by Ash Keller
Christmas Crasher
Ash Keller
Cat Belly Press
Copyright © 2021 by Ash Keller
All rights reserved.
No portion of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any form without written permission from the publisher or author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Book cover design by Blue Valley Author Services
Author website: www.ashkeller.com
Contents
Free Gift
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
About the Author
Also by Ash Keller
Free Gift
For exclusive access to Christmas Blind Date: A Sweet Romantic Comedy, join Ash Keller's VIP Reader's Club!
Lucy Murphy is convinced that Murphy's Law is not only real, but a family curse. So, agreeing to a blind date on Christmas Eve is probably a really bad idea.
Christmas Blind Date is a sweet romantic comedy, suitable for readers looking for a clean & wholesome read. It's a standalone story with a happy ending.
Get your free gift!
Chapter 1
Control Freak. Noun. A person who feels an obsessive need to exercise control over themselves and others and to take command of any situation. (Oxford English Dictionary)
Her whole life, people had been telling Lola Blakeman to loosen up, ditch her schedules and checklists, and be spontaneous. It only took twenty-six trips around the sun for her to give it a shot.
Now her car rested upside-down in a ditch, crumpled like an accordion, with a tree in the passenger seat.
This is what comes from deviating from the plan.
With the seatbelt holding her firmly in place, she assessed the situation, wiggling her fingers and toes. No apparent fractures. Whiplash could be an issue, so it wouldn't be a bad idea to find an icepack for her neck as soon as possible. But aside from minor abrasions and contusions, she hadn't sustained any injuries.
The airbag hung limply from the steering wheel. She reached around it to turn the key, shutting off the ignition. The window was shattered, but all things considered, the driver's side of the car seemed more or less unaffected.
The same could not be said for the passenger's side, which was now home to a large tree trunk, mere inches from where Lola sat. What if she hadn't been alone? What if her niece or nephew had been in the car with her? They wouldn't have survived.
She couldn't breathe. Her heart roared in her ears as she gasped for air. Apparently, her mind had a harder time wrapping itself around the tree than her car did.
Focus, Lola. Triage.
Recalling her clinical rotation in an ER trauma center, she began compartmentalizing her thoughts. Step one: breathe. Inhale through the nose, exhale through the mouth. The wintry air burned her lungs but she forced herself to take even deeper breaths, watching each one fog the air. Her heart rate slowed and her panic faded to background noise.
She needed to get out of the car. Remaining upside-down for too long could lead to a dangerous drop in blood pressure, a brain hemorrhage, or asphyxiation. Not to mention, if there was a leak in the fuel line, the car could explode.
What were the odds of that happening? Could the car actually blow at any moment? Panic threatened to overwhelm her again but she tamped it down. Speculation was foolish. She was a doctor, not a mechanic.
She reached for the door handle, but it wouldn't open. It's okay. The window will work.
Knowing she'd fall when she unlatched the seat belt, she reached out to brace an arm against the ceiling. As she rolled to the floor and crawled out the window, she was thankful she'd actually stuck with her New Year's resolution to do yoga every morning. She was still pretty far from her goal of looking like Uma Thurman, but with continued practice and a medically impossible late-twenties growth spurt, it could happen.
Lola considered trying to find her purse, but it had been on the floorboard of the passenger seat, so what was the point? And there was still the possibility of the car erupting in flames. She scrambled away on her hands and knees before standing to run. She did not stop until her side ached. With the snow swirling around her head and the earth blanketed in white, she had no idea where she was.
Fortunately, she'd been wearing her winter coat in the car, so she had some protection against the cold. She fished a pair of gloves out of the pocket and slipped them on. If only she also had a hat. And her cell phone…
Her cell phone! It was in her coat, too. She pulled it out and inspected it. It had suffered some damage in the accident. The top corner of the screen was shattered. Otherwise, it seemed to work. Maybe she could call for help. She took a deep breath, hoping she'd catch a break.
But no. There was no cell service.
Lola clutched her hair and groaned. How could she have been so stupid? At the start of the day, she had been a surgical resident at Johns Hopkins University. She'd had food, shelter, and safety. She'd even had a hybrid car that got fifty-three miles to the gallon. Her future was bright. Now, the sun was setting, and she was going to die of exposure in who-knew-where?
And even if she did survive, her life was over. She'd walked out of rounds without warning or notice. She couldn't even say for sure why she'd done it. She had skipped Thanksgiving with her family to stay in Baltimore and work. It's what was expected. And she'd made it through the weekend just fine. Then Cyber Monday arrived.
She'd been searching for Christmas presents online before work, saw a discounted set of bonbon molds, and suddenly she'd imagined a whole different life for herself. One that didn't include Thanksgivings spent mending stab wounds and reattaching fingers lost during turkey-carving accidents.
