Halos

by Kristen Heitzmann

  Steve grabbed up half again as many, and they ran for the door. He grappled with the knob, then it was opened from inside.

  Dave pulled it wide. “Hey.” He took the logs from her.

  Ben stood in the kitchen looking sleepy. “Those from the station?”

  “Just cleared your inventory.” Steve went back out for the rest.

  “This your idea, Alessi?” Dave said.

  She nodded. “I cannot believe you don’t use your fireplace.”

  “Got the kerosene heater.” He thumbed toward the heater smelling up the den.

  “Mind if we turn it off?”

  He shrugged. “Whatever you want.” He put down her load of logs by the fireplace and ambled over to shut off the heater. “Just hope there’s no nests or anything in the chimney.”

  “If there’s a nest, the birds are long gone.”

  “Pretty good fire hazard, though.” Dave eyed the opening as though doom awaited.

  “Just light the fire, Dave,” Ben called from the kitchen. “I’ll get our Coleman stuff from the closet and make some coffee.”

  Alessi clasped herself in her arms. She was thankful to finally be out of the cold. The wind howled in gusts that shook the windows, and she could not imagine angel breath in that. Vicious wolves huffing and puffing and hoping to devour the three little pigs and Goldilocks, but no gentle angel breath.

  Steve came in twice with armloads of logs and stacked them along the brick hearth to the side of the fireplace. He pulled open the screened doors and placed a log on the pristine grate. “Anyone have matches?” He looked around the room.

  “I’ll fetch ’em,” Ben called from the hall, then appeared with a box of waterproof matches from their camping kit.

  In seconds Steve had flames licking around the log. He sang, “Oh, the weather outside is frightful….” He was certainly in a fine mood today. Or the fire had bewitched him.

  Dave glanced at his heater ruefully. “Hope the heat doesn’t all go up the chimney.”

  Alessi clutched her hands together at her throat, saying nothing, just drinking in the scent and warmth emanating from the neglected orifice. Ben came in with a metal stand that fit over the log and a blue speckled coffeepot, the old-fashioned kind with a percolating insert. Little House on the Prairie.

  Looking around the room at her three friends taking to the idea of a fire in their own fireplace, she bit her lower lip. If the power stayed out for days she wouldn’t mind, she was so warm inside. Last night had been horrible, but it was Christmas Eve, she was with friends, and the magic of the Savior’s birth would soon be upon them. Anything could happen. Anything at all.

  Steve backed out of Ben’s way, stopped beside her, and brought his arm around her shoulders. He hadn’t touched her before with Ben and Dave around. They didn’t need the charade. “Do we have a skillet, Ben?”

  Still in his crouch, Ben glanced over his shoulder. He took in their linked position but only said, “Yeah. I’ll grab it in a minute.”

  Steve turned his head. “Eggs in butter, Alessi?”

  Her mouth watered. “Twist my arm.”

  Instead he cupped the back of her neck and turned her. “Come on. You can help make them.” He directed her to the kitchen with his hand. It might have been obnoxious, but his touch was warm and gentle.

  She restrained her heart and made it behave. She could have frozen last night, but the Lord’s angels had kept her warm, wrapping the store with their wings, breathing onto the glass. The alarm had been worthless, yet no harm had come through the doors, even though dreams of evil had tormented her. There was no evil now.

  Steve took out a carton of eggs and a tub of cottage cheese. He pulled a bunch of green onions from the vegetable drawer and closed the door. “Get a bowl from that cabinet next to the sink.”

  She did as he said and set a medium-sized bowl on the counter.

  He opened the carton. “Know how to crack an egg?”

  She nodded.

  “Do nine of them.”

  They worked together, whisking the eggs with cottage cheese, snipping green onions, seasoning with salt and pepper and a dash of Tabasco. Then Steve brought the mixture to the skillet heating on the fire and dropped a chunk of butter into the pan. When the butter sizzled and bubbled, he poured the eggs into the middle of it. Ben filled mugs of coffee while Steve stirred the eggs. Dave gathered plates and flatware and set them on the hearth, and Alessi felt superfluous.

