Stranded: A Christmas Story (2 page)

Chapter Two

Mason Carter had known just where to find the elk when the snow had started falling hard. At first sign of a bad storm they all headed over to Miller’s Bluff, where there was some decent forage and good cover. He had plenty of meat, but not enough to get through to spring. If he was going to get more, he needed to do it now while the elk were still fat. In a few weeks they’d be as lean and hollow-eyed as the wolves that pursued them down to the valley.
He lined up his sites on a thickset cow. But when his gun fired he heard another noise to his left, the distinctive sound of a crunch. It was in the distance, but he recognized it because he’d heard it before; someone had driven over the ravine.

The cow was dead, felled with one clean shot. The others scattered, blowing from the treeline.

“Damn it,” he said, looking from the dead elk to the direction of the sound he’d heard. Mason did not want to leave the cow where she lay; the other elk would take off and it wasn’t fair to them, really, to scare them away from their shelter. Working quickly, he cut the tendons in the back of the cow’s legs, threaded a rope through them and attached the other end to his snowmobile. He hauled her from the glad and to the path leading to his cabin. Mason fashioned a flag from a bandana and a branch to mark where she lay, hoping nothing would come along and take the body while he was gone. If he was lucky the snow would cover her soon enough, with only the flag a clue to where she lay. At least in this cold the meat wouldn’t spoil.

Mason’s expression was grim as he headed towards the sound of the crash. His last experience with this sound was not a good one. Two women traveling in a storm half this bad were dead when he reached the car, which had come to rest on its roof at the bottom of the ravine. But this one….as he shown his light up the side of the slope he could only think that this driver had to be the luckiest person alive. The vehicle could have veered left or right but somehow the trees had caught it like a catcher gloving a fastball.

It was too steep to drive the snowmobile up the grade. He got off and put his snowshoes on, using poles to stab the ground as he walked. It took thirty minutes. Mason assessed the situation as he reached the car. The vehicle was wedged pretty tightly; it had not even budged the trees; another miracle.

He shone his light in the driver’s side window and tapped on the glass.

“Hey, you OK?”

The engine was still running, but barely. The window inched down and two beautiful green eyes peered at him from under shiny blonde bangs.

“I think so. My airbags went off.”

“What the hell were you doing out here? The pass is closed.”

“I know.” Lydia dropped her eyes, grateful to be rescued but ashamed now of taking the risk. “I went around the roadblock. I thought I could make it.”

“Well, you almost made yourself dead.” Mason stepped back and opened the door and she gasped.

“Don’t worry. It’s stable. The front of your car is hanging over the ledge but these trees aren’t letting it go over.”

Lydia exited. She felt sore from where the airbag had hit her, but overall was surprised at how well she fared. When she stepped away from the car she gasped. It was totaled. Lydia turned and looked at Mason.

“You’re going to be able to get me back to town on that?” she asked.

He looked at her and laughed. “Town? Do you even know where you are?”

“Yeah,” she said. “I’m near the overlook, right?”

“That’s right,” he said. “But in a storm like that, there’s another name for it: The Middle of Nowhere. No one’s out here, and since the only place to stay alive is my cabin that’s where we’re going to have to go.”

Lydia crossed her arms, scowling. She wasn’t used to be told what to do, and imagined that under the toboggan that covered his face, the big outdoorsman in front of her was smirking.
“I don’t have to go there,” she said. “I can stay in my Jeep. I mean, I don’t even
know
you.”

Mason stood appraising her for a moment and then shrugged. “Suit yourself. If you want to freeze to death by morning who am I to stand in your way? You seem pretty good at making bad decisions. By all means, continue.”

He turned and headed towards his snowmobile.

“That’s it then?” she yelled over the wind. “You’re going to leave me here?”

Mason mounted the machine and looked back at her. “That’s up to you. All I know is that I have better things to do than argue with a stranger.”

She looked from the stranger to her vehicle and back. Her face was already numb.

“OK,” she said. “But can I get my suitcase? If I’m going to be here until morning I’ll need my things.”

He sighed. “Sure.”

Lydia opened the trunk and took out her suitcase. Mason lashed it on the back of the snowmobile. That left just enough room for Lydia to get on behind him.

“Hold on to my waist,” he ordered. “Tight.”

