A man and a very fancy looking snowmobile that was currently on its side, looking too expensive to be so horribly abused. Strapped to it, seeming very out of place atop the shiny monstrosity, was the ugliest, strangest looking little fir tree Georgia had ever seen. Intact enough, despite its tumble. The man, however, might be another story. He wasn’t moving.
He was facing away from her on his side, covered head to toe in snow gear. Georgia rolled him carefully onto his back, making sure as she did that she didn’t jar him. “Sir? Can you hear me?”
She was about to take her glove off to feel for a pulse, wondering if she would be able to feel anything at all when he groaned. “Oh thank goodness.” Georgia smiled up at Roux. “He’s alive.”
He made another grunting noise, his eyes opening just long enough for her to admire their light green color before they closed again. She dragged the ski-mask up to reveal his face, and noticed the gash across his temple as well as the bruise forming along the square line of his jaw. Did he have a concussion? “Hey guy, we need to get you out of the snow.”
He didn’t move and Georgia looked him up and down. The man was huge. At least six feet tall, probably taller, and really broad shouldered. Maybe he was wearing an oversized snowsuit, but somehow she doubted it. Why? Because she knew what she would have to do if he wouldn’t wake up.
It was just how she was raised.
“Tree.”
Georgia had just covered his face back up and lifted him by the fabric around his shoulders to drag him to her car when she heard him speak. She dropped him in surprise and his breath rushed out in a loud huff. “Oh, damn I’m sorry. What did you say?”
He didn’t respond, but she’d figured it out. She started dragging him again, muttering at Roux all the while. “If he thinks I’m going to carry him and his sad Charlie Brown tree all the way back to the car, well, he can just think again. You had to go sniff him out, didn’t you, Roux? In this weather, after the day we’ve had, you had to find the only man in the state of Colorado who apparently doesn’t know how to drive a snowmobile.”
Thankfully his slick , colorful snowsuit made his transfer easier than it should have been. The man was well over two hundred pounds of pure heavy. Solid muscle, Georgia was willing to bet. Perfect muscle to go with his Photoshop face. And apart from his bruises, it was flawless . A thing of beauty. But she knew handsome didn’t necessarily equal smart. Any man joyriding on a death machine in this mess couldn’t be all that clever.
The tree. He’d mentioned the tree. Maybe he had a little daughter he wanted to surprise, and no money for anything better. But then the snowmobile wouldn’t make any sense. Maybe he was going to propose to his girlfriend, and this was part of some mountain people ritual. First a scraggly tree, then the fur of the elusive Sasquatch, and then a ring.
Her vivid imagination kept her occupied and her griping down to a minimum until she got him to the SUV. “Now I just have to get you inside.”
Getting him into the passenger seat was difficult. She was glad he wasn’t awake, and that no one was around to witness all the tugging and pushing and groping she had to do to get any leverage. Or the fact that she might have given him an extra bruise or two in the process. Honestly, she could hardly believe she’d done it.
She was gasping for air by the time she was done, but at least the activity had warmed her a bit. She’d just leaned her forehead against his shoulder when he moaned again. Damn.
“We need to get you some help. Let me just lower the carjack—“
“Tree,” he mumbled. “Have to get the tree.”
Really? The man must have knocked whatever brains he had loose in his fall. She knew it. “I just saved your life. You can get another tree, guy. A better tree. I’ll buy you one myself, with all the trimmings.”
He tried to shake his head, inhaled sharply, and passed out. The rise and fall of his chest told her he was still breathing, but Connie was the nurse, not her. She had no idea how badly he was hurt, yet all he could think about was that damn tree.
Georgia hopped up and down on each leg for warmth, breathing into her cupped hands. She was a sucker. “Fine. Fine. I’ll get the tree. Roux, get back in the car so you can get warm while you watch him. And if I freeze to death, you have my permission to bite him. Hard.”
She followed the path his body had made in the snow, untied the tiny tree from the snowmobile and grabbed the keys from the machine while she was at it, though she doubted someone would make the effort to steal it in this weather. She headed back as quickly as her heavy limbs would allow, feeling the strangest desire to lay down in the whiteness. To make an angel while she still had the chance. To take a nap.
Why was she so tired?
The tree in her arms mocked her. All of a sudden it seemed symbolic of her fruitless quest for a happy holiday. It looked nearly as forlorn and alone as she felt. As hopelessly stubborn.
Stupid tree.
There would be a kind of poetry in it. Dying in the snow with a forlorn tree in her hand. The obituary would bring a tear to the eye. Her publisher would make sure of it.
Roux raced to her side, nudging her with the weight of her body, pushing Georgia forward. “I told you to stay in the car. You should be guarding your new boyfriend, girl. I’ll get there as fast as I can.” Breathing was starting to hurt. “What do you say to staying home next year? Sure it’s muggy and boring, but excitement is overrated. Maybe we can rent a snow machine and those little spray cans of snow for the windows. All the fun, none of the cold. Sounds like a plan to me.”
Roux whined. It sounded vaguely like the honking of a horn.
Georgia closed her eyes and saw nothing but the same bright white as when her lids were lifted. She’d only been in it for a few hours, but she was already beginning to hate the snow.
Adamant honking mixed with sudden barking rang in her ears and made her force her eyes open again. Maybe the tow truck driver had finally arrived. Surely he would help get snowmobile guy to safety. As for Georgia, as soon as she could feel her toes again she was hopping the next boat to Cozumel in honor of Connie, and following through on her promise to give up once and for all on Christmas. She’d pick another holiday to obsess over.
Maybe Groundhog Day.
Chapter Two