'Tis the Season: A Collection of Mimi's Christmas Books

by Mimi Barbour

  She crouched down again and surveyed the area. Her short coat rode up and the hem of an even shorter skirt appeared, showing her well-formed legs in dark stockings and surprisingly large rubber boots. Silly girl will freeze in that outfit, he thought, before her voice grabbed his attention once again.

  “Look here, I don’t wish to annoy, but do you think you could help me with these sacks? Oops.” She put her finger into her mouth, obviously having been pricked by one of the vicious thorns adorning the branches.

  Her voice had a mesmerizing quality and, before he knew he intended to, he came around and reached for the side of the bag she held out to him. Again she smiled, and he watched as the rest of her face joined her lips to produce such a happy expression that he studied it bemusedly. She looked childlike, crouched so small, but he knew by her manner that she must have left school behind some time ago. A clearing of her throat and waving of the bag made him realize she still waited.

  “Sorry.” He spread out the edges she’d passed his way and leaned down to do his part.

  “You’re a good chap to help me. I appreciate it.”

  He could drown in the softness of her eyes. Still lost in what he’d seen there, he didn’t pay attention. When she tugged on her end of the bag, he lost his balance. To keep from falling, he put out his hand, and it landed, palm down, on the closest bush. At first only the sting of the thorn piercing his skin registered. But then the girl’s soft cry, hinting at a problem, caught his attention.

  Dizziness, the first impression he noticed, prevailed and plunked him butt first into the snow. Then, befuddled, he watched as the girl across from him sighed, collapsed, and rolled over in what looked like a faint.

  What the hell? Breathe, you idiot, think and breathe. Stop this foolishness. Get to the girl. Call for help.

  His legs wouldn’t hold him. Right. Crawl, then, don’t even try to stand. Orders from a fuzzy brain rang in his head. Muddled and angry, he tried to force his body to obey the instructions, but it didn’t work. Consciousness receded. A rushing sound overtook him and slammed him further from reality. Nausea attacked. His vision blurred. This time when he fell, he landed smack-dab on top of her.

  After a few moments, life surged back into his frozen limbs. He opened his eyes and looked at the unmoving form under him. It took all his strength to roll over and another few seconds before he inched away. His rioting pulse slowed and erratic breathing returned to normal.

  Struggling for coordination, he edged closer to the girl, loosened the blue silk scarf at her neck, and felt for a pulse. The beats seemed strong and normal, but when he checked her pupils—something he’d seen the doctors do on TV—there was no sign of life. The annoying ringing in his head continued until it crescendoed and then stopped. Eerie as it seemed, he blessed the quiet. His strength returned, and so did his equilibrium.

  The girl still hadn’t moved, and his concern grew. He needed to get her off the cold ground. Right now the closest warm place was the vicarage, where lights twinkled in the darkening shadows. Awkwardly he swept her into his arms and began to struggle to his feet.

  “What do you think you’re doing?”

  The shock of hearing her speak stunned him, and he dropped her. Her head lolled to the side, still lifeless. Damn, but he could have sworn she’d whispered the words he’d clearly heard. Feeling guilty for having let her go, he bent to lift her again.

  “Am I dead?”

  Disbelief had him backing off once more. “Excuse me?” Feeling rather foolish, he peered all around, trying to find a culprit who might sound like a corpse.

  “I’m dead? I’m a corpse?” Her voice rose inside his head. “Hold it. How can I be dead and still talk? You do hear me, don’t you?”

  “No. Yes. I don’t know. How can I hear you when you’re mouth hasn’t moved? In fact, nothing is moving on your body at all, except your pulse.” Then he reached over to put his hand on her chest.

  “Hey! What do you think you’re doing?”

  He whipped his hand back so fast he landed on his arse again. “Don’t upset yourself. I was merely feeling for a heartbeat.”

  “What the… Think! If there’s a pulse rate, surely I’d have a heartbeat?”

  “How should I know that? I’m a businessman, not a doctor. This is absurd. You’re out cold and we’re carrying on this ridiculous conversation. I must be dreaming. This is impossible.”