She'd gone to work in a daze. One minute, she was standing with a group of fellow residents, listening as a plastic surgeon discussed surgical options with a patient. The next, she was walking to her locker to change out of scrubs. She left the hospital, hopped into her sensible hybrid sedan, and drove away without a plan. That was unusual in and of itself. Dr. Lola Blakeman always had a plan…and a Plan B, C, D, E, and F. But the part that really didn’t make sense, even now, was that she didn't drive toward her family—her brother, Lance, and his beautiful wife and kids. She'd gone the opposite direction. And now she had no idea what state she was even in.
A terrible thought occurred to her. If she died here, would Lance ever even know what had happened to her? Would anyone think to look for her ID, entombed somewhere within the twisted metal of the destroyed car? Or would she just be another unclaimed Jane Doe in the morgue?
The air whipped around her, snowflakes biting into her face. She didn't know why people were always romanticizing snow. It was abusive and cruel. Her hair was soaked and her teeth were starting to chatter.
"You're dead meat when I catch you!"
Lola spun, trying to discern which direction the voice had come from. It was male. And angry. That much she knew. But was it directed at her? Had she stumbled into a Children of the Corn situation?
No, no, no, no, no.
She'd read too many horror novels. Her brother was a literary agent and he happened to represent the biggest name in horror, Paul Arken. Lola adored Paul. He was a close friend of the family. But at this particular m
oment, she wished she'd never read one of his books…or seen any of the movie adaptations.
She looked around for a weapon—a stick, a rock, anything. But there was nothing but snow. Lola braced herself for an attack, standing with her arms up, trying to remember how The Karate Kid would block a punch.
But it was a black ball of fluff that bounded out of the woods, not a homicidal maniac. In the fading light of day, Lola saw that it was a Scottish terrier, and its black fur was caked with snow. She'd barely had time to process the dog's adorable sweater, red with a candy-cane print, when a bigger creature emerged from the woods.
A person. A very big, and very tall, man. The lumberjack of every city girl's fantasies. Despite the cold, he wore only a flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up, showcasing his muscular forearms. A winter hat covered his hair and a grizzled beard covered his face. Lola had just pieced together that his was the threatening voice she had heard, when she noticed what he held in one hand.
An ax.
She looked down at the Scottie, horrified.
Without thinking, she jumped between the man and the dog.
Chapter 2
Eric Jolly ran through the woods, carefully dodging trees and jumping over fallen limbs. If the dumb dog doesn't freeze to death, I'll kill her myself.
But that wasn't even close to the truth and he knew it. More importantly, the dog knew it. That's why she defied him every chance she got, usually taking off right after she ate dinner. Because she knew she could. He'd do anything for that dog. She'd been his only companion for the past eight months. He'd discovered in that time that it was important that a recluse have a pet. He didn't have the energy to deal with people, but it helped to have a living creature to take care of. Otherwise, he'd probably have drunk himself to death by now.
Eric burst through the woods into a clearing, expecting to see the incorrigible Scottie rolling in the snow, enjoying the game of chase she'd forced him to play.
He was not prepared to come face-to-face with a shivering blonde with wet hair and snow in her eyelashes. What on earth was she doing outside on a night like this? It would be dark soon and she wasn't even wearing a hat. His dog had plopped down in the snow a few yards away. Eric cleared his throat to ask the stranger if she was okay, but she spoke first.
"Stay back," she yelled.
Eric took a step forward, frowning. "Are you all right, ma'am?"
She lifted her chin an inch and raised her fists into a fighting stance. Was this woman for real?
Eric combed his beard with his fingers. "You should raise your fists a few inches higher," he suggested. "You're leaving your chin exposed to a jab."
She scowled but lifted her hands. "I mean it," she warned. "Not another step."
Eric eyed her appraisingly and shook his head. "Your stance is all wrong. Feet apart. Bend your knees. You need to punch with your whole body. Not just your arms." He took another step toward her.
"Stop right there!" Her eyes flicked to the ax and then back to his face. Doubt clouded her features and her hands started to droop. But she quickly raised them again and bent her knees as instructed.
"I see what you're thinking," Eric said, "and you're right. Even with a proper fighting stance, no one stands a chance against an ax."
Her eyes bulged and she released a high-pitched scream that made Eric's ears ring. Then she scooped his dog into her arms and started to run. Eric didn’t know how to react. He wanted to laugh at the absurdity of this tiny blonde woman threatening a man with an ax. But it occurred to him that she really might have a screw loose and she'd just kidnapped his dog.
He did not have time for this. There were only five days left before opening day and he was hopelessly behind already. The last thing he needed was a mentally deranged woman roaming his Christmas tree farm.
Cursing under his breath, Eric chased after the mystery woman.
The dog wiggled in Lola's arms and she could barely keep a hold on it. "Stop squirming," she begged. "I'm trying to save you."
"Ma'am, could you please put the dog down?" The man had already caught up with her.
Lola spun around to face him. "No! You're not getting your hands on him." The Scottie was squirming even harder now and had started to growl. Lola struggled to maintain her grip.
The man dropped the ax and raised his hands in surrender. He took a small step forward, as if approaching a wild animal. "I'm not going to hurt you. I just want the dog."
As if. She had taken an oath to save people.
