A Highlander Christmas

by Janet Chapman

  You’re doing a good job of keeping her warm,” he crooned, sliding his hand under the jacket to make sure the dog’s weight was still on the mattress, and not putting pressure on Camry’s ribs. He rubbed Tigger’s ear. “Let’s hope it’s the extra pill I gave her that’s making her sleep, and not shock.”

  He wrapped his arm around Max when the dog came over and nosed Camry, also whining worriedly. “Okay, gang, we need to come up with a new game plan,” he whispered, his hand trembling as he patted Max. “Because this one isn’t working.”

  Max drove his nose inside the sled beside Camry’s body, then lifted his head with Roger’s pointed hat in his mouth and dropped the hat on her face. When Luke quickly snatched it off, Max nosed Camry’s hair with a whine.

  “Okay, if it will make you feel better, I’ll put it on her,” Luke said, carefully replacing the wool hat she was wearing with the heavy velvet pointed one.

  Camry stirred, and two faint flags of color appeared on her cheeks.

  Luke touched his finger to her pulse again and found it much stronger. “Whoa,” he whispered on an indrawn breath. “That certainly helped.” He glanced at Max, then at Tigger. “Any other suggestions? Because at this point I’m open to anything, no matter how harebrained it might sound.”

  Max suddenly took off down the road, then just as suddenly veered into the woods. He stopped, looked back at Luke, and started barking.

  Luke stood up, groaning when his muscles protested, and closed the tarp back over the sled. “Come on, Tig. Let’s go see where Max thinks he’s going,” he muttered, hooking the rope back over his shoulders and starting off down the road.

  But he suddenly picked up his pace with renewed hope. Maybe Max smelled a wood fire or something else that meant that help was close by.

  When he reached the spot where the Lab had gone into the woods, Luke found what looked like a game trail. Max was standing about twenty yards in, facing him, his tail wagging. He barked again, then took off deeper into the woods.

  Luke glanced down the road—the certain path to civilization—then back toward where Max had disappeared, trying to see through the trees. The sun had dropped below the horizon already, even though it wasn’t even four o’clock. Today was the shortest day of the year, and Luke knew that he was facing the longest night of the year. But even in what little light that was left, he could see that the lake was about a hundred yards from where he was standing.

  Out of sight now, Max started barking excitedly.

  Luke looked back down the road. He didn’t want to expend his energy on a wild-goose chase, but he didn’t want to walk right past help, either.

  Tigger suddenly jumped out of the sled and started lunging through the deep snow right past him, following Max’s path.

  “I guess that settles that,” he muttered, stepping back to check on Camry. When he saw she was looking far less pale than she had been, he turned and started following the dogs. The trail emerged onto the shoreline, and Luke stopped beside Max and Tigger, who were looking out at the lake, their wagging tails brushing the snow.

  Luke pulled his GPS out of his pocket, called up the screen that told him exactly where he was, and realized that he was still sixteen miles from Winter’s house by way of the tote road. A chill ran down his spine as he recalled Roger’s note; it appeared he had been taking two steps back for each step forward.

  They had traveled only two miles in four hours.

  Which meant that at the rate he was walking—which was only going to get slower the more tired he grew—it was going to take him days to get them out of these woods. He zoomed out the map on the screen and saw that if he cut diagonally down the lake, Pine Creek was less than six miles away.

  Of flat going.

  With a full moon to light the way.

  And possibly thin ice that he wouldn’t be able to see.

  Did he have the right to risk drowning Camry . . . to save her foot?

  But it wasn’t really her ankle that worried him; he was afraid she was going into shock. And though he didn’t know much about medicine—emergency or otherwise—he was pretty sure shock was fatal if not treated in time.

  He stepped to the sled and peeled back the tarp, plopped down in the snow and took off his glove, then reached in and wrapped his fingers around Camry’s hand. He looked back out at the expanse of lake in front of him. Could he really shut down his brain long enough to follow his heart?

  Just like he had thirteen years ago, when he’d found Kate and Maxine?

  He hadn’t stopped long enough to weigh the odds of his saving Kate versus their drowning.

