With Christmas in His Heart. Gail Gaymer Martin
check on you, okay?”
“I’ll be fine. You can’t tie an old horse down for long.”
Christine chuckled. “If you were a horse, Will would be shipping you over to St. Ignace.”
Will gave her a high five, and to his amazement, she responded and took a step backward toward the foyer.
“I’ll change and make a list,” she said.
“Keep it short,” Will said. “We go to the mainland for the bulk of the groceries.”
Christine stopped and motioned toward the window. “But what about when—”
“No ferry service? Then supplies are flown in.” He enjoyed teaching this strong-willed woman about island life.
She arched a neatly trimmed brow. “As I said, island living isn’t very convenient, is it?”
“No, but then if you’re looking for convenience you don’t live on an island.”
Christine gave him a see-I-told-you-so look.
Will didn’t bother to comment. “I’ll change and be ready in a minute. And remember, we’re not going back if you forget anything.”
She looked as if she wanted to say something but didn’t.
Christine stood outside the small barn, eyeing Will’s snowmobile and trying to imagine herself seated on it. She’d surprised herself by agreeing to ride the thing, but she needed to get around, and walking down and up hills to town in snow appealed to her even less than riding with Will.
She felt like the Abominable Snowman, with a sweatshirt and down jacket over her sweater. She could barely move. With two pairs of socks under the tall boots she had borrowed from her grandmother—already a little tight—she tromped through the snow like Frosty on a bad day.
“Are you warm enough?” Will asked.
“I hope so.” She could only deduce that his silly expression was lighthearted sarcasm. She shifted her attention to the snowmobile. “You want me to get on this thing?”
Will lifted his hand. “Hang on a minute.” He walked back into the stable and came out carrying two helmets. “You’re not going anywhere without this.”
He tossed her one, and she nearly dropped it. “I’m supposed to wear this?”
“You’re not only supposed to—you will. It’s for your safety. No one gets on my sled without one.”
Sled? She pictured the little red sled from her childhood, then eyed the monstrosity he was telling her to get on. She gazed at the helmet and then at him. How much danger was she in?
“Put it on,” he said, slipping some kind of hood over his head.
“What’s that?”
“A smock. You’ll have to get one.” He slid the helmet onto his head and attached the strap.
She followed what he’d done, attached the strap and felt as if she had a cooking pot on her head with a large shield over her face. “I look stupid.”
“You don’t look stupid,” he said, accentuating the word “look.”
“I hear a but in that statement.”
“I’m not going there,” he said, a teasing smile growing on his face.
Will looked amazingly handsome, his broad shoulders accentuated beneath his sledding jacket. Below the helmet, his eyes sparkled when he looked at her. “Okay, Bigfoot, can you climb on?”
He made her laugh. She liked that but not his I-know-more-about-island-life-than-you-do attitude. Earlier she’d tried to cover her amusement with sarcasm, but lately he had a cute way to get back at her. She felt like a kid again, rather than the dignified woman she’d considered herself to be.
She’d studied Will, weighing his boyish charm and easy manner, and had pondered how old he might be. She’d wanted to know, but she knew good manners, and one couldn’t blatantly ask. She’d be irked if he asked her.
Christine straddled the vehicle as best she could, then plopped onto the seat, scooting back as far as she could to make room for him. She felt her cell phone press against her leg. She’d tucked it in her pocket.
He waited for her to get settled, then slipped in front of her. “I made it. You’re not as fat as you look.”
She gave him a jab. “I feel undignified enough. Don’t add to it.”
“Dignity is nothing without a sense of humor.”
“I don’t mind laughing with someone, but I don’t want to be laughed at by someone,” she said.
“Then next time, you’ll have to leave about half that garb at home.” He grinned. “You need a bib.”
“A bib? I’m not eating lobster.”
“Snow pants, to you,” he said, chuckling. “You’ll get used to it, and if I were a betting man, I’d wager you’ll get to love the island even in winter.”
“You’re on,” she said. “If I love it here, I owe you something big. A seven-course dinner or—” She faltered, realizing she was having a good time.
“I’ll make that decision when I collect,” he said with a wink over his shoulder. “Now keep your feet on the foot board.” He pulled the cord and started the engine. He revved the motor to warm it, sending another grin with each vroom-vroom sound. “Ready?”
“Absolutely,” she said, then jolted backward when the sled shot forward. She let out a squeal and clung to him, her arms wrapped around his waist, praying her feet were glued to the footrest.
He paused at the end of the driveway. “Lean with me on the turns,” he called over his shoulder.
She nodded, and he rolled forward, then made a right toward Custer Road.
Above the roar of the engine, he hollered back his usual witty comments, his youthful spirit evident as they soared across the snow. Youthful, yet he had depth, too, Christine had noticed. She saw the heavy thoughts in his eyes. She watched the tenderness he had for her grandmother, and Christine couldn’t help but notice how he studied her. She didn’t think he’d figured her out yet, but he would.
The wind whipped past, and Christine clung to Will’s body for warmth and security. A chill rolled down her back despite her heavy clothing, or wasn’t it the wind at all? She’d never done anything quite so daring, and perhaps it was only the adventure that took her breath away and sent excitement prickling up her spine.
Will seemed to be in his element—relaxed and carefree. She wished she could be more like him, more easygoing, and definitely more trusting.
The snow-burdened trees shimmered in the muted winter sun, and occasionally the clouded sky opened to let a bright ray stream down to earth and drop sequins in the snow. She closed her eyes from the glitter.
“Hang on,” Will called.
Her heart rose to her throat as they made a curve past the governor’s house and flew down Fort Hill and the whitewashed buildings flashed past her. She clung to him even tighter, enjoying the unfamiliar feeling of holding a man in her arms.
Instead of heading to Main Street, Will slowed and turned onto Market Street. They shot past the medical center and post office. Along the way, the quaint shops and homey bed-and-breakfasts lined the road, adorned with green-and-red wreaths and garland announcing Christmas. Finally he decelerated and pulled to the curb. “Here we are.”
She looked at the store beside her. The window held displays of magnificent stained-glass windows, and sun catchers in all shapes and sizes hung from the French panes. The brilliant colors glinted in the afternoon rays.
The quiet street seemed so different from the hustle and