Oh Snowy Night

I stand there shocked. Trish throws herself at him. Conn side-steps her and she face plants into the snow. I can’t stop myself from laughing. I look over at Conn, who is also smiling at the scene in front of him.

“You have ten seconds before I go inside and get my shotgun. One, two—”

Ben jumps down from the porch and begins to hightail it to the SUV, leaving Trish in the snow.

Chapter Fifteen

Faith

“He’ll come back for me,” Trish says, shivering in the wool blanket Faith wrapped around her shoulders. I’m not sure why we’re giving out clothes, coverings, and scotch to this person. Yeah, she was abandoned in the snow by the asshole but maybe that’s where she deserves to be.

Unfortunately, I didn’t get to make that decision. Faith is the one calling those shots. I get to making some food. Those pancakes won’t cook themselves.

“Sure he will,” Faith says, but her tone isn’t convincing.

I pour the dry ingredients into a bowl and mix up the buttermilk and eggs.

“He was just caught off guard. I mean…you’re kind of his hero and to hear you talk to him like that was really mean.”

There’s a small pocket of silence during which I slap some butter onto the griddle. It makes a nice sizzling sound.

“Don’t you have anything to say for yourself?”

I pop my head up to realize that the stepsister is talking to me. “Not really.” I shrug and turn back to my cakes. “How hungry are you?”

“I’m not hungry at all.”

“Starving,” answers Faith.

“I’ll make two dozen. We can freeze the extras and you can nuke one if you get hungry.”

“I can’t believe the two of you are talking about food right now!” screeches Trish.

“She’s right,” adds Faith. “We have to do something with her. Can we send her to King’s?”

“We could.” I flip over the cakes and smile in satisfaction at the perfect golden finish. “But then I’d have to let King shoot me at least once.”

“Well, that’s not good.”

“Who’s King?”

“He’s a rich guy that lives down the street,” I answer. Maybe if he just shoots me in the fleshy part of my thigh, it’d be okay. At least we’d be rid of this harpy.

“Couldn’t you pay him?”

“He’s not really running a hotel.” And he doesn’t need the money. Like me, he made it in an old life and he turned to the woods up here for privacy. I don’t know much about his story. It’s not something I need to know. Likewise, he left me alone.

“I’m not leaving here. Ben will be back as soon as his”—Trish waves her hand—“whatever is going on passes.”

“Why not call him?” I suggest. The first round of cakes are done. I pile a short stack together and pour the strawberries on top. “Whip cream?” I ask, pointing to the bowl of whipped milk and sugar.

“You don’t ever have to ask that question because the answer will always be yes,” declares Faith. She leaves Trish’s side and comes over to the counter. I grab her a fork and pour her a glass of milk.

“What are we doing with the girl?”

“I don’t know.” Faith looks a bit helpless. “It’s too cold to kick her out.”

“I only have the one bedroom,” I tell her.

“I know that and trust me, I don’t want to spend Christmas with her either.”

“God, these decorations are tacky. I can’t believe that with all your money, you’re forcing this kind of thing on Faith,” Trish loudly announces.

Faith whirls around, her fork up like a weapon. “The decorations are awesome and rustic.”

“Rustic? That’s what you’re calling painted lightbulbs and what are these things on the tree? These blobs smushed together?”

“They’re snowmen,” I answer stiffly. Making homemade decorations isn’t my thing. I can cook, keep a house tidy, do some coding if I feel like it, chop wood and mow grass. I slide a glance toward Faith. Is that enough for her?

“Anyone with eyes can see that they’re snowmen, Trish.” Faith stomps over to the tree and wrestles the ornament out of Trish’s hand. “Everything here is homemade because that’s the way we want it. You heard Ben. My man could buy out the entire Christmas decoration industry but because he cares about me so much, he made all of this for me.”

“Your man?”

My man? A pulse of energy charges down my spine and settles in my dick. That’s the first word of ownership I’ve heard from her mouth and it sounds damn good.

“Yes, my man.” Faith leaves the tree to come stand by my side. She curls a hand around my biceps and stares in challenge at her stepsister. “He feeds me, takes care of Smittens, and stays up all night to make sure that our home is beautifully decorated for Christmas. What’s your man doing? Oh, that’s right, at the first sign of conflict, he tucked his tail between his legs and ran off. I don’t like to play the comparison games because that’s not healthy but I think it’s obvious who is winning here and it’s not you.”