The Gift-Wrapped Groom (14 page)

The light illuminated Nicholas's hands. He was carrying the winch from the front of the truck and the box of tools from behind the seat of the cab.

“You did it!”

“Your words weigh with surprise.”

“They're light as feathers compared to the rest of me.”

He set the winch and tool box on the snow and directed her to shine the flashlight on the back of the truck. He located the spare tire lashed beneath the truck and removed it along with the restraining chains.

Noel watched with interest, keeping the light on his movements as he set the spare tire on the snow a few feet behind the rear of the truck. He looped a chain through the tire hub opening, wrapped it around the rear frame of the truck and secured the chain to itself with its hook end.

She followed him farther up the rise, holding the flashlight to illuminate his way as he carried the winch to the second tree up the slope. He lashed the winch to the base of the sturdy tree with a second chain.

His movements were quick, deliberate and purposeful. But to what purpose?

Noel watched him unreel the steel cable from the winch spool. He brought the cable down to the spare tire near the truck and looped it around the tire. Next, he looped the steel cable around the tree trunk between the winch and the spare tire. Then, he moved back down to the spare tire and connected the cable to the tire rim.

It was only at that moment that Noel began to understand. And with understanding came a kind of breathless awe.

“You're building a pulley system.”

“Yes.”

“To pull the truck off the edge of this ledge.”

“Yes.”

“This is...amazing.”

“I will need you to stand between the trees where the ropes circle. Take the ends of the ropes. Keep them taut. If the cable or chains break in the pulley system, you will feel the ropes strain. Hold them for as long as you can. When you cannot hold them anymore, you must let go. Quickly. Do you understand?”

“Well, yes, but—”

“Noel, we race time. You must go to the ropes now. Call out when you have reached them. I will begin to wind the winch.”

His bear of a voice was calm and controlled. Nevertheless, the urgency came through in the rush of his words. Noel knew this was no time to question or argue. She shone the beam down the ridge to the ropes. Then she hurried back down through the heavy snowdrift, Mistletoe following at her heels.

When she reached the ropes, she shoved the flashlight securely in the crook of her arm, adjusting its beam to illuminate the back of the truck and the spare tire that sat on the ground a few feet behind it. Then she picked up the ends of the rope and wrapped them around her gloved hands tightly.

“I've got them,” she called out.

Instantly, the squeaky sound of the turning winch whistled through the wind.

Noel's heart thudded hard in her chest as the steel cable attached to the truck and the tire tightened, a long black line against the white snow, shaking with the strain. The winch now squeaked so loudly, it sounded like a wild animal in pain. Noel bit her lip, wondering at the kind of strength there had to be in the hand turning that winch. Wondering if even that impressive strength would be enough.

Then, so slowly that she thought at first she might be imagining it, the tire and the truck began to move toward her, back from the ledge. Inch by inch the tailgate advanced until, finally, triumphantly, the front tire studs dug into the snow at the end of the ledge.

Noel dropped the ropes in her hands, jumping up and down, absolutely exuberant. “You did it!” she yelled. Mistletoe began to bark, picking up on the jubilation.

Nicholas appeared at her side and retrieved the bouncing flashlight from beneath the crook of her arm. She followed him as he shone it on the rescued truck, making sure it was sitting firmly on the ledge.

She could see nothing of his face in the black night, but his bear of a voice did not raise one inflection.

“We still need to shovel away the snow so we can drive the truck back onto the road.”

Noel grabbed his arm, that strong steel arm, not allowing him to go on without acknowledging his accomplishment—his absolutely wonderful, amazing accomplishment.

“Compared to what you've just done, that should be a cinch. I still can't believe it. You built a pulley system out of basically nothing and made it work. You saved the truck. Nicholas, you are an absolute genius.”

He said nothing for a moment, but the beam of the flashlight halted in its sweep over the truck. Finally, his deep voice broke next to her.

“I do not understand your...surprise. Was that not one of the requirements of our contract?”

* * *

“I
T WAS
this wonderful Christmas tree that saved me, Nicholas. It gave me a firm handhold on the back of the truck. The firewood was too small and unsteady. But the trunk of this sweet baby was sturdy enough to hold my weight.”

Nicholas shook his head as she hugged the ugly, stubby pine to her breast. It sat prominently in the middle of her living room in a bucket of wet earth he had helped her fill. A place of honor—and an object of so much value that even bringing the wood in and preparing dinner had had to wait until it had been properly seen to.

