Standing still, she heard the floorboards above her creaking. No doubt her shouting had awakened the girls. Putting her anxiety aside, she carefully made her way up the unfamiliar staircase. When she reached the top, she raced to the master suite to check on Amanda and Ashley.
She remembered leaving the door open when she’d left the room earlier. Now it was closed. Maybe the gust of air from the door’s opening downstairs had somehow caused it to close. Telling herself this must be what happened, she turned the knob, careful not to make too much noise in case the girls were still sleeping. Pushing the heavy log door aside, she stepped into the large bedroom.
Holding the candles in front of her as she tiptoed over to the king-size bed, Grace leaned across the wide expanse to make sure the girls were covered. When her hands continued to feel nothing but cool, smooth sheets, she knew something had gone terribly awry.
Because both girls were missing.
Chapter Five
“Amanda? Ashley?” Grace called out into the darkened room. Remembering their fear of the dark, she tried another tactic, hoping to calm their fears. “The power went out. Max is fixing it now.” She hoped. He didn’t seem to know his way around his own home.
When she received no response, she tried again. “Girls, this is one of those times that your mother would want you to show yourselves. There’s nothing to be afraid of.”
Slowly, so as not to startle the girls, Grace entered the bathroom. Just as she’d expected, both girls were huddled in the tub. She lowered the candle so they could see that it was her. The damage their father’s cruelty had inflicted upon them infuriated her.
“We got scared when the lights went off. Then we heard pounding on the steps. Mommy always told us to hide and cover our ears when Daddy got mad,” Ashley said in her defense.
“Oh, sweetie, your daddy isn’t here. The noise you heard was Max. He had to race upstairs for his warm clothes before he went outside to the shed. There’s nothing to be frightened of.” Grace held a hand out to assist the little girls as they climbed out of the bathtub.
“Miss Grace, could you tell us another Christmas story?” Amanda asked.
After leading them back to the bed and making sure both were warm and snug beneath the quilt, Grace eased in next to them. “Absolutely.”
Ten minutes later, and a condensed version of A Christmas Carol minus the ghosts of Christmases past, present, and future, both girls were sound asleep. Grace quietly slid off the bed and went downstairs. Surely Max had had enough time to find the generator.
With the flame of the candle as her guide, Grace went from room to room in search of him. “Max?” she whispered loudly, but not so loud that she would wake the kids.
She searched downstairs and was about to give up when she felt a burst of cold air enter the room. “Max? Is that you?” she called.
“Yeah. I couldn’t find the darned generator. I was sure Eddie put it in the shed,” Max said.
When Grace heard him, relief flooded through her. “I have to admit I was getting a bit concerned.”
“Why?” Max asked as he dropped a large bag on the floor.
She could’ve kicked herself for telling him that, but it was too late now. “You were gone a long time.” Grace approached him as he entered the den.
Max slung off his worn leather jacket, tossing it on the back of the sofa, where both dogs slept peacefully. “There’s a freezer out there. Loss of power won’t affect it since the temp’s below freezing. I figured I’d better scope out its contents since we’re going to be stuck here for a while. It’s stocked with everything we’ll need though I haven’t a clue who took the time to bother with it.” Probably Eddie. The man thought of everything. He was due for a raise this month. And a paid vacation, too.
Grace eyed the large bag on the floor. “If you’ll bring that to the kitchen, I’ll put everything away.”
“Sure,” said Max gruffly, hoisting the heavy bag over his shoulder.
Grace laughed.
“You find this amusing?”
“No, not at all. You just reminded me of Santa Claus.”
Max stopped in his tracks, dropped the bag and turned around to stare at her. Though the only light came from the candle, Grace saw the anger in his eyes. Cold and stark, like the harsh winter storm outside.
Between gritted teeth, he said, “Don’t ever say that to me again!”
Grace had had enough. She didn’t know what had happened to turn this man into such . . . a Scrooge, and she really didn’t care. She was simply trying to make a joke.