  Hell, he hadn’t been thinking at all; he’d just acted on instinct. Nothing had mattered except getting her away from that river, and if they’d both drowned, well . . . he would have died knowing she hadn’t died alone.

  But by some miracle, neither of them had.

  Was that what Roger had meant in his note, when he’d written that Luke had already experienced creating a miracle when he’d needed it?

  Because honest to God, from when he’d found Kate’s and Maxine’s tracks under that tree to when he’d gone out onto the ice sheet after them, it had felt like time had actually stopped. He’d reached the river in what had seemed like only seconds, even though it had been over a mile away, then taken off his snowshoes, gone out to her, and flung her to safety with absolutely no sense of urgency. His actions hadn’t been rushed or even in slow motion; time had truly ceased to exist.

  So why in hell was he so determined to deny that miracles existed?

  Because if they did exist, it would mean there really was some unknown factor ruling his beloved science, something that he couldn’t quantify . . . or control.

  And God knows he’d spent his entire pre-adult life feeling out of control—from his accidental conception and arrival into the world, to his being raised by three women determined to mother him, to his mother’s marriage to a man who had been equally determined to father him. Even getting a baby sister he hadn’t asked for.

  So maybe the real miracle on that river had absolutely nothing to do with Kate, but rather with the fact that, for the first time in his life, he’d stopped being self-centered long enough to uncompromisingly, unpretentiously, and unconditionally love someone other than himself.

  A condition that had lasted all of four weeks, until he’d returned to school and fallen right back into his old habit of putting himself first. And he’d tenaciously clung to his self-centeredness all through his career, not collaborating with anyone unless it served him more than it served the greater good, and even going so far as to steal someone else’s work when he’d lost control of his own.

  Christ, he deserved to die out here.

  But Camry sure as hell didn’t—because she loved him exactly the way he was.

  And he sure as hell loved her more than he loved himself.

  So maybe it was time he listened to his heart.

  Luke looked at his watch and saw it was four o’clock. He lifted Camry’s hand and kissed the stone ring on her finger, then tucked it back under the sleeping bag, got to his knees, and kissed her warm forehead.

  “Okay, sleeping beauty,” he whispered. “It’s time for me to make some magic.” He snuggled Roger’s hat farther down on her head. “Too bad you’re going to sleep right through the miracle I’m about to create.”

  He stood up, picked up Tigger, and tucked her back inside Camry’s jacket. Then, after removing the bag of gear from the back of the sled and tossing it in the snow, he patted his leg. “Come on, Max. You’re riding, too.” He set the Lab in the sled, making sure the dog didn’t crowd Camry and Tigger. “Santa Claus is arriving at Gù Brath on the solstice this year, and I’m the reindeer who’s going to make this sled fly. So hang on tight, everyone,” he finished with a laugh, closing the tarp and securing it to the side.

  He stepped to the front of the sled, settled the rope over his shoulders, then reached into his pockets for his gloves. After putting them on,
he pulled the GPS out of one pocket and the transmitter out of the other.

  Luke tossed the GPS in the snow next to their gear, then held up the transmitter. “Okay, Rudolph, you guide my sleigh to Camry’s house, because her mother’s expecting her daughter to blow out thirty-two candles in a two hours and fifteen minutes.”

  The infernal thing gave a lively chirp.

  Luke tucked it in his pocket with a laugh, then stepped out onto the lake. He took another step, and then another, keeping pace with the soft chirps coming from his pocket.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  So deep was Luke in the zone of putting one foot in front of the other that it took him a moment to realize that something was interfering with his hearing the steady chirp of the transmitter. He looked up from the moonlit snow in front of him and stopped dead in his tracks.

  Max started yipping, and Luke shrugged off the rope and went back and opened the tarp. The Lab immediately jumped out and ran toward the bright lights of town, barking frantically. Luke peered in to see that Camry was still sleeping, her relaxed face rosy pink as Tigger’s wagging tail made her jacket move. He petted the dachshund. “You did good, girl. You’ve kept her toasty warm. Hang on, we’re almost there.”

