Holiday Magic (Second Chance)

by Matthews, Susanne

  Terrified, she remembered it was possible for a person to die from a blow to the temple, especially if the blow had been caused by something sharp that had penetrated the skin and bone, or if struck with something flat or blunt, like the tree branch, that might cause a brain hemorrhage, or possibly even crush the skull forcing shards of bone into the brain. She probed the lump, eliciting a groan from him. Thank the Lord, he was alive! Tears ran down her cheeks.

  “Mark? Mark, can you hear me? You have to wake up. You’ll freeze to death out here.” She shook him. “Please, you have to wake up. I can’t get you inside alone. Please, Mark, please, wake up.” Her crying choked her voice, and she worried that he could not hear her over the howling wind and her sobs. She bent down and pressed her lips against his cold ones.

  “Please, Mark, please open your eyes. It can’t end like this, not like this.” Anger took hold of her. “I won’t let it end like this.”

  She pushed him onto his back and grabbed his hood. She would drag him back to the chalet if she had too. Adrenaline gave her strength, and she had moved him almost half way back when she heard him groan. She stopped and knelt beside him.

  “Mark, honey, I’m here,” she sobbed.

  He moaned, slowly opened his eyes, and looked at her, confusion on his face. He tried to speak to her, but the words wouldn’t come. He raised his hand to touch her tear-stained face.

  “What happened?” He croaked, his voice low.

  “The branch broke and fell. It must have hit you on the head. Can you sit up?” She was terrified. With her help, he managed to heave himself into a sitting position. Blood trickled down the side of his face.

  “I’m so cold.” His teeth chattered, and she worried he might be going into shock. She had to get him inside and warm as quickly as possible.

  Chapter Ten

  Georgia helped him get to his knees and then stand, offering encouragement to get him to move in his still disoriented state. She got her arm around him, and as he leaned heavily on her, she eventually managed to get him into the mudroom. She made him sit while she removed his snow-encrusted jacket and boots. She needed to get him upstairs and out of the rest of his wet clothes and examine his head to see how much damage had been done. Moving slowly, one step at a time, she got him upstairs and into the bathroom.

  “Can you get undressed?” she asked. “I’ll get dry things for you from your bag.”

  He nodded, and fumbled for the buttons on his shirt, but his fingers were too stiff and cold to undo them.

  This is no time for modesty or squeamishness. She undid his shirt and the button and zipper on his jeans before fleeing the room.

  ***

  Mark’s head pounded, and he was colder than he’d ever been in his life. Mindful of Georgia’s instructions, he removed his wet shirt, bloodied t-shirt, and jeans, and tossed them on the floor. He sat on the toilet seat and removed his socks. The floor was heated, and he could feel the heat move up into his body. He stepped over to the sink and looked at himself.

  His hair was wet, matted, and blood seeped down the side of his face. He used tissue to wipe it off, to assess the rest of the damage. There were scratches on his forehead and cheekbones from the smaller branches, and he probed a tender area under his right eye with his fingers. He would probably have one heck of a shiner by morning.

  He remembered he’d been on his way back to the chalet when he’d heard the crack, turned around, and then blackness. Thank God it had hit him and not her. His right shoulder was sore, but nothing felt broken. He had been lucky. He remembered hearing a man had died from a similar accident only last winter.

  Georgia knocked on the door.

  “Mark, can I come in? I have dry clothes and towels for you.”

  “Yeah, come on in. I’m more or less decent.”

  She opened the door and entered the small bathroom. She carried a pair of jogging pants, underwear, a sweatshirt and socks as well as two large towels and a first-aid kit. Her face was red from the cold, and he could see the salt from the tears that had dried on her cheeks.

  “Let me look at your head. I couldn’t get a good look outside. Sit on the toilet. It’ll be easier for me.”