“Look, Max. Whatever issues you have, they’re not with me. If you can’t take a little joke, you’ve got big problems. Might want to see someone, a professional. It could help,” Grace said, then dragged the heavy bag the rest of the way to the kitchen.
“Wait! You can’t talk to me like that! Who in the heck do you think you are? This is my house. You’re the guest,” Max ranted as he followed her to the kitchen.
“Yes I am, and you’re the rudest host I’ve had the misfortune to encounter. If it’s any consolation, I don’t want to be here any more than you want me here. I’m an adult, I will make the best of it.” She wanted to add, “Unlike you,” but that would lower her to his level.
He raked a hand through his hair. On another man it might’ve been just an ordinary action. On him it was just . . . well, she wouldn’t admit it to anyone, but it was rather sexy.
“Look, I don’t like the holidays. Can we just leave it at that?” Max yanked the heavy bag off the floor and placed it on the counter.
Grace was right. He was a Scrooge! Biting her lip to keep from smiling, she announced, “What you like or don’t like is no concern of mine. At daybreak, I just want to get to my van. I’m not really concerned with anything else at the moment.” Of course, she was, but her concerns were none of his business. Unlike him, Grace wasn’t about to voice her likes and dislikes. Certainly she wasn’t going to tell Max how Christmas was her favorite time of the year and how she detested those who spoiled it for others.
She wouldn’t tell him that she’d already spent days in the kitchen baking cookies, cakes, and pies for several of the soup kitchens in Denver. And she wouldn’t tell him how much money she had spent on gifts for Stephanie and her girls. What kind of person didn’t like Christmas? Maybe he’d had a rough time as a child. Those incidents had a way of haunting one, even as an adult. As a professional she knew that. As a woman, she couldn’t imagine being with a man who didn’t celebrate and enjoy the Christmas season as much as she did. Christmas was the highlight of the year for her family.
Max peered out the kitchen window. “I don’t think you’re going anywhere come morning. Look.” He gestured at the window.
Reluctantly, Grace went over to the window and stood beside him. She couldn’t help but notice the smell of winter and pine emanating from his skin. She breathed deeply, closing her eyes for a moment, wondering, then jerked her eyes open. The cold was getting to her. She glanced outside. Snowdrifts were at least three feet high. Big fluffy flakes of snow swirled through the inky night sky like miniature fairies with wings as light as a spider’s web.
“I suppose a snowplow would be too much to hope for,” Grace observed as she turned away from the window. Another time this might amuse her. However, with two girls whose mother was probably frantic with worry, she was anything but.
“Yep, it would be. Like I said, I’m not very prepared for this. I came here to . . .” He paused. Grace waited for him to finish, but he didn’t.
“Whatever your reason, I, for one, am glad I found you,” Grace added, hoping a compliment of sorts might draw him out of the black mood that seemed to hover over him.
Max removed the contents of the bag, placing them on the counter. “I’m not much of a cook other than bacon and eggs. You might want to see if there’s something here you and the girls would like.”
Grace was about to tell him bacon and eggs were fine with her, then thought better of
it when she realized that, without power, they wouldn’t be able to cook anything.
“I’m going to get the fireplaces going. There’s more wood in the shed,” Max said, before wandering outside again. At least he’d had the foresight to see to the wood supply. Or someone had.
She wondered if Max was incapable of taking care of his own needs. She knew his reputation on the slopes. Ski or die. She remembered Bryce telling her this during the Winter Olympics years ago. Why would she remember that now? Bryce was in high school then. Grace calculated it’d been at least twelve or fifteen years ago.
