A Naughty Little Christmas

by Lili Valente

  “Will do,” Dean says, giving me a thumbs-up. “We’ve got firewood, so if the power goes out again we’ll be good until they get here, but any spare winter gear would be appreciated for the hike out. We left our coats in our cars, and they’re still buried under a few tons of snow up by the highway.” He nods again. “Great. Perfect. See you soon.”

  He hangs up and turns back to me with a smile. “The operator says she’s going to coordinate with the Parks Department and get a rescue posse together. They’re hoping to have us out by lunchtime, before the next storm hits.”

  “There’s another one on the way?” I ask, grateful for the heat still humming away in the background. “The entire town is going to be buried at this rate.”

  “It’s a bad system,” Dean agrees. “There’s no way it’s going to be safe for you to fly home tonight, even if you had a car to get to the airport.” He runs a clawed hand through his already mussed hair. “And I’ll have to drive my old truck until I find out if the Toyota survived the snow.”

  “It’ll be just like high school,” I joke before sighing sadly. “That reminds me—I should call the car rental company as soon as we get back to town. Figure out how to go about filing a claim or whatever else I need to do. Thank God I didn’t refuse the extra insurance this time around.”

  “You want to make the call now?” Dean jabs a thumb toward the phone. “I’m going to wait and see what’s left of the truck after the road crew digs it out before I call my insurance rep, but you know your rental is totaled.”

  I nod. “Totally totaled. That poor Elantra will never ride the roads again.” I glance at the clock on the desk, shocked to see that it’s already ten thirty in the morning. Dean and I slept half the day away. Though I suppose that’s not really a surprise, considering we were up way past any reasonable notion of bedtime. “You’re right, I should probably call now. The sooner they know what’s going on, the sooner the wheels of bureaucracy can slowly and ineffectually grind forward. I’m guessing it will take at least a week or two to get it all sorted out, even if I file the report today.”

  Dean bares his teeth in commiseration. “Good luck. And don’t take any shit from the rental company goons. I’ll make coffee while we have power, so we can get caffeinated for the hike out.”

  “Bless you,” I say, pressing my hands together in front of my chest. “Coffee sounds like heaven right now.”

  He winks. “Still an addict, huh? I thought you Zenned-out, health-conscious people were anti-caffeine.”

  I narrow my eyes. “Some are, but I’m careful to only read the studies that tell me caffeine is good for me. I’m smart like that.”

  “Smart and sexy.” He leans in to kiss my cheek before turning to leave the room, throwing his parting words over his shoulder. “Go get ’em, tiger.”

  An hour and a half later, after telling my tale of woe to no less than three representatives and gratefully downing two cups of coffee with cream that Dean delivers to the office—along with half of an only semi-stale bear claw he found in the staff fridge—I’m still on hold with the rental company.

  “Come on,” I mutter, bouncing from one foot to another as a recorded voice assures me that my business is very important to them.

  I’m seriously considering setting the phone down on the desk and doing a few sun salutations while I’m on hold, when I hear shouts from the rear of the station and the huff of a door opening.

  The rescue crew has arrived.

  “That was fast,” I mumble, a little sad that I wasted my last hour alone with Dean on the phone.

  But then, this wasn’t really our last hour alone. I’m going to have to sleep over in Lover’s Leap again tonight, and unless I’m very mistaken, I expect Dean will invite me to crash at his place.

  In his bedroom.

  In his bed.

  Where we will have access to sheets and pillows and toothbrushes and all the other comforts of home that will make our second grown-up sleepover even more fun than our first.

  Deciding the rental car insanity can wait, I hang up and make my way back into the main room in time to see Dean in the fierce embrace of a petite blonde with bouncy curls and a pixie face, who is the spitting image of Meg Ryan in her younger years. The woman is seriously beautiful, making me keenly aware of the fact that I haven’t brushed my hair or my teeth in over twenty-four hours, and that I’m still wearing the clothes I slept in.

  Even though the blame for my grossness lies with forces beyond my control, I still slink back into the office in shame, leaving Dean and the beautiful blonde to hug it out in front of the rat cage and hoping that my eyes are playing tricks on me.

