Sweet Christmas Kisses (32 page)

Twenty minutes later, she was shaking from concentrating, and cold sweat covered her forehead. Three times, she had lost the road and sunk deep into snow. The four-wheel drive had screamed in protest as she reversed, but each time, she had made it. Desperate, she scanned the horizon for a light. She was past caring who she woke up, as long as they had a house with a working radiator. She had lost all sense of direction and only had a hazy idea how far she had come. The Jeep rattled and groaned as the wind shook it. It started to feel like a foreign thing, not like the machine she knew and trusted.

Her foot slipped; the Jeep jumped forward, hit an icy patch, turned in a tight circle. Joanna's heart constricted. The Jeep slithered off the road and fell into a snow bank with a thud. Joanna banged her head against the window pane. For an instant, she lay stunned, too shocked to move. The acrid taste of copper seeped into her mouth and made her nauseous. With a trembling hand, she cut the ignition and tried to raise herself. Half the windscreen was covered by snow. The other showed nothing but black nothingness. She swallowed. Her lip seemed to have stopped bleeding, but the taste of blood remained. With stiff fingers, she released her seat belt, pulled herself up with the help of the steering wheel and slid to the passenger side. She pushed the door open with her foot and climbed out in slow motion. Her shoulder hurt. Her head hurt. Everything inside her trembled.

The wind tore at her torn coat and whipped the hood from her head again. Joanna looked around. The world was a mix of black and white, though the white only showed as lighter patches in the dark. The Jeep lay on the side, its nose buried deep in snow. No way could she get it onto the road again. Fear constricted her throat and made her breath come out in shallow gasps. She could not keep the car running for the rest of the night, to keep herself warm. Though she had the blanket. Where was it anyway? It had to be in the back, where . . . Joanna's heart stopped for an instant as she remembered. She had used it during the weekend . . . and had forgotten to put it back in the vehicle.

The phone! She had to call emergency – for what it was worth. They could hardly send a helicopter in the middle of a blizzard, and if her Jeep didn't make it, she didn't know what car would. But at least people would know where to look for her. Joanna limped back to the car and reached for her handbag. She had to take off her gloves to switch on the phone and the cold bit into her fingers like an angry dog. She pressed the button to unlock the screen. Nothing. Joanna blinked and tried again. Nothing at all. “I can't believe I forgot to charge it.” Her lips felt frozen. She dropped the phone inside her handbag again and hurried to put on her gloves to protect her icy fingers.

A feeling she had never known rose inside her and threatened to overwhelm her. Panic. Hysteria.
Stay calm.
She clenched her fists and scanned the horizon. If she could find a vacation house somewhere, she could break in, get the radiator going, and survive the night. If only she could . . . She locked the Jeep out of habit and scrambled through the snow until she reached a harder underground that maybe defined the road. The snow blew into her eyes with tiny ice-darts. It hurt. She blinked, turned her back to the wind and checked the area once again. There! Wasn't that a light? She stared so hard, her eyes seemed to freeze. Maybe it was a mirage – if such a thing existed in a desert made of snow. Probably not. Or it was a bad spirit, guiding her into nothing, leading her to her sure death. She could already see the headlines in the Stony Brook Chronicle: “Veterinarian frozen in blizzard after difficult foaling. The foal is all right.” She shook herself and blinked again. The light was still there. Whatever it was, she would try to reach it. It was her only chance.

As she had no idea where the road led, she decided to make a beeline for the light. If she had to scramble over something, so be it. She gave her Jeep one last, longing look and took off in grim determination. At first, she seemed to make good progress, and the light was there all the time. But then, the rough surface below her started to bog, and she fell knee-deep into snow. She pushed herself up and continued, but her feet started to feel as though they were encased in cement. The world had become a solitary, vicious place. She heard nothing but the howling of the wind and her rasping breath as she fought her way through the snow. Joanna lifted her head once again, wiped the snow from her cold face and looked for the light.

It was gone.

I won't make it.
The thought, rising hot, in a panic, came out of nowhere.
They say people without a compass or orientation walk in circles.
She bit her lip and marched on.

