Baby It's Cold Outside

by Susan May Warren

  “You sound like you’re married to her.”

  He did, didn’t he?

  “Why do you do all that?”

  Gordy stared at his hands. Too rough, too big. “Because maybe if I’d asked her to marry me the right way, she wouldn’t have run off, got married, and come back pregnant.”

  Jake just stared at him, Gordy’s words reflected in his expression.

  Gordy looked away. “This is all my fault.”

  “What way is the wrong way?” Jake’s words emerged soft, almost kind.

  Gordy flinched, but the image came anyway. Him, catching her before she escaped in her father’s Model T, all gussied up and pretty for a trip to the soda fountain in town to meet TJ. She wore the yellow dress, the one with the tiny blue flowers, and had her hair in pin waves around her head. “Gordy, what are you doing here?”

  He’d hooked her by the elbow, pulled her back into an empty stall, where they’d piled the fresh straw. “Stopping you from doing something foolish.”

  Her smile dimmed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “You’re going to deny that you’re going down to see TJ? That last Friday you let him bring you home at three a.m.?”

  “Were you watching me out your window?”

  Yes. But he had the brains not to let that issue from his mouth. “He’s trouble, Dottie, and a gal like you is going to get hurt—”

  “A gal like me?” She yanked her arm away from him. “What kind of gal is that?”

  A sweet gal. A gal who, despite her bobbed hair and firecracker spirit, needed to stay in Frost. A gal who made him feel smart, and handsome. Or, at least, once had. “A small-town gal.”

  But those hadn’t been the right words. She put her hands on his chest, pushed him away. “I’m not a small-town gal!”

  “You are—and I’m a small-town guy. And we belong together. We’ve always belonged together.”

  And then—then his desperation turned him into a man he didn’t recognize. A man who pushed her back into the straw and kissed her. And not a tentative, sweet kiss like so many he’d stolen before. No, this one bared his heart.

  He didn’t know if she kissed him back—maybe she had, but certainly by the time he raised his head, met her eyes, he’d wounded something between them.

  She was breathing hard, a strange emotion in her eyes. He didn’t want to think it might be fear.

  “Don’t leave Frost,” he’d said, his heart right in the middle of his throat, choking off his voice as he leaned away from her. He swallowed it down, cupped her face with his work-roughened hand. “Marry me, Dottie. I’m the one you want.”

  His world stopped then, right there, in that moment. In her intake of breath, the way her gaze roamed his face. Please.

  Then she shook her head, wriggling away from him.

  He’d wanted to pin her there, to hold her fast until she agreed with him, but for all his desperation, he couldn’t be that guy.

  He didn’t want to make Dorothy Wilson love him. Or maybe he just didn’t know how. He gritted his teeth, feeling the heat stoke in his chest, clog his throat as she dusted off her pretty yellow dress. As she backed away from him toward the truck, leaving him there in the stall.

  “Stay away from me, Gordy Lindholm. Just, stay away.”

  He closed his eyes against the image of her leaving him. She returned six months later, with a new name and expecting Nelson.

  So, he’d stayed away.

  “I’m not good with words,” Gordy finally said to Jake.

  “That’s apparent. You and Dottie are constantly barking at each other.”

  “I don’t bark.”

  “You’re an old hound dog, Gordy. But even the old hounds can win a gal with a little wooing.”

  “I don’t woo.”

  “That could be your problem. She’s not your wife, and if you keep on barking at her, she never will be. Woo the woman. Say kind things to her.”

  “She doesn’t want me to be kind to her.”

  “What kind of malarkey is that? Every woman wants kindness. Besides, it’s only for a day. We’re trapped here. What else do you have to do?”

  A gust of wind shook the house and the flames flickered.

  “Are you going to tell Violet the truth?”

  Jake sighed, leaned his head back. “Just for a day, can’t I be the hero?”

  Gordy pressed his hand on the boy’s head, hating how the kid shivered.

  Yeah, maybe.

  Maybe today they’d all be people they weren’t.

  * * * * *

  Something about Jake seemed so familiar. Violet knew she’d never met him before, but being with him felt so…easy.

