It Came Upon A Midnight Clear

by Suzanne Brockmann

  So she answered for him.

  "Yes," she said. "You've seen it. I know you've seen my file. If you hadn't, you would have said so already. So what's the big deal, right? It's probably full of all kinds of boring details. Grew up in Ohio, just outside of Cleveland, oldest of three kids, attended NYU, graduated with a liberal-arts degree and without a clue. Stumbled into a personal assistant job for a Broadway-musical director who owned a chain of convenience stores on the side, went to work for Daisy Owens several years later. Any of this sound familiar?"

  He didn't say a word. She hadn't really expected him to. "My personal life's been just as dull. In the past six years, I've dated three different men, all nice, respectable professionals with solid futures. Two proposed marriage. I think they thought they'd be getting some kind of bonus deal—a wife who worked as a personal assistant. I was like some kind of yuppie fantasy woman. Buy me some Victoria's Secret underwear, and I'd be perfect. I turned them both down. The one who didn't want me instantly became the one I wanted, and I pursued him—only to find out he was as boring as the rest of 'em. My mother is convinced I'm a victim of the fairy tales I read as a little girl. She thinks I suffer from 'Someday My Prince Will Come' syndrome, and I think she's probably right, although I'm not sure that's in my file."

  Crash finally spoke. "Probably not in so many words. But all FInCOM files include psychological evaluations. Your reasons for remaining unmarried would have been touched on."

  Nell snorted. "God, I can just see the fink-shrinks sitting around psychoanalyzing me. 'Subject is a complete chicken. Sits around reading books on her days off. Never does anything even remotely interesting, like skiing. Subject is a total loser who is afraid of her own shadow.'" Without looking at him she turned and walked out the door.

  And then stopped short. It was still snowing. The sky was already dark, and the falling snow swirled around her face, reflecting the light from the lamps that lit the walkway to the house.

  Nell looked up at the millions of flakes falling dizzily down from the sky. She could hear the softest, slightest hiss as the snow hit the frozen ground.

  "It's beautiful," she whispered, if there was one thing she'd learned from these past few hellish weeks, it was to stop and take note of the sheer beauty of the world around her.

  "It's been a while since I've seen snow."

  She turned to see Crash standing behind her. He'd actually made a somewhat personal comment without her dragging it out of him. And he didn't stop there.

  "Being cautious doesn't mean you're a loser," he said.

  Nell looked out at the field that went halfway up the hill back behind the barn before ending at a stone wall on the edge of the woods. It was covered with snow, so pristine and inviting.

  "I used to like to do all sorts of things that scare me now," she admitted. "When I was little, the sight of that hillside would've sent me running for my sled." She turned to face him. "But now even the thought of doing something like skiing makes me break out in a cold sweat. When did I learn to be so afraid?"

  "Not everyone was born to like the sensation of wind in their face."

  "Yeah, but that's where it gets really stupid. There's a part of me that wants that. A part of me is really ticked that I didn't go skiing with Daisy and Jake. There's a part of me that has these incredible fantasies...."

  One of his eyebrows went up an almost imperceptible fraction of an inch, and Nell hastened to explain.

  "Fantasies like riding a motorcycle. I've always secretly yearned for an enormous Harley. I've always wanted to come roaring up to some important meeting on a huge bike, with those long, black leather fringes coming out of the ends of the hand grips, wearing one of those helmets with the kind of visor you can't see through. I have this really vivid picture of myself taking off the helmet and shaking out my hair and unstrapping my briefcase from the back and..." She shook her head. "Instead, I drive a compact car and I can't even get up enough nerve to go skiing—and you're standing out here without a jacket on," she interrupted herself. "We should go inside the house and order that pizza."

  "Large, extra cheese with sausage, peppers and onions," Crash told her. "Unless you don't like sausage, peppers or onions, and then you get to pick what's on it. Go call from the barn while I get my jacket, then meet me out by the garage."

  The garage? "You want to go pick it up?"

