Stranded: A Christmas Story (4 page)

“I’m not mean,” he said. “I’m just being honest. Taking pride in your appearance is a positive thing, but that will just get your foot in the door whether it’s a job or a relationship. What really matters is how you treat people. And if you don’t treat yourself with respect then chances are you won’t treat others with respect either.”

“Is that what you think?” she asked. “That I lack self respect?” They were in the kitchen now and he turned and took the cups from her.

“What does it matter what I think?” he asked. “You already know the answer.”

He reached into a storage space under the sink and took out a pot.

“Here,” he said, handing it to her. Lydia looked inside. There was a lump of something white. It smelled oily. She wrinkled her nose.

“Ewww. What is this?”

“Fat. Like suet. Since tomorrow is Christmas I figured we’d fix some treats for the birds.”

He picked up a basket of huge pinecones and a bucket of seed. Taking the pot of fat, he extracted a chunk with a knife and began pushing into the spaces in the pine cone. Then he rolled it in the seed.

“I hang these on the trees. The birds and squirrels love them.”

He handed Lydia a knife and she gave him a skeptical look before taking it and carefully spreading fat into a pinecone.

“So this is what you do instead of exchanging gifts with your family?”

Mason grew quiet. “Yep,” he said. “I had a less than memorable childhood.”

“Bad parents?”

“No parents,” he said. “I grew up in a boy’s home. I had years to think about what kind of family I would have when I was finally old enough to make my own.”

Lydia stole a look at his face. A flicker of sadness crossed it and she felt herself strangely touched and was puzzled by it. Wasn’t this the same guy who’d infuriated her and then spanked her like an errant child?

“What kind of family would that be?” she asked quietly. “Or is that too personal a question?”

“Nah, it’s not,” he said. “I think it would be an old-fashioned family, a cross between the kinds I used to watch on television and the ones I’ve read about in books on homesteading. A strong father, a feisty but submissive wife, kids…”

She laughed out loud. “Submissive? No wonder you’re single.” Lydia shook her head as she put one pinecone down and reached for another, noting that he’d already done three. She was clearly going to have to step up production.
“Hmm,” he said. “Why do you say that?”

Lydia sighed. “Well, for one thing, submissive women can’t be feisty. And second of all, they don’t exist today.”

“Sure they do,” he said. “I’ve met some of them and we got on quite well. One was a chemist with two advanced degrees.”

Lydia chuckled. “A submissive woman with advanced degrees…yeah..”

“Believe it or not, I’m telling the truth. Beautiful woman, inside and out. But she said she’d never adapt out here in the sticks.”

“Wait,” Lydia said. “If she was a submissive woman what would she care about her own comfort.”

“Because,” he said. ‘For women like her, being submissive is a choice. It’s part of what they want, just like where they decide to live is part of what they want. It may come as a shock to you, but there are women who want a man who will make them feel like a woman - cherished, protected, guided. So many women today find themselves treated like one of the guys. I’m looking for a woman who isn’t afraid of a man who will insist she be the best she can be.”

“But who will insist you be the best you can be?” she asked.

“I will,” he said, wedging the last of his cones into the box they were stacking them in. “If I’m not the best I can be, how can I earn her respect? There’s more pressure on the man than on the woman in relationships like that. Because he wants to be worthy of the task, he has to make sure he’s constantly above reproach.”

Lydia had never heard any man say the things that Mason Carter was saying. But then again, she’d never met anyone like him.

“The wind’s kicking up,” he said. “Let me grab some more wood.”

“Do you need some help?” she heard herself asking.

“Nope,” he said. “The woodpile is right in the shelter by the back door.” He left and emerged a few moments later.

Lydia walked over and watched as he stoked the fire and added more wood. She noticed that he’d put up a little fir wreath on the wall behind the stove.

“I can’t believe tomorrow is Christmas,” she said.

“I know.” He stood and faced her. “And I’m sorry you won’t be with your folks.”

“Could be worse,” she said. “I could be dead.” She looked up into his eyes. “Thank you for saving me…Mason.”

“You’re welcome, Miss St….”

“Call me Lydia,” she said.

“You’re welcome, Lydia. It was my pleasure, at least until you wrecked my snow machine.”