Still, even if it meant paying homage to this scruffy piece of pine, seeing her happy and safe was worth it. Well worth it. Nicholas needed her smile now to erase from memory those moments when she did not move or speak after the crash of the truck. Those long, long moments.

She was freshly showered, her hair still damp, its gold buried in the deep red. She had put on black wool slacks and another sweater, this one light pink like the faint flush in her scrubbed cheeks.

“Nicholas, I'm going to decorate this tree right now. I'm going to bring Christmas into this room and into this house. I'll stay up all night if I have to. I'm not going to bed until this wonderful little tree is covered with all the beautiful lights it deserves.”

“You will not stop even to prepare your dinner?”

“Oh, I took a couple of dinners from the freezer and stuck them and some biscuits into the oven to bake while you were out bringing in the rest of the wood. Everything should be ready to eat in another ten minutes or so. I picked out one of those frozen he-man dinners for you, lots of beef, potatoes. Appropriate, I think.”

“A frozen he-man dinner?”

“Nothing like homemade, of course, but you should find it palatable and filling. And best of all, fast.”

“Why is this ‘fast' best of all?”

“Because it lets us get on to more important things.”

“What more important things?”

“Why, decorating the tree, of course. And making a wreath out of some of these other branches for the mantel above the fireplace. And hanging stockings over the hearth. I've got a ton of stuff in the attic that you can get down for me.”

“That
I
can get down for you?”

“Come on, Nicholas. Get into the spirit. You might even find yourself having some fun.”

“This ‘fun,' like this ‘fast' frozen dinner, is still in doubt.”

She laughed—the laugh not hearty this time, but light, like the sound of two tiny ice crystals colliding in very cold air and being warmed by the faint tinkle.

Nicholas liked this laugh very much. And the way her voice sounded, warm and friendly. But he had liked the way it sounded even more when she had called him a genius on that snowy ledge.

He had been told he was a genius before. The label had meant nothing to him. The expensive education it had allowed him to receive was where the value lay. Until tonight. Until Noel had given it new value in a voice filled with such breathless wonder and warmth.

He knew these were dangerous emotions being raised by this woman. He told himself he did not want them. He told himself he wanted his resentment for her superficiality to return. He wanted to reclaim the distance that had separated him from her. He had to reclaim it.

He got up, all sweaty and dirty, muscles aching from having been pressed too far into service this day. He longed to stand beneath a full spray of the hot water that sped so quickly through the pipes of the shower in his bathroom. And to wash with the green soap that lathered so well and left the scent of pine everywhere. And then to rub his skin with the soft brown towel that absorbed moisture so effectively.

“I will shower now.”

Her head rose toward him, momentarily distracted from the tree. Her eyes swept over his clothes, once again covered with the dirt of the wood he had unloaded from the truck bed.

“Oh, yes. I forgot. You haven't even had a chance to shower yet.”

Her eyes scanned the floor and throw rugs, which marked the earlier passage of their muddy boots.

Her lips pursed in new consideration. “I suppose decorating the tree can wait a little while. If I don't get after this dirt now, I'll be vacuuming for the next two days.”

She would be placing herself in a “vacuum”?

“Better take your boots off in here so as not to leave a trail into the bedroom. Then I'll only have to run the vacuum cleaner through the living room.”

Nicholas sat down on the floor and pulled off his boots. The clear picture of a machine that operated with the principles of a vacuum to pick up dust flashed through his mind. He had seen these machines in the temperature and dust-controlled rooms filled with the sophisticated computers and radioactive isotopes.

“If you like, I'll throw your clothes into the heavy-duty cycle while you're having your shower.”

His forehead collected a small frown. He was confused as to why she would want to “throw” his clothes into a single-wheel device for riding or why she should think he would let her.

“What is it you wish to do?”

“The wash cycle, Nicholas. The washing machine.”

“You have a washing machine?”

“Well, yes, of course. The washer and dryer are in the utility room off the kitchen. How else did you think we were ever going to get our clothes clean again?”

He realized it was not really a question she expected an answer to. It was a question asked of someone who should have known better. Its implication made him angry.

“By scrubbing them in the bathtub,” he said with rough emphasis.

“You must be joking.”

Nicholas did not like the incredulous tone of her response. He embraced his growing anger, fed it. He knew he needed this anger. He knew he needed whatever would allow him to put some much-needed distance between him and the warmth of this beautiful woman.

He drew himself up to his full height and stared down at this proprietor of a Christmas store who obviously thought washing clothes by hand was beneath her.

“I do not joke.”

“You don't have washing machines in Russia?”

