by N Kuhn
Stranded For Christmas
By N Kuhn
Text Copyright © 2015 Nicole Kuhn
All Rights Reserved
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Prologue
Jemma
Damn damn damn! I kick the flattened tire on the back of my rental car. This is the worst day ever. It’s shaping up to be the worst Christmas ever too. My anger spills over and I feel like a toddler throwing a tantrum. But after my family badgering me to come home against my wishes, I feel it’s deserved. My throat burns with an unleashed scream. Anything that can go wrong has gone wrong. I let my pride get in the way, and instead of accepting my father’s offer to buy me a plane ticket back to New York, I opted to drive, because I could afford it on my own. But of course, driving from Charlotte, North Carolina to Buffalo, New York has been one ordeal after another.
Running a hand through my hair, my frozen fingers snag in the long brown locks that are tangled from the wind. Just one more thing to add to my list, my rat’s nest of hair with it’s dull mousy color that my ex, Keaton, used to say made me less attractive compared to my blonde sister.
My own car breaking down? Check.
Waiting three hours for a rental? Check.
Snow storm, half way through Virginia? Check.
Flat tire? Check.
Almost out of gas? Double check.
No cell phone signal because I’m in the mountains of East Bumfuck? Check.
What the hell am I going to do now?
Folding myself back into the driver’s seat, I bite my lower lip as tears begin falling down my face. The only comforting thought I have is that I may not have to face Keaton and Jessa after all. I’m angry that I’ve gotten into this mess. I haven’t wanted to see my family. For many reasons. I crank the heat, wondering what the hell I did to piss Karma off. Sure, it’s the first time in three years I’ve gone home to see my family, but they can’t blame me for that as much as they want to. My ex fiancé is now married to my big sister, Jessa; why the hell would I want to go home? It’s not like my heart was wrenched out and stomped on by those I thought loved me most. It’s not like I my mother feels it necessary to tell me to be more like my trashy sister who stole my fiancé. I do miss my dad and my grandmother, but everyone keeps saying that I should get over it. Get over what? My sister, who used to be my best friend, stealing my fiancé a week before our wedding? Nope. She’s perfect, and Jemma is the one who needs to get over it.
Sounds about right, huh? Big fat, salty tears slip down my face, plopping on my thin leggings and reminding me that I’m not dressed properly for this kind of weather. Something else to be angry about. Another thing to hate about my life. Moving to North Carolina from New York wasn’t enough. I had no friends, a crappy job, nothing ever goes right for me.
I bang my head on the seat behind me, cursing loudly as I glance down at the gas gauge. I have maybe an hour of idling left in the tank. I had recently passed a sign that claimed somewhere called Mount Hope was twenty miles away. I had hoped to get gas there. Even with the heat on, my body shivers from the cold. As my teeth chatter, I reach in the back seat where my luggage is and even though I didn’t bring a blanket or anything, I do have my winter coat.
No sane person would go to Buffalo without one. I currently live in Charlotte, where it doesn’t get that cold often; but thankfully I had kept this pea jacket squeezed into the back of my closet since moving there. Actually it’s more like running away and landing there.
When Keaton and Jessa announced their marriage plans, I packed and left that very same day, and never looking back. My mother cried for weeks, begging me to come home. She had the nerve to tell me that I needed to be Jessa’s maid of honor. Are you kidding me? She not only was marrying my fiancé, but thought I needed to wait on her hand and foot on her wedding day?
It’s laughable now that it was even a consideration on their part. Forget my hurt feelings, my whole life has always been about Jessa.
I recline my seat back, curling my legs up as I crank the heat higher. Screw having no gas, I’m cold. I lean back and think about my mom. Ever since Jessa and Keaton got married, she’s been begging me to come back. That I need to be a part of the family again. Apparenlty I’ve wallowed enough. Hence me making this trip home. When her and my father called, dad made me feel guilty because he misses me. My mother, sure she may miss me, but she literally said, “Jemma, grow up and start being a responsible part of this family.” Snow melts from my boots, soaking the seat, but I no longer care. I hope that by blasting air from the heater until I run out of gas, that it will stay warm a little longer after the car runs out of fumes. If it weren’t a blinding storm out, with snow flying sideways, I would try to walk. But in this weather, I don’t know where I’m going and I’m certainly not stupid enough to risk getting sideswiped by a vehicle because they couldn’t see me. I may be miserable, but I’m not eager to die on the side of a mountain. Literally, other than the small metal barrier, there’s nothing between me and the very long drop off a rocky ledge.
My heart races as sobs shake my entire body. In the morning I’ll think about walking in the direction I was heading. Hopefully the snow will let up by then. Closing my eyes, I sigh and crank the holiday tunes on the radio, hoping to quell my fears. Wrapping my arms around myself, I try to drift off to sleep.
