Silver Bells Read online

  His hand left her breast, smoothing her hair away from his face. She held her breath. His head nudged nearer until she felt his mouth millimeters from her ear. It was torture. But a special kind of torture, she admitted to herself.

  He seemed very comfortable. How many women had he slept with this way? Judging from what Karen had said, probably more than his share. His arm returned to its earlier resting place, but this time, his hand curved around her breast. Enough is enough! she thought desperately, trying to ignore her body's response. Now she had to move.

  She tried to slip away. His hand glided down to tighten around her waist. His forearm flexed, drawing her closer. Was he awake? She shivered, praying that he wasn't. The even rise and fall of his chest resumed and she relaxed. Now she could feel every line of his heart-stoppingly hard body against her back, but she didn't dare try to move again. The consequences could be disastrous.

  Jillian forced herself to take slow even breaths. As she relaxed, she instinctively pressed closer to Matt, enjoying his protection and warmth. This could be nice, she thought.

  Her mouth curved into a wisp of a contented smile as she closed her eyes and willed herself back to sleep.

  The next morning Matt was gone. After an initial attack of panic, Jillian felt relieved at not having to face him. His Blazer still leaned drunkenly out of the same snowdrift it had been in since Christmas Eve, so she knew he hadn't gone far. Finding a note stating that he'd be back for lunch, calmed any lingering fears. She wandered around aimlessly for a bit, then did a few chores, finally settling in for a day's work on Grandma's quilt.

  When he came in for lunch he had red ears, what looked like a frostbitten nose and a surly disposition. She didn't ask where he'd been. Instead, she ladled out the chili she'd prepared. Whenever she opened her mouth to say something, he growled at her, so she kept her peace. She passed him her homemade rolls and they ate in silence.

  Then, he returned to the bedroom and came back with his still-damp outdoor gear. "Where are you going?" she asked and immediately wished she hadn't.

  "Back out," he replied, heading for the door.

  "What did you do all morning?"

  He pulled his boots over his thick socks, ignoring her.

  Darn it, while he was here, she was going to make sure she heard a human voice, even if it was only hers. She lowered her voice an octave. "I had a lovely morning, Jillian, tromping about in the snow. Would you like to come with me?"

  Matt gave her a look that could have scorched a chestnut. "Now Mama and Papa Bear will go for a walk. Right?"

  She frowned and backed away at his bitter tone. "What did I do?" She'd worked so hard at keeping everything friendly yet impersonal.

  "What didn't you do? You mopped floors and made a hot lunch. For good measure, you threw in homemade rolls, smiled pleasantly across the table and pretended not to be bothered by my mood." He continued sarcastically. "Would you like a printed agenda of my day? Shouldn't Mama Bear know what Papa Bear is up to? That would complete the perfect picture, wouldn't it?"

  Her jaw dropped.

  "I'm not interested in playing house with you, Jillian, however attractive you make the picture seem." He bit out his words emphatically. "This is all good bait—but not for me. I can do all that for myself. Now if you really want to do something for me…" he taunted, coming toward her menacingly.

  "Of all the conceited, arrogant—" She couldn't think of any names insulting enough to call him. "That wasn't bait! I did all that because it needed to be done. The rolls were made and frozen weeks ago— long before I knew you. What an egomaniac!"

  He eyed her suspiciously, then threw up his hands. "Ignore me, Jake." His voice softened for the first time since he'd returned. "I'm in a bad mood."

  "I noticed." Jillian wanted to approach him, but kept her feet firmly planted in the center of the room. "Why?"

  "Chalk it up to exhaustion. I didn't sleep well."

  "You seemed to."

  His brow shot up and she flushed.

  "I didn't think you knew I came to bed."

  "I woke up once. You were sleeping like a baby." Jillian couldn't meet his eyes. Her body warmed at the memory of the way he'd held her while he slept.

  "Maybe for a while, but you kept me awake most of the night. Every time I'd get to sleep, I'd wake to find you plastered against me. Heaven help poor Harry. He's going to spend the rest of his life walking around like the living dead."

  Jillian didn't argue, although he had kept her "plastered" to him. She decided that wasn't a safe subject. "Can I go back outside with you?"