  "No, have it delivered."

  "But—"

  Crash was already gone, disappearing into the shadows as easily as he appeared.

  "Why by the garage?" she called in the direction he'd vanished.

  He didn't answer. She hadn't really expected him to.

  Nell stopped short when she saw Crash holding the Flexible Flyer sled that he'd dug out of the garage.

  "Oh, no," she said with a laugh. "No, no..."

  The snow still fell with a whispering hiss around them. It was the perfect evening for sledding.

  "The snow's supposed to turn to rain before midnight," Crash told her. "It'll probably all melt off by tomorrow."

  "In other words, now or never, huh?"

  Crash didn't answer. He just looked at her. The bright red scarf she was wearing accentuated the paleness of her face, and flakes of snow clung to her thick, honey-coloured hair. On anyone else the combination of pale skin and not quite blond, not quite brown hair might have been drab, but her eyes were so blue and warm, and her smile was so perfect....

  Crash found her impossibly beautiful, and he knew that his attempt to take her sledding was nothing but an excuse to get close to her. He wanted to put his arms around this woman and he was resorting to subterfuge to do it.

  "The pizza will be here in about thirty minutes," she told him. "We don't really have time to—"

  "We have enough time to make at least a couple of runs down the hill."

  She gestured up behind the barn. "That hill?"

  "Come on." Crash held out his hand. He was wearing gloves and she had on mittens. It wasn't as if he would really be touching her.

  But when she took his hand, Crash knew he was dead wrong. It didn't matter. Touching her was touching her. But he couldn't stop now. He didn't want to stop. He pulled her up the hill, dragging the sled behind them.

  It was slippery, but they finally reached the top.

  Away from the lights of the house, the snow was even more beautiful as it fell effortlessly from the sky. And the snow that covered the ground seemed to glow in the darkness, reflecting what little light there was.

  It was just dark enough. In this kind of shadow, Crash didn't have to worry about Nell seeing every little thought—every little desire—that flickered in his eyes.

  "I'm not sure I can do this." Nell sounded breathless, her voice huskier than usual. "I'm not sure I remember how to do this."

  "Sit on the sled and steer with your feet."

  She sat gingerly down on the Flexible Flyer, but then looked up at him. "Aren't you coming, too?"

  There was room for him—but just barely. They'd have to squeeze tightly together, with Nell positioned between his legs. Crash forced himself not to move toward her. "Do you want me to?"

  "No way am I doing this without you." She inched forward a little. "Get your butt on this thing, Hawken."

  "It helps if you start out by aiming the front of the sled down the hill."

  Nell didn't move. "I thought we might take a more leisurely, zigzag path to the bottom."

  Crash had to smile.

  "All right, all right," she grumbled, swinging the front of the sled around. "If you're smiling at me, I must look pretty damn ridiculous. Get on the sled, Mona Lisa, and hold on tight. We're taking this sucker express, all the way to the barn."

  Nell closed her eyes as Crash lowered himself onto the sled behind her. He had to press himself tightly against her back—there was no way they could both sit on this thing without nearly gluing themselves together. His legs were much longer than hers, and with her boots on the outer part of the steering bar, he didn't hav
e anywhere to put his feet.

  She turned slightly to find that his face was inches from hers and she froze, trapped by his eyes. It might have been her imagination, or it might only have been a trick of the darkness, but he seemed almost vulnerable, almost uncertain. He smelled impossibly good, like coffee and peppermint. Her gaze dropped to the tight line of his gracefully shaped mouth. What would he do if she kissed him?

  She didn't have the nerve. "Maybe you should steer."

  "No. This is your ride. You're in control."

  In control. God, if he only knew. She was shaking, but she wasn't sure if it was because she was afraid of falling off and breaking her leg or because he was sitting so close. She could feel his warmth against every inch of her back and she was nearly dying from the anticipation of feeling his arms around her. Because that was the only reason she was doing this. She wanted to feel his arms around her.

  "Let me put my legs under yours," he continued.