  Luke closed the tarp and started after Max, soon walking up over the shoreline, past the shops, and directly onto Main Street. He then held up his hand to stop the pickup slowing down to let him cross.

  But instead of crossing the road, he walked to the driver’s window. “I need a ride to TarStone Mountain Ski Resort,” he said when the driver rolled down his window. He gestured toward the sled. “My wife is injured. Could you please give us a lift?”

  The man put the truck in park and got out, only nearly to trip over Luke’s snowshoes. “Sure,” he said, going to the sled and pushing Max out of the way to fold back the tarp. He suddenly reared upright. “Hell, that’s Camry MacKeage,” he said, spinning back toward Luke. “You say she’s your wife?”

  Luke tossed his snowshoes into the bed of the truck and walked over and pulled the tarp completely off. “You got a problem with that?” he asked, lifting Tigger out of her jacket and shoving the dog into the man’s arms.

  The man grinned. “No, sir. But I certainly do wish you luck.” He nodded toward the sled. “Camry wrenched my brother’s knee during a brawl at my bar about six months ago.” After shifting Tigger to one arm, he held out his hand. “Pete Johnson.”

  Luke shook his hand. “Luke Renoir. So, Pete, does that mean you’re not going to give us a lift?”

  “Oh, jeez, no,” he said with a laugh. “My brother deserved both the wrenched knee and the scathing lecture I gave him once he sobered up. Come on,” he said, opening the back door of the crew cab to set Tigger inside. He motioned for Max to jump in, then walked back to the sled. “Jeez, she must be hurt bad if she’s not waking up,” he said, just as Luke straightened with Camry in his arms. “Hold your damn horses!” he shouted at the car behind them when the driver honked his horn. He rushed around to open the passenger’s-side door. “What’s the matter with her?”

  “She has a broken ankle and maybe a couple of cracked ribs,” Luke told him, gently setting Camry on the seat and sliding her to the middle. He crawled in beside her, then tucked her under his arm and laid her bundled right leg over his own. “Could you just pull the sled to the sidewalk? I’ll come back and pick it up later.”

  Pete closed the door, ran to the sled, picked it up, and tossed it in the bed of his truck, then climbed in behind the wheel. “If she’s got a broken ankle, I better drive you to the hospital in Greenville,” he said, putting the truck in gear.

  “No, I need to get her home before she goes into total shock. She has an aunt there who’s a trauma specialist, who can help her while we call for an ambulance.”

  “Libby MacBain,” Pete said. “I know her, and yeah, that’s probably a good idea. Doc Libby’s kept more than one person alive while waiting for an ambulance.” He glanced over at Luke, then back at the road. “What happened? Was it a snowmobile accident or something? You look like you’ve been walking awhile.”

  “Avalanche,” Luke said, setting his finger over Camry’s pulse, sighing in relief when he felt it beating steady and strong.

  “An avalanche? That’s rare in these parts. Where’d it happen?”

  “Just south of Springy Mountain.”

  Pete glanced over at him in surprise. “You hauled her all the way here in that makeshift sled? Down the lake?” He looked back at the road, shaking his head. “You either got more balls than brains, or one hell of a guardian angel.” He glanced at Luke again. “The lake ain’t frozen over in places, you know.”

  “Apparently the last six miles of it are.”

  Pete turned onto the TarStone Mountain Ski Resort road. “What’s up with the funny hat?” he asked.

  Luke settled it farther down on Camry’s head. “It’s a birthday gift from a relative.”

  “Oh yeah, that’s right. Today’s the MacKeage girls’ birthday.” He snorted. “Hell of a way for a woman to spend her birthday.” He glanced at Luke again. “Talk in town when Camry was here last summer was that she didn’t even have a boyfriend. How long you two been married?”

  “A couple of days.”