  "It's much too cold."

  "You don't seem to mind," she pressed.

  "I'm used to it."

  "I won't bother you," she promised.

  "You'd bother me," he assured her, shaking his head as he yanked on a ski cap.

  "Will you at least tell me what you've been doing?" He raised an eyebrow, questioning her right to ask. "Pure and simple curiosity. I'm not checking up on you. But I'm going to go stark raving mad if someone doesn't talk to me."

  "I'm looking for a way out of here," he said. "I walked out to the county road. It looks like they've cleared those. This afternoon I'm going to try to find someone with a functioning phone on the other side of the lake. All the homes this side of the point are closed for the winter." He shrugged and zipped his coat. "Maybe I'll be luckier this afternoon." He paused in the act of opening the door. "You'll be all right?"

  "Sure." She turned her back to him.

  "Sure," he echoed. "That's why you're pouting."

  She lifted a shoulder and stretched her hands toward the fireplace. "I'm not. It's just so quiet out here. I feel like I must be the only one left in the world."

  His hand on her arm surprised her. She hadn't heard him cross the room. "You're not alone, Jake."

  "I know," she said, resisting the urge to fling herself at him and beg him to stay. "I'm beginning to go a little nuts."

  "Me, too," he muttered under his breath, and dropped his arm. "I'll be back before dark."

  Jillian straightened everything up again and resumed her quilting. She'd brought the quilt with her, hoping to finally get some work done on it. Whenever she'd attempted to work on it before, she'd dissolved into tears, memories rushing in on her as she touched the fabric. She had cut pieces from some of her grandmother's dresses, which one of her elderly neighbors in Topeka had sewn into a patterned quilt top. Jillian planned to make the kind of quilt Grandma had made from Jillian's baby clothes. It would be a keepsake for her daughter. A memory of the great-grandmother she'd never meet. This first Christmas with Harrison had seemed an appropriate time to work on the quilt.

  After a few false starts and a few wistful sighs about the quality of her stitches compared with Grandma's, memories—happy ones this time—engrossed her, and the afternoon flew.

  This square of floral print was from one of the dresses Grandma wore when she went "out." This one, Grandma had worn the night Jillian graduated.

  She smiled, remembering Grandma's exuberance that—

  Jillian jumped as Matt poked his head around the kitchen door. "I didn't realize the woodpile was depleted. I'm going to have to cut some more." He stuck a snowy boot into the room. "Will you get me the chain saw out of the utility closet? I don't want to track up your clean floor." He scowled at the few lonely logs next to the fireplace. "It's going to be cold tonight."

  "Do you want some help?"

  "No need, I'll just bring back enough to see us through the night. We'll build up the supply tomorrow if we can't manage to find a way out by then." The sky darkened as he spoke. "I'd better get going if I don't want to be lugging wood back after dark."

  "I'll start supper," Jillian offered, handing him the saw.

  "It's my turn, but I'll trade you for tomorrow."

  He seemed to be in a better mood now and she mirrored his smile. The sun and wind had burned his face, making it shine in the fading light. She hadn't noticed the tiny laugh lines a
round his eyes until the sun had highlighted them, reddening everything but narrow white streaks. She reached automatically to touch them, excusing herself to both of them by remarking on the sunburn. She gave herself permission to let her hand linger. "Does it hurt?"

  His expression darkened and she drew her hand away. "It'll be tan by tonight," he murmured.

  Opening the door, he paused—half in, half out—as if reluctant to leave. "Things going better this afternoon?" he asked.

  She nodded and indicated the quilt frame in the main room. It suddenly occurred to her that this was the first time she'd taken it out without crying. "I'm working on a memory quilt." She paused to clear her throat. "It's design uses some of my grandmother's things. This is the first time I've been able to get much done on it."

  "That's good, Jake," he said softly. "Everything fades in time," he added, almost to himself.

  Jillian closed the door behind him, watching through the window until he disappeared into the trees.

  Nightfall was well on its way by the time she had supper started and turned her attention back to the quilt. She had to light the lantern to see her delicate stitches.

