Chapter 6 #2
The entire room looked like it had been decorated by someone who loved Christmas.
Someone who knew all the touches, the garland, sprigs of real fir tree to make it smell nice, and last but not least was the cheery sparkle of a real fire in a real fireplace.
Everything was real, nothing was fake, and Clayton could hardly believe he was here at last.
"Wow," he said, and to make sure his admiration was quite plain, he said it again. "Wow, this is amazing. I thought rooms like this only existed in Hallmark movies."
"Nice, huh?" asked Kyle, handing Clayton a cup of coffee. "That's got some brandy in it, so drink up."
Clayton took the cup, warm in his hands, and sipped at the coffee. It warmed a trail down his throat and into his belly. He let the moment happen, where the warmth blossomed into something good and safe, and he took a deep breath, the first one since Sundance.
When he looked up, blinking, he saw Kyle for the first time. He'd wondered what Kyle had looked like, and nothing in his mind had been able to conjure up compared to the reality.
As Clayton had imagined, there was an expression of worry as Kyle looked at him, but this was framed by shaggy russet hair, and there was a slight twist to his mouth that created a smile that was sweet and hopeful at the same time.
His face was all angles, and there was a lovely blush on his cheeks, perhaps from the warmth of the room, or the presence of a stranger.
But it was those eyes of his, wide-open eyes that held an innocence, an air of expectation, as though the world was a good place with interesting things to do and see. No sadness, only joy.
All at once, Clayton felt his eyes grow hot, and he scrubbed at them with his free hand, digging his fingers in to stop it. It'd been so long since he'd been in a room like this, or been with someone who looked at the world, at him, like that. So long, so, so long—
"You okay?" asked Kyle, quite gently.
Clayton shook his head, choking on his own breath as he wiped his eyes. Keeping them closed, he took a good, long slug of the brandy-laced coffee. He shook his head as he swallowed, feeling again the blossoming warmth inside him, telling him he'd come out of the cold in more ways than one.
"Yeah," he said, lying. "Listen, I should call my sister, let her know where I am."
He opened his eyes. Kyle had drawn back a few paces, giving Clayton his space. Behind him glittered