Same Time, Next Christmas (The Bravos 0f Valentine Bay Book 3) Read online

  Cutest damn thing he ever saw.

  She was covered head to toe, dwarfed by his Clatsop Community College sweatshirt and a pair of his sweatpants she must have rolled at the waist, his red-toed work socks like clown shoes on her narrow feet.

  Damn it to hell, she looked amazing, all rosy and soft, swimming in his clothes—and she’d washed her hair, too. It was still wet, curling sweetly on her shoulders.

  His throat felt like it had a log stuck in it. He gave a quick cough to clear it. “I, um, just thought I might as well get these books out of the box.”

  She simply looked at him, shaking her head.

  “C’mon,” he coaxed. “I’m doing fine. It’s not that big a deal.”

  She pressed her soft lips together—hiding a smile or holding back more scolding words? He couldn’t tell which. But then she said, “I washed out my things. They’re hanging over the tub and the shower bar. Hope that’s okay.”

  “You don’t even need to ask.”

  “All right, then.”

  A silence. Not an awkward one, surprisingly. She regarded him almost fondly—or was that pure wishful thinking on his part?

  She spoke first. “Thought I would grab a book or two, read myself to sleep.”

  He wanted to beg, Stay. Talk to me some more. But all he said was, “Help yourself.”

  Big socks flapping, she crossed the room to him and made her choices as he just stood there between the box and the bookcase, breathing in the steamy scent of her, wishing she would move closer so he could smell her better.

  She chose a thriller and a love story set in the Second World War that had won a bunch of literary awards a few years ago. “Okay, then,” she said finally. “Anything else I can do before I go? Shall I unplug the tree?”

  “Nope. I’m almost done here. Then I’ll lie down, I promise.”

  “Fair enough.” Both books tucked under one arm, she turned for the stairs.

  He bent to grab another volume, shelved it, bent to grab the next.

  “Matthias?” He straightened and turned. She’d made it to the top. “Merry Christmas.”

  He stared up at her, aching for something he didn’t want to name, feeling equal parts longing and gladness—longing for what he knew he wouldn’t have.

  Gladness just to be here in his cabin in the forest, stranded. With her.

  “Merry Christmas, Sabra.”

  She granted him a smile, a slow one. And then she turned and vanished from his sight.

  Chapter Four

  Christmas day, Sabra woke to morning light streaming in the loft window. She could smell coffee, which meant that Matthias had been on his feet again.

  She went downstairs scowling. But that was more her natural precoffee face than disapproval. The tree was lit up, looking fabulous. He was sitting on the sofa, his laptop across his stretched-out legs, apparently not in pain, his color excellent.

  He’d left a mug waiting for her by the coffee maker, same as yesterday. She filled it and drank it just the way she liked it, without a word spoken.

  Once it was empty, she set the mug on the counter. “Did you happen to take your temperature?”

  He ran his thumb over the touch pad. “Normal.”

  “You have internet on that laptop?”

  He tipped his head toward his phone on the coffee table. “Not using it now—but yeah, when I need it. Mobile data through my cell. It’s a little spotty here in the middle of nowhere, but it works well enough.” He looked up and smiled at her. Bam! The gray winter morning just got a whole lot brighter. “I also have a speaker. We can have Christmas music.”

  “How wonderful is that?” She wandered over to see what game he was playing. “Solitaire?”

  “It’s mindless. I find it calming.” He won a game and the cards flew around and settled to start over.

  She went on into the bathroom, where her clothes weren’t quite dry yet and her hair looked almost as bad as it had the morning before.

  * * *

  After breakfast, Matthias said he wanted a real bath. She went into the bathroom first, gathered up her things and took them upstairs, after which she found a roll of plastic wrap and waterproofed his bandaged lower leg.

  He hobbled into the bathroom and didn’t come out for an hour. When he finally emerged smelling of toothpaste and shampoo, she checked his stitches. There was no swelling and less redness than the day before.

  “Lookin’ good,” she said.

  “Great. I’m putting on the tunes.” He used a cable to hook up his speaker to his phone. Christmas music filled the cabin.

  She insisted that he open his presents. “Just sit there,” she said, “nice and comfy on the couch. I’ll bring them to you.”

  “That doesn’t seem fair.”

  “If I’m happy doing it, it’s fair enough.”

  His presents were the stuff guys get from their families at Christmas. Shirts and socks and a nice heavy jacket. A humorous coffee mug. Gift cards. More books.

  Sabra enjoyed the process. For the first time since her mom died, she was loving every minute of Christmas. Sitting out on the porch in the freezing cold, coming downstairs in the morning to the coffee Matthias had already made though she’d ordered him not to—everything, all of it, seemed sparkly and fresh, entertaining and baggage-free.

  When the last gift card had been stripped of its shiny wrapper and pretty ribbons, he said, “There’s one more under there somewhere.”

  “You sure? I think that’s all.”

  “I’ll find it.” He reached for his bear-headed cane.