  As she worked her mind turned to the future but Harrison, the man who should have filled her thoughts, had somehow become a shadowy figure.

  She listened absentmindedly to the distant clatter of the chain saw and let Matt take the spotlight in her thoughts.

  Anyone could go a little overboard for Prince Charming, especially at close quarters. And Matt was a fairy-tale hero who had saved her from a lonely Christmas. Their isolation made the real world seem like a dream. Once they left, she wouldn't even remember this intense feeling of belonging to him. No one could live a lifetime in fantasy land, she reminded herself.

  Jillian winced. She'd stabbed herself with the needle. "I'm going to have to pay attention to what I'm doing or quit," she muttered, watching the blood bead on her fingertip. An uneasiness washed over her and she frowned. She raised her head, and a drop of blood fell on the quilt, unheeded. What was different?

  The chain saw sputtered, echoing her discordant thoughts. It groaned unevenly.

  Something was wrong. Something had happened. It was dark and Matt should have been back by now. The chain saw had changed its tune from a hypnotic buzz to an intermittent whine. The hair stood up on the back of her neck.

  She grabbed the flashlight from the shelf in the utility closet and jerked on her ski jacket and boots. Night had replaced day. The temperature was probably dropping by the minute. If something had happened, it would take very little time for Matt to freeze to death.

  She plunged out into the night, calling Matt's name. The wind whipped the sound away, leaving her engulfed in bitter cold and a strange silence—made stranger by the monotonous whine of the saw. Playing the beam from the flashlight around her, she followed his footprints down a snowy path.

  Minutes later, she lurched to an uneasy stop. He'd probably made several sets of tracks in the snow during the day. What if she couldn't find him? She clamped down on her rising horror. Panic wouldn't do either of them any good. Listen, she ordered herself, and the churning mechanical note of the saw led her down an embankment and toward the lake.

  The ground was rougher here. Snakelike tree roots packed with a mixture of snow and ice made each step seem like an act of defiance, and the icy wind stiffened her muscles.

  She heard the chain saw more clearly now, and homed in on the sound. Its motor droned in time to her footsteps. Slipping on an especially icy patch, she grabbed an overhanging branch and the flashlight cast random patterns around her. The beam of light passed over—then jerked back to—a figure about ten yards away.

  Matt was lying facedown on the ground, surrounded by scattered logs. The yellow chain saw lay a short distance from his head. She gasped and tried to run. Slipping, she reverted to tormentingly slow motion to keep from falling.

  The saw blinked like a caution signal as it reflected the shaking flashlight's beam. She held her breath, her heart thudding heavily as she at last reached his still figure. Staring in horror at the widening dark spot in the white snow, she made a lunge for the diabolical-looking saw and switched it off. Her trembling legs wouldn't hold her as its moaning finally settled into silence.

  She fell to her knees beside him, hesitating, afraid to touch him, frightened of what she might find. Then he groaned, and she sagged across his back in relief. "Matt," she whispered, swiping at a tear and grasping his shoulders. She tried to turn him. "Matt?" By nudging her knees under his side, she managed to get the necessary leverage to ease him onto his back.

  The unexpectedly small gash above one of his eyebrows ran a river of dark blood into his hair, then dripped onto the snow. "Oh, Matt! Oh, Matt!" she chanted, rubbing his face with a handful of snow. She felt angry and helpless until he groaned again, spit out an oath and opened his eyes. "Thank heaven. I thought you were going to die on me."

  He smiled weakly and her heart faltered. "Wishful thinking?" he asked hoarsely.

  She half smiled. "Lord, you scared me." She pushed the words past the lump clogging her voice.

  "I slipped." He winced as she pitched the saw farther away to give them more room. "If you want to get vicious, take it out on that tree."

  She gingerly touched the skin above the wound and satisfied herself that his injury wasn't as bad as all the blood suggested. "You may have a concussion." She spoke more to herself than to him as he waved her away and tried to sit up. She frowned. Should she move him? "You'd better stay still."

  "We're going to freeze to death if I stay still." He raised himself on his elbow and she nodded in agreement. She braced him while he turned on his side. He drew his knees under him, then wavered.