  Nell lifted her legs obediently and he set his boots against the metal bumper. She lowered her legs, resting her thighs on top of his, stretching around the outside for the steering bar. But it was no longer within reach.

  "Move forward," he ordered.

  She didn't want to move forward. She liked the sensation of his body against hers too much to want to move away from him. But when she hesitated, he pushed them both up closer to the front of the sled. Her feet reached the bar, and he was still pressed tightly against her.

  He looped his arms around her, holding her securely. It was heaven. Nell closed her eyes.

  "Ready?"

  "God, no! What am I supposed to hold on to?" Her voice was breathy, betraying her. She couldn't reach the siderail—his legs were in the way.

  "Hold on to me."

  Nell touched his legs, tentatively sliding her hands down underneath his thighs. He was all muscle, all solid, perfectly male. She wondered if he could feel her heart hammering through all her layers of clothing.

  "Ready?" he asked again. She could feel his breath against her neck, just underneath her ear.

  Nell held him tighter and closed her eyes. "Yeah."

  "You're in control." His voice was just a whisper. "Get us started by rocking forward a little..."

  She opened her eyes. "Can't you just give us a push?"

  "I could, but then you'd only have survived the ride. You wouldn't have taken it, if you know what I mean. Come on. All you have to do is rock us forward."

  Nell looked down the hill. The barn seemed so far away, and the hill suddenly seemed dreadfully steep. She was having trouble breathing. "I'm not sure I can."

  "Take your time. I can wait—at least until the pizza-delivery man comes."

  "If we sit here much longer, we'll be covered with snow."

  "Are you cold?" he asked. His breath warmed her ear and his arms tightened slightly around her.

  Cold? Nell couldn't remember her name, let alone a complicated concept like cold. "Maybe we can take this in steps," she said. "You know. Just sit here on the sled for a while. I mean, I made it all the way up the hill, and I actually got on the sled. That's a solid start. I should be really proud of myself. And then maybe by the next time it snows, I'll be ready to—"

  "This is Virginia," he reminded her. "This may be all the snow we get this year. Come on, Nell. Just rock us forward."

  Nell stared down the hill. She couldn't do it. She started to get up, but he held her in place.

  "Blue," he said quietly. "My favorite colour is blue. The colour of the South China Sea. And I didn't really like the latest Grisham book as much as I liked his other stuff."

  Nell turned her head and stared at him.

  "And you're right, I've seen your FInCOM file," he continued. "I helped gather the information that's in it."

  She knew what he was doing. She knew exactly what he was doing. He was showing her that he, too, could take little risks. Maybe he wasn't afraid to sled down a hill, but talking about himself was an entirely different story. She knew he never, ever willingly volunteered any information about himself.

  True, he wasn't telling her anything terribly personal, but Nell knew that saying anything at all had to have been incredibly difficult for him.

  At least as difficult as riding a Flexible Flyer down a relatively gentle hill. If she fell off, she wouldn't break her leg. She'd only bruise her bottom and her pride. This was no big deal.

  She rocked the sled forward.

  "I knew you could do it," Crash said softly into her ear as the sled teetered and then went over the edge of the hill.

  It went slowly at first, nearly groaning under their weight, but then it began to pick up speed.

  Nell screamed. The runners of the sled swished as the ground sped past, as the falling snow seemed to scatter and swirl around them.

  Faster and faster they went, until it seemed as if they were almost flying. Nell clung to Crash's legs as they hit a bump and for a moment they did leave the ground, and when they landed, the sled wasn't quite underneath them.

  She felt rather than heard the giddy laughter that left her throat as they skidded off the sled and slid for a moment on the slippery hillside without it, a tangle of arms and legs, Crash still holding her tightly.

  She was still laughing as they slowed to a stop, and she realized that Crash was laughing too. "You screamed all the way down the hill," he said.

  "No, I didn't! God, did I really?" She was half on top of Crash, half sprawled in the snow, and she lay back, relaxing against him as she caught her breath, gazing up at the falling snowflakes.