  “Nope. Sit.” She got down on hands and knees and peered through the thick tiers of branches. “I see it.” It was tucked in close to the trunk. Pulling it free, she sat back on her heels. The snowman wrapping paper was wrinkled and the bow was made of household twine. “I don’t remember this one.”

  “I had to make do with what I found in the kitchen drawers.”

  “It’s for me?” Her throat kind of clutched. Maybe. A little.

  “Yeah—and don’t make a big deal of it or start in on how I shouldn’t have been on my feet.”

  She slanted him a sideways look. “Lotta rules you got when it comes to giving someone a present, Matthias.”

  “It’s Christmas. I wanted you to have something, okay?”

  “Um. Okay.” She gazed at him steadily, thinking what a great guy he was under the gruffness and self-protective, macho-man bluster.

  “It’s nothing,” he mumbled. “Just open it.”

  Oh, she definitely was tempted to dish out a little lecture about how a guy should never call any gift “nothing.” But then he would consider that making a “big deal.” Better not to even get started. She untied the twine bow and tore off the wrinkled paper.

  Inside was a See’s Candy box and inside that, a folded piece of paper bag and a small, roughly carved wooden animal. “It’s so cute.” She held it up. “A hedgehog?”

  “Close. A porcupine. I made it last night, sitting out on the porch after you went to bed.”

  She started to chide him for not going to sleep early as he’d promised—but then pressed her lips together before any words escaped. His gift touched her heart and being out on the porch for a while didn’t seem to have hurt him any.

  He said, “Me and my Swiss Army knife, we have a great time together.”

  She turned the little carving in her hands, admiring his work. “I love it. Truly. Thank you.”

  He gave a one-shouldered shrug. “I thought you might want a souvenir, something to remind you of all that can happen if you go wandering into the woods at Christmastime. You could end up facing down a crazy man with a gun and then having to perform emergency surgery.” He grinned.

  She felt an answering smile lift the corners of her mouth. “Why a porcupine?”

  �
��No reason, really. I got out my knife and a nice bit of wood that was just the right shape to become a porcupine.”

  “Great choice. I’m a porcupine sort of girl—kinda prickly.”

  “But cute.”

  Was she blushing? God. Probably. “Did you make your cane?” She tipped her head toward where it leaned against the end of the sofa.

  “Yes, I did.”

  She had that urge again—to jump up and hug him. Again, she resisted it. But her defenses were weakening. The more time she spent with him, the more she wanted to touch him, to have him touch her.

  Shifting her legs out from under her, she sat cross-legged on the floor, set the sweet little porcupine beside her and unfolded the paper-bag note.

  Merry Christmas, Sabra,

  I’ll make your coffee whether you allow me to or not. And I’ll shut up while you drink it. Feel free to break into my cabin anytime.

  Matthias

  She glanced up to find him watching her. “You realize you just gave me an open invitation to invade your forest retreat whenever the mood strikes.”

  He gazed at her so steadily. “Anytime. I mean that.”

  Did she believe him? Not really. But still, it pleased her no end that he seemed to like having her around.

  It was a great Christmas, Matt thought, easy and lazy. No tension, zero drama.

  They roasted the prime rib he’d brought and sat down to dinner in the early afternoon. There was time on the porch to enjoy the snowy clearing and the tall white-mantled trees. He had board games and they played them. She won at Scrabble. He kicked her pretty butt at Risk.

  Not long after dark, as they were considering a game of cribbage, the power went out. She got the footstool from under the stairs and handed him down the two boxes of candles he kept ready and waiting on top of the kitchen cabinets. They lit the candles, set them around the room and ended up abandoning the cribbage board, gravitating to their usual places instead—Matt on the sofa, Sabra curled up in the brown easy chair.

  He felt comfortable enough with her to bring up the awkwardness the night before. “I really didn’t mean to insult you last night—you know, what I said about you and that guy named James...”

  She gave him a look he was already coming to recognize, sort of patient. And tender. “I told you that I wasn’t insulted.”

  “But then you jumped to your feet and ran and hid in the bathroom.”

  “Did not,” she said sharply. “I took a bath.” She huffed out a breath. “Please.”

  He said nothing. He was getting to know her well enough to have a general idea of when to keep his mouth shut around her, let her come to the truth at her own speed.

  And she did, first shifting in the chair, drawing her legs up the other way, wrapping her slim arms around them. “I thought maybe I was getting too personal, I guess.”

  “You weren’t. If you want to tell it, I’m listening.”

  Her sleek eyebrows drew together as she thought it over. “It is helpful, to have someone to talk to. You’re a good listener and this is just the right situation, you know? You and me alone in this cabin, away from the rest of the world. I think it shocked me last night, how easy it was to say hard stuff to you. You’re the stranger I’ll probably never see again once the roads are clear and we can go our separate ways.” She swiped a hand down her shining dark hair and flicked her braid back over her shoulder.

  He could sit here forever, just looking at her.

  She had it right, though—yeah, he ached to kiss her. To touch her. To see where this attraction he felt for her might go.

  But at the same time, he’d been careful not to tell her too much about himself, about his life. He’d come a long way in the past few years. But not far enough. He still wasn’t ready to jump off into the deep end with a woman again.