  “Tell me about it. You’re at least moving. I’m staring down at my own body, and, I believe, I’m looking at it out of your eyes. Stone the crows! I am. Somehow I’m now inside of you. Must be an act of the supernatural.”

  “Quit this hysterical gibberish. How the devil can you be inside me?”

  “Maybe ‘cause we’re carrying on a conversation without speaking? That might be a clue.” He heard her sarcasm and didn’t appreciate it at all.

  “I do believe I’m dreaming. And when I wake up, you will be gone and—”

  “You’ll be frozen. So…”

  “So what?”

  “So, wake up and let’s stop this nightmare.”

  Marcus zippered his heavy sweater higher under his jacket, eased back up on his heels, and sighed.

  “Well? What are you waiting for?”

  “To wake up, of course.”

  “You are a dolt, aren’t you?” The tug on his hair took him by surprise since he hadn’t known he was going to be doing it.

  “Ow! How did you do that?”

  “I used your hand. S’truth, I’m lodged inside your body. If I can see from your eyes and use your hands, then I must be. It’s the only thing that makes any sense. You’re awake. You know it, and so do I.”

  Marcus swiped his shaking hand across his face to brush away the accumulated snow from his brows and eyelashes. He came to a decision. He’d make an appointment to see a psychiatrist as soon as possible. His hours had been brutal lately, what with moving to town and starting a new business, trying to do twenty things at once. No wonder he fell asleep while resting here. And no wonder he’d gotten caught up in these strange visions. This was obviously the result of overdoing things. Everyone knew stress played havoc with a tired mind.

  Standing would require a bit of concentration. His legs felt rubbery, and the tingling warned him he’d been down on his knees far too long. Rose thorns tangled in his pant legs, and he lashed out at them.

  “Stop that. We’re only just getting them back to health after some lunatic burnt them to the ground last year.”

  “Sorry.” He shuffled around the plant and grabbed the bench to help pull him to his feet.

  “Where do you think you’re going?”

  “To a hospital. I do believe I’m having some sort of a breakdown.”

  “You’re having a breakdown? Now you listen ‘ere, Mate. It ain’t you lying in a heap in the snow. And it darn well ain’t you imprisoned in another’s body, is it? Don’t you dare try and leave me here.”

  Even if he wanted to, there was an unseen force holding him back—stopping him from moving. And, however unlikely, the girl certainly sounded real. Considering she was a figment of his imagination, that is.

  “Would you stop! I’m not a figment of anyone’s imagination. I’m a real girl,” she wailed. Then she added, “Cor, I sound like the female version of Pinocchio.” When she giggled, hysteria became evident.

  “Okay, stop that screeching. I’ll take you with me.” If this really was a dream, then he could play hero, even though he was far from hero material. Blast! How could a boring workaholic accountant such as himself get caught up in such a crazy nightmare?

  Slight as she’d looked earlier, she felt solid to him now, and in his weakened condition he knew he couldn’t go very far. Scooped in his arms, her body rolled toward him as if seeking protection. He cradled her against his chest, and she seemed to fit. Strange. He’d never carried anyone before. He kind of liked how it made him feel.

  He looked down and then lowered his chin so he could blow the snow from her feature
s. Light from the lamp above angled over her, and he saw a small, heart-shaped face, pale and pretty, with lips plump and turning slightly blue.

  “See? I’m a girl.”

  “Yes, I can see that now. Don’t worry. I’ll take care of you.”

  He stumbled out from behind the bench, stopped, and turned in both directions. The snow, falling even harder now, seemed to have effectively cleared the roads of traffic, both vehicular and human. No buses or taxis, no police or helpful pedestrians.

  Again the lights from the vicarage drew his attention. The path, only slightly visible, wound through the gardens and looked to be a mile, when in truth he knew it to be only a couple hundred feet. Switching his romantic hold to that of a fireman enabled him to keep one arm free as he headed in the right direction.

  “Do you have to carry me like a sack of potatoes?”