  "You sure did. Are you okay?" he asked.

  "Yeah." In fact, she couldn't remember having been better. His arms were still around her and one of his legs was thrown casually across hers. Yes, she was very much okay. "That almost was...fun."

  "You want to go again?"

  Incredulous, Nell turned her head to look at him.

  He smiled at her expression.

  He was an outrageously good-looking man in repose, but when he smiled, even just a little smile like that one, he was off the charts.

  He got to his feet, holding out his hand for her.

  She must have been insane or hypnotized because she reached for him, letting him pull her to her feet.

  He released her and ran, skidding in the snow, to collect the sled, then came back up the hill, catching her by the hand again and pulling her along with him.

  This time he didn't ask. This time he got on behind her, holding her around the waist with an easy familiarity.

  Nell couldn't believe she was doing this again.

  'This time try to steer around that bump," he said, his breath warm against her ear. Nell nodded.

  "You're in control," he said.

  "Oh, God," she said, and rocked the sled forward.

  Chapter 5

  "I remember when I was a kid," Crash said softly, "Jake showed me how to make angels in the snow."

  They were lying closer to the bottom of the hill this time, looking up at the snow streaking down toward them. It looked amazing from that perspective. The sensation was kind of like being in the middle of a living computer screen-saver or a Star Wars style outer-space jump to light-speed.

  This time they'd skidded off the sled in different directions. This time they weren't touching, and Crash tried rather desperately not to miss Nell's softness and warmth.

  Nell pushed herself up on one elbow. "Jake? Not Daisy?"

  "No, it was Jake. It was Daisy's birthday, and Jake and I made snow angels all over the yard and..." He glanced over to find her watching him, her eyes wide.

  "From what Daisy's said, I've gathered that you spent some of your summer and winter vacations from boarding school with her and Jake," she said softly.

  Crash hesitated.

  But this was Nell he was talking to. Nell, who'd trusted him enough to take not one or two but five separate trips down this hill on his old sled. His friend Nell. If they were lovers he wouldn't dare tell her anything
, but they were not going to become lovers.

  "I spent all of my vacations with them," he admitted. "Starting when I was ten—the year my mother died. I was scheduled to go directly from school to summer camp. I didn't even go home in between. My father was away on business and—" He broke off, realizing how pathetic he sounded.

  "You must've been miserable," she said softly. "I can't imagine having been sent away to boarding school when I was only ten. And you went when you were what? Eight?"

  Crash shook his head. "It wasn't that bad."

  "I think it must've been awful."

  "My mother was dying—it was a lot for my father to deal with. Imagine if Jake and Daisy had an eight-year-old."

  Nell snorted. "You can bet your ass Jake Robinson wouldn't send his kid away to boarding school. You were deprived of your mother two years before you absolutely had to be. And your poor mother..."

  "My mother was so loaded on painkillers, the few times I was allowed to see her, she didn't even know me and... I don't want to talk about this." He shook his head, swearing softly. "I don't even want to think about it, but..."

  "But it's happening all over again, with Daisy," Nell said quietly. "God, this must be twice as hard for you. I know I feel as if I'm stretched to the absolute end of my emotional rope as it is. What are we going to do when the tumour affects her brain to the point that she can't walk?"

  Crash closed his eyes. He knew what he wanted to do. He wanted to run, to pack up his things and go. It would only take one phone call, and an hour later he'd be called in on a special assignment, his leave revoked. Twenty-four hours after that, he'd be on the other side of the world. But running away wouldn't really help him. And it wouldn't help Daisy, either. If there'd ever been a time that she needed him—that Jake needed him—it was now.

  And God knew Daisy and Jake had been there for him. They'd always been there for him.

  Nell was still watching him, her eyes filled with compassion. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I shouldn't have brought that up."

  "It's something we're both going to have to deal with."

  Tears brimmed in her eyes. "I'm terrified that I'm not going to be strong enough."