  I suppose that could be just a friendly hug, but it doesn’t look friendly.

  At all.

  Not even a little bit.

  Chapter 13

  Dean

  Judging from the force of Tillie’s hug—an embrace so tight it squeezes every drop of air from my lungs and makes my kidneys ache—she’s glad to see me in one piece.

  “Thank God you’re okay!” she says, her death grip showing no signs of easing up. “And thank God you got away from that avalanche in time! If you hadn’t, we would be searching for your corpse right now, Dean. It’s enough to make me cry just thinking about it. Seriously, I’m so, so glad you’re not dead.”

  I rub her back in a soothing, clockwise motion, engaging my abdominal muscles to keep her from squeezing me in half. For a tiny thing, she’s got one hell of a bear hug. “I’m fine, Tills. No worries.”

  Tillie and I have been close for years, but I know her worry stems from more than fear of losing a dear friend. Miller is legally her son—it’s what we agreed on from the start—but he and I are super close. He calls me Daddy Dean, and I’m the closest thing to a father he has. I can’t even imagine how devastating it would have been for Tillie to be forced to tell her four-year-old that I was never picking him up for a play date again.

  “But you had to spend the night here,” Tillie continues, relaxing as I continue to rub her back. “And it’s so creepy when it’s dark. I think the break room’s haunted. I always hear weird noises coming from the ceiling when I’m alone in there. Did you hear anything last night?”

  “It’s squirrels.” Steve, Tillie’s older, crankier ranger counterpart, grunts as he prowls the area near the fireplace, making me glad I took the time to clean up our love nest before the rescue crew arrived. “It’s just squirrels. I tell her that every time.”

  “But there are never any droppings up in the crawl space when I look.” Tillie finally releases me, and I discreetly suck in a deeper breath. “How do you explain that, Steve?”

  “Maybe it’s the ghosts of squirrels. Either way, it’s nothing to be scared of.” Steve reaches out to clap me on the shoulder. “This is why you need someone waiting for you at home, son. So they can alert the police if you don’t show up when you’re supposed to. Glad you’re okay.”

  I nod, crossing my fingers that I’ll have someone waiting at home for me very soon—as soon as I can convince Macy that we shouldn’t waste another day apart.

  “Thanks. I’m great, actually.” I glance over my shoulder toward the office, but Macy is nowhere to be seen. “Once the scary stuff was over, it was fun to be stranded with an old friend. Though we did have a few surprises. First Tom got out of his cage, and then Meg showed up out of the blue.”

  Tillie’s eyes light up. “Oh my God! You’re kidding! Meg’s back?”

  I motion toward the glass enclosure. “See for yourself. She and Tom are both back under wraps, but you need to check that case for a secret escape hatch or something. I have no idea how they’re doing it, but they’ve both figured out how to jump ship when they want to.”

  Tillie dances across the room to check on the rats with an excited yip. “Miller is going to be so excited. He thought Meg was lost forever. Steve aren’t you happy? I know Meg is your favorite.”

  “I don’t play favorites with rats.” Steve’s tone is grump
y, but the smile on his face as he glances at the glass enclosure tells a different story. “If I had my way, the only animals in this station would be stuffed ones.”

  Tillie gasps softly. “Don’t listen to him, Meg. He loves you, I can tell.”

  “What I love is being at home on my couch, warm and safe,” he says. “We’re out of here in ten minutes, Tillie. If you’re taking the varmints with us, have them ready by then.” He turns to me, jabbing a thumb over his shoulder. “We brought extra coats, scarves, and gloves for you and your friend.”

  “Great. Thanks so much.” I motion Steve toward the office. “Macy was on the phone last I checked. I can’t wait for you to meet her. She was my neighbor when we were kids, the one I told you about. We used to go camping around here all the time.”

  “Oh,” Steve says, his volume dropping. “That Macy? The one…”

  “Yeah, the one I used to date in high school.” I pause at the door to the office, adding in a hushed voice, “But I’m kind of hoping we’ll be a present tense thing from now on.”