“We have washing machines. I myself saw the Wave washing machine come off the assembly line at a Russian plant. Then I saw them dutifully stacked in the warehouse next door to collect dust because they cost more than what a factory worker makes in many months. You told me you were not rich, Noel, that I was not to expect conveniences.”

She seemed dismayed and defensive at the redress in his tone. “I'm not rich. You saw my grandfather's house with all his expensive furnishings and faxes and even back-up generators to the power supply. Do you think he'll ever have to worry about collecting wood for winter?”

“That is not the issue.”

“Well then, what is? Nicholas, I don't understand why you seem so angry all of a sudden. I told you I wasn't rich because I wanted you to be prepared to face any possible hardships.”

“Hardships? You possess a washing machine
and
a drying machine and a vacuum machine. Hot water pours effortlessly out of your faucets. Your central heating is controlled by the flick of a finger on the thermostat. There sits a kitchen with shiny copper pots, gleaming porcelain plates, polished silverware. You pop dinners already made and frozen to bake in your oven. You live in this fully furnished home with two bedrooms and two baths, and outside is a truck which you have no trouble filling with petrol and a barn big enough to house several horses and land that expands to one hundred and sixty acres.”

“Well, of course, I consider myself very fortunate and frequently count my blessings—”

“Blessings? What blessings? With all this, you could not find a man willing to marry you. With all this, your grandfather still had to go to Russia to bring me here. Why, Noel? What is so wrong with you that no American man would have you?”

“G
randfather, I really do appreciate your concern, but like I said, we managed to get safely out of the truck and Nicholas was able to get it off the ledge and back onto the road. We're all fine.”

“Noel, you don't sound fine. You sound upset.”

Noel grabbed a tissue from the container on her nightstand. She dabbed at her eyes, where tears of anger popped out as she recounted the adventures of the night before. Not tears of disappointment in how Nicholas had ended it. Not tears of hurt. No, these were definitely tears of anger.

“I'm not upset. I was just getting out of the shower when you called. And all through the explanation I've been giving you, I've been sitting on the bed wet and naked and now I'm beginning to shiver.”

“Why don't you have Nicholas bring you a towel?”

“Because Nicholas isn't here.”

“Where is—”

Mistletoe jumped onto the bed beside Noel and shook himself. Noel let out a little cry of alarm as she tried to wrap him in the comforter before he sprayed her again. He jumped against her chest, his cold little nose poking at her chin and knocking her down against the pillow. She let out a squeal.

“Noel? Noel? What's wrong?”

Noel laughed as she wrestled to keep her pet in the comforter, a process that he was clearly misinterpreting as a game of hide-and-seek. She tried to get enough breath to answer her grandfather and relieve the worry that had entered his voice.

“It's just Mistletoe. You know how ever since he was a pup he has insisted on taking showers with me.”

“You have a husband now to scrub your back, Noel.”

Noel's smile contracted at the reminder. “Well,
he
hasn't quite gotten the hang of it yet. Grandfather, I really do need to get dressed. I've got lots to do at work today and then there's the Christmas festival meeting tonight.”

“First tell me more about this reckless driver.”

“Not much to tell. He probably just let himself get distracted.”

“A distracted driver who inadvertently swerves into your lane is one thing. But somebody who runs your truck off a dangerous mountain road and then just drives off is plainly a criminal. What did you see of this guy?”

“Not enough to tell if it even was a guy. You know how twisty that mountain road is. I came around a bend and suddenly there he was. His brights full on, swerving into our lane, heading directly at us. I didn't have time to see anything else. I was too busy yanking that wheel right and trying to get out of his way.”

“You must have noticed if his headlights were set high or low off the road?”

“Hmm. As high as the Dodge's, I'd say. Maybe a little higher. That means another truck, doesn't it?”

“Which doesn't help much. Everybody in this valley drives a truck, or nearly everybody.”

“You can't think it was someone from Midwater, Grandfather. No one from Midwater would force someone off the road and then just drive off.”

“Who else is up in these mountains at night? Loggers are long gone by dusk.”

“Maybe it was a tourist.”

“A tourist with any sense wouldn't be driving up a strange mountain road in the midst of a Montana winter. Still, I suppose there are plenty without sense. Let me talk to Nicholas. Maybe he saw something you didn't.”

Noel stiffened at the request. To be forced to face those damn accusing black eyes? No, thank you. But what excuse could she give her grandfather? Noel's mind froze until she heard the sudden sound of the water shooting through the noisy pipes. So, Mr. Macho had returned from his naked morning run in the snow. Both relief and inspiration flowed through her own mental pipes, thawing her thoughts.