  Like she’d known him for years.

  Her hand still tingled where he’d touched it—she felt like she had when she was thirteen, that day when Robbie Larson had told her she was the prettiest girl in school. Not that Jake had said as much, but…

  He needs a woman’s touch.

  Violet caught her hand, held it to herself. When he’d looked at her, she felt beautiful. He didn’t have to say it.

  But why did he lie about being the rescuer in Alex’s story? Of course he’d rescued Alex—Jake was just that type.

  “Can you hand me those potatoes,” Dottie said from the stove. Violet had made her way to the kitchen, where Dottie stood opening a can of meat. She dumped it into the soup, juice and all.

  Violet lifted a colander with peeled, cut potatoes from the sink, handing them to Dottie.

  “What are you making?”

  “Kitchen cabinet soup. I found some canned cabbage and a jar of carrots and a can of pork. I hope it’s not too old. I should have picked up that hen. How’s Arnie?”

  “Arnie?”

  “I think that boy is Arnie Shiller.”

  “I know that name. He’s on the overdue list for a Flash Gordon Little Big Book.” She leaned against the counter. Funny, her ankle had stopped throbbing. “Jake needs a thermometer.”

  “What is he, a doctor?”

  “I don’t think so. He just…well, I think he rescued Alex a long time ago from drowning.”

  “He’s a real hero, isn’t he? I mean, leaving out my tree, of course, he doctors up your knee and then makes us all breakfast. Now he’s saving that little boy. Are you sure you want to keep grieving for Alex?”

  Dottie’s question caught Violet’s breath. “Alex deserves to be grieved. But yes, Jake…he seems like the real deal. And I don’t think he knows about my service in the WAACs.” She lowered her voice. “I’d like to keep it that way.”

  Dottie glanced at her. “What on earth for? Serving your country is something to be proud of.”

  “Not according to my mother and most of the fellas I’ve met.”

  “Pshaw.”

  “I just want him to see me as a regular lady, not with grease on my face.”

  “I would think you’d want him to see you as a lady, even with grease on your face.”

  “Please, Dottie? Just for today. Don’t tell him, okay?”

  Dottie sighed. “I don’t like charades, but…perhaps we’d all like a fresh start.”

  Violet looked more closely at her. Dottie’s eyes seemed reddened. Had she been…crying?

  “Dottie, are you all—”

  “I’m fine.” She took the colander from Violet’s hands, dropped the potatoes into the pot one by one. “I just hope this is enough. Guests, I never planned for guests.”

  “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come over hoping to get the star.”

  “You can have the star, Violet.” Dottie dropped the colander in the sink. “You can have it and keep it. I’ll never hang it again anyway.” She turned away, ran water into the sink.

  Oh, Dottie… Outside, the snow blew against the window, piling on the windowpane. It seemed lighter outside, as if the sun managed to slice through the storm, although it still appeared as twilight out. Still, the snow whitened the world, covered it with a fresh grace.


  They’d have a white Christmas after all.

  The thought stilled her. “Tomorrow is Christmas Eve.”

  “Indeed,” Dottie said, but her voice sounded tight, stilted.

  “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  Dottie nodded, but her shoulders betrayed her. Violet didn’t move.

  “I just don’t understand why he’s still here.”

  “Who—Jake?”

  “Gordy.”

  “He’s stranded—”

  “No, I mean, why does he persist in driving me to my last nerve?” She turned, pressing a towel to her face. She shook her head. “He just can’t help but torment me. Everything, from filling the wood bin to his little gifts of milk on the doorstep. He’s always hovering. And then…” She looked at Violet, pressed her hand to her lips. Whispered.

  “He kissed me.”

  Violet stared at her, nonplussed. What? “Mr. Lindholm?”

  “No, Santa Claus. Yes, Mr. Lindholm. He kissed me, right out there in the snow. Like we were teenagers.”

  Perhaps they were. Violet had to hide a smile. “Clearly he cares about you. He even said so.”

  “He’s just trying to remind me of my mistakes.”

  Violet frowned. “Dottie, don’t be silly.”

