Shirlee McCoy - The Christmas Target

“That won’t stop me from doing it. Keep your nose clean, Boone. I’m heading out.” Chance jogged back to the creek, every nerve in his body on high alert. He hadn’t expected trouble. He’d found it.

Now he was going to deal with it.

A dozen people were standing near the creek—police, park rangers, paramedics. Simon stood next to Stella, his hand on her shoulder, not holding her up but pretty close to it.

He met Chance’s eyes, mouthed, She’s done.

“I am not,” Stella bit out, her body shaking beneath a blanket someone had tossed over her shoulders. “Done.”

“That’s a matter of opinion,” Simon countered as paramedics lifted Beatrice onto a backboard. She’d been swaddled in blankets and had an IV in her hand, but she was breathing, an oxygen mask covering her mouth and nose. That was an improvement, and it gave Chance hope that she might recover.

“My opinion is the only one that matters,” Stella muttered, but she didn’t seem interested in the argument. She was watching as the medics strapped Beatrice to the board and lifted her.

“Careful,” she warned, as if the team needed to be reminded.

They ignored her.

Which was surprising since she had blood dripping down the side of her face and more of it seeping from beneath her hair. She was also pale as paper, her skin completely leached of color. Chance would have thought every available medic would be hovering around, cleaning her wounds and getting her ready to be transported. She must have refused treatment, insisted that the attention be given to her grandmother.

Now her grandmother was on the move, and Stella looked like she planned to follow.

“I don’t think so,” he said, grabbing her arm.

“You don’t think what?” she asked, trying to pull away.

He didn’t have to put much effort into keeping that from happening. Which concerned him. A lot. “That you’re going to walk back to the house.”

“I don’t think you have a choice in the matter.”

“Sure I do. Just like I had a choice when I didn’t drag your butt back to the house. I let you decide then. This time, I decide.”

“This is not the time to go macho on me, Chance,” she growled. “I’m in no mood.”

“And I’m in no mood scrape you off the forest floor. So, how about we stop arguing and get this done? Your grandmother needs to get to the hospital, and you’re slowing things down.”

She pressed her lips together, and didn’t say another word as an EMT urged her to sit down, then cleaned both wounds.

“This one looks okay,” the EMT said, pressing gauze to Stella’s temple, “but you’re probably going to need stitches to close the other one.”

“I’ve had worse,” Stella muttered, brushing the young woman’s hands away and holding the gauze in place herself. “Has the ambulance left with my grandmother?”

“Yes,” the EMT admitted. “She’s in a very critical state and needed to be transported immediately. We’ve called another one for you.”

“There’s no need for another ambulance. I’ll drive myself. My grandmother might be confused, and I really need to be there with her.”

If she hadn’t been dead serious, Chance would have laughed.

“Ma’am,” the EMT said before Chance could, “you’re in no condition to drive.”

Stella must have agreed, because she eyed Chance with a look he’d seen many times before. It was the one that said she needed him, but she didn’t want to. The one that said she couldn’t do it alone, but wished she could.

He understood the look and the feelings behind it.

“I’ll give you a ride,” he offered before she could decide whether or not to ask, and she smiled. A real smile that softened her face and made her look sweet and young and vulnerable. It surprised him, because she hadn’t directed a smile like that at him since they’d broken up. He’d forgotten how powerful it was; forgotten how it made his pulse race and his heart pound.

“Thanks. I really appreciate it.”

“You know I’d do anything for you, Stella,” he said, and meant it.

Her smile faded, and she was just staring into his eyes, looking wounded and tired and a little too fragile for Chance’s peace of mind.

Finally, she shrugged. “You’re the first guy to ever say that to me.”

Odd considering that she’d been married for years. Her husband had died serving his country, and she’d mentioned once or twice just how proud she’d been of him.

That was about as much information as she’d given.

Even when Chance had asked.

Even when they were dating.

“Then you haven’t had the right guys in your life,” he responded, keeping his tone light.

She wasn’t herself.

That was obvious. He didn’t want her to regret their conversation or be embarrassed by it.

He took her arm, helped her to her feet. “Do you have a spare key to the house? Boone and Simon might need to get inside.”

“I left the door open.”

“There are police everywhere. Someone might have closed it.”

“There’s probably a key in the flower box outside the kitchen window. If you want to look for it, I can—”

“No.”

“You don’t even know what I was going to say.”

“Whatever it was, the answer is still no. We’re getting out of these woods, and I’m driving you straight to the hospital. No stops for anything.”

“You’re awfully bossy when I’m hurt,” she muttered. There was no heat in her words and no real complaint.

“Awfully worried,” he corrected, taking her elbow and helping her up the embankment.

“Don’t be. I’m fine.”

“You always are. Until you aren’t, and then I have to ride to the rescue,” he replied, baiting her the way he had a hundred times before. He knew how she’d react. Her back would go up, her chin would lift, and she’d march to the house like she hadn’t been knocked unconscious and nearly frozen.

It almost worked out that way.

“I’ve rescued you more times than you’ve ever rescued me,” she said.

Just like he knew she would.

Then she shrugged away from his hold, marching forward with just enough energy to convince him she might actually be okay.

They made it through the trees and out into the yard, white snow swirling through the grayish light. He could see how pale she was, see how much she was trembling. She was cold or in shock or both, and he had about two seconds to realize that baiting her hadn’t worked out the way he’d wanted before her steps faltered.

Just a little hitch in her stride, a soft sigh that he barely heard, and she was crumbling to the ground so quickly Chance barely had time to catch her.

THREE

She was in the car again, the beautiful book her grandparents had given her for Christmas in her hands.

“Don’t touch it,” she snapped at Eva. Her sister was only four, and she liked to ruin things—paintings, drawings, schoolwork. Eva was always scribbling on them.

“Be kind,” her mother admonished, turning in her seat and smiling, her beautiful red hair curled, a pretty green Christmas ribbon woven through it.

Matching hairstyles. Stella and Eva had ribbons, too. Even tiny little Bailey had a bow in her fuzzy hair.

That kind of made Stella proud.

She loved her family. Even Eva.

“Okay, you can touch it,” she said, and her sister smiled with Daddy’s dark brown eyes, and then the world exploded in heat and flames and horrible screams.

She was screaming, too. Screaming and screaming, her throat raw, her head pounding. Someone calling her name over and over again.

Stella woke with a start, bathed in sweat, pain throbbing somewhere so deep inside she wasn’t sure where it came from or how to get rid of it.