Trading Christmas - Debbie Macomber [45]
“Come on,” Faith said. “You need to do this or you’ll lose face with the kids.”
“Faith, I’m not sure it’s a good idea.”
“It’ll be fun. You’ll see.”
“Faith, listen, I’m not entirely comfortable with this.”
“They’ll pester you until you give in, you realize?”
Charles seemed to need more convincing. “I’ll go first,” she told him. “Just do what I do, and you won’t have a problem.”
“People can get killed sledding,” he mumbled to no one in particular.
She looked both ways before crossing the street. “People get killed on their way to work, too.”
“This isn’t encouraging.”
“I’ll go first,” she said again.
“No,” he countered as they trudged up the hill. “If this has to be done, I’ll do it.”
Thomas proudly showed Charles how to lie flat on the sled and how to steer with his arms. Charles still seemed unsure, but he was enough of a sport to lie prone, his feet hanging over the sled. He looked up at Faith with an expression that said if he died, it would be her fault.
“Are your life insurance premiums paid up?” she teased.
“Very funny,” he grumbled.
Faith laughed, but her amusement soon turned to squeals of concern as the sled started down the snowy hill. Because of his weight, Charles flew downward at breakneck speed. His momentum carried him much farther than the children and straight toward the playground equipment.
“Turn!” she screamed. “Charles, turn the sled!” He couldn’t hear her, so she did the only thing she could—and that was run after him. She stumbled and fell any number of times as she vaulted down the hill. Before long, she was on her backside, sliding down the snow and slush with only the thin protection of her jeans. The icy cold seeped through her clothes, but she didn’t care. If anything happened to him, she’d never forgive herself.
Charles disappeared under the swing set and continued on for several feet before coming to a stop just short of the frozen pond.
“Charles, Charles!” Faith raced after him, oblivious now to her wet bottom and the melting snow running down her calves.
Charles leaped off the sled. His smile stretched from ear to ear as he turned toward her. “That was incredible!”
“You were supposed to stop,” she cried, furious with him and not afraid to let him know it.
“Then you should have said so.” He was by far the calmer one.
“You could’ve been hurt!”
“Yes, I know, but weren’t you the one who said I could just as easily die on my way to work?”
“You’re an idiot!” She hurled herself into his arms, nearly choking him. She felt like bursting into tears of relief that he was safe and unhurt.
Charles clasped her around the waist and lifted her off the ground. “Hey, hey, I’m fine.”
“I know…I know—but I expected you to stop where the kids do.”
“I will next time.”
“Next time?”
“Come on,” he said, and set her down. “It’s your turn.”
“No, thanks.” Faith raised both her hands and took a step backward. “I already had a turn. I went down the hill on my butt, chasing after you.”
He laughed, and the sound was pure magic. He kissed her cold face. “Go change clothes. As soon as you’re ready we’ll go into town.”
“Are you staying in the park?”
Charles nodded. “Of course. A man’s got to do what a man’s got to do.”
Shaking her head, she sighed. What on earth had she created here? One ride down the hill, and Charles Brewster was a thirteen-year-old boy all over again.
TWENTY
Heather could hardly hear a thing over all the noise in the Hog’s Breath Tavern in Key West, Florida. Peaches was eyeing Elijah with the voluptuous look of a woman on the prowl. Heather gazed across the room rather than allow herself to be subjected to such blatant attempts to lure Elijah away.
Slipping off the bar stool, she squeezed past crowded tables in a search for the ladies’ room. This entire vacation wasn’t anything like she’d imagined. She’d pictured sitting with Elijah on a balmy beach, singing Christmas carols and holding each other close. His idea of fun was riding twelve hours a day on his Harley with infrequent breaks, grabbing stale