“Oh…” she’d forgotten about that. “You think you will be able to fix it?”

“There’s no way of knowing, but I can’t go trying to haul it to the shed in this weather. When the snow stops I’ll dig it out and assess the damage. In the meantime, there’s no need worrying about it, right?”

“I’m sorry,” she said.
“All is forgiven. You did something wrong, you were punished and you apologized. Consider the slate wiped clean.”

Lydia colored up at the mention of the spanking, but there was something about his statement that she found comforting. Lydia had been in a couple of short-lived relationships punctuated by mind games and grudges that eventually eroded them away to nothingness. Mason Carter’s approach to slights was different than anything she’d ever experienced.

“I was going to cut a tree tomorrow,” he said, provided there’s a break in the weather. “You’re welcome to help if you’d like,” he said.

Lydia smiled. “Yes, I would.” She yawned, suddenly feeling tired.

“You’ve had a long day,” he said. “You should turn in. Your suitcase is in the room.”

She thanked him and went to the bedroom that he’d relinquished for her comfort. There was a handmade bed with a high-loft mattress, a dresser and a basin with an old-timey wash basin and stand. A small stove in the room had already been lit. The room was warm and snug, like the rest of the house.

Lydia had packed her favorite comfortable pajamas - flannel bottoms and knit top - and a pair of plush socks. She slipped into them and used the travel mirror in her bag to check her reflection as she cleaned and moisturized her face.

She was yawning when she finally climbed under the handmade quilt and snuggled into the soft warmth of the bed. This was not how she had expected to spend Christmas Eve, at the home of a stranger in the woods. At that moment she should have been sitting around her parents’ tree, opening the traditional one gift before the next morning’s big extravaganza of opening the remainder. She had no cell service at Mason’s cabin, and her parents were probably worried sick by now. They’d likely called the airport, the police, everyone. But even if they had, no emergency vehicles could get into the pass. Her selfishness had likely destroyed her parents’ holiday, or at least their Christmas Eve.

Lydia decided that she had deserved the spanking she’d gotten from Mason. She’d been a bad girl, and while she’d never considered herself a submissive there was something alluring about having someone hold her accountable. She tried to imagine what life would be like with a man like Mason Carter, but stopped herself.

“Don’t be stupid,” she said. “There’s no way…”

Chapter Four
Christmas Day dawned cold and windy. But the snow had let up. Still, Lydia gasped when she looked out the window of the cabin. The drifts were halfway up the glass.

“Oh my god, we’re literally snowed into the house!” she said.

But Mason was already working on that. She found him outside shoveling a path through the piles of snow.

“Wow,” she said, handing him a cup of coffee she’d made. “You look like Moses parting the Red Sea. Or you would if the Red Sea were frozen.”

He took the coffee, laughing. “Thanks,” he said. “But Moses had a long white beard and I’m something of an agnostic.”

He lifted his cup to her. “Merry Christmas, Lydia.”

She lifted hers back. “Merry Christmas, Mason.”

 The stood sipping in silence for a moment. The snow had muffled everything. She’d never heard silence so…..loud.

“I could make breakfast,” she said. “I’m a pretty good cook, and I don’t want to just stand around doing nothing.”

“Sounds great,” he said. “After we eat I’m going to work on getting the radio working. It was down yesterday and you need to get word to town that you’re OK. I’d imagine your family is worried.”

“Me too,” she said. “I tried my cell this morning. I don’t know why I thought today would be any different than yesterday.”

“Don’t worry,” he said. “I’ll make sure we get word out.”

His assurance was reassuring. Lydia went back inside and got to work in the kitchen. She fried sausage patties, unsure of what they were made of, and - after reading directions - managed to make powdered eggs for sausage and egg omelets. Something in the pantry was marked “hominy.” She thought she’d heard of that before but since she wasn’t sure how to prepare it she left it alone. She served the omelets with stewed apples.

Mason approved, and wolfed down the breakfast. Lydia cleaned the breakfast dishes as he worked on making contact with town. She was relieved when she heard him make contact and tell the dispatcher that he had Lydia St. Clair at his cabin. She wrote down contact information for her family, which Mason passed on. Lydia heard the dispatcher say her mother had been calling frantically since she’d failed to arrive at the airport.

She brushed a tear from her eye.