  “It’s true.” Dottie picked up a long wooden spoon. “He knows I wished I’d said yes that day he proposed.”

  “He proposed to you?”

  “Twenty-six years ago.”

  “Why didn’t you say yes?” Gordy had proposed? Violet knew something simmered between them.

  Dottie’s mouth pursed into a tight knot. “I was a stubborn, silly girl. I wanted him to tell me he loved me.” She shook out some dried herb from a jar above the stove, added it to the soup. “TJ told me he loved me the first day he met me. Why would it take Gordy over twenty years?”

  “Dottie! He says he loves you every time he fills your wood bin.”

  “No. He says, see what you could have had.” She faced Violet. “And I could have. I—I came home, and I—I could have apologized. But he never came over, and…I was ashamed.”

  “For over twenty years you’ve been ashamed? Of Nelson?”

  Dottie shook her head. “No, never of Nelson. Nelson made me believe that God had forgiven me. That He still loved me despite my impulsiveness.” She gave a despairing laugh. “Apparently, I was wrong about that too.”

  “Dottie—”

  “You know, there was a time when I thought Gordy had forgiven me.” She went to the window, stared out, as if seeing something beyond the billowing snow. “He and Nelson…they had something special. Nelson started helping Gordy on the farm when he was about seven, I guess. I didn’t stop him—my father had passed, and I thought it would be good for Nelson. Gordy, after all, was a good man. And they started hunting together. Gordy taught him how to shoot, and we had venison every year. I started to think—to hope—that Nelson might help us find a way back. I remember one day as he headed out, I suggested that Gordy could come in for dinner that night. I even…I even went outside to greet them. I stood on the step and waved.”

  She lifted her hand, as if back in time. “Gordon just stood there, on the edge of the property, beyond the stone wall.”

  “He didn’t come in.”

  “Not once.” Dottie turned around, folding her arms across her chest. “Until last night, of course.”

  “So you two have never spoken of your loss.”

  “Our loss?”

  “Nelson. If Gordy loved him like a father, then he’s grieving—”

  “He wasn’t Nelson’s father.”

  “But…” Violet turned her voice to low. “Don’t you think he wanted to be?”

  Dottie looked away, but a muscle pulsed in her jaw.

  “He’s here now. Maybe—maybe God is giving you another chance to make things right between you two.”

  Dottie held up a finger, her eyes sharp. “Don’t you talk to me of God and second chances. God took my son, and I deserved it. There are no chances left for me.”

  Violet stilled, Dottie’s words landing in the back of her throat, scraping it raw. She found her voice, kept it gentle. “Dottie, the point of Christmas is second chances for all mankind.”

  “I don’t celebrate Christmas anymore.” She shook her head. “There’s nothing left in it for me.”

  “Except, of course, Jesus.”

  Dottie turned away. “You’ll find the thermometer in the bathroom cabinet.”

  “We’re trapped here for a reason. What was it we prayed last night? ‘Come, Lord Jesus, be our guest’? Isn’t He here with us?”

  Dottie stared out the window. “I hope not. He’s done enough already. He’s had His say in my life.”

  “I don’t think God is ever done speaking into our lives. Even when we don’t want to hear it. Even when our hearts are cold.”

  “Violet!” Jake’s voice rose from the next room, ringing of urgency. “Dottie!”

  Gordy appeared at the door. “The kid is waking up.”

  * * * * *

  Arnie’s wails poured through Dottie, clear to her bones, settling there with a hot ache as she watched him struggle in Jake’s embrace.

  His moaning seemed to hold the rest of them captive. Gordy looked stricken, his eyes wide, as if he’d never seen suffering.

  “What’s wrong with him?” Violet said, her arms curled around herself.

  “Now that he’s warming, the blood is flowing into his extremities, and it hurts.” Jake sat up, holding the boy against himself. “This is what happens when you’re cold too long. Warming up is excruciating.”

  Arnie did appear warmer, his ghostly gray cheeks now a shade of pink.

  Jake clamped his arms tight around the boy, holding him as he thrashed.