  In moments Steve had filled their plates, and they gathered near the fireplace as Ben offered a blessing. Alessi sat cross-legged with her plate in her lap and took her first bite. Fairy ambrosia … again. The scent of woodsmoke aided the scene in her mind, but this time it was Steve presiding, regal and strong, like one of Tolkien’s elves.

  She played the scene out in her mind as they ate in companionable silence. Woodland creatures played flutes and danced, and Steve ordered nectar passed in carved wooden goblets. Then he stood and came to her….

  Throat tightening, she sipped her coffee. Those imaginations were dangerous. Steve brought his plate to the sink, breaking the scene. No elf lord, just a man who made great eggs.

  She joined him with her own dishes. “Let me wash. I haven’t done anything.”

  “I wouldn’t say that.”

  “I mean anything to help.”

  “So do I.” He started the water in the sink, felt it with his hand. “We’ll need to heat it on the fire.”

  The fire she’d thought of. “Isn’t it useful?”

  He smiled, shut off the water, and trapped her in the corner of the counter. “Useful, warm, lovely …” His eyes trailed her face. “And it smells a whole lot better than kerosene.”

  Ben circled them to set his dishes by the sink, but Steve didn’t move. Alessi glanced past his shoulder and caught Ben’s smile.

  He shuffled. “I’ll be heading to Mary’s now, make sure she and the girls are all right.”

  Steve said, “Okay.” But still he didn’t move.

  Dave pressed in past Ben and put his mug and plate on the counter. “Diana’s got her family coming. She’ll be in a panic with no power. Guess I’ll see what I can do over there.”

  Steve didn’t even answer, just kept looking at her. Ben and Dave bundled up and went out. Alessi heard the door close behind them, but the loudest thing was her heart pumping in her ears. The energy between Steve’s chest and her own could supply Charity for days. He didn’t move even after the others were gone, just kept looking at her with his enigmatic eyes.

  She drew a shallow breath. “What are you doing?”

  “Trying to make sense of you.” An almost pained look came into his face.

  She wasn’t hurt this time. There was need in him. He was facing hurt he’d stuffed inside too long. She knew how that felt.

  He cupped her face. “Tell me you’re real.”

  Twenty-Eight

  THOUGH SHE DIDN’T ANSWER, HE FELT her pulse under his fingers. She was flesh and blood, but there was something unworldly about her. She made him see things, think things, know things he hadn’t before. She awakened his soul, and he hadn’t known it was sleeping. She convicted and entranced. Last night had left him aching to know her.

  He leaned in and kissed her mouth, wanting but restraining. He didn’t want to scare her, and again he sensed her innocence. Her hands were between them, flat to his chest, not fending him off, but protective, careful. He kissed her again, deeper. What was he doing? He didn’t know and didn’t care.

  Her eyes had closed, and he tasted her lips, feeling a need he’d denounced after Barb deserted him. He could not be in love. It wasn’t possible after only two weeks. And he’d sworn off it anyway. What, then? It was not the animal attraction he had for Amanda. He did want to hold Alessi, touch her. But … it was her he craved.

  He closed her into his arms and kissed her neck. She sucked a sharp breath, but he didn’t stop. He didn’t want to. He found her mouth and claimed it harder than before. He wanted
to kiss her until neither one of them could breathe. He loved her. No. But he did. What he’d felt for Amanda was carnal; what he’d felt for Barb, a wish for something more.

  This was real. He clutched her between the shoulders and let his mouth show what he couldn’t say as well. He wanted every day with her. She changed people … if they were willing to change. Stacie had practically given her that soft sweater he hugged now, and Stacie never discounted. Ben said Mary was a new woman after sledding with Alessi, and those timid little girls had taken to her like a sister. Debbie had seen it; so had Ben and Dave.

  He kissed the space between her eyebrows, clutching that wild, wonderful hair, then looked into her face. Not terrified exactly, but close. He forced himself to back off. “Treacherous ogre?”