“Look at it this way,” Mason said. “The news will give her Christmas back, right? Something to celebrate?”

She nodded. “I just feel so stupid for doing what I did.”

“Well, I can’t argue with that. It was stupid. But even an experience like that isn’t a waste if you’ve learned from it. Just think how special next year’s holiday will be now that you all know what you could have lost.” He reached out and brushed a strand of hair away from her face. “How about we cut that tree.”

Lydia knew he was trying to cheer her up and managed a smile. Mason was happy to see it. He’d had a feeling that under the defensive, self-centered exterior there was a nice person trying to emerge.

He found some snowshoes in her size and they trekked as far from the cabin as they could until they reached a patch of small fir trees. Lydia watched as Mason easily felled the smallest one and then trudged along beside him as he brought it back to the cabin. She helped him bang the snow off the branches on the porch. Her hands and feet felt like blocks of ice, and she marveled at how he seemed to take everything in stride.

Mason nailed two pieces of wood crosswise into the base of the tree and stood it in the empty corner of the main room.

“How are we going to decorate it?” she asked.
“Wait here.” He left and emerged with a small box of ribbons and a few ornaments. “I picked these up on my trip to town one day. Last year I didn’t have anything to put on the tree but pieces of yarn.” He looked at her. “It’s nice to have someone help me properly decorate it.”

Lydia blushed and he laughed. “It’s pretty when your face colors up like that.”

She shrugged. “Maybe I’m still not used to compliments, even though I tell myself I am.” She paused, looking at him over one of the branches.

“Mason, can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“Do you think it makes me a bad person to actually be enjoying myself when my family is so disappointed by my absence?”

He stopped what he was doing. “No,” he said. “I think everything happens for a reason. Sometimes…”
He stopped talking. “Hold on…”

“What’s going on?” She followed him as he walked to the back window and looked out. Lydia gasped. Two huge black bears were circling the shed where he’d cleaned the elk. Mason picked up a gun from a rack on the wall, opened it and put two bullets in it.”

“Stay here,” he said.

“Maybe I can help!” she said, although she wasn’t sure what she could do.

“No. You stay PUT!” It was an order, and she stood nervously watching as Mason went around back and raised the gun in the air and fired. One bear retreated to the woods, but the other stood up, obviously undeterred.

Mason fired again and the bear dropped to all fours and began to shake its head like a bull, starting a slow, methodical charge towards the house. Without thinking, Lydia picked up her bright pink parka and ran out the back door, waving it frantically. The bear stopped, obviously unnerved by the unfamiliar noise and motion of the parka. It backed up through the drifting snow and stood there. Lydia picked up a piece of firewood and lobbed it at the bear, hitting it in the head. It grunted and turned. Lydia breathed a sigh of relief but the relief was short-lived as the bear turned and charged.

“Get back!” Mason had come through the house and was now pushing her behind him as he pumped the shotgun and fired. The bullet grazed the bear’s shoulder, sending it running with a howl of pain. Lydia stood there, listening as it crashed into the woods.

“Get inside,” Mason’s tone was curt as he pushed her into the door.

He popped the shotgun open and removed the bullets before hanging the gun back up and turning to her.

“Didn’t I tell you to stay inside?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said. “But…”

“No buts,” he said. “Did I tell you to stay inside?”

She nodded.

“And you disobeyed and almost got yourself mauled.”

“But I didn’t!” she protested.

“You came closer than is comfortable for me,” he said and took her by the arm. “I told you, Lydia. As long as you’re here, you’re going to mind me. And if you disobey you’re going to suffer the consequences.”

He led her to the sofa and Lydia began to protest as she realized she was in for a repeat of the spanking she’d gotten the day before.

“No,” she said. “You can’t seriously be thinking of doing this again! Don’t! Please!!”
“Sorry,” he said. “But if this is what it’s going to take to keep you safe this is exactly what you can expect.”

Mason sat down and pulled Lydia over his lap, but she decided this time she would not go down without a fight. Leaning over, she bit down on his calf, hard. Mason shouted in pain and stood her up. Lydia’s face was smug. She’d won. Or so she thought. Instead, she was horrified to see his hands move to the snap of her jeans. The next thing she knew they were being jerked down to the middle of her thighs.