Stay calm.
She tried to press her panic back into the tin where it had come from, but it had gotten too large to be contained.
You can always tell if you've been here before by your own footprints.
Her internal voice sounded as cheery as it was false.

Unless you walk in circles with changing diameters. Then you won't know.
The defeating voice inside her mocked.

Joanna tried not to listen to her inner voices and marched on. Though she was going as fast as she could, she could feel the cold threatening her, creeping through her torn jacket, sliding down her back with icy fingers.
Walk on. Don't stop.
Her muscles stiffened from exhaustion, and her legs started to tremble.
How long have I been walking? Twenty minutes? More?
She didn't dare to check the time, knowing it would cool out her body even more if she took off her glove.
Walk on. Don't think. Walk.
Joanna forced herself to continue for what seemed an eternity.
Don't look for the light. Just go on. You will soon see it again.
Her throat became parched, and her body started to tremble from exhaustion. When she couldn't resist anymore, she lifted her head once again and scanned the horizon, squinting against the wind.
Nothing. The light is gone.
Fear closed her throat.
I'm all alone. I will die out here.

Her foot hit nothing, and she tumbled headlong into the snow. She tried to protect her face by landing on her arms, but the impact seared through her injured shoulder with a dull pain that made her cry out. Tears sprung from her eyes and froze on her cheeks.

Get up.
Her inside voice lashed out like a whip.
Get up now.

She clenched her teeth and forced herself into a kneeling position, then rose with an effort that cost her every ounce of will she possessed. Where was the light? She stumbled forward, lost, crying like an abandoned child now.

Come on. One more step.
She kept her head bent and concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other. When she hit something hard, she crumbled into a heap with a cry of pain.
A tree? Have I run headlong into a tree?
Her hands felt the obstacle in front of her. She peered through the dark, trying to make out what it was.

A wall. A sob broke from her. She was too exhausted to get up, so she continued on all fours, following the wall.
A wall means a house. A house means people.

Unless it's a vacation home.
The destructive voice inside her stabbed at her.
You'll never manage to open a door or window, exhausted as you are.
Her mind turned numb with fear. She crawled around the corner, every move an effort.

A door! She pulled herself up, braced herself against the door frame and managed to locate a bell. With trembling fingers, she pressed it.

Nothing.

The house is deserted.

She pulled off her glove and clenched her teeth as the frost bit into her hand. She brought up her other hand and guided her arm to keep her shaking finger still. It seemed like an eternity, but finally, she managed to press the little button once again.

And again.

And again.

She heard nothing.

Joanna's knees buckled. She fell onto the steps in a heap.
They'll find you frozen stiff in front of this door.

The door opened and a mix of warmth and light spilled out.

A man's gruff voice said, “Oh, for heaven's sake. Couldn't you find another place to collapse?”

Something hard gripped her shoulder and hoisted her up.

She yelped with pain and stared into the face of the man who scowled at her. He had blue eyes, cold and hard. Like the ice outside. Like the ice inside her. Her heart pounded with sudden fear, and her teeth started to chatter.

He lifted an eyebrow. “Admirable.” He spoke so low, she almost didn't hear him. “It's hard to imitate that effect.”

Joanna frowned.
This doesn't make sense. I must have misunderstood him.

He pulled her inside, kicked the door shut, hauled her into an old-fashioned kitchen, and plunked her down on a wooden bench as if she was a heavy shopping bag.

Joanna pulled up her knees and hugged herself. Her whole body shook.
I should leave. Right now.
She clenched her teeth to suppress the helplessness rising inside her. Under no circumstances would she return to the cold outside. Maybe he had just been surprised and would become friendlier with time.

He kept his back to her and rummaged around the kitchen. A flame flickered; gas hissed.

She crossed her arms over her knees and dropped her head onto her arms. Sudden tears flowed down her face. She couldn't tell why she was crying, from relief or sheer exhaustion, but she knew it helped, and she didn't try to stop her tears. The effort would have been too much anyway.

A mug banged onto the table. “Drink this.” His voice sounded as if he had to say the words in spite of himself.

