Christmas Paradise

by Gale Storm

  She awoke cold, miserable and in total darkness. Turning on her side brought a sharp pain. What was wrong? She lay in the darkness listening to the sounds of the house as she gingerly touched her raw side. That man! She wiped her face, feeling the damp perspiration on her brow as she sat up. What time was it?

  If she didn't start a fire soon everything in the house would freeze. She felt a shiver ripple down her back. Taking a deep breath, she pushed to her feet, slid into her wool slippers and threw a small knit afghan over her shoulders.

  Something crashed to the floor in the living room as she reached for her jeans. She focused in the darkness and stood still. What could that be? She knew she was in no shape to confront anyone, but the sounds downstairs were loud and persistent. With a groan she went to the door. Probably he had crashed into something in the shadows. Feeling a wave of disgust and annoyance, she made her way to the stairs.

  Stopping at their head, she stared into the semi-darkness. The noise of breaking glass continued.

  “Who is it?” she called, growing more annoyed by the second as she managed the stairs. “What are you doing? Why didn't you turn on a light? For God's sake, you'll wake the dead. Do you have to break every dish in my house?” She was now at the foot of the stairs feeling the cold wind from the front door. “You didn't even shut the door with a blizzard raging!"

  Seeing red, she marched into the dark kitchen and hit the light switch, gasping as she faced a large brown bear. Her heart fluttered as she looked at the creature, which was intent on a canister of sugar. The bear hardly glanced at her as she put her hands on her hips.

  “Torpon! You thieving bear,” she berated the creature as she recognized him by the small freckle on his cheek. “Haven't you been in enough trouble without this?” She reached for a broom and swatted the bear across the side. A growl filled the midnight air as she continued to hit him. “Get up, you lazy thief! You know better than to bust in here and expect hospitality at this hour. Get out!” Swinging the broom at the bear's rear end, she marched him to the door and out into the snow. “Get out, and stay out."

  Drifts were piled against the house in the moonlight. Shivering from the cold, she stepped back into a solid bulk. Her mouth opened in surprise as two hands locked around her waist, keeping her from falling.

  “Who...?"

  “Good morning, sweetheart.” A deep voice softly spoke in her ear. “Sorry to startle you."

  She twirled around to face Tyrone. “You ... how?” She blinked in amazement.

  “Shouldn't we close the door first? It's freezing."

  He actually had the nerve to wink at her as he pushed the door closed. He was in long underwear, a knit stocking cap over his dark hair. His eyes were heavy, as if he had just awakened.

  Tarry was speechless. She could only stare at him as he backed into the room. He also stared as he eyed the large man's T-shirt she had on over her shapely body, her bare legs.

  “One of your brother's, I take it?” He broke the silence.

  “What...?” She glanced at the worn T-shirt that hung to her knees. She looked as if she'd been swallowed by a tent. She had nothing else on, and as she lifted a hand to her hair it was obvious that Tyrone realized it, too. She shivered in the cold that filled the house. He watched her, his eyes narrowed, covering their blue depths.

  “It's David's. He threw it away years ago. I sleep in it,” she explained as she yawned. She felt color come to her cheeks as he continued to stare at her. Why was she explaining anything to him? She was in her own home, after all.

  “You stayed?"

  A smile played at the left side of his lips as he nodded. “You were right about the storm. I got stuck before I left the yard. I knocked when I came back in. Actually, I knocked, banged, kicked and finally opened the door and walked in. Just like the bear. Does Torpon—” He lifted an eyebrow studying her. “...that's his name, I suspect—do this often?"

  He glanced into her wrecked kitchen.

  Tarry frowned at the canisters lying empty on the floor, flour, sugar and tea spilled on counters, tabletop and tiles with the dark grounds of coffee amid the sparkling glass shreds. Damn Torpon, he knew better than to break into her house like this. He hadn't done it since he was a cub. She glanced back at Tyrone.

  “Why didn't you yell at him, or at least throw something at him?” she asked.