  She shook her head and her throat worked. “I just don’t do that.”

  His heart rushed. “Ever?”

  “Well, I hadn’t.”

  That thought almost set him off again. She was so pure, so … “I find that very hard to believe.”

  She looked away.

  He’d hurt her. “What did I say?”

  “Nothing.”

  He caught her shoulders. “What did I say, Alessi?”

  “Aunt Carrie called my mother a slut. She said I was the same.”

  He was suddenly keenly aware of her youth. He was less experienced than he might have been at his age, because his nature was to find the one woman he could love, not play the field, not play around. His father had taught him how critical that choice was, and he didn’t want to blow it. But he felt miles ahead of Alessi right now.

  “You proved her wrong.” There wasn’t a vampish cell in her body. “And I didn’t mean I thought you were experienced. I just can’t believe others haven’t felt what I feel.” What was he doing?

  “What you feel?” She looked more insecure than ever.

  “I don’t explain it well.”

  “It’s probably grief. Your first Christmas without your dad or your lover.”

  “She wasn’t my lover.” Her assumption was understandable after his behavior moments ago. “Our engagement was commitment enough for Barb, but I needed the covenant first.” He cringed inside. Alessi didn’t need to read his mind; he just blurted everything out. “Guess who proved right on that one?”

  Alessi’s eyes held him bound. He was under control now but surprisingly not chagrined that he’d kissed her. Whatever was going on was beyond him. He wouldn’t fight it. He ran a hand through his hair. “We should heat some dishwater.”

  She nodded, relaxing at last, unaware that at any moment he might give in and kiss her again. Her height was a wonderful fit with his, her skin soft yet not overly moisturized. Barb’s had been almost spongy. He emptied the coffeepot and filled it with clean water, then set it over the fire and tucked a fresh log underneath.

  The house was still cold, but in front of the fire it was hot. That could account for the heat inside him, but he knew better. Alessi wandered over from the kitchen. She stopped at the tree and fingered one of Dave’s fishing flies. Steve left the water to heat and went into his room. He snatched his camera and went back.

  She didn’t see him at first, and he snapped one shot of her looking up into the branches, toying with the feathers of a blue fly. It wouldn’t show blue because it was black-and-white film in the camera. She turned. “Don’t start that again.”

  But he snapped off three more shots in succession. Let her complain. He wanted to see if she came out on film. If she were some phantom or angel, he’d prove it in black-and-white.

  She jammed her fingers into her hair. “I really don’t like it.”

  He snapped.

  She put her hands to her hips. Great angles on her elbows. Her arms were almost as long as his. He snapped again. She put her hands over her face and he even snapped that.

  She took them away. “Let me take you.” She reached for the camera.

  He lowered it, trying to remember if Barb had ever asked to take his picture. They’d asked people to take them together, but she’d loved her end better, posing and preening for the lens. He handed Alessi the camera. “Here’s the focus. Touch here to snap the picture.”

  She held it up to her eye. “Go over by the fire.”

  He walked over and crouched, tested the side of the waterpot while he was there. Hardly warm. He heard the shutter click and turned. She snapped another. He smiled, and she took that too. He stood. “Come here.” He sat her on the hearth by the fire, took the camera and set its timer. He left the camera on the table and sat beside her on the hearth, encircling her in his arm. “Now who’s the one with the pole in the back?”

  She turned to him and the camera clicked the picture.

  He looked into her face—hazel eyes, long freckled nose, broad generous lips. “Can I kiss you?”

  “You did.”

  “May I?”

  Her heart hammered. “I’m not sure.”

  He pressed his palm to her cheek. “Still think I’m the big jerk?”

  She shook her head.

  “Heathcliff?”

  She shook it again.

  “Do you play chess?”

  Her eyebrows raised.

  “Chess. King, queen, bishops, knights.”

  “No.”

  “Want to learn?” He removed his hand.