  “It’s easiest.”

  “Don’t blame me if I’m sick all over you. Upside down makes me dizzy.”

  He hurried. “Don’t you dare.”

  “I’m glad you’ve decided to go to the vicar. He’s my boss, you know, and a lovely chap. He’ll know what to do, I’m sure.”

  “Listen, I don’t believe we should talk to anyone about your spirit—ahh—switching residences, so to speak. I mean, think about it. Would you accept such a thing? More than likely, if we try telling the truth, they’ll stick me in a rubber room and throw away the key.”

  “So, what do you propose we say about my unconscious body?”

  Strange how he not only heard the irritation, he felt her worry.

  “I’ll tell him you stumbled and hit your head. We’ll call an ambulance and get you taken to the hospital, where the doctors can make an examination. That oughta do it.” Proud of his suggestion, he ignored her rude snort. Until she snorted the second time. “What??”

  “Have you looked around at all? There is no traffic. The roads look to be impassable. I’m afraid the storm is getting worse.”

  She had a point. The snow had intensified until visibility was almost nonexistent. If the foliage hadn’t been protecting the biggest portion of this walkway from the blowing snow, he’d never be able to move so easily.

  “This is an emergency. They have to make it.”

  “Pray God you’re right.” It was the sob that tore at the closed walls around his heart. A tiny sob, but with enough power to start the first fissure.

  Chapter Two

  Abigail Taylor, called Abbie by nearly everyone who knew her, looked down at her body clutched in the arms of the tall dark stranger. Why she wasn’t terrified, she’d never know. After all, she had never seen this man before in her life, and now her spirit, or whatever “she” consisted of, seemed to be lodged inside him, like an inner tenant. One without a rental contract!

  When he shifted her over his shoulder, she had to complain. After all, as long as she could see herself, she felt somewhat grounded. Not that she could explain these reactions to her guardian.

  How strange. At the present, it didn’t seem as if he could hear her thoughts. It appeared she could turn them inward whenever she wished. Her brain—no, his brain—no, their brain allowed her a sanctum to think separately. Thank goodness for small mercies. How uncomfortable if he could tune in to her every time she wanted to talk to herself. Then for sure he’d head for the nearest mental institution and beg to be admitted.

  Poor bloke was a bit prickly, but then he’d tried to help her, and look what he’d gotten for his kindness.

  Jolted into awareness that she was justifying his behaviour, she figuratively shook her head. She’d never learn to stop making excuses for people and thinking the best of everyone.

  More times than she cared to remember, the other children at the orphanage where she grew up had taken advantage of her easygoing nature. Forced to it, she hid a lot of her kindness so as not to seem too peculiar. But it wasn’t her fault she had such a big gooey heart and loved to help others. It wasn’t her fault, either, that some took advantage.

  Growing up with the nuns had schooled her into being a good soul. The Sisters had drilled kindness into all the children, especially the Golden Rule and, unlike most, she’d taken their teachings very seriously. “Do unto others” made total sense to her, and so she lived by the edict. Not just some times. All the time. A sweet angel, the teachers called her. The other kids weren’t so kind. Suck-up, teacher’s pet, and Gabby Abby were some of their nicer names.

  It became essential that she cultivate a thick skin, and having a cheeky attitude didn’t hurt, either. By the time she hit her teens, she’d figured out the best way to make friends, and she worked at it. Pretty soon her acerbic tongue and wild sense of humour had them laughing, and her kind eyes had them loving. Friendships grew and lasted. She became everyone’s confidante, the person they all turned to. And she still wore that mantle today. Working with the vicar suited her to a T. So many lost souls! She gave her time, her unflagging energy, and pieces of her overly large heart to help anyone in need.

  What worried her now—there was still so much to do. With Christmas closing in, she had a huge list of chores that had to be finished. And her job at the vicarage? She loved working there, helping people and getting paid for it. How lucky could a person get? Frustration with this new predicament began to build.

  “Look out. Don’t drop…! Too late.”