She frowned. This was probably the closest the inbred mountain man had been to a hot girl, Lydia thought. No wonder he wanted her arms around him. She was glad she had her keys in her pocket. Her mace canister was on them, and she may need it if this hillbilly tried anything.

The snowmobile wound through the woods. They were on a straight, narrow tree-lined path when it stopped. Mason got off and pulled the flag off the dead elk.

“What is that?” Lydia asked.

“It’s an elk,” he said, tying the rope to the back of the snowmobile.

“What happened to him?”

“Her,” he corrected. “It’s a cow.”

“I thought you said it was an elk.”

Mason looked at her, amused by her ignorance.

“A female elk is called a cow. And I killed it.”

“Why? That can’t hurt you,” she said.

“I’m going to dress it and put it in the smokehouse,” he said.

He half expected her to ask what he was going to dress it in as he got back on the snowmobile. But Lydia didn’t feel like saying anything.

“Hold on,” he said, and she gripped him with frozen hands, this, this…killer of girl elks.

The cabin came into comforting view. Smoke curled from its stone chimney and a warm golden glow filled the two front windows. It looked compact and inviting, even to a city girl hanging on to the back of a total stranger.

Mason stopped the snowmobile. Lydia slid off the back, her feet so cold that they throbbed with each step as her companion unlashed the suitcase and hefted it from the back. He walked into the cabin and because Lydia figured she was supposed to follow so she did.

The cabin was larger on the inside than she’d imagined it would be. The main room was big, with large overstuffed sofa and chair and hand-crafted coffee table in the center. The pine floors were clean. A pot-bellied stove stood against one wall, a fire blazing cheerily through the little glass window. The kitchen was at the end of the room, a bank of counters with handmade cabinets and a pump over the sink. There was an old-timey cookstove like the ones Lydia had seen in magazines. There was no television, but there was a huge bookshelf filled with titles on nature, philosophy and self-reliance.  The only other doors led to a bedroom and a small bathroom.

“You’re probably freezing,” Mason said. “Go warm yourself by the stove and I’ll fix you a cup of something warm to drink.”

He began to take his toboggan and jacket off and went into the kitchen, his back to her.

“Um, OK…” Lydia went over to the little stove and rubbed her hands together. The throbbing in her feet had turned to fiery pins and needles as they thawed. The circulation was completely returning when Mason came back in with a cup of warm tea. Lydia took it gratefully but before putting it to her lips she stopped.

“What if he’s spiked it?” she thought. “I mean, he may want to take advantage of me.”

“Something wrong?”

She looked up to give him an excuse for deciding not to drink it and gasped as she got her first good look at her host. He was….gorgeous. There was really no other words to describe him. He had a chiseled jaw covered with sexy stubble, wavy black hair and piercing blue eyes. He was a good head-and-a-half taller than she, with a broad chest, narrow hips and muscular arms.

“Um….I’m just not in the habit of taking drinks from men I don’t know,” she said. “I mean, women have been raped by men who spiked their drinks.”

He raised his eyebrows. “You think that’s why I brought you here?” He laughed, and Lydia felt her cheeks flame. “Miss….I didn’t get your name..”

“St. Clair,” she said loftily. “Lydia St. Clair. I’m the head of the IT Department over at Mercy Hospital. That’s Information Techonology… computers, if you don’t know. So when I don’t arrive at my destination, I can assure you people will be looking for me.”

He smirked, which only made her angrier. “Well, Miss St. Clair. Rest assured that even if you offered yourself up to me prone and naked on a golden platter I wouldn’t be interested.”

“Gay?” she asked, pained at being made to feel for the first time in over a year the pain of rejection, if she could even call it at that.

“Not hardly,” he said. “I’m happily heterosexual. You’re just not my type, and I don’t find you particularly attractive.”

He turned and put the tea on the woodstove. “You can drink that or make your own if that will make you feel better, Miss St. Clair. The ingredients are in the cabinet to the right of the sink.”

Lydia stood there, fuming to the point of nearly shaking from anger. She could hardly argue with him. I mean, how would it look for her to take offense towards a man assuring her he had no interest in violating her. Lydia felt a sudden surge of fear. What if her face had become mangled in the accident and he was just too polite to tell her.