  And Sabra Bond? She was the kind a guy should be ready to go deep with.

  * * *

  Sabra hugged her knees a little closer, thinking how the man across the coffee table from her reminded her of her dad a little—her dad the way he used to be, back in the old days, before they’d lost her mom. Like her father, Matthias was self-contained. He really listened. He took her seriously but he knew how to kid around, too. He also seemed the sort of man who would tell the truth even when it hurt.

  “So, where was I?” she asked.

  He tipped his dark gold head to the side, considering, for several long seconds before replying. “You told me about Stan, who left in the middle of the night to move to Austin and become a rock star, the lousy bastard. What about James?”

  “James. Right. After Stan, I swore off men.”

  “How’d that work out?”

  “For a while, I had no romantic relationships of any kind. Then, in my last year at Santa Cruz, I met James Wise. James is from a wealthy Monterey family and he was studying computer game design—not really seriously, though, as it turned out.”

  “Right. Because...trust fund?”

  “A giant one. He was fooling around with game design and his parents were constantly pressuring him to join the family real estate development firm.”

  “So you two were a thing, you and James?”

  She nodded. “We were. He was fun and he didn’t seem to take things too seriously. I was so proud of myself for finally having a no-strings sexual relationship.”

  “But then...?”

  “After we dated for a month or two, James started pushing for marriage.”

  Matthias made a low, knowing sort of sound. “And you explained that you planned to be single for years yet.”

  “I did, yes. We split up at graduation. I moved to Portland.”

  “A fresh start.”

  “That’s right. I got my own place and a job at that restaurant I told you about, where I met Iris and Peyton, who became my best friends. I kept promising my friends I would enjoy my freedom, get out and experience a few hot and sexy nights with men I never intended to spend forever with. Somehow, that never happened. And then James showed up in Portland.”

  “Because he couldn’t live without you.”

  “That is exactly what he said.” She turned sideways and hung her legs over the chair arm, using the other arm as a backrest, shoving a throw pillow behind her for extra support. “And how’d you know that?”

  “Lucky guess. Continue.”

  “Well, I really had missed him. Yeah, I knew he was a little...irresponsible, maybe. But he was so romantic and sweet—and lighthearted, you know? Since my mom’s death, a little lightheartedness means a lot. He kind of swept me off my feet. We got a place together and he kept pushing for marriage...”

  “And you finally said yes.”

  “Nailed it.”

  “But what about those no-strings flings you promised your girlfriends you’d be having?”

  “Never got around to them. And I know, the plan was I would wait till I was thirty to even get serious. Yet, somehow, there I was, saying yes to James—also, full disclosure? I’d never actually met his family or taken him to meet my dad.”

  “Uh-oh.”

  “Tell me about it.” She groaned. “I ask you, could there have been more red flags?”

  “Don’t beat yourself up. It’s all in the past, right?”

  A little shudder went through her. “Right. The very recent past, unfortunately—but anyhow, we agreed we’d skip the fancy wedding. I’d never wanted one of those and he could not have cared less either way. We set a date for a quickie Vegas ceremony, which was to have taken place exactly six days ago today. Then after the wedding, the plan was that James would sweep me off for a Christmas vacation-slash-honeymoon in the Seychelles.”

  “Christmas in the tropics. That does sound romantic. Ten points for James.”

  “I thought so, too. And I did insist he had to at least meet my dad first, so we went to the
farm for Thanksgiving.”

  “Did you have a nice visit?”

  She narrowed her eyes at him. “Go ahead, Matthias. Pour on the irony.”

  “Sorry.” He didn’t look the least regretful.

  “You’re enjoying this far too much.”

  “I’m only teasing you—you know, being lighthearted?”

  She pulled the pillow out from behind her back and threw it at him.

  He caught it. “Whoa. Just missed the candle.”

  “Watch out. I’ll do worse than knock over a candle.”

  He put the pillow under his injured leg. “So? The visit to the farm...?”

  “It was bad. My dad was polite to James, but two days in, Dad got me alone and asked me if I was really sure about marrying the guy.”

  “Ouch. That’s tough.”

  “And I reacted with anger. I said some mean things about how, since we’d lost Mom, he didn’t care about anything—but now, all of a sudden, he’s got a negative opinion he just has to share concerning my choice of a life mate.”

  “Admit it,” Matthias interjected in that rough, matter-of-fact tone she already knew so well. “You were worried that your dad might be right.”

  She decided his remark didn’t require a response. “After the awfulness with my dad, James and I went back to Portland.”

  “Your dad was right, though—am I right?”

  She wished she had another pillow to throw at him. “Seven days ago, the day before we were supposed to head for Vegas, James’s parents arrived out of nowhere at our apartment.”

  “Not good?”

  “Horrible. They’d come to collect their errant son before he made the biggest mistake of his life—marrying some nobody farmer’s daughter when the woman he grew up with, a woman from an excellent family, a woman who loved him with all her heart, was waiting for him in Monterey—with their little boy who needed his daddy.”

  “What the— James had a kid?”

  She nodded. “One he’d never said a word to me about.”