Joanna lifted her head and stared at him. He had thick hair, blond, bound back in a long pony-tail. She had never seen him before.

He met her gaze without twitching a muscle.

Dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt, he didn't look as if she had disturbed his rest, but she still felt that she should apologize for disturbing him in the middle of the night.

He narrowed his eyes. “I'm afraid you don't belong to the women who look pretty when they cry.”

Joanna decided she had died after all. Obviously, she had ended up in hell, and while it was different to what she had expected, it was not any nicer. She dropped her gaze to the mug and lifted it. Her arm shook so hard, the content of the mug slopped over the rim.

He gave an exasperated hiss, then took her hand and steadied it until she had drunk the remaining content. It was hot chocolate. She could feel how the hot liquid went down, warming her from the inside. Maybe she wasn't in hell after all. Or maybe he had poisoned it and waited now for the cramps to begin.

She swallowed.

“More?” His face remained impassive. A face to remember, with strong bone structure, manly, clear-cut, and for some reason, not at odds with the ponytail.

Joanna shook her head.

He pulled her to her feet, and for a minute, Joanna was afraid he would push her out the front door. “What do you think you're doing?” She tried to make her voice sound steady.

“You need to warm up.” He lead her to an ancient bathroom, dumped her on an old wicker chair, and flung open a wardrobe. Then he pulled out a pair of sweat pants, a t-shirt, fleece socks, and a thick sweater. This, he piled onto the sink which had a crack in the base. “This is not my stuff,” he declared.,

She blinked as she could make no sense of his comment.

He eyed her with as much suspicion as if she was a puppy not yet house-trained. “Take a bath now. When you're done, knock.”

She frowned. What on earth did he mean?

“I'll lock you in until you're done.” As soon as he had finished his sentence, he had gone through the door.

Joanna heard the key turn in the lock with a grating sound. Her mouth turned dry. What on earth was happening here? She looked around the room. No window. Not that she was in any shape to crawl out of windows right now. She shook her head. Nothing made sense. Most definitely she was in hell. Or maybe on the road to it. Did the road to hell include hot chocolate and a bath?

Calm down, girl.
She took a deep breath.
If you leave right now, exhausted as you are, you'll end up as a frozen corpse by the end of his drive. Be sensible. Take a bath, regroup your strength tonight, and then get the hell out of here.
She twisted the hot water tabs and watched the steaming liquid gush into the bathtub. Both the tab and the tub had seen better days, but at least they were clean.

With stiff fingers, she prized her wet clothes from her body. When she came to the last layer, shivering in the cold bathroom, she hesitated. What would stop that strange guy from coming back, the second she was naked in the tub? She pulled the wicker chair forward until its' back was directly beneath the door handle. It didn't look as if it would stop anybody determined to come in, but at least it would hinder the progress. Then she checked the crooked shelf next to the sink for something she could use as a weapon, just in case. An electric razor, a brush, a tooth brush. Would he be intimated if she shook a brush at him? Not likely. Nevertheless, she placed the brush next to the tub.

She took off her t-shirt with some difficulty as her shoulder hurt every time she lifted her arm. Then she surveyed the damage in the mirror that had one corner missing. She had been right about the bruise. Tomorrow, it would be a beauty. But at least it wasn't bleeding.

Joanna lowered herself deep into the hot water, leaning back to cover her shoulders with the warmth, and exhaled on a never-ending breath. Utter bliss. She took her time, and whenever the temperature cooled down, she refilled hot water into the tub. Her bones felt heavy, and she was afraid of falling asleep, but she knew how important it was to disperse the last chill from her body if she didn't want to end up with pneumonia. At long last, she forced herself to get out, dried herself with care and put on the clothes he had left for her. They were way too large, with the exception of the sweat pants which were too tight around her bottom. Well, he had already told her she wasn't pretty, so it didn't matter. She dared a look at the mirror. A pale face stared back, lank hair hanging down. Her brown eyes were red-rimmed and sunk. Definitely not pretty. The bathroom did not contain a hair-dryer or a comb, and she did not want to use his brush. She shrugged, winced because of the pain, removed the wicker chair, placed the brush back where it belonged, and knocked at the door.