Okay, so maybe a dog wasn't a person, but still! She couldn’t just stand by and let the poor creature be chopped to bits.
She looked from left to right, frantically searching for a place to run. Seeing nothing, she did the only thing she could. She tilted her head back and shrieked at the top of her lungs, begging for someone to help her.
"Stop screaming!" The man charged toward her. Before Lola could react, he'd snatched the Scottie from her arms. He cradled the dog protectively and glared at Lola. "You're scaring her."
"I…" Lola's voice faltered. "You're not going to hurt the dog?"
A deep frown line creased his forehead. "Why on earth would I hurt the dog?"
"You said it was dead meat." Her voice came out in a squeak.
The man stared at her, incredulous. "It's just an expression." He shook his head, fury blazing in his eyes. "Unbelievable."
Anger replaced Lola's confusion. She stretched to her full height—an intimidating 5'3''—and placed her hands on her hips. "Why did you have an ax then?"
The lumberjack raised an eyebrow. "What's the usual reason a person would have an ax?"
To murder people? To chop heads off chickens? To kill helpless little Scottish terriers?
He sat down the dog and lifted the ax. "This is an ax. Axes are used to chop wood." He spoke very slowly. "Not a brain surgeon, are you?"
Not yet, Lola thought. Besides, she was leaning toward a cardiothoracic specialty. Wait…was he smirking? He was being sarcastic?
He was! Lola couldn't believe it. This barbaric lumberjack was questioning her intelligence. No one had ever treated Lola like she was dumb before. Who did this guy think he was?
She narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms. "I happen to have an IQ of 170, thank you very much."
The man had the nerve to laugh. "Am I supposed to be impressed?"
Lola gaped at him. How was she supposed to answer that? Her IQ was impressive. There was no supposed to be about it. But she'd never actually told anyone her score before. She wasn't one to brag, and besides, it had never been particularly relevant. As a doctor, she was surrounded by smart people all the time.
"Well, genius," the man continued, "if you're so smart, why are you wandering around without a hat? Or did you fail to notice the snow? That's the white stuff, by the way."
Lola felt the heat rise to her cheeks. This guy was the worst. A Davy-Crockett-wannabe, with his flannel and his ax and his dog. He was throwing her completely off balance. Then again, she'd been off her game all day.
She sighed and pointed a thumb over her shoulder. "My car is over there somewhere. I hit a patch of ice and ran off the road." She expected him to make fun of her some more, but he didn't. He simply nodded.
"I'm sure yours wasn't the first…or the last. It's going to be a slick night out there." He rubbed his eyes, as if suddenly weary. "There's no way you're getting your car out of the ditch anytime soon, and it’s not safe for anyone to drive here to get you. You're going to have to stay with me tonight."
"I can't stay with you," Lola spluttered. "I don't know you and…" What other option did she have? She had no money, no ID, no cell service. She was stranded.
"Then freeze," he said with a shrug. "No skin off my nose." He turned to walk back through the woods. The Scottie trailed behind, jumping in his footprints.
Lola had no choice but to follow.
Chapter 3
Eric made sure to walk just fast enough for the blonde to barely be able to kee
p up. It seemed the easiest and most polite way to make it clear he wasn't interested in conversation. Talking to her was exhausting. He hadn't spoken to anyone in so long, and this woman was more taxing than the average person.
She was a foot shorter than him, weaponless, and had no clue how to throw a punch. But she was still willing to go toe-to-toe with him to protect the dog. If he still had a sense of humor, he'd probably find the whole thing hilarious.
A sudden wave of sadness threatened to drag him under. He swallowed past the burning in his throat and forced the flood of emotions back down. She was ready to defend the Scottie with her life. It was absolutely ridiculous…but kind of nice too. He was glad to know the dog had another protector.
The Scottie used to have two other fierce protectors. And so had he.
"Oh," the woman breathed. "Wow."
It took Eric a moment to realize what had amazed her. Then he noticed they'd emerged from the woods. Thousands of twinkling lights flickered overhead and stretched across the fifteen-acre lot of Christmas trees and barns. There were several decorated pines flanking the length of the driveway.
Eric knew the sight was nothing less than magical, especially with the snow. But for him, the magic was gone.
"I've never seen anything so beautiful," she said. "What is this place?"
With a heavy sigh, Eric gestured to the grounds. "Welcome to Jolly Trees Farm."
They'd emerged from the woods and into Winter Wonderland. In the dying light of day, the world had begun to look gray and bleak. But here among the lights? It was absolutely breathtaking. She doubted the North Pole itself could capture the joy of Christmas as well as Jolly Trees Farm. A reindeer could fly overhead and Lola wouldn’t be surprised.
Strangely, the farm's owner had transformed just as quickly as the landscape. In under a second, he'd gone from strong and arrogant to utterly broken. His shoulders sagged as if he carried the weight of the world on them. It was almost as if the lights of the farm were kryptonite, draining him of life. Lola didn't understand it, but one thing was certain: whether grumpy or dejected, he was the last person she'd expect to live in a place like this.