“He's in the shower, Grandfather. As a matter of fact, I was on my way to scrub his back. I'll call you later.”

Noel hung up the phone quickly, before the lie on her lips could color the tone of her voice.

She gave Mistletoe one final rub with the comforter. “Scrub his back nothing. Drive a knife into it—now there's an image to warm a gal's heart.”

But it didn't warm her heart. It brought an unhappy frown to her forehead. Because as she watched Mistletoe stick his head out of the comforter, she couldn't help seeing the image of his little white face poking out of Nicholas's black jacket as Nicholas carried him to safety.

She hugged her little dog to her breast, comforter and all, and rocked him. “Mistletoe, Mistletoe. Why did he have to go and spoil everything just when I was beginning to think—”

Noel stopped, sighed and released her pet. He jumped to the floor, tail wagging, ready for the next game. She smiled at him, got to her feet and whisked the damp comforter off the bed to throw into the dryer.

“Oh, the hell with the damn Russian. Come on, cutie. I'm getting dressed and we're getting out of here before he has a chance to ruin this day, too. If you can hold off a couple of hours, I'll treat us to breakfast out this morning. How does steak and eggs at the Mercantile sound to you?”

Mistletoe's almost dry fluffy white tail waved its wholehearted approval.

* * *

“M
ORNING
, Nicholas,” Winsome said as he barreled through the front door into the living room. Nicholas stepped back in surprise. Right on his grandfather-in-law's heels marched a tall, thin, very neat-looking man with short, gray-black hair and a thick, full, black mustache. He wore a starched, carefully pressed uniform and chewed on a toothpick.

“Mr. Winsome. I thought I was to come to your place this morning, and Pete and I were to take the helicopter from there.”

“Change of plans, son. Tucker here and I will drive you over, seeing as how we had to come by, anyway.”

Winsome stopped to gaze at the several boxes of Christmas decorations sitting on the living-room rug surrounding Noel's bare, ugly Christmas tree. He shook his head.

“Nicholas, you're not planning on trying to decorate that sad clump of pine, are you?”

“No. I think my contribution ceases now that I have brought down the decorating things from the attic.”

“Just as well. Pitiful-looking thing, isn't it? Don't know why Noel always insists on selecting the ugliest damn Christmas tree in the valley and ends up trying to turn it into the most beautiful.”

“I do not think she will be successful with this one.”

“Hmm. Well, it'll certainly be one of her bigger challenges. Oh, excuse my manners, Nicholas. This is Deputy Sheriff Tucker.”

Nicholas offered his hand. The tall, thin man with the short, fat mustache gave it a good shake.

Winsome looked toward the kitchen as though expecting to catch a glimpse of his granddaughter. “Didn't see the Dodge outside.”

“Noel left for work early.”

“She was supposed to call me back this morning. Right after she got finished scrubbing your back.”

“Scrubbing my back?”

Winsome's bright blue eyes swung to Nicholas's face at the question in his tone. Nicholas felt the growing magnitude of his error in Winsome's suspicious stare. But it was too late to do anything about it.

His grandfather-in-law was already marching down the hall. Nicholas followed him in alarm. Winsome threw open Noel's bedroom door, eyed the unmade bed and closed the door. Then he marched into Nicholas's bedroom to stare at another unmade bed. When Winsome swung around, Nicholas could see the older man's shoulders had stiffened.

“So, my granddaughter thinks she's pulling the wool over the old man's eyes, is that it?”

Nicholas straightened uncomfortably beneath the sharpness behind his grandfather-in-law's question. The wool-over-the-eyes image, combined with that suspicious tone, conveyed its meaning only too clearly. If he was going to save this situation, Nicholas knew he had to speak now.

“Noel wanted to stay up all night to decorate the silly, ugly tree. I did not want to do this. I said some things in anger that hurt her. She went to bed without even eating the dinner she had prepared for us. She left this morning before I could speak to her.”

Nicholas knew that everything he had just said was true. He also knew that together his words formed a completely untrue impression that Winsome would want to accept.

And accept it he did. The older man's eyes softened as he rested a lanky, understanding arm on his grandson-in-law's shoulder and led him back into the living room.

“So, you had your first fight and she locked you out of the bedroom. I should have warned you about this thing she has for Christmas—and particularly Christmas trees. No wonder you're playing nursemaid to those decorations so early this morning. She wanted you to get them down from the attic last night and you wouldn't, that it?”

