3

Brock blinked as his eyes adjusted to the world of white outside the hospital. He breathed deep, glad to be away from hospital smells. He stretched, whipped around, and almost ran into a giant planter filled with red and green sparkles of the season. He sidestepped and took care as he walked to the background hum of small snow movers working in the parking lot. Ordinarily he’d be doing the same at Wildwood Community, in order for their lot to be cleared for services later. He’d called church volunteers during the night and allocated the job.

Job.

He and Izzy still had a lot to talk about.

If he were to guess, she’d be graduating college soon. What would she think of him once he disclosed his employment as a glorified handy-man was at a church other than the one his father pastored?

Izzy. What a kick, how they sported dimples on opposite cheeks.

How long before he could get her home to her parents?

Questions circled though his mind until he pulled up to the hospital doors. From the wheelchair, Izzy lifted her face to the sky. She lowered her chin and their gazes collided.

Her eyes rounded. “This is one big truck.”

“Hey, it’ll get you home safe. Let me help you up.”

They said their good-byes to the aide and Brock rounded the hood. “Your bags are in the backseat. Must be presents for your family in the sacks?”

“You got my bags from the trunk? Oh, joy; I can get into clean clothes. Brock, I don’t think I can ever say thank you enough times.”

“It’s enough to smile and show me your pretty dimple. Sorry you have to put up with me on Christmas Eve. But your dad says even my 4x4 won’t get through until a foot of drifting snow has been cleared from the roads.”

“I’m always up for an adventure. We’ll go to church tonight, won’t we?”

“Of course, if you think you can put up with my family. My father pastors a large church in East Lincoln. We didn’t get to talk about it yet. How many are in your family?”

“I have an older sister, Abigail, and she has a son named Chance. That’s all.”

“Abigail, huh? She’ll fit right in. My sisters are Ali and Audra.”

Izzy giggled. “Another A. My mom’s name is Ardith.”

“Wouldn’t it be fun to get them all together?” He pulled off Vine Street and parked in a drive in front of a detached single garage. “Home, sweet home.”

“You would have never made that turn in a car without getting stuck.”

Before he could respond, the back door slammed open and banged against the siding.

“Hey, bro. It’s about time you got home.”

“Izzy, meet the baby of the family. Burt is staying with me while he attends university. He got off work too late to trek home himself last night, and he isn’t smart enough to wear a coat outside.”

“Hi, Izzy. What a deal, running off the road like that. Glad you’re on your feet. And, big brother, I’ll be back inside before you can say Merry Christmas.”

Burt’s presence meant Izzy could get rid of any nerves she had over the prospect of being in the house alone with Brock.

He slapped Burt on the back. “Grab her bag, would you? Leave the presents.”

Izzy accepted his proffered hand. “I like the color of the house, Brock. I can hardly wait for a tour.”

“I don’t care if you open every door and take a peek. But first things, first.” He paused to hold open the back door. She looked pale. Was she hurting? “I want you to walk around some on the main floor to make sure your ankle can handle stairs. Watch your step; we need to go up two treads to the kitchen.”

“Got it. And I’m so glad you thought of looking in my car trunk. All that’s on my mind is a warm shower, if that would be all right.”

“Better yet, there’s a tub in the main bath. I even have Epsom salts.” He guided her inside and opened a top cupboard door, shook the salts, and set the box on the counter. “I had to make sure I was telling the truth. And here’s a trash bag liner to keep your wrap dry. You look wiped out. Are you in pain? Do you need to rest first, take a pain pill, have lunch?”

“Let her catch her breath, bro. I’ll set this bag in the bathroom, Izzy.”

Burt returned before she’d removed her coat. “Since I was snowed in last night, I made chili.”

She untied the belt on her coat and Brock stepped behind to slide it off her shoulders. She turned, keeping hold of one sleeve.

“Is it caught?” He slid his hand from her elbow to her fingers, and looked down. His insides jumped at the touch of her free hand catching the coat sleeve, his fingers caught between. Tears swam in her beautiful blue eyes, where gold tinted the irises. No woman had ever expressed more without saying a word.

He wanted…wanted what? He swallowed.

Izzy gave him a squeeze, a brief hug around the waist with her coat as a buffer. She stepped back.

He breathed unencumbered again.

She mouthed thank you, accepted the plastic liner, and addressed Burt. “Your chili sounds delicious. Don’t imagine you have cinnamon rolls to go with? That’s what I would have awakened to if I’d made it home.”

“Cinnamon rolls with chili? We’ll have cheesy cornbread with my little brother’s chili. Then you can soak while we’re out clearing snow from the walks.”

Did the woman have any idea what she expressed with her eyes?

He grabbed for the handle of her wheeled bag, but she beat him to it. “I’ve got this.”

She reminded him of a two-year-old about to storm, “I can do it myself.” She shot him a grateful smile over her shoulder and limped from the room.

While he labored clearing snow, the memory of Izzy’s beautiful smile and cute dimple kept him company.