  “Are you all right?” He swivelled to look down upon her sprawled shape and quickly scooped her back into his arms, brushing chunks of wet snow from her pale face.

  “How should I know? Being dropped head first probably hurts, dontcha think? Even if I can’t feel anything.”

  “Sorry, I slipped. Godforsaken snow. Look, we’re almost there. Now, we’re still in agreement to tell the vicar our story, right?”

  “Your lies, you mean.”

  A forceful sigh rumbled through his whole frame, and she enjoyed the way he used it instead of words.

  “Does that trick work for you?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “The loud sigh full of disdain.”

  “Utter gibberish. Look, let me handle everything, and I’ll get you to the hospital as soon as possible.”

  “My body, you mean. I’m not in it. I’m here with you.”

  “Not for bloody long.”

  “That made you smile. I wondered if your lips worked, if they could turn upward.”

  “You’re incorrigible.”

  “And you roll your eyes. Why don’t you just yell?”

  “Imbeciles and lowlifes carry on that way. I do not.”

  “Oh, oh! I’m afraid you’re not going to like me very much. I’m a bit of a yeller.”

  “A bit? I hope your boss has some aspirin.”

  Once on the stoop, he steadied her limp form against his side and rang the doorbell. Looking through the glass fogged with frost, they viewed the fire glowing in the hearth, warming the large room beyond the door. To the side of the mantel, a gorgeous Christmas tree stood radiant, sparkling from the many coloured lights, decorations, and an abundance of tinsel. Silver streamers crisscrossed the ceiling with even more tinsel hanging profusely. The room looked like a festive holiday card. Pleased with her decorating, she opened to him to share her enjoyment.

  His sarcasm jarred. “Only thing missing is a jolly little fellow in a bright red suit.”

  “Bah, Humbug!” This time she did yell. Didn’t he appreciate how warm and beautiful and, well, Christmassy the room looked?

  All of a sudden his imagined Santa materialized to open the door, and she stifled her laugh at her new landlord’s reaction. She knew he didn’t have anything in his eye, so the blinking had to be brought on by the astonishing vision in front of them. A little fat man with white hair, flowing whiskers, and the very red suit the sarcastic grouch had described only moments before.

  “It’s the vicar, silly. He’s trying on his costume for the church social at the end of the week.”

  “I knew that.”

&nb
sp; “You’re insufferable. Admit you were shocked.”

  She felt his annoyance once he realized she had experienced his reaction. “Fine, I might have been slightly shocked.”

  The smiling face with raised eyebrows took in the problem with a glance. “Come in. My goodness, yes, come in. Heavens, what happened? Bring Abbie here and put her on the sofa.”

  The vicar rushed to lift the afghan from the back cushions and hold it until Marcus had laid her down. Or more like dropped her. A miniskirt over matching tights, her preferred form of attire, wasn’t very practical on a body handled like a sack of veggies. The garment rode high, barely covering the top of her hips, while her legs splayed out, one on the sofa and the other hanging over to the floor.

  Shock and dismay rang in the old man’s voice. “Poor child! What in the world has happened?”

  How strange to watch as her boss gently picked up her wayward leg to place it near the other. Next he undid the toggle buttons on her sodden duffle coat and slipped it off, then fussily arranged the blanket over her still form. She noticed that his hands trembled as he smoothed her hair from her face.

  “I fell and hit my head.” She answered automatically, using Marcus’ voice.

  “I asked what happened to Abbie. I’m sorry you hurt your head, but she seems to have fainted.” The vicar’s astonishment showed on his face. Probably the distinct feminine tone issuing from the lips of a very masculine body shocked him.

  “Stop talking. I told you I would handle this. Now he thinks something’s wrong with me.”

  “There is something wrong with you. Me!”

  “I know that. But I don’t want anyone else to. So shut it!”

  “You’d better answer him soon. He’s looking slightly annoyed, and he never gets mad.”

  Before Marcus could say a word, the vicar cleared his throat and folded his arms across his chest. The tapping toe added to the picture of a man holding onto his patience.