  Mark complied, and Georgia took some gauze out of the kit. He could feel her hands trembling as she dabbed at the cut. Having her stand so close to him was agonizing. He could see the rise and fall of her breasts with each breath she took. He wanted to pull her into his arms and nuzzle those mounds, so much tinier than they had been. He could only imagine how sweet they would taste.

  “I’ll try not to hurt you, and I know that even small head wounds bleed a lot, so let’s hope this is just one of those,” she said pulling him back from his fantasy, as she used the gauze pads to clean the area. “It’s about an inch long, and it’s above your ear. I was afraid it might have been on your temple.” He heard the relief in her voice.

  “You’re lucky. It isn’t deep, so you probably don’t need stitches. If you did, I don’t know what I’d do. I think I’d pass out right now if I tried to sew up your head,” she said and giggled. He was sure relief was making her giddy. They had both had quite a shock.

  She took some disinfectant out of the kit, applied it to the cuts and scratches on his face.

  “Ow! That stings!” he cried.

  “Don’t be a baby. I don’t want them to get infected. The cut has stopped bleeding, but it may start again when you wash your hair, but I think you need to wash it. There is blood matted in it, and you need to be clean and warm. I can check it again after. Now which would you prefer, a shower or a bath? I don’t know how long you were out in the snow. You’d been gone forty minutes when I went looking for you. I heard the crack. I didn’t realize it was a tree, but I went out to find you shortly after that.”

  “I was in the garage about twenty minutes. I refilled the tank on the generator, so it should be good for the night, and then I had to get my cell phone charger from the van. I forgot it earlier. It should be in my coat pocket. I hope I didn’t lose it in the snow when I fell.”

  He didn’t want to tell her remembering those Christmas ornaments they had bought had devastated him. Working side by side with her all afternoon had been torture, and when those ornaments had flashed through his mind, he had had to get away from her before he did something he would regret.

  Since he hadn’t spent a single Christmas in town, he’d forgotten about them until today. Some were balls, others reindeer, different figures, and candy canes. He knew one of them was a bride and groom holding a glass pillow that read ‘Our First Christmas’. The man had promised to engrave the date on it when they returned with it after the wedding. He’d refused to do it before, saying something about a superstitious gypsy grandmother.

  “I’ll take a shower.”

  She turned bright red, and seemed to force herself to ask, “Will you be okay on your own? Are you dizzy or anything? Do you need help?”

  For a split second, he visualized her in the shower with him, and his body reacted swiftly to the image. He thought to lie and say he needed her help, but honesty between them was a must. Besides, she looked embarrassed at the thought of helping him that way, and the last thing he wanted to do was make her uncomfortable.

  “I’ll be fine,” he said, but put out his hand to stop her from leaving. “Thanks, Georgia. You probably saved my life. The cut and the bump may not be big ones, but I could have died from exposure.”

  Georgia paled, and the reaction surprised him, but then he remembered her tears. She had been petrified out there. He had dreamt that she had kissed him and called him honey, but he must have been hallucinating.

  “I’ll go and make you a warm drink.” Her voice was husky. “I brought these towels from home. I couldn’t find any others, but there is a washer downstairs, so I can try to wash the blood out of your clothes. The t-shirt is probably toast, but the shirt is dark, so it may not stain. I’ll dry the wet towels when you’re done.” She bent down and picked up his things.


  “I’ll get the charger from your coat pocket, and try to sponge the blood out of our jackets before I put them in the dryer too.” She turned and left him alone.

  Mark turned on the shower, removed his shorts, and stood under the hot water. The injury on his head hurt and probably had started to bleed, but he didn’t care. The fact that she had been so distraught gave him hope.

  Georgia carried his wet clothes down the stairs and into the utility room. Mechanically, she rinsed the t-shirt in cold water, washing away much of the blood and did the same for his black shirt. Once rinsed, she filled the washer with cold water for a medium load and put in his jeans, t-shirt, and shirt. She removed the contents of his pockets. when she put the wallet on the dryer, it fell open revealing a picture of the two of them, the picture that had been used to announce their engagement, the same picture she kept buried in a drawer because she couldn’t bear to look at it, but she couldn’t get rid of it either. Seeing it was the last straw, her legs no longer able to bear her weight, she collapsed in a heap on the floor.

  She started to shake. Dear God, he could have died! There was no way that she could deny that she loved him. Seeing him lying there on the snow, flakes blanketing him as they continued to fall had shocked her. What if she hadn’t gone to look for him? How much longer would it have been before he would have been buried under the snow, the same way someone caught in an avalanche would be?

  She worked to slow her breathing. She had to get a grip on herself. She needed to be strong. As her father would have said, she needed to soldier on. He had no one to rely on now but her. He would need something warm to drink, and she had to get the charger. Suddenly, another thought crossed her mind. It had been a heavy branch. She’d hardly been able to move it. What if he had a concussion? She needed to call and find out what to do.

  Knowing that his life could still be in danger gave her the grit she needed to get her wayward emotions under control. She got up, used her hands to brush away the tears. She needed to be strong. She went to the doorway where she had left their coats and searched through his pockets for his charger. She found it in the inside pocket, and carried the coats into the utility room. She could still hear the water running in the shower, so she took a rag, sponged at the blood on them, and did the best she could to clean them up before putting them in the dryer.

  She went upstairs and looked for his phone. She hadn’t brought one because she had canceled her service before leaving New York and hadn’t gotten another one. When she tried to call, she found that she could not get a signal. Not a good thing. No doubt the weather was to blame.

  While she waited for the coffee maker to do its thing, she searched the bookshelf and found a book on first aid, and was just finishing the entry on head injuries when the coffee was ready.

  The shower had stopped several minutes ago, so she poured a cup of the steaming brew and added a healthy measure of brandy to it. Just as she was ready to knock on the door to see if he was having any trouble, he came out.

  He walked into the kitchen in comfortable clothing she had recognized, and wondered if the old Penn State sweatshirt was the one she had given him years ago. It was frayed and faded, so it could be. His hair was a jumble of loose curls, and he looked like an adorable little boy who had just come in from a scuffle. Her heart contracted, and she took a deep breath.

  “Here, sit down and let me look at your head.” She hoped her voice sounded more confident and in charge than she felt. “It looks like the bleeding has stopped.” She handed him a bag of frozen peas wrapped in a tea towel. “Here, put this on the bump to take down the swelling.” She went to the sink and washed her hands.

  “We’ll have to watch you for nausea, and sleepiness, as well as disorientation. How are you feeling,” she asked.

  “Well, I have a bitch of a headache, and my shoulder is sore, but I think I’ll live,” he joked.

  “Don’t you dare joke about this. I was so scared when I found you.” Tears pooled in her eyes again. He dropped the bag of peas on the counter, reached for her, and folded her into his arms.

  Despite her determination to be strong, the feel of his arms around her was her undoing. She started to cry in earnest, burrowing into him, seeking all the reassurance he could give. She forgot her decision to keep her distance, forgot he might not care as she did, forgot everything but the warmth and comfort his arms provided. The steady thumping of his heart, assured her that he was alive, and his murmured words of support eventually dried her tears. Although she knew she should move, she felt powerless to do so. It was Mark who eased her away.

  “Feeling better?” he asked. “I’m sorry I scared you. I’ll try not to do it again.”

  She smiled through her tears. “You’d better not.” She pointed to his shirt. “You won’t have anything left to wear. I’ll see if I can find you a dry shirt. There are some things in the closet in the room I chose.” She pulled out of his arms and climbed the stairs.

  She wasn’t sure how she was going to bring up the revised sleeping arrangements, but she thought it might be better if they shared one room in case he did show signs of concussion. She hoped he would not argue with her. She was afraid to let him out of her sight again. Besides, they would be in sleeping bags.

  When she came back, she handed him a plaid flannel shirt. “I found this is the cupboard. Mr. Ingram must have left it. It should fit.”

  “Thanks.” He pulled the sweatshirt over his head.

  In the bathroom, she had been still too shocked to notice his bare chest and abs, but now, the sight of him caused fire to course through her veins and settle low in her stomach. He was still fit and as sexually attractive to her as he had always been. In fact, in three years, not one other man had even stirred an ember in her. She had always been his.

  “I’ll go put this near the fire, and then reheat your coffee.” She was amazed she could speak with her emotions clogging her throat as they were. “Why don’t you go and sit by the fire?”

  “Did you happen to bring anything for a headache?” I couldn’t find anything in the bathroom.”

  She opened her purse and took out a small bottle of acetaminophen tablets, shook out two, and brought them to him. She gave him water from a bottle she’d found in the fridge and handed him his coffee. He took the pills, and then sipped the coffee. He choked.

  “Holy cow! How much brandy did you put in this? Remember, I told you I don’t drink much anymore. You’re going to knock me out again! I thought you said I wasn’t to get sleepy.”

  She giggled. “Not that much, but I didn’t measure it. I wanted to warm you up. I thought you liked brandy?”

  “I do, but it’s a little strong. You’re right though. It certainly has warmed me up. Did you find my charger?”

  “Yes. It was in your coat pocket just as you said. I tried to make a call, but there’s no signal. I plugged it in. It’s in the kitchen. I’ll dilute the coffee.”

  She came back into the room with two cups. “I divided it and added more coffee for you and milk for me.” She handed it to him. “Is that better?”

  “It’s great, thanks. It’s a good thing that the wiring is underground. The fallen tree could have left us without power. If they start coming down like that all over the county, we may be here for another night. I think I told you earlier that Charlie had said that if worse came to worse, it might be Monday before we could get out.”

  She nodded, moved back over to the Christmas tree, and started to add more balls.

  “Well, at least we have lots of food and wood.” She hoped she sounded cheerful and not terrified. “The fridge and freezer are full, and I think I’m cried out for a while,” she added trying to make light of her emotional reaction earlier. Three days alone with him? How would she manage to keep from throwing herself at him? And tonight they would lie side by side in sleeping bags on the same bed? Who was she kidding? That was going to be torture, but if he did have a concussion… She cleared her throat, trying to sound upbeat and friendly.r />
  “There are some movies on the shelf. Why don’t you choose something to watch while I finish the tree?”

  “Maybe I’d rather watch you,” he said softly.

  She turned to look at him, surprised by the warmth in his eyes. She blushed.

  Chapter Eleven

  Georgia quickly turned back to the tree to hide how shaken she was by the intensity of his gaze.

  “Suit yourself.” The catch in her voice kept it soft and low. “If you don’t want to watch a movie, why don’t you put a CD on? The player is over there on the shelving unit near the stairs.”

  She heard him move, and a few minutes later, the strains of Bing Crosby singing ‘White Christmas’ filled the room.

  “Since we’re decorating for Christmas, we might as well have mood music.” said he came and stood close behind her. “There’s little doubt that Christmas will be white around here. Let me help.”

  Georgia nodded, unable to trust herself to answer. The Christmas song had always been one of her favorites. He handed her the balls one by one, and when she’d put them all in the tree, he gave her the bows. Finally, they worked together to put on the individual strands of tinsel. She knew from past experience he hated this part of tree decorating. He much preferred tossing clumps of the silver threads at the tree and seeing where they landed.

  He shook his head. “I don’t know where you get the patience for it. If I had to do this any longer,” he held up a handful of tinsel, “I’d go crazy.”

  She laughed. It felt good to be happy again. She reached for the shiny mess he held in his hand. “I think we’re done.”

  She stood back and admired their handiwork. She smiled and turned around to look at him. “What do you think?”