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Snowbound

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Yes, that was the word she’d have used for sunsets

on the coast, where she and her family used to vacation.

“I’d better check the bread.” He turned and went in,

leaving her to follow and wonder: had he gone in because the show was done, or because she had made him think of a time and place he wanted to forget?

Worry niggled at Fiona for the first time since she’d

arrived. Was it chance that they hadn’t yet talked about

his experience in Iraq?

Well, perhaps “chance” wasn’t the right word. The

truth was, last night they hadn’t been able to keep their

hands off each other. They hadn’t done nearly as much

talking as she’d imagined.

A smile curved Fiona’s mouth. Nope, she didn’t

regret how they’d spent the night at all. Besides, they

still had plenty of time to talk.

She followed him in, almost satisfied that she’d

imagined his change of tone at her mere mention of Iraq.

The lodge didn’t quite empty on the morning of the

twenty-fourth, but over half the guests left. The two

singles were still here, still completely uninterested in

each other or anyone else, and one couple stayed. They

were the ones that surprised Fiona. They dressed well,

and had been rather social since she arrived, as if being

so came naturally to them. She could picture them

hosting Christmas parties, not choosing to celebrate the

holidays in a rustic lodge far from the trappings that

meant Christmas to most people.

Curious, but trying to avoid being tactless, Fiona

asked casually over lunch, “Have you stayed here before

over Christmas? It’s going to be different for me.”

The woman seemed to force a smile. “Our daughter

is a junior in college. She’s doing the entire year abroad.”

“Oh? Where is she?”

“The University of Cape Town.”

“Oh, dear. I can see why she didn’t fly home for

the holidays.”

“We talked about going over there, but it’s all I can

do to make myself get on an airplane to zip down to

L.A. It takes something like twenty-five hours to get to

South Africa.” She shuddered. “Anyway…some friends

and she are traveling over the break. It’s summer there,

you know.”

“You must miss her,” Fiona said, her gaze caught by

the deep sadness in the woman’s eyes.

Her eyes filled with tears as she nodded, and a moment

later they made their excuses and left the kitchen. Fiona

felt bad that she’d reminded them of how far away their

daughter was and how unlikely that, having flown the

nest, she’d ever come home for long again.

That made her think of her own mother, who would

be celebrating Christmas for the first time without her

daughter. She knew Fiona wasn’t likely to call, given

the cell phone coverage here, and they planned to get

together as soon as Fiona was home.

John had put up a rather pathetic Christmas tree—a

scraggly six-footer dwarfed by the high ceiling and

massive peeled log pillars in the living area. When she

chided him about it, he shrugged.

“Couldn’t have put up much bigger with the tree

stand I found. Wouldn’t have been enough ornaments

for a bigger tree, either.”

Or lights. Fiona resolved, studying the tree, to hit the

after-Christmas sales when she got home and mail him

a new string or two of lights and some boxes of ornaments for future holidays.

Their small group gathered in front of the fire that

evening, sipped hot spiced cider and talked about

Christmases past. With the multicolored lights on the

tree, the deep comfortable chairs and the crackling fire,

the modest sense of companionship seemed to suffice

for everyone. They dispersed at an hour that would have

seemed absurd to her at home, murmuring, “Merry

Christmas,” as if they meant it—and, in the case of the

curmudgeon who liked to plant himself at the kitchen

table all day, as if he were surprised to mean it.

In bed, Fiona and John made love with the same, astonishing passion they’d felt the first time, sweetly tempered with patience and newfound knowledge of

where to touch to please each other.

On Christmas morning, while they were still in bed,



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