  “Well, I …”

  He stood up and took the chessboard and pieces from the shelf beside the fireplace. “If I win—I claim a kiss. You win—you name the penalty.”

  “I think you’ll have an advantage.”

  He sat down on the rug in front of the fire and laid out the board. “But you can name any prize you like. I’ve already told you mine.”

  She sank to the rug across from him, watching as he set up the pieces.

  “Now, this is the king. He’s the most important. But this is the queen. She’s the most powerful.” He showed her each piece and described how they moved. By the few questions she asked he guessed her a fair strategist. Of course, chess was a game it took years to master.

  She put her hands on her hips when he mated her king in only five moves. “You didn’t tell me everything.”

  “You think I cheated?”

  “How can you get my king already?” She frowned at the board.

  “He’s boxed in. The only move he has is into check again.”

  She stared hard as though that would change things. “But I’ve hardly moved anything.”

  Steve spread his hands. “Sounds like sour grapes to me. But in the spirit of Christmas, I’ll give you another chance.”

  “What’s the catch?” She looked into his face.

  “No catch. Same terms.” He smiled. He really was enjoying this.

  As an answer she reset her pieces. He did the same. This time, it took eleven moves to put her king into check and thirteen for mate. She cocked her head at the board. “Best of five.”

  He pulled a sideways smile. “Okay.” Barb had sniffed at his attempts to teach her the game. She thought chess was for old men and geeks. Was there anything they’d agreed on? There must have been some basis for their relationship. “Would you like to go first again?”

  “No. You go first.”

  He moved a pawn. She moved a pawn. He moved a knight; she moved a knight. Instead of following a strategy, he simply moved pieces, amused when she did the same. Once, he opened up his queen dangerously, but she didn’t see it, and when she copied him, he swooped in and took her queen instead.

  “Oh! That was so mean!”

  He laughed. “Sorry.”

  “I know all about that sort of sorry.” She spoke without taking her eyes from the board. With her bishop she captured his knight. “Not a fair exchange, but I’ll settle for it.”

  He positioned his queen. “Check.”

  With her eyes, she followed the threat to her king, moved him to the side.

  “You should castle him.” He pointed to her rook.

  She looked up. “Maybe I sh
ould, but I didn’t.”

  “You can take it back.”

  She shook her head. “I’ll beat you fairly.”

  “You won’t beat me at all.”

  She tucked her knees to the side under her. “I’m doing better every time.”

  “But this is your last chance.”

  “Only if you win.” The freckles across her nose gave her a sassy look.

  Sighing, he positioned his knight. “Check.”

  She scowled at the knight. “He’s no gentleman at all.”

  “He’s following his queen’s orders.”

  She moved her king one square forward. He positioned a pawn. “Checkmate.”

  With her mouth forming a determined line, she made an even row of pawns, reset her back row and looked up. “Best of seven.”

  “I’d only have to win one more.”

  She folded her hands on her knee. “I have it figured out now.”

  “Do you?” The thought intrigued him. “Double or nothing.”

  She tipped her head confidently. “I better start thinking of what I want.”

  His mouth twitched. “Pride goes before a fall. Or do you mean to keep increasing ratios until you win?”

  “Best of seven, double or nothing.” She moved her center pawn two squares forward.

  Out of curiosity he let her control the match, playing defensively without pursuing the kill. A few times he did take a piece, when he had to, and once when she was too satisfied with herself. She scowled. “You did that on purpose.”

  “That’s the point of the game.”

  She pushed back her hair. “You’re toying with me.”

  He crossed his legs and rested his forearms. “Why would you think that?”

  “It’s obvious. You’ve had no sneak attacks, no attacks at all, actually.”

  He reached over and placed a fresh log into the fire. “I think it’s your move.”

  “You won’t admit it?” She moved her bishop to the edge, pinned her fingertip to his head, and scoured the board around him, then lifted her finger.

  He studied the board. “You have my king in check.”

  She furrowed her brow. “How?”

  “Your bishop.”

  “Ha.” She clasped her hands. “Check.”