She could cook using an open fire. Searching through the food supply, she found several packages of meat. Bacon, a whole chicken, a roast, and a package of hot dogs. The latter might come in handy for a weenie-roast for the girls she thought as she proceeded to check the food supply. There were bags of frozen vegetables. Carrots, potatoes, peas, and there was even a container of frozen chicken stock. Loaves of French bread, white bread, and wheat bread. Peanut butter. Someone had known what they were doing when they’d stocked Max’s freezer. In the cupboard she saw at least a dozen cans of soup, two boxes of saltines, and jars of strawberry jam and grape jelly. Max was prepared for a storm whether he realized it or not. Grace made fast work of storing the breads and peanut butter in a cabinet. Since it was below freezing outside, she repacked the meats and vegetables, placing them back in the bag before taking them to the front porch. She hoped there weren’t any coyotes or bears in search of their next meal. If so, they were all in trouble.
Hurrying back inside, she observed Max as he placed more logs on the fire. Bright yellow flames shot up the flue, sending tiny red sparks shimmering everywhere. The woodsy smell reminded her of her father. He’d always kept a fire burning in the winter. They’d popped corn and made what her father referred to as hobo packs. Aluminum foil filled with ground meat, potatoes, and whatever vegetable they wanted. They’d toss them in the fire, then they’d finish off their campfire meal with either s’mores or toasted marshmallows. One of Dad’s burnt marshmallows would taste good, she thought as she watched Max from a distance. She hoped he knew what he was doing. According to Bryce and those trophies and medals she’d seen upstairs, his expertise seemed strictly limited to the slopes. Briefly, she wondered what skills he brought into the bedroom.
What is wrong with me? she thought as she watched Max. It hadn’t been that long since she’d had a date!
“Like what you see?” Max asked.
Grace was sure he referred to the roaring fire. “Yes, it’s perfect. And I think it’s time we went to bed. I’m beyond tired. I doubt the girls will sleep late. Kids their age never do.”
“You seem to have a lot of experience with kids for a woman who doesn’t have any of her own,” Max observed.
Grace wasn’t sure if this was an invitation to reveal more about herself or just his way of making polite conversation. Something told her she could trust him even though he’d been rude and had frightened the girls. She recalled the look of pain etched on his face. He had suffered in his life. And not just physical injuries from his profession. He’d walked through the fires of hell. Grace wasn’t sure if he’d completely returned.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” Max asked.
“I’m sorry. Professional habit I guess.”
“So you stare at people for a living? You an artist or what?” he inquired with a trace of humor.
Grace took a deep breath, unsure of how much she should reveal to him. While her gut told her she could trust him, she had to consider the safety of the girls and their mother before she revealed too much about herself. Not wanting to lie or reveal any details about Stephanie and the girls, Grace opted for a simple version of the truth. “I’m a counselor.”
“I see. So”—he took the fire poker from its stand and pushed several logs aside before adding more—“in your professional opinion, exactly what did you see when you were staring at me?” He waved a hand in the air. “Never mind. Don’t answer that. I’m sure you see what everyone else sees. A burnout who’s screwed up his life and doesn’t care.”
Grace couldn’t have been more shocked by his words. “Actually, I saw nothing like that at all.” She could tell him the truth, there was no reason not to. “I see someone who’s been hurt by . . . a tragedy.” She paused catching his eye. “You’ve suffered a personal loss so . . . consuming that it’s taken over the person you used to be.” Grace waited for a response, a reply, anything. He perched on the hearth, shaking his head.
“Well, you’re wrong, lady. I’m the man I’ve always been. Nothing will ever change that. Trust me. I like to drink and sleep. Nothing more.” Max hesitated for a moment as though he was testing her reaction. “A real prize, huh?”
Taking a chance Grace replied, “I think you were a real prize, Max Jorgenson, at one time. Whatever happened to strip away your self-confidence, it’s still there. You have to want it back.”
He looked at her for several minutes, a tense silence filling the space between them.
“Yeah? Well, you’re wrong. I don’t ever want to be the man I was. Never.” He looked down at the pine floors. “Never,” he added in a low, husky voice.
Grace wanted to say, “Never say never,” but it wasn’t the right time. With this man, she wasn’t so sure there would ever be a right time.
Putting concerns about her host’s mental status on the back burner for the remainder of the night, she told him good night and went upstairs. As soon as her head hit the soft down pillow, she fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.