“Do you have a bathroom, Mr….?” she asked, even though she knew he did.

“ Mason Carter. And yes. Over there.”

Lydia headed there and shut the door. The only mirror was a small shaving mirror. She grabbed it and examined her face in the glow of the oil lamp on the wall. There were no bruises, no cuts. She looked as gorgeous as ever. She put the mirror down and looked down at her clothes, checking for tears or stains. Nothing.

She felt something akin to fury rise in her chest. Who the hell did this guy think he was, to imply that somehow she wasn’t good enough for him. A jerk, that’s what he was. And a liar. Since she’d gotten in shape, every man who passed her turned to stare.

Lydia fluffed her hair and exited the bathroom, determined not to let some Marlboro Man’s opinion mar her self-confidence.

“I put your suitcase in the bedroom,” Mason said.

“I’m
not
sharing a room with
you
,” she said haughtily.

“You’re right,” he said evenly. “Because I’ll be on the couch. So long as we’re stuck here, you’ll be my guest. It’s only polite to give you the room.”

Lydia knew she should say, ‘thank you,’ but she was still mad at the earlier slight.

“Stuck here? Oh no…I don’t think so. You have to get me out of here tomorrow. You can’t just keep me.”

Mason felt himself growing irritated now. He turned and took a step towards her. Lydia took a step back when she saw his expression.

“Let’s get something straight,” he said. “You’re only here because I’m not the kind of person to leave a stranger out in the snow to die, not even a rude, ungrateful stranger who seems to think a bit too highly of herself. Just so you’re completely clear on the situation, there’s a hundred year blizzard waging outside, and there will be no ‘getting you out of here’ until the snow stops and we can make it safely down the mountain. I can’t stop you from trying to kill yourself by going out alone, but don’t expect me to save you again, understand?

As long as you’re here, you’ll have the room because I’m an old-fashioned guy and won’t put a girl on the couch. As I said, you have nothing to worry about. I won’t flirt or hit on you. It takes more than attractive exterior to turn my head; it takes a woman who’s just as beautiful on the inside. And what I’ve seen of you isn’t pretty at all.

Now if you excuse me, I have an elk to dress.”

Mason got his coat and toboggan on as Lydia stood there trying to think of some witty comeback. But the truth was, she couldn’t have gotten any words past the lump that was forming in her throat. Tears of humiliation stung her eyes, tears she’s not felt since she was seventy pounds heavier and watching the cute guys bypass her to pick up on her prettier friends.

Mason slammed the door behind him as he left, half-wishing he’d never found Lydia St. Clair but also knowing that no matter how obnoxious or self-centered she was, he’d have never forgiven himself if he’d not gotten to her in time.

She’d needed help. But now that he’d gotten a chance to talk to her, Mason was convinced that she needed something else - a good spanking. Women like Lydia St. Clair were part of the reason he’d left behind his consulting job in Boulder to move to the remote area near the overlook. Mason had always been interested in self-sufficiency. Even in college he’d designed and installed solar panels for the small house he’d rented with two friends. He’d been a lifelong hunter, but disdained those who were in it for the trophies. He’d never hung an animal’s head on his wall and never would. Most of the animals he killed were like the held he now hoisted up in the lean-to behind his house - smaller and weaker than the others, the culls, the ones that probably wouldn’t make it through the winter anyway.

He’d always imagined that by the time he was thirty he’d have a house in the country with a woman who shared his dreams and philosophies about life and living. But to save the money he needed to buy the land and build his cabin, he’d spent nearly a decade in the corporate world. Most of the time he felt like he was having his soul sucked from his body. It didn’t help that the women in his social circle offered only blank stares when he talked about his goals of living off the land with a woman who shared his old-fashioned values.

His search had not been entirely fruitless. He’d found a few women through social networking who were into the back-to-the-land movement, but they were feminist hippies who believe in an egalitarian relationship, which was something Mason did not want. It wasn’t because he didn’t respect women; it was just that he also put them up on a pedestal. Mason was one of those men who thought women should be protected, even if she were strong. And he favored the idea of a defined structure of authority in a home, with the husband as leader and the wife as respected but obedient partner. And while he was totally opposed to domestic violence - even once throttling a guy who punched a girl at a party - he saw a definite place for a good old-fashioned spanking in managing a headstrong female.