  “Oh, for Pete’s sake, hand him to me.” More an impulse than a desire, Dottie sat down on the sofa and reached for the boy.

  Jake pushed Arnie onto her lap. He wasn’t a large child; perhaps if he’d been husky, he might not have suffered so. Dottie felt his bones through the blanket as he shook. His crying fell to whimpers then back to wailing.

  But he curled against her, and she held on. “Shh.”

  Gordy turned back to the fire, added a log, then just stayed crouched, staring at the flames.

  “Is he going to be okay?” he finally said to Jake.

  Jake had risen, grabbed his shirt. “I don’t know.” He crouched, reached for the boy’s white toes. “They don’t look frostbitten.” He met Dottie’s eyes. “Where do I find some socks?”

  She spoke without thinking. “Upstairs, in Nelson’s room, top drawer.”

  He ran up the stairs as Gordy glanced at her. She gave him a look. “What am I to do—let the boy freeze?”

  But instead of barking back at her, his face softened. “No.”

  She tucked her head against Arnie’s, whispering, her tone warm. “It’s going to be okay. Once, when my boy Nelson was about six, he went ice skating. When he came in, his feet were nearly ice blocks. We thawed them in the tub and he cried for an hour. But then it was over, and he was warm again, good as new.”

  She didn’t look up as she spoke. But she wondered if Gordy heard her, remembering those days when he’d watch them skating on the pond, back before the marsh overtook it.

  “I’ll get tea for him,” Violet said.

  “Make sure it’s not too hot,” Gordy said. And then, to Dottie’s surprise, he pulled up a chair across from her and took the little boy’s toes in his big hands.

  This could have been their grandson. The thought pulsed inside her. They might have had more children, a daughter, perhaps. Well, no, probably Arnie was too old, but the thought wouldn’t leave her.

  This could have been their life.

  Maybe God is giving you another chance to make things right between you and Gordy.

  She glanced up, but Violet hadn’t yet returned.

  Gordy sat so close, his expression tight against Arnie’s whimpering. He smel
led of the smoky fire, had rolled up his sleeves past his elbows to reveal his amazing farmer’s forearms.

  She had been in those arms, and pushed him away.

  Arnie continued to squirm, almost falling off Dottie’s lap.

  “Let me take him,” Gordy said, moving to sit beside her, as if she would simply acquiesce and hand the boy to him.

  Dottie tightened her grip, almost an instinctive move. But the tenderness on Gordy’s face as he looked at the boy loosed her hold. Maybe Arnie did need someone stronger than her to hold him.

  “Be careful,” she said as she released Arnie into Gordy’s arms. He held the boy as Dottie tucked the blankets around him.

  Arnie immediately curled into Gordy’s chest as Gordy wrapped his strong arms around him.

  Dottie had to turn away, focus for a moment on the flames in the hearth.

  “I found the socks.” Jake returned down the stairs and handed them to Dottie. She crunched them in her hands a moment, warming them before working them onto Arnie’s feet.

  His cries had subsided to a persistent moan. She cupped his cold cheek. “It’s going to be okay, Arnie.”

  He chose then to open his eyes. And for a second, just stared at her. She tried a smile, but it seemed too late because, gaze still glued to hers, he pushed away from her, kicking at her. “No! No!”

  “Arnie, you’re safe.” Gordy’s voice cut through the boy’s panic. He leaned down, guiding the boy’s gaze to his own. “You made it to the barn. You were very brave.”

  Dottie’s eyes filmed.

  Arnie looked up at Gordy. “I wanna go home.”

  She expected some snippy remark, even under his breath, from Gordy, but he surprised her again by softening his voice into something kind, even fatherly.

  “I know. But the storm is too bad. I promise, we’ll take good care of you. You’re at your storm house.”

  She stared at the fire again, blinking against the heat.

  “No—I have to go home,” Arnie said.

  “You’re going to be okay, Arnie. It’ll stop hurting when you get warm. Look, Mrs. Morgan’s here. You remember her from the library, don’t you?”

  Arnie’s eyes widened. Dottie turned back and offered a smile.