“And your hands.” I nuzzled his neck, his beard stubble tickling my nose as his hands cupped and squeezed my backside. “Do we have to stay in Rapid for more than one night?”
“I don’t think this storm is giving us any choice.”
I kissed his Adam’s apple and stepped back. “Okay. I’m bringing reinforcements just in case, though.”
“You mean Natalie?”
“And Cornelius.”
“Cornelius agreed to come along?”
I winced. “I kind of shanghaied him into coming, too. He was going to stay alone in that apartment for Christmas.” At the twitch of Doc’s lips, I added, “And Jane’s being mean to him. She hid your key.”
“Did she?” He moved to the bed. “Well, I for one am glad he’s coming.”
“You are?”
“Sure. He’ll keep things interesting without even trying.” He grabbed the mace and Kevlar vest from the bed. “I’ll put these in my closet until we get back to Deadwood.”
I went into his bathroom and checked my face in the mirror. There was no hiding my swollen lips or the redness on my cheeks from his beard stubble, but I patted down my curls, anyway, and then followed Doc down the back stairs to the kitchen.
Harvey was pulling a tray of cookies from the oven as we filed out of the narrow stairwell. He looked me over from top to bottom and grinned wide enough for his two gold teeth to show. “Would ya like a cookie after yer Christmas Eve nookie?”
I pinched his side, making him yip and dance away. I reached for a cookie, risking getting my fingers bit by Cornelius and Natalie, who were guarding a plateful of the chocolate delights like hungry Doberman pinschers.
“What did Cooper say about the roads?” I asked.
“The plows are runnin’ up on US 385 as far as he knows.” Harvey pulled off his oven mitt. “But he’s dead set that you wantin’ to drive in this mess confirms his theory that anything north of yer ears is pure snowdrift.”
I crossed my arms. “He didn’t say that.”
“Well, he said somethin’ like it.” Harvey tossed the mitt on the counter. “Even if the plows are runnin’ up Strawberry, there’s no guarantee ya won’t have to take a detour along the way and end up in the middle of nowhere up to yer hips in snow.”
“I know this is a risk, but Santa’s presents are in the back of my rig and if I don’t make it down there by morning—”
“I know, I know. Yer kids will be eatin’ sorrow by the bowlful if you and those presents aren’t waitin’ fer them when they open their peepers.”
“Exactly. So what do I do?”
He untied the “Life’s short, moon the cook!” apron that I gave him yesterday for Christmas and draped it over one of the bar stools. “I have just the solution fer ya.”
“What’s that?”
He hooked his thumbs in his suspenders. “Ya take me along with ya to help play San-ty Claus.”
Chapter Six
Today wasn’t the first time I’d thought about Susan’s demise. Back in eighth grade, I went so far as to plan out her funeral, including the music, flowers, guest list, and type of casket and headstone. I even drew out the layout for the memorial service, seating my parents, brother, and me front and center.
My mistake was writing it all down in my notebook, including the drawing, which my mom found while cleaning out my backpack during Christmas break. I could still picture Mom’s pale face and teary eyes when she asked what the memorial layout was. She knew the answer because I’d stupidly written “Susan’s Death Celebration” at the top of some of the pages, but she insisted I spell it out for her.
Lesson learned that day: When secretly plotting to eliminate a family member, don’t use titles on the funeral schematics.
Those drawings had prompted my mother to contact a counselor for Susan and me. Six months of weekly meetings later, my dad put a stop to it all. A short time after that, I overheard him talking about us to Mom in the garage, eavesdropping through the dog door when they thought they were alone. He could see the writing on the wall. No amount of therapy would ever fix our broken relationship. We might share blood, but we were too different, and both too headstrong. The best they could hope for was a truce until Susan and I were old enough to go our separate ways. The sound of my mother sobbing as he comforted her made my heart hurt, so much so that I vowed that day not to lower myself to Susan’s level ever again.
Unfortunately, that vow didn’t last.
“You have all of the kids’ gifts, right?” Natalie’s voice snapped me back to the present.
“Yep. They’re tucked away behind the back seat.”
I stared at the white world outside Doc’s kitchen window. The snow wasn’t letting up even a little, and now gusts of wind were adding swirls of icy flurries. Poor Doc and Cornelius were outside putting the chains on my tires, prepping it for the forty-plus mile trip over the river, through the woods, and down the mountain to my parents’ place. My fingers were crossed that tire chains would be enough.
Natalie leaned back against the counter next to me. “You killed everything that could spark a fire at your aunt’s place, including the Christmas lights, right?”
“Hey, they don’t call me an Executioner for nothing,” I joked. “I killed everything in Aunt Zoe’s fortress but her attraction to Reid Martin,” I added, grinning at my own wittiness about my aunt’s hot-to-trot old flame, who also happened to be Deadwood’s fire captain. “That hunka-hunka burnin’ love is hot-wired to spark Aunt Zoe into flames.”
Natalie’s grin matched mine. “Reid doesn’t just ignite sparks in Zoe,