  Pete chuckled humorlessly. “Hell of a way to spend a honeymoon, too. But I suppose honeymooning in the mountains in the middle of the winter, instead of on some warm beach in the Caribbean, ain’t all that far-fetched for Camry.” He turned off the road just as the resort came into sight, and pulled up into the driveway of Gù Brath. He stopped in front of the bridge leading to the front door, then shut off the truck with a sigh as he looked directly at Luke. “The MacKeages are pillars of the community, but they’re . . . um . . . a bit on the strange side. They’re a tight-knit clan, along with the MacBains.” He opened his door, then shot Luke a grin. “I had a thing for Cam’s older sister Heather when we were in high school, but her daddy scared the bejeezus out of me so bad, I never dared to ask her out. You need help getting Cam inside?” he asked, glancing at the well-lit house.

  “No, I’ve got her,” Luke said, opening his door. “If you can just bring the dogs.”

  “I’ll let them out, and they can follow you in.” He glanced at the house again, and Luke would have sworn the man shivered. “I got to get down to my bar. We open at five, and the staff is waiting for me.”

  Luke stilled just as he was getting ready to get out, and lifted his wrist.

  Holy hell, his watch said four fifteen!

  A vehicle pulled up behind them, doors opened and closed, and a man and woman walked up to Luke’s side of the truck and peered in his open door.

  “Oh my God, Camry!” gasped the woman holding the young toddler. “Robbie, take her. She’s hurt.”

  “No, I’ve got her,” Luke said, carefully sliding out of the truck with Camry in his arms, then shouldering past the tall man. “Thanks for your help, Pete,” he called out as he strode onto the bridge. “I’ll catch up with you later.”

  The man named Robbie rushed ahead and opened the door.

  “Could you make sure the dogs come in?” Luke asked, stepping inside the foyer, the sounds of voices and playing children assaulting his senses. He stopped and looked around, blinking against the blast of hot air that made his eyes water, and even stepped back when several people rushed up to him.

  “Camry!” someone cried. “Mom! Dad! Camry’s here, and she’s hurt!”

  Another man stepped forward and reached out to take her, but Luke took another step back. “No, I’ve got her. Is her aunt Libby here?”

  “Libby’s my mother,” Robbie said from behind him, placing a hand on Luke’s back and guiding him toward the living room. “She should be here soon. Why don’t you lay Cam down on the couch?”

  Luke walked into the living room, but instead of laying her down, he sat with Camry in his arms, then carefully stretched her right leg out on the couch beside him.

  “What’s wrong with her?”
asked one of the women.

  “She has a broken ankle and maybe some cracked ribs.” Luke unzipped her jacket, but quickly reached out when the woman tried to take off Camry’s hat. “No, that stays on until Libby MacBain gets here.”

  The sea of people crowding around them suddenly parted. “Camry!” Grace cried, dropping to her knees in front of Luke. She touched Camry’s cheek, then looked up and smiled at Luke, her eyes shining with tears. “You brought her home,” she whispered, reaching up and touching his beard. “Th-thank you.”

  Greylen MacKeage edged past his wife and reached out as if he intended to take Camry into his arms. Luke pulled her against him. “No, I’ve got her.”

  “She’s hurt,” Greylen growled.

  “Leave her, Grey,” Grace said gently, caressing Camry’s cheek again. “She’s in very good hands, and she’s going to be okay.”

  “What happened?” Grey asked, kneeling beside his wife and touching Camry’s cheek himself. He glared at Luke. “Did ye crash the snowcat? Why won’t she wake up? Does she have a concussion?” he asked, reaching to remove her hat.

  Luke held it in place. “It stays on until her aunt gets here,” he repeated. “And we got caught in a small avalanche, and her ankle is shattered. Libby MacBain will heal her,” he said, somewhat defiantly.

  Greylen snapped his gaze to Luke in surprise. “Ye know,” he whispered.

  “I know,” Luke said with a nod. “And just so you know, she’s my wife.”

  “I don’t remember giving my permission, Renoir.”

  Luke grinned tightly. “A distant relative of yours gave it for you.”

  Greylen arched one brow. “And just who would that be?”

  “Roger AuClair.”

  He frowned. “I don’t know anyone named Roger AuClair.”

  “No? Then how about Roger de Keage?”

  Greylen reared back, his sharp green eyes narrowing. “Ye met de Keage?”

  Luke nodded toward Camry. “That’s his hat.” He grinned again. “And he thanks you for the snowcat he said you would want him to have.”