“Mr. Winsome, I do not feel...you indicate that Noel made some effort not to discuss—”

“Okay, son. I take your meaning. A private matter between the two of you. We'll say no more about it. But I think bringing down the decorations was a good move. Sometimes flowers and candy work, too.”

“I will keep this in mind.”

The deputy sheriff named Tucker stepped forward.

“In the meantime, maybe you can give me the particulars about last night,” he said, withdrawing a pen and notepad from his pocket.

Nicholas turned to the tall, thin man. “Excuse me?”

The toothpick twirled beneath the bushy black mustache as the small dark eyes above it remained steady. “The accident, Dr. Baranov. Can you describe this vehicle that ran you and your wife off the road?”

“Oh. Yes. The vehicle. A truck. New, I believe. I know nothing more.”

“Where exactly did it happen?”

“I would have difficulty describing this place, but I could take you there, if you think that would be of help.”

“Probably not. I'll ask Noel when next I run into her. In the meantime, I'll alert the sheriff so all the deputies in the rest of the county can keep an eye out for this fool.”

He clicked his pen closed and put it, along with his small notepad, into his pocket. He stared at Nicholas with those steady, neat eyes. Nicholas did not like being subjected to such scrutiny by this man in an official's uniform. It brought back too many unpleasant memories—far too many.

“Noel tells her grandfather here that you managed to get that old Dodge back onto the road with some fancy kind of pulley system.”

Nicholas reminded himself this was not Soviet Russia. This was America. Conversation with a policeman could be something other than an interrogation. “Not fancy. Very simple.”

The toothpick twirled between the stiff lips. “Stuffed with wood, that old Dodge must of weighed close to five thousand pounds. Fancy pulley or a simple one, pulling it off a ledge would still have taken a heap of strength.”

Nicholas shrugged. He sensed the quick mind behind the steady eyes and the slow lazy speech. Maybe this wasn't an interrogation, but this man was after something.

“Also must have taken a heap of strength of another kind to ride old Warlock.”

Nicholas shrugged again and waited.

The man with the twirling toothpick leaned forward just slightly. “How'd you like to put some of that strength to use in helping us put together some of the stage props for
A Christmas Carol?
”

The words surprised Nicholas.
“A Christmas Carol?”

Winsome's hand rested on Nicholas's shoulder. “It's that play Noel mentioned on your first night here. Tucker is the stage manager. I produce and star in it as my contribution to the Christmas festival. He's trying to butter you up so you'll volunteer to do some of the grunt work, like making scenery.”

“Butter me up?”

“Flatter your strength and savvy. Tucker here is three-fourths con artist. Gotta watch out for him.”

Nicholas saw the two men exchange glances. They were clearly friends and these words were clearly well-meaning. He faced the officer, feeling relieved. “I do not need this buttering up. I will volunteer. When will you need this help, Deputy Sheriff Tucker?”

The thin lips drew into their first smile as the deputy sheriff shoved the toothpick into the corner of his mouth.

“Just call me Tucker, Baranov. The only folks I make use my title are the ones I'm arresting. We'll be getting together tonight at the community center to plan out the specifics. I'll be driving right past here on my way, so you could hitch a ride with me. Or hitch a ride on in with Noel, that is assuming you and the Mrs. are back on speaking terms by then.”

Nicholas considered Tucker's words. He had taken care of the small mistake caused by Noel's offhand comment to her grandfather this morning. Surely Noel's gratitude for his effort would help to mend the rift his angry outburst had so disastrously and unintentionally caused the night before.

Yes, he had wanted to reestablish a necessary distance between them. But he had never intended to speak of such unspeakable things to her. And he had never intended for her to be so angered by his words that she'd even put off the decorating of this silly tree that meant so much to her.

No, none of this had been his intent.

Still, he was rectifying his error. He had done his part with her grandfather. She would be grateful. Her anger would be gone. Would it not?

“Perhaps it might be best if I hitched this ride with you, Tucker.”

The deputy sheriff's thick mustache rode up his thin cheeks. “Been there, Baranov. Yep, been there a lot with my Mrs. I'll be by around six.”

* * *

N
OEL DIDN'T BOTHER
looking at the perfunctory handwritten menu sitting on the small eating counter that was tucked in the back of the Mercantile and run by Seth and Ginny Carson. All Ginny ever served—whether she called it breakfast, dinner or supper—was a T-bone steak and scrambled eggs all covered in thick gravy with a side of biscuits and honey, and coffee strong enough to float a horseshoe. Noel knew better than to treat herself to this meal full of fat and cholesterol more than once a month, but that once a month was always heaven.