~*~

Izzy opened her eyes with a start, shivered, and couldn’t move. She struggled against an invisible weight. “Ouch.” She pushed up, and her calf cramped. She’d propped her foot on a towel to keep water from getting inside the plastic wrap around her bandage. She flexed her toes, massaged her calf, and circulation returned. With a jolt of full awareness, she oriented herself.

No dark enclosure. No car wreck. Brock’s house in Lincoln.

The tub water had cooled enough to make her shiver.

Thank goodness the window brightened the bath, or the walls would have closed in on her. She sat up, turned on the hot water, and then hurriedly washed with the lemongrass handmade soap—odd for a bachelor’s bath. She relished the flow of fresh heat from the water as she rinsed. Mom could help wash her hair if she still hurt so badly later.

Izzy dried and dressed, slower than warp-speed normal, and noted the tender blue blotches that covered her body.

The muted television voices and an occasional hint of the men’s lower comments registered from outside the room. Comforting sounds.

The knowledge she wasn’t alone took the edge off, although she’d rather be with her own family. Izzy surveyed the room to make sure she’d gathered her belongings. All was in order. She opened the bathroom door to the wonderful aroma of chili and came to an abrupt halt at the size of a big, caramel colored dog with black splotches.

He blocked her way, posed as though he’d been waiting for her to open the door.

“Well, hello there. Who are you?”

“Oh, that’s Oscar.” Burt whipped a scarf around his neck. “Stay, boy. Brock can tell you all about the monster. I need to run to the store for a few things Mom asked me to bring for after church.”

She’d end up in the house alone with Brock after all.

Oscar looked friendly enough, but Izzy hesitated. Was he ready to pounce on her by way of greeting, or did he plan to stay between her and Brock until he introduced them?

As though he sensed her thought, Brock poked his head around the kitchen doorway. “Oscar, this is Izzy. She’s a friend.”

The dog stretched his neck and pointed his nose, sniffed three times. Then Oscar sat and lifted both front paws, extending the left.

Izzy burst out laughing and reached for a paw. “Nice to meet you, Oscar.”

“You’ll be friends for life now. You’re probably warm from the bath, but lunch is ready.”

She joined Brock on a high stool at the counter.

“Burt’s always quick to help Mom when he can. With the sisters married, he’s the family errand boy.”

“I’d like to meet your family.”

“Oh, you’ll meet the whole Winston gang for Christmas Eve service, and afterwards at the house.” She giggled at the cornbread crumbs that escaped when Brock talked.

“Tell me their names, please.”

He slid her a grin. “Mom, Sheila. Dad, Bob. I have one sister older. We go in order: Ali, Brock, Audra, and Burt. One of Burt’s buddies made a joke that has been repeated so much, it’s turned into tradition. We are now known as A,B,A,B, which is far better than saying ABCD.”

“That a clever way to remember. One of my old roommates claimed two boys and two girls equaled a perfect family.” She planned to observe that philosophy later when she met Pastor Robert Winston and his wife Sheila’s other two children. “I’m stuffed. Burt can make a mean chili stew.”

“If you’re not too warm from the soup, would you like hot apple cider or iced tea? There’s also coffee or cocoa.”

“The cider sounds wonderful. Mind if I check out these lovely old rooms?”

“Go for it. Just wait for me to go upstairs with you in case you need to lean on me.”

As helpful as he seemed, she imagined lots of people leaned on Brock.

She circumvented the leather sectional situated for the best view of the huge, big screen television and meandered through the room—no doubt the original dining room, and now where the guys appeared to spend most of their time. Except it was so neat that even the remotes lay at perfect angles on the table top.

She crossed through the living room. The gleam of the natural woodwork and floors exhibited care and pride. Rich browns, tans, and navy revealed masculine taste. Rather than open the front door, where the top of a wreath peeked outside beyond the small window, she looked out to avoid letting in cold air. The two-tone gray, large columns and trim accented the blue painted floor of the wide porch. She pictured Brock on a nice spring evening enjoying a cold glass of something.

The porch reminded her of home. She should check in with her folks to see if the roads had been cleared.

“Coming through.”

She swiveled toward Brock. He held a small tray with two huge mugs of steaming cider, cinnamon stick and all, plus a pretty plate of cookies. “The cookies are from the church secretary. I don’t hang out much in the living room. We could sit there, and I’ll flick the switch for a fire.”

“That would be lovely. I’m always saying thanks.” The oversized recliner didn’t appeal to her so she chose the blue vinyl loveseat that faced the fireplace.

Garland, elegantly graced by bronze and silver bows, draped above the mirror which hung over the mantel. What kind of man decorated like this for Christmas? “Wow, nice decorations.”

“My sisters did such a nice job of spiffing up the fireplace. They claim a house with history needs to wear swags at this time of year.”

Who was this neat man—a man who lived in a home where all things appeared in order? Not that she’d been in many bachelor pads, but those she’d seen belonged mostly to college guys. And they were a mess.

“All right, Brock. You’ve stayed close to me and watched over me for most of the last eighteen hours. Who are you, Brock Winston? Give me clues to the man who owns this place and rescues women on dark country roads.”