""Where are you, Kirk?" She twisted the phone cord around her finger, needing something to do with her hands. Even through the phone line, she ached to touch him. ") document.write (" ") document.write (" |