Under the Northern Lights(29)

It began to lightly snow while Michael was working, and I half-heartedly watched the lazy flakes as they drifted to the ground. Just a couple of days short of three weeks . . . that was how long I’d been stuck here. It seemed both longer and shorter; time had a funny way of fluctuating around Michael. Nick would just be beginning to worry about me, since I hadn’t returned to his place with the plane. He’d wait a few more days, and then he’d inform my parents that I hadn’t come back. Then everyone would start worrying.

Everyone would be in a panic . . . just in time for Christmas. God . . . Christmas. Like most families, it was a huge event for us. Since we all lived in the same small town, we saw each other frequently during the holidays. Mom would have us over for dinner at least two to three times a week. Patricia and I would go shopping for everyone together. Shawn would swing by with a jug of spiked eggnog. Patricia and I would help Mom and Dad find the perfect tree for their house; even though we’d hadn’t lived with them in a while, it was one tradition we both hadn’t been able to give up. We even helped them decorate their house. Of course, that was because Mom bribed us with sugar cookies.

Mom was a pro when it came to decorating cookies. She had a glass case in the diner where she would display all of her works of art, and customers would stand around, admiring her confections. Patricia and I hadn’t quite developed Mom’s decorating skills yet, but we were getting there. I made a damn cute Christmas tree.

Thoughts of trees and cookies made my mind spin with memories. I could nearly smell the pine and cinnamon, nutmeg and vanilla. The holidays always smelled so good. And tasted so good. And felt so good. It killed me to know I was going to miss it.

A sharp crack resounded through the woods as the huge tree Michael was chopping began to disconnect from its roots. A low groaning sound emanated from the base, and then the top of the tree began rushing to the earth. Branches snapped off as they smacked against other trees nearby. Michael stepped back, ax held loosely in his hands. His breath, frosty in the cold, was heavier after the exertion of chopping the tree. There was a small smile on his lips, though; he loved this stuff.

Michael’s grin widened as he looked back at me. “That should keep you busy for a few weeks.”

His comment reminded me of my earlier thought. “A couple weeks . . . Christmas.”

Expression softening, Michael walked over to me. “Right . . . I almost forgot.” After a short sigh, he shook his head. “It will get easier once the day passes. I promise.”

The light snow collected in his beard, dusting his lips as he spoke. It was clear by the look on his face that he understood what I was going through, and it made me wonder if this time of year made him miss his family too. Michael didn’t seem too close to his dad anymore, but sometimes the holidays had a way of bypassing rifts and reconnecting people.

“Have you ever thought of going back to New York and visiting your dad? Just for the worst part of winter,” I quickly added so he wouldn’t think I was suggesting moving home.

Michael immediately shook his head. “No, I haven’t.” I waited for him to expand on that, but of course, he didn’t. I opened my mouth to ask him why he hadn’t considered it, and he lifted a hand to stop me. “I’d rather not talk about my dad and why I do or don’t want to see him, okay?”

I let out a heavy sigh. “Fine. I just thought with the holidays approaching, you might want to open up about some of the stuff that’s clearly eating at you. But if you’d rather keep it all bottled in, ready to explode at a moment’s notice, then fine. Who am I to tell you how to live?”

Michael’s pale eyes widened at my outburst, and I was immediately hit by a wave of embarrassment. I usually tried hard to hold my tongue, to not pry or push in areas where he didn’t want me to. Thoughts of the upcoming celebrations were clearly making me fail. “I’m sorry—that was uncalled for. It’s just . . . Christmas has always been a very special time of year for me. Not being home with my family, my friends, my dogs . . . it’s really hard, but that doesn’t mean I should take it out on you. So . . . I’m sorry if that sounded bitchy.”

A small smile returned to his lips. “I’ve survived worse, but thank you for apologizing.”

Wanting to change the subject, I grabbed the ax that was slung across my back. “Guess we should start working on cutting this monstrosity down to size.” The scope of work before us made a weary exhale escape me. “I can tell you right now, though, the second I get back home, I’m ordering you some decent equipment. You need a freaking chainsaw. Maybe two or three.”

Michael laughed, then shook his head. “I can’t let you do that, Mallory . . . but it’s a nice thought, so thank you.”

I stopped and stared at him. “You saved my life. The very least I can do is make yours a touch easier.”

He stared at me a moment, his eyes soft with warmth and compassion. “You already have,” he whispered.

The look on his face . . . the sweetness and sincerity in his voice . . . my heart started beating harder, and a warmth as pleasant as a sunny spring day began to radiate inside me. God, that was so . . . sweet.

Michael’s demeanor changed the second the words left his mouth. Eyes downcast, he started searching the snow-covered forest floor like he’d lost something in it. “We should get started,” he murmured. “Getting this back to camp will take a while.”