  Steve’s eyebrows lift. “Must have been some night.”

  I bite back a smile as I nod. “It was. Just like old times, but even better, you know?” I shake my head. “I know it’s probably crazy, but this all feels like fate. Like that tree fell and the snow slid down the mountain and the storm rushed in all so Macy and I could have a second chance before it was too late.”

  “No such thing as too late,” Steve says, letting his softer side show. “When it’s right, it’s never too late. I hadn’t seen Debra in almost five years when we ran into each other on the slopes after college.” He snaps his fingers. “One afternoon was all it took to fall for her all over again.”

  I exhale, relieved to have the ear of someone who understands how quickly old feelings can come rushing back. “Come meet Macy. You’re going to love her.”

  But when we step into the office, Macy is gone. The phone is in the cradle, her empty coffee mug is sitting beside it, and the door leading out onto the snow-covered back deck is slightly ajar, but Macy is nowhere to be found.

  Chapter 14

  Macy

  In my mind, it was an easy plan—sneak out onto the deck and around to the uncovered window by the back door, use the reflection to finger-comb my hair until I don’t look like a neglected mental patient when I meet Dean’s friends, and then sneak back into the office before anyone notices I’m gone. I couldn’t get to the bathroom without going through the main room where Dean and Blondie were hugging, and there wasn’t a single reflective surface in the office.

  Not even a computer screen.

  What self-respecting twenty-first-century office doesn’t have a computer screen?

  It’s ridiculous, and as I fall through a rotten place on the snow-covered porch, scraping my knee through my leggings on the old wood, I curse people who refuse to get with the times. Even rangers need a computer to check the weather and do research on trees, right?

  Or animal migratory habit investigations…

  Or whatever else it is that rangers do when they aren’t out actively rangering.

  Or you could have been less vain, Maze, and you would still be warm and dry, my inner voice helpfully points out.

  “I’m not vain, I just hate meeting new people when I haven’t brushed my hair or my teeth,” I mutter, wincing as I try to pull my leg out of the hole and fail.

  It’s good and stuck, the wooden planks broken at an angle that’s keeping my knee pinned tight. I huff in frustration, blowing my tangled hair off my forehead in time for a fresh flurry of snowflakes to land on the exposed skin.

  Great. Now I’m stuck and on my way to freezing to death. It’s crazy cold this morning, so bitter I’m already losing feeling in my fingers. No wonder it was so chilly inside the station when Dean and I woke up.

  “Damn, damn, damn,” I curse, realizing my only option is to call for help while trying to think up a good reason for being out here on the porch in the first place. I pull in a breath, preparing to call Dean’s name when the man himself pokes his head out of the office, relief softening his gaze.

  “Hey,” he says. “What are you doing out here?”

  “Dumb stuff,” I say, deciding honesty is the best policy. “I was looking for a reflective surface to try to fix my hair. I didn’t want to meet Meg Ryan looking like a homeless person.”

  “The rat?” Dean frowns as his gaze drops to my leg.

  “No, the woman with the perfect blond curls in the other room,” I say, gesturing toward the front of the station.

  “You mean Tillie?” His forehead furrows.

  “Is that her name?” I ask, trying my best not to sound jealous. Even though I am jealous, the green-eyed monster making a visit for the first time in longer than I can remember. I thought I’d meditated envy out of my system, but…apparently not.

  Dean laughs. “Yes. You know Tillie. She was in our homeroom up until sixth grade when she left to go to the charter school, remember? She always sat at the front because she could barely see over the top of her desk, let alone anyone else’s head.”

  My eyes go wide as my chilled synapses connect the dots. “That’s Matilda Williams?”

  He nods, still grinning. “Yeah. We reconnected after high school and have been good friends for years.”

  “Wow, that’s great,” I say, managing a breezy tone even as the gossip-hungry side of my brain curses me for not getting the scoop on whatever “drama” went down between Matilda and Dean. If only I’d pushed Olivia for details, I wouldn’t be going into this situation blind. “She sure grew up gorgeous,” I continue, “I mean, hair like hers is intimidating on a good day. Let alone when you’ve gone eighteen hours without access to a brush.”