  The twitch at the left side of his lips became a full grin. “Me?” He touched his chest. “I was taught respect for bears, Miss Roessel, not to fight them. If I had known all it took were a broom and a little fire, I might have braved it. But Torpon seemed ten times stronger than I, and at least...” His gaze dropped, taking in her bare legs under the oversized T-shirt, then lifted slowly to her face. “...fifty times heavier than you. Actually, I was thinking of a less aggressive way of getting rid of him."

  “Like your gun, I suppose?” Her voice was sarcastic.

  “Like this tub of honey.” He lifted his hand, showing her the small container he held in it. Tarry tilted her head in pure puzzlement. “I thought if I poured it on the porch, Torpon would forget the canisters and follow me.” He smirked.

  “You're crazy. He would have mauled you."

  “I don't think I'm crazier than you, actually. Attacking a full-grown bear with a broom is sure suicide if I ever saw it!"

  Tarry was speechless as she stared into his amused blue eyes. It was the cold air on her bare legs that brought her out of her trance. “I'll start a fire."

  “Great idea.” He walked in front of her into the kitchen. “Give me the broom.” He reached back and took it from her clenched fist easily.

  For a moment, all she could do was stand and stare as he swept the mess into a pile. He wasn't an overly tall man. She guessed that he was less than six feet, but he held himself with a careless ease that told the world it didn't matter to him in the least. His form was delineated by the skin-tight black silk long johns he had on and showed a superb, compact body. There wasn't an ounce of fat on him. She supposed he was a jogger by the tightness of his thighs and the muscles of his calves. Yes, he could be an athlete if he wanted.

  He bent to sweep under the table and she flushed at the view of his tight backside. She had seen all five of her brother's backsides before but never felt a rush of blood and excitement at the view. She quickly lit a match, watching as a flame caught in the kindling she had placed the day before in her wood-burning kitchen stove.

  “I hope this doesn't represent your entire winter supply.” His voice was warm as he dumped the waste into the trash.

  “Of course not,” she replied defensively. “I'm prepared to remain in this cabin for up to six months, alone or with five men."

  He lifted an eyebrow. “Cozy, to say the least."

  She felt red stain her cheeks at his teasing. He studied her reaction as if it were something totally new to his experience. “I know you meant your five brothers, Terry."

  She was annoyed. “Who else?"

  She faced him, pressing her bottom to the cast iron metal of the stove. It felt good after the cold of the house. He leaned against a counter looking at her; she felt breathless without understanding why. This man was rude, she decided angrily, rude and sophisticated. She knew he was years ahead of her in experience though he couldn't be much older than she was. Actually, she assumed he must be David's age, since they had been classmates in college.

  “Does Torpon make a routine of breaking and entering?” he probed.

  Tarry blinked. She would have sworn he was about to ask her something personal. Something about her lifestyle.

  “No. At least, not since he was a cub."

  “So you raised him, just as you did the wolves, and your brothers? Amazing—you must be quite the mother."

  She wasn't sure why she felt insulted. “Animals and children respond to me. Unluckily or luckily, my circumstances led to my occupation."

  His eyelids lowered as he thought about her statement. “There is no reason you have to remain here,
you know. Your brothers are grown men now, and—"

  She bristled in defense. He had no right to judge her or her motives. “And I'm a grown woman who doesn't need your jaded advice, Mr. Shields."

  “I had noticed.” He smiled, infuriatingly.

  “Ooh!” She swung around as the stove scorched her skin through the thin T-shirt. Tears came to her eyes as she touched the tender spots.

  Tyrone was unaware of the pain caused by the burn. He stepped up to her back.

  “I don't know about you, Terry...” He reached around her, his hand stretched out to the fire. “...but I'm not used to standing around in a cold house in my underwear. Since it's hours before we need to be up, maybe I'll try to get a bit more sleep."

  Tarry nodded, hoping he wouldn't see the tears on her cheeks. She'd been a fool to stand so close to the metal. He squeezed her shoulder and she felt his body touch her back ever so lightly.