Chapter Six
Blinding sunlight filled the bedroom, casting a burnished glow across the pine furniture. Grace sat up quickly when she realized she wasn’t in her room at Hope House. Then it all came back. The roadblocks and the loss of communication with the world.
She looked at the girls next to her. They slept like babies. Careful not to wake them, she pushed her hands down on the mattress in order to ease off the bed without either child feeling the movement.
Grace used the bathroom, splashed cold water on her face, and rinsed her mouth, using mouthwash she found in the medicine cabinet. Taking a comb from her purse, she ran it through her long hair and secured it with an elastic band. Checking to make sure both Ashley and Amanda still slept, she quietly made her way downstairs to the kitchen.
She stopped at the foot of the stairs, surprised when she saw Max in the kitchen. Grace felt a tingle trail up her spine as she observed him. He wore a fresh pair of faded jeans with a tight black T-shirt. Chest muscles pulled the fabric so taut that Grace laughingly thought how lucky his T-shirt was. She took a deep breath. He was certainly something to look at, but most skiers were. She remembered going to the slopes as a teen, then later during college breaks. All the cool guys, the ones that really knew their way around the mountains, were hot and handsome. She’d never bothered with the type simply because those she’d met were either so conceited it was pathetic, or they didn’t have an intelligent thought in their heads. She figured Max Jorgenson must be a combination of both because most men living on a mountain in the middle of nowhere planned ahead. The thought hit her then; maybe Max really didn’t care about his future.
The aromatic scent of coffee pulled her away from her musing and into the kitchen. Max poured boiling water from a pot into a European coffee press. “That smells divine,” Grace said upon entering the kitchen. Surprised that he owned such a simple yet sophisticated coffee press, she waited as he pushed the press, slowly sending the dark brown liquid to the bottom of the clear carafe.
“Almost finished,” Max said with a look of satisfaction on his face. He removed a small cup from the cabinet, filled it, then placed it on the counter. “I have sugar but . . . wait. Here’s powdered cream,” he said as he rummaged through the cabinets. “I didn’t know I had this stuff.”
Max dumped the powder and several spoons of sugar in his coffee. Grace smiled. She’d thought for sure he would take his java straig
ht up.
“Thanks,” she said, sipping her coffee. “Black is fine. This is good stuff.”
“What? You didn’t think me capable of making a decent pot of coffee?” Max said in a teasing tone. Both Huskies ran into the kitchen, barking.
“Down, boys,” Max managed to say. Ice-D and Cliff hunkered beneath the kitchen table, apparently waiting for their breakfast.
“Truly, I hadn’t given it much thought.” She eyed the telephone. “Are the phones working yet?”
“Nope. Just checked. I did hear snowplows about an hour ago. That’s a good sign.”
“How so?” Grace asked, suddenly hopeful.
“Usually that means they’ll head this way. I’m thinking about taking one of the snowmobiles down the mountain to check. While I’m there, I’ll try to locate your van.”
Grace was filled with an overwhelming desire to wrap her arms around her rude host but stopped herself just in time. “Miracles do happen!”
“You think this is a miracle?” he asked, shaking his head, his damp blond curls reaching just below the collar of his shirt.
“You said yourself it could be days before the plows head up the mountain, so I guess this is a miracle. Of sorts. I do know Stephanie, that’s the girls’ mother, is probably insane with worry. I wish . . . if you can’t get the van here, do you think you or possibly a member of the road crew could call her just to let her know the girls are safe and that we’ll be home soon.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” Max replied.
Grace took another sip of her coffee. “I can make breakfast before you leave. I’m sure the girls will want something when they wake up. I can’t believe they’re still sleeping. Poor things. No doubt last night’s hike tuckered them out.”
Max seemed to hesitate. “Breakfast would be good. I haven’t had a home-cooked meal since . . .” He paused as though he’d lost his train of thought. “Forever. Breakfast sounds good. Thank you.”
Coming Home for Christmas Page 12
