Same Time, Next Christmas

“Eggs,” he said longingly. “Toast. Bacon.”

She made a disapproving face, but then she cooked him the breakfast he asked for. He did his part and kept the food down. After the meal, she changed his bandage. His leg wasn’t pretty, but there was no sign of infection.

Once she’d changed the dressing, she got him some sweats and clean underwear from the duffel bags she’d brought in from the car. She even allowed him to hobble into the bathroom on his own steam.

He brushed his teeth, cleaned himself up a little and changed into the stuff she’d brought downstairs for him. When he emerged into the main room, she said he looked a little green and ordered him to lie down.

“I have a request,” she said as she tucked the old afghan in around him.

“My Jeep? My bank account number? The deed to this cabin? Whatever you want from me, it’s yours.”

She laughed. The sound was low and a little bit husky. Every time she bent close, he could smell her. She’d used the Ivory soap in the bathroom, yeah, but beneath that, her body itself smelled clean and sweet, like fresh-baked bread or maybe sugar cookies. Sugar cookies and woman.

A knockout combination.

Really, she had it all going on. He’d never realized before that he might have a type. Hi, I’m Matt Bravo and I like my women hot, smart, competent and bossy. As soon as he was capable of washing up in the bathroom without needing a nap afterward, it was going to get really difficult not to put a move on her.

Now, though? He was weak as a baby and fading fast, making her one-hundred-percent safe from his bad intentions.

“Keep your bank account,” she said with a grin. “It’s your tree I’m after.”

He imagined reaching up, running a finger down the velvety skin of her neck, maybe tugging on that thick braid down her back—and what was this he was feeling? Like he had a crush on her or something.

Matt didn’t do crushes. He’d been in love once and it had all gone to hell like everything else in his life at that time. Nowadays, he went out occasionally with women who wanted the same thing he did—satisfying sex. And no sleeping over.

Although, in all honesty, if he was going to crush on a woman, it would have to be this one.

“Matthias? You okay?”

He picked up the conversation where he’d dropped it. “I noticed you found the decorations and brought them down.”

She grinned. “It’s Christmas Eve. You’re in no condition to decorate that tree and it’s not going to decorate itself. Is it all right with you if I do it?”

She was way too much fun to tease. “You sure you don’t want the Jeep? It’s a Rubicon. Super fancy. You can go off-road in it, take a seventy-degree downhill grade on rugged terrain without even stopping to consider the risks—because there are none.”

A sound escaped her, a snappy little “Ffft.” She gave him a light slap on the shoulder with the back of her hand. “Stop messing with me. Say yes.”

He stared up into those beautiful brown eyes. “Yes.”

“Well, all right.” She retucked a bit of his blanket. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

He reached back and punched his pillow a little, all for show. “Have fun.”

“I will.”

“And try to keep the noise down. I need my sleep.” He turned his head toward the back of the sofa and closed his eyes.

But not two minutes later, he rolled his head back the other way so he could watch her work.

Methodical and exacting, that was her tree-decorating style. She found the lights, plugging in each string first, replacing the few bulbs that had gone out. There weren’t many bad bulbs because Matt took care of his gear. Also, the lights weren’t that old.

This was his third Christmas at the cabin. His great-uncle Percy Valentine had given the place to him when Matt was discharged from the service. A few wooded acres and a one-room cabin, Matthias, Uncle Percy had said. I’m thinking it will be a quiet place just for you, a place where you can find yourself again.

Matt wasn’t all that sure he’d found himself yet, but he liked having his own place not far from home to go when he needed it. He had a large family and they kept after him to start showing up for Christmas, which had always been a big deal for all of them.

His mom had loved Christmas and she used to do it up right. She and his dad had died when Matt was sixteen, but his older brother Daniel had stepped up, taken custody of all of them and continued all the family Christmas traditions.

He loved them, every one of them. He would do just about anything for them. But for Christmas, he liked the cabin better. He liked going off into a world of his own now and then, needed it even. Especially for the holidays. There was something about this time of the year that made the ghosts of his past most likely to haunt him.

Through half-closed eyes, he watched as Sabra strung the lights. She tucked them in among the thick branches just so, making sure there were no bare spaces, the same way he would have done. When she neared the top, she found the folding footstool in the closet under the stairs and used it to string those lights all the way up.

She had the lights on and was starting to hang ornaments when his eyes got too heavy to keep open even partway. Feeling peaceful and damn close to happy, he drifted off to sleep.

When he woke again, Sabra was curled in a ball in the old brown armchair across from the sofa, asleep. She’d found a book, no doubt from the bookcase on the side wall. It lay open across her drawn-up thighs, her dark head drooping over it.

The tree was finished. She’d done a great job of it. He just lay there on the sofa and admired it for a few minutes, tall and proud, shining so bright. She’d even put his presents from the family under it.

But he was thirsty and his water glass was empty. He sat up and reached for the cane that he’d propped at the end of the sofa.

That small movement woke her. “Wha...?” She blinked at him owlishly. “Hey. You’re awake.” She rubbed the back of her neck.

He pushed back the afghan and brought his legs to the floor. “The tree is gorgeous.”

She smiled, a secret, pleased little smile. “Thanks. How’re you feeling?”

“Better.” He pushed himself upright and she didn’t even try to stop him.

“You look better. Your color’s good. Want some soup?”

“If I can sit at the table to eat it.”

“You think you’re up for that?”

“I know I am.”

Matthias was better. Lots better.

So much better that, after dinner that night, when he wanted to go out on the porch, she agreed without even a word of protest.

“You’ll need a warmer coat,” he said, and sent her upstairs to get one of his.

The coat dwarfed her smaller frame. On her, it came to midthigh and the arms covered her hands. She loved it. It would keep her toasty warm even out in the frozen night air—and it smelled like him, of cedar and something kind of minty.

On the porch, there were two rustic-looking log chairs. Sabra pushed the chairs closer together and they sat down.

The snow had finally stopped. They’d gotten several feet of the stuff, which meant they would definitely be stuck here for at least the next few days.

Sabra didn’t mind. She felt far away from her real life, off in this silent, frozen world with a man who’d been a stranger to her only the day before.