Chapter 1
Jarrod
This storm is crazy. It wasn’t supposed to hit Mount Hope until morning. The wind brought it in early and it just so happened to be during my last stretch of driving home. Leave it to my parents to wait until the day before Christmas Eve to send me to Pipers Gap to get provisions for the holiday guests. We have no vacancy at the Hope B&B because of the Christmas festival Mount Hope holds annualy. It grows bigger every year.
I was sent out to go get coffee and breakfast foods, and I can’t help but wonder how my parents will be able to stay in business when I move away. Sure they’ve kept it going while I was gone. But now they are getting older. They can’t do as much as they used to. I’ve been staying with them since coming home from the Army six months ago. Within my first week home, my mother had asked me to help lift so many things, that it wasn’t hard to figure out that my father just can’t handle it anymore. But, maybe they can sell. I can’t live with them my whole life. I’m a grown man. I have a job interview in New York City next week. If all goes as planned, I won’t be staying much longer.
I worry about them, my parents are getting older and I’m not sure if they can manage the place without me. I just can’t do it anymore. If I want any sort of future, I have to leave here. Being a small town, the dating pool is minuscule at best, and any available women are either only looking to hook up with me because they think I’m a war hero, or I have no interest in for one reason or another. It’s not that I want to rush into the family thing, but I’d like the option there. And I won’t find a wife sitting in Mount Hope working at my parent’s Bed and Breakfast for the rest of my life.
I squint my eyes as I strain to see out my windshield. If it snows a few more inches, these mountain roads will be impassable until the county plows come through. I wonder how that will affect the festival, though I’m sure our darling little town, where nothing exciting ever happens, will have provisional plans.
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br /> Steering my Ford F150 through the blinding snow, I gently pump the brakes as I come to the first of the sharp curves. Leaning forward, I try hard to see past the blinding white in an attempt to figure out what that is sitting on the side of the road. The last thing I need is to hit a deer or something. Not that I’d be stuck long. If I’m not home in an hour, my parents would be all over the phone trying to find me.
In surprise, I end up slamming my foot on the brakes instead of easing to a stop, and my stomach dips as I twist my wheel slightly, hoping to not go off the road. As the tires slip on the ice, the back end fishtails and my heart races. I know the barriers won’t hold if you hit them, and there’s nothing else to stop a person from plummeting all the way down. Shivering, I white knuckle the wheel until my big truck comes to a halt, inches from the bumper of a silver BMW that is alomost completely covered in the falling snow.
I shift the gear to park and attempt to slow my breathing down. Thankfully, I was already being careful or that could have ended badly. My anger boils up as I wonder what kind of idiot would leave a vehicle here. Even if it broke down, they could have moved it off the road to prevent others from being injured.
I shove my door open and stomp through the deep snow. The powder is almost up to my knee. I discover the car isn’t running, and there’s about three inches of snow on it. Looking up, the falling flakes land in my eyes, causing me to blink rapidly as the cold melted liquid does it’s best to freeze my eyes closed.
Taking a deep breath, I remind myself to wrangle in my anger before I swipe away the snow and knock on the window. The interior is dimly lit by a small blue light. If this guy is anything like me, it’s a phone charger. The bundled up figure on the driver’s seat doesn’t move. I knock again, but harder this time, as snow falls from the top of the car and slides down the window. Still no movement, so I try the handle and the door swings open. Snow tumbles into the car and covers the huddled person. Reaching in, I shake his shoulder, trying to wake him up.
“Hey, dude! Do you need a ride or something? You can’t keep your car here, it’s not safe.”
As I shake the person, a mass of long silky brown curls fall from the inside of a hooded jacket. Brushing them aside, I stare down at the pale face of an angel. This beautiful woman curled up in the seat is out cold. Kneeling down, I shake her a little harder. Still no response. Shit! My pulse sky rockets and I worry that she’s dead. That would be heart breaking; a pretty young woman dead on the side of the road during a storm.
“Hey, come on angel. Wake up.”
I shake her harder. Pulling my thick black gloves off, I run my hand over her face. I pull back quickly at the coolness of her skin and my knees start shaking. Reaching in with my fingers, I check for a pulse. It’s there, but weak. I shove my gloves into the pockets of my Carhartt and I scoop her up into my arms.
I quickly move the pretty sleeping angel to the passenger seat of my truck and buckle her in to keep her in place, then I go back and scan the inside of her car. I snap up the purse that lies on the front seat and pull the keys from the ignition.
What kind of idiot sits on a cold mountainside without running the car for heat? She’s almost dead and is most likely suffering from hypothermia.
Standing, I slam the car door shut then trudge back to my truck where I push the driver’s seat forward and retrieve the emergency kit I keep in the back, along with the Space Blanket. I hurry to her side and wrap the blanket around her, before jumping back into the driver’s side of the truck, ignoring the pile of snow that’s fallen onto my seat while the door’s been open.
“Call Mom,” I yell out to my Bluetooth.
As the sound of the phone ringing fills the cab, I turn the heat on high and shift the truck into gear. My tires spin out in the snow, trying to find purchase to move forward. The road is slippery as hell. Banging my hand on the steering wheel, I curse under my breath. Sneaking a glance at the freezing woman next to me, I send up a quick prayer that she makes it.
“Hi, Jarrod honey. Are you almost home? It’s getting bad out.” My mother’s voice fills the cab.
“Mom, I need you to call Doc Stevens and get him there before I get home.”
“Jarrod, are you okay? What’s wrong? You weren’t in an accident, were you?”
“No Mom, I’m fine; but I found a woman stranded on the side of the road and she’s freezing to death. Literally. I couldn’t get her to wake up. I have the emergency blanket on her now, and I’m trying to get home. I’ll be there as quick as I can.”
“Okay honey,” she says, her voice full of concern. “Be safe and I’ll make sure he’s here.”
She clicks off and I focus on the road. The radio is playing Christmas carols and I’m feeling less festive this year than I ever have.
I sneak a glance at the woman next to me. Her face is losing the bluish tint as the air heats the truck. Turning back to the road, I face the steep twists that turn back down the mountain to get to Mount Hope. It’s the longest twenty miles of my life.
I stare at the road before me, which seems to stretch out endlessly, and hope to make it home quickly. I see the lights of the small town shimmering through the whiteness surrounding us. Creeping along, I roll through town and pull up to the house at the same time as the doctor.
The Christmas lights decorating the B&B twinkle brightly through the dark night as I stop my truck. I’ve always loved how this old house looks, all lit up. When I was deployed, I would dream of it. The white lights along the porch, the red and white candy canes in the yard. Now they add a sleigh and reindeer in the yard that’s new since I first left for the military ten years ago. I’ve been back a bit since, but never much around the holidays. The trees that line the driveway are now wrapped in blue lights. This is the kind of place you want to raise a family in. If only there was a woman around who wasn’t just after you for money or bragging rights. And women say men are dogs.
Slamming the truck into park, I jump from the driver’s seat and rush to the other side, struggling to keep my feet under me in the slick snow.
“Doc, she has a pulse, but won’t wake up,” I shout at him as the other man makes his way over to us. “She’s not as blue anymore as she was when I found her. I’ve tried to keep her warm.”
I rip the door open once the doctor reaches my truck so he can assess her. Doc Stevens is old school. He makes house calls to the residents in our small town and refuses to retire. I watch as he dips his head in and looks the woman over.
“I found her on the side of the mountain just around one of the sharp turns. Her car wasn’t running and she only had that jacket on. I don’t know how long she’s been there.”
“Well, son, I came by the pass about five and it’s midnight now. She wasn’t there when I came through, and I assume you didn’t see her when you headed out, so I’d say no more than a few hours, at most. Carry her inside for me. We have to get her warmed up a bit more. I’m afraid we won’t make it to the hospital, so we’ll have to try and help her right here.”
I notice my mother standing on the porch wrapped in a blanket, and see my father rushing back inside.
“I’ll turn on the warming blanket your mother uses,” he says over his shoulder.
As he disappears into the house, my mother stays put, her worried gaze fixed on us. I wrap my arms under the woman and lift her against my chest, before I follow Doc and my mother into the house. As I carried her through the bitter cold, I had held the woman closer, hoping to keep her warm.
The heat blasts my face as soon as I enter the house. My parents have a fire blazing away next to their Christmas tree. Fake presents lay under the real tree, and the smell of pine and spice fills the room. If only I was in a more festive mood, it would be a nice sight; warm and inviting. My parents always go overboard for the holidays, hoping to make the guests feel at home.
I lay the woman on the couch and move to allow Doc access to her.
“Come help me make coffee, Jarrod, and then we’ll set up a bed in
the den for her,” my mother says as she tugs on my arm.
“No Mom. You can put her in my room. It’s the warmest in the house and I’ll get some extra blankets from the closet for her.”
I leave my mother in the kitchen as I run upstairs and take a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie out of my dresser. I know they will be too big on the tiny angel I pulled from the snow, but it’s got to be warmer than those thin leggings she has on now. I deposit the clothes by the couch, and nod at my father as Doc checks her over. In the light of the living room, I see her caramel colored locks glisten in the glow from the fire with soft hints of honey. I wonder if there is someone worrying about her.
Suddenly, I remember her purse is still in my truck, which is still running, with my doors open. I rush back outside, shut my truck off and snatch up her purse. Once back inside, I kick off my boots so I stop tracking snow all over my mother’s floors, and drop into the recliner by the fire. As I open the purse, I feel slightly uncomfortable. My mother taught me a woman’s purse was off limits, but this is an emergency.
Opening her wallet, I see a beautiful photo of the woman fighting for her life just a few feet from me. She looks lovely, her smile brightening the picture on her license. Her name is Jemma Watson. Hopefully, Doc can help Jemma return to her healthy vibrant self.
“Jarrod, do you have the stuff from the store? You can bring it in while the Doc works on our young guest here.” My father looks up, his gaze piercing me.