  Dean rolls his eyes. “You’ve been in L.A. too long. No one cares what you look like out here, especially Tillie. She’s the most laid-back person I know. At least about stuff like that.”

  I bare my teeth in what I hope is a not-psycho grin, ashamed of my vainer instincts all over again. The last thing I want to do is come off as a shallow L.A. idiot compared to Tillie’s laid-back awesomeness. I usually don’t stress about what I look like, but I’m not usually freshly reconnected with the love of my life, either. This situation is enough to make even the most grounded granola girl wish she had lipstick and a tube of mascara—or so I tell myself as I push a rush of shame away, knowing nothing good will come from indulging it.

  “She and Steve are just glad we’re both okay.” Dean arches a wry brow. “Or that we were okay, before you fell through the porch. Are you hurt?”

  “No, but I’m stuck,” I say, sighing. “And freezing.”

  He steps carefully out onto the boards. “I told Steve they shouldn’t use reclaimed wood back here, but they were trying to save money on construction costs.”

  “Don’t blame the wood.” A gray-haired man in a ranger’s uniform appears behind Dean, increasing my mortification by at least fifty percent. “Blame the swarm of termites that came through here in October, chewing up everything in sight.” The man lifts a hand my way and smiles. “Nice to meet you, Macy. I’m Steve.”

  My cheeks heat. “Hi, Steve. I’m sorry I broke your porch.”

  The older man shrugs. “Don’t worry about it. We’re going to replace the whole thing come spring anyway. Let me go grab my handsaw, and we’ll have you out of there in a sec.”

  “Thank you so much.” As Steve disappears, I drop my face into my hands with a moan. “I’m so embarrassed.”

  Dean chuckles. “Don’t be embarrassed. And just so you know, you’re beautiful, even with your hair tangled and pillow creases on your face.”

  “Well, great.” I laugh as I lift my gaze to the pale winter sky. “I didn’t even think to worry about pillow creases. I’ll add that to my list.”

  “No. No list and no stress. Just relief that soon we’ll be taking showers and brushing teeth,” he insists, before adding in a huskier voice, “and hopefully picking up where we left o
ff in a real bed. I’d very much like for you to spend the night at my place, Clayton. If that’s all right with you.”

  “That sounds perfect,” I murmur, doing my best to hide my naughty grin as Steve returns with the saw.

  In just a few minutes, I’m free from my deck prison and we’re all back inside, prepping for departure. Dean goes with Steve to grab snowshoes and other supplies from the storage room while I head back to the lobby to see if Tillie needs any help.

  As I step into the room, Tillie is sitting on the floor, laughing at something on her phone, which she has aimed into a small pet carrying case. When she catches sight of me, she looks up with a grin, “Hey, Macy. How are you?”

  “I’m great now that you’re here,” I say. “So good to see you again, Tillie, and thanks for the rescue.”

  “Of course! I was so relieved to hear that you and Dean were safe.”

  “Mama, who’s that?” a tiny voice pipes up from the phone speakers.

  “That’s my old friend, Macy,” Tillie says to the phone before returning her gaze to mine. “Sorry. I was just talking to my son, Miller, before you came in. He’s so excited our rat friends are coming home to spend Christmas with us.”

  “Yay! Meg and Tom!” Miller shouts, the adorable level so intense I can’t resist coming to sit cross-legged beside Tillie.

  “You love Meg and Tom? You’re not scared of rats at all?” I ask the munchkin whose face fills the screen, instantly torn between a sweet tug of cuteness appreciation and a sharper sensation that pricks at the back of my mind, insisting there’s something wrong here.

  Something off…

  “No, I love them! I’m not scared. I give them kisses!” The boy’s lips—his oh-so-familiar lips—pucker as he makes a mwah sound, and Tillie laughs.

  “Ew, rat kisses,” I tease, somehow keeping my voice light and playful even as I realize exactly why it hurts to look at this precious little man.