plumped the pillow she’d taken from the bed upstairs. “Lie down, Matthias.” He gave in and stretched out, so tall that his feet hung off the end. “Here you go.” She settled an afghan over him and tucked it in around him. “Okay, I’ll be right back.” And she hustled over to the sink to run cold water on a cloth.
“Feels good,” he said, when she gently rubbed the wet cloth across his forehead and over his cheeks. “So nice and cool. Thank you...” Under the blanket, his injured leg jerked. He winced and stifled a groan. The lidocaine was probably wearing off. But the acetaminophen should be cutting the pain a little—and lowering his fever.
“Just rest,” she said softly.
“All right. For few minutes, maybe. Not long. I’ll be fine and I’ll take you where you need to go.”
She made a sound of agreement low in her throat, though she knew he wasn’t going anywhere for at least a day or two.
Within ten minutes, he was asleep.
Quietly, so as not to wake him, she cleaned up after the impromptu medical procedure. She even rinsed out his bloody boot and put it near the hearth to dry.
Two hours later, at a little after eight in the evening, Matthias was still on the couch. He kept fading in and out of a fevered sleep. There wasn’t much Sabra could do for him but bathe his sweaty face to cool him off a little and retuck the blanket around him whenever he kicked it off.
She put another log on the fire and went through the cupboards and the small fridge in the kitchen area. He had plenty of food, the nonperishable kind. Beans. Rice. Flour. Pasta. Cans of condensed milk, of vegetables and fruit. She opened some chili and ate it straight from the can, washing it down with a glass of cold water.
Matthias slept on, stirring fitfully, muttering to himself. Now and then he called out the names of men, “Mark, no!” and “Nelson, don’t do it!” and “Finn, where are you?” as if in warning or despair. He also muttered a woman’s name, “Christy,” more than once and vowed in a low, ragged rumble, “Never again.”
He woke around nine. “Sabra?” he asked, his voice dry. Hoarse.
“Right here.”
“Water?”
She brought him a tall glassful. “Don’t get up. Let me help.” She slipped her free hand under his big, sweaty head and held the glass to his mouth as he drained it.
With a whispered “Thank you” and a weary sigh, he settled against the pillow again.
She moistened another cloth in the icy water from the sink and bathed his face for him. “You know what, Matthias?”
“Ungh?”
“I’m going to go ahead and unload your Jeep for you.”
He made another low sound in his throat. She decided to take that sound for agreement.
“Well, great.” She patted his shoulder. “I’ll just get after that, then. Go back to sleep.” Scooping his keys off the side table, she put on her jacket and quietly tiptoed out to the porch.
The gorgeous sight that greeted her stole her breath and stopped her in her tracks.
Just as Matthias had predicted, the rain had turned to snow. She gazed at a world gone glittering white.
In the golden light that spilled out the cabin windows, the fat flakes fell thick and heavy. They’d piled up on the ground and decorated the branches of the western hemlock and Sitka spruce trees. There was a good three inches already.
“So beautiful,” she whispered aloud and all of her worries just fell away, both at the mess that currently added up to her life and the challenges she’d faced in the past few hours.
How could she be anything but happy in this moment? Christmas was falling from the sky.
She knew what was coming. She would be staying in this cabin for at least a few days with the man who’d introduced himself by pointing his rifle at her. Should she be more upset about that?
Probably.
But after they’d gotten past those terrifying first minutes when she’d feared he might shoot her, things had definitely started looking up. He was a good patient, and he seemed kindhearted beneath that gruff exterior.
And this situation? It felt less like an ordeal and more like an adventure. As if she’d fallen out of her own thoroughly depressing life—and into a weird and wonderful Christmassy escapade.
Stuck in a one-room cabin with a big, buff injured stranger for Christmas?
She’d take that over her real life any day of the week.
As it turned out, she didn’t need the car key. Matthias had left the Jeep unlocked.
And there were treasures in there—three large boxes of groceries. Fresh stuff, greens and tomatoes. Apples. Bananas. Eggs, milk and cheese. A gorgeous rib roast, a fat chicken and some really pretty pork chops.
It was a good thing she’d decided to bring it all in, too. By morning everything would have been frozen.
She carried the food in first, then his laptop, a box of brightly wrapped Christmas gifts probably from his family and another boxful of books, as well.
After the boxes, she brought in three duffel bags containing men’s clothes and fresh linens. Detouring to the bathroom, she stacked the linens in the cabinet. She carried the bags of clothes up to the loft, leaving them near the top of the stairs for him to deal with when he felt better.
Her sick, surly stranger definitely needed some chicken soup. She hacked up the chicken. She put the pieces on to simmer in a pot of water with onions and garlic, a little celery and some spices from the cute little spice rack mounted on the side of a cabinet.
The night wore on. She fished the cooked chicken from the pot. Once it was cool enough to handle, she got rid of the bones, chopped the meat and returned it to the pot, along with some potatoes and carrots.
On the sofa, Matthias tossed and turned, sometimes muttering to the guys named Nelson and Mark, even crying out once or twice. She soothed him when he startled awake and stroked his sweaty face with a cold cloth.
When the soup was ready, she fed it to him. He ate a whole bowlful, looking up at her through only slightly dazed blue eyes as she spooned it into his mouth. Once he’d taken the last spoonful, he said, “I’ve changed my mind. You can stay.”
“Good. Because no one’s leaving this cabin for at least a couple of days. It’s seriously snowing.”
“Didn’t I warn you?”
“Yes, you did. And it’s piling up fast, too. You’re gonna be stuck with me through Christmas, anyway.”
“It’s all right. I can deal with you.” He sat up suddenly. Before she could order him to lie back down, he said, “I really need to take a whiz—get me the cane from that basket by the door, would you?”
“You need more than a cane right now. You can lean on me.”