  "You're dizzy," she accused.

  "A little." He gave her a tight grin and resumed his effort to stand.

  Draping one of his arms over her shoulder, she tried to take his weight. "Don't you dare pass out on me, Matt Carson."

  "I'll be fine," he promised quietly. "Give me a minute."

  She propped him against a tree. "Let me do something about that blood." She ducked out from beneath his arm, scooping up a handful of snow to clean the cut. The bleeding seemed to have lessened a little, she thought hopefully.

  "Ready to try again?" she asked, repositioning herself at his side. He nodded. "Lean on me. We'll go slowly."

  With one arm around his waist, she half led, half dragged him, holding the flashlight with her free hand. They picked their way through the brittle undergrowth and back to the steep path. "Wait a minute." He stopped her and picked up a handful of snow. "I can't see where we're going." Matt held the snow to his cut as she concentrated on finding the best footholds for them. By the time the lights from the cabin were in view through the clearing, she felt as if she'd been to the end of the earth and back. She'd never been so happy to arrive anywhere in her life.

  After helping him take off his coat, she led him to a chair. The jagged wound gaped but the bleeding had stopped. "I'll look in the medicine cabinet in the bathroom. Karen surely keeps a first-aid kit here."

  Returning, she almost dropped the pan of warm water and the bandages she carried. Matt had his coat back on and was squatting by the fireplace, rearranging the logs with the poker. "What do you think you're doing?"

  "I've got to go back after the wood. And we left Jim's chain saw lying in the snow," he explained just as if there were nothing unusual about walking around with a hole in your head.

  "Oh, no, you don't! Get back in that chair." His ready obedience was a sure indication that he didn't feel as fit as he'd like her to believe. She sank to her knees beside him. "What am I going to do if you pass out on me again, Matt? Have you thought about that?" She chewed worriedly at the edge of her lip. "I can't lift you. I can't call an ambulance."

  "I'll manage," he assured her.

  "How will you manage if you're out cold? It will be my problem." She wiggled her thumb to show him the roll of adhesive tape she'd dro
pped over it and set the pan of water on the hearth. "You're about to see the extent of my first aid, and you're worried about a chain saw?"

  "Are you trying to tell me I'm not in good hands?" he teased, then added grimly, "I'm more worried about the wood."

  She ignored his comment, pushed his head back against the chair and wrung out the washcloth she'd brought. In her irritation, she forgot to be gentle as she cleansed his wound. "Sorry," she muttered at his "ouch" and eased up.

  He laughed quietly. "Sure you are. I'd hate to have you mad at me, Jake."

  His good humor made her feel a little brighter. It would obviously take more than an accident to get him down. "I am mad at you. You could have picked a better time and place to try to kill yourself. I think I should try to drive my car out. You need to see a doctor."

  He shook his head vigorously, wincing at the pain it caused.

  "I might be able to get to the roads they've cleared. It's worth trying. I'm afraid of what might happen to you if you have a concussion."

  "I don't have a concussion," he denied, as she finished scrubbing the wound.

  "You're certain of that, Dr. Carson?" She held the bandage in place, taped it, then took it off and started over. "You need stitches," she muttered disgustedly. "You'll have to help me. Keep the edges of the cut together while I put on the bandage." He pinched the raw edges in place and she reapplied a new sterile pad and strips of adhesive.

  "There." She stood up, satisfied at last. He still looked pale. "Don't you move," she commanded, picking up her supplies.

  She brought sheets and blankets back with her this time, set them aside, shifted her quilt rack and unfolded the couch. A warning look held him in his chair when he would have risen to help her.

  "Now, into this bed," she told him in the same kind of voice her grandmother would have used to forestall any argument.

  She followed close behind as he walked around the end of the couch. If he fainted, at least she could direct his fall, she thought helplessly.

  He didn't feel as well as he pretended, because he sat down to remove his coat. The blood spatters decorating it made her shiver as she pushed it aside and helped him with his boots. Then, hesitating briefly, she gripped the zipper of his ski bibs and pulled it down. Keeping her eyes fixed on his sweater, she hauled them off of him, resuming normal breathing only after she turned her back.