  “Terry?” He whispered, low. When she didn't respond, he tightened one hand on her shoulder, turning her to face him. She kept her head lowered, refusing to look at him. “You're the most courageous soul I've ever met in my life, and a truly honest woman. I know things haven't gone well since my arrival, but I do want to make it up to you."

  His fingers moved to her chin as he tried lifting her face. She jerked her head back, her eyes colliding with his. She saw instant concern in his eyes.

  “You're crying.” The statement was one of disbelief.

  “I burned my ... bottom.” With that rather awkward statement she twisted away and fled up the stairs.

  Once in her room Tarry pressed her back to the door. What was wrong with her? She was acting like a five-year-old, or a fool. It wasn't as if she'd never dealt with a man before. Having five brothers had guaranteed she was as familiar with the male psyche as her own.

  He hadn't said anything to distress her, and his touch was only polite. Why did her face burn and her body feel weak? Why did Tyrone Shields disturb her so? He was just a man, nothing special. But even as she thought that, she recalled David telling her about Tyrone's youthful rise within his profession. How Tyrone's talents had not caught him unaware, as he had always seemed self-confident and assured.

  He always knew who he was and what he wanted to do, and her brother had admired him for that. She suspected that Tyrone Shields was brilliant, and that he strove to play down his creative nature. If he felt any inadequacy, it rarely showed and was even less frequently shared.

  She remembered the instant flare of temper that had frightened her after she slapped him. Oh, yes, the man could be ruthless; and she supposed this side of his nature was necessary to his role as a director of temperamental artists. He was a director par excellence, David said, and the stars of Hollywood recognized his genius. They would indulge his flares of temper because he would only turn out a quality product. If he was ever in need of support or understanding he probably sought it from the scads of women who must worship his work.

  What did all this have to do with her? Why dwell on his character when surely she would never see him after tomorrow? For she was determined they should never work together.

  With that thought she went to bed, falling into the cold covers. She would make sure she was dressed tomorrow before running into him again.

  Tarry didn't sleep well. Images of sharp teeth, the barrel of a black gun and the uplifted cynical lips of a man with a dark beard haunted her when she did drift off. She tossed and turned in a fever-induced dream that made no sense, which left her staring into the cold light of morning. Her mouth felt dry, her eyes heavy, her body ached. She could not remember a time in her adult life when she had slept so poorly. A shooting pain stabbed her as she dressed. Her head ached; even her mind ached. It was with a supreme effort of will that she struggled into her snow boots, then fell back on the bed, putting her head in her hands. Dizziness overtook her. It was hard to focus. Through the fuzziness in front of her eyes she stared at a strip of sunlight. She must get up. Her animals depended on her. She knew the dogs’ and chickens’ water would be frozen, if not the pipes in the house. Groaning, she managed to open the door.

  She smelled the coffee. The aroma filled the house. Memory came flooding back. He was still here. The house was warm? He must have built a fire in the central fireplace and fixed himself breakfast. For a moment, Tarry thought about this and wondered at her sense of surprise. After all, Tyrone Shields was a grown man. But she never suspected he would be self-sufficient. A man of his wealth and position could afford every luxury. She touched her aching side, knowing in the night it had grown infected. She knew his wound was worse than hers. How was Cedar?

  She halted at the foot of the stairs as Tyrone came around the corner and collided with her. They were both knocked off-balance, and his hands locked around her upper arms in a steadying grip as he rocked back on his heels.

  “Wow! You pack a powerhouse of energy.” He laughed.

  She stared at him with wide eyes. He lifted a dark eyebrow at the size of her eyes. He appeared completely rested, totally male and unbelievably healthy. “On top of that, you have the eyes of a fawn, quite the most beautifully expressive eyes I've ever seen, Terry."

  Tarry yanked away and tried to step around him.

  “Don't tell me you're still mad? Will coffee help?” He offered.

  “I...” Tarry frowned at him as he neatly blocked her exit. “If you will excuse me, Mr. Shields, I must—"

  He interrupted her. “Do you think it's fair that I call you Terry when you insist on remaining formal with me?"

  She blinked. The man confused her, and he was aware of it.

  “I really don't care what you do. If you will get out of my way now...”

  His lips lifted, and she saw his white teeth through the black beard. He stepped to the side, throwing his arm out in a mocking gesture. His casual manner infuriated her. With all the dignity Tarry had, she stepped around him—and tripped. One moment she was standing proudly, and the next she was on her burned bottom.

  She heard Tyrone's breath hiss from his lips as he reached to prevent her fall, but instantly she was on her feet. She didn't want his concern or his mocking, superior help. She had fended well enough on her own for more than thirty years. She did not need anyone's help now, especially not his.

  Without looking back she reached the entry and pulled on her coat and over boots. Opening the door, she was outside in the snowdrifts in less than a minute. She was startled by the amount of snow that had fallen, well over thirty inches she thought as she plowed through the cold mass. Snow still fell from the heavily overcast sky, and when she saw his Blazer she felt her heart sink. There was no way he would be going anywhere for a very long time. It would take both of them hours to dig the vehicle out.

  The dogs saw her striding toward them and instantly greeted her with barks and whines, their tails wagging in greeting. When she let them into the yard, Cedar limped behind the others, but the pup's eyes were bright and she seemed okay. Tarry rubbed her head and bent down in the soft snow and looked at the wound. It had scabbed over and she knew it would heal quickly. With an effort, she tended the chickens, broke the ice on their water, then returned to the shed and filled the dogs’ food bowls. It was mushy, still warm, and after she set the dishes in their kennels she called them back into the runs then watched as they consumed the food.

  Drawing a deep breath, she headed back to the house. No sense postponing the inevitable, she thought with a frown. Until the storm moved out, she was stuck with the man who had made himself at home in her sanctuary; but that didn't mean she had to treat him as a friend. She didn't like Tyrone Shields, and the sooner he knew it the better off she would be.

  Tarry stomped the packed snow from her boots as she opened the door. Shivering slightly, she shook her shoulders as she removed her down jacket, hanging it on the pegboard. The smell of eggs and bacon filled her nostrils.

  “You're just in time, Miss Roessel. I've made scrambled eggs, bacon, coffee and pancakes. Y
ou're right. You are prepared to feed an army. I've never seen a pantry this size, or such a selection. You must run this place like a restaurant.” His voice was cheerful as he set a platter on the table.

  She hadn't moved; and he looked across at her, his eyes narrowed.

  “I take it your dog is okay. How's everything else?"

  She swallowed her surprise at his calm self-confidence in her kitchen. The man was obviously more than a spoiled superstar.

  “Cedar will be fine,” she stated as calmly as possible before taking a seat. Tarry was not a talker, never had been. Her shy nature hid her natural curiosity and inquiring mind. She felt at a distinct disadvantage in her home, and he was the cause. She wanted to tell him as much, as he quickly placed three perfectly browned pancakes on her plate.

  “Boy, am I ever happy you have a gas range as well as the wood stove. I've never cooked on wood before, but the gas was super,” Tyrone stated as he pushed a cup next to her plate. “You must be chilled to the bone from being outside. Take a sip of coffee—or do you prefer tea or hot chocolate? I made a pot of both just in case.” He was smiling, and she knew he was doing his best to charm her.

  “Mr. Shields, I'm afraid the storm is still blowing. Your vehicle is up to its door handles in a snow drift.” She looked at her plate without appetite. Her head was aching, and she knew she was running a fever. Her sense of humor seemed to have disappeared with his appearance. She frowned as he laughed and sat in the chair across from her, helping himself to the plate of eggs.

  “Not much we can do about it, I suppose.” He forked the eggs into his mouth. “Mmm.” He smacked his lips appreciatively. “This tastes great, even if I say so myself.” He winked at her unashamedly. “How are the pancakes?"

  She hadn't touched them. She dropped her eyes to the perfect circles and reached for the honey tube. “You aren't concerned about getting back? No one will be worried about your absence?"

  She was shocked he wasn't concerned that he was stuck here for an indeterminable amount of time.

  Tyrone ate another mouthful of eggs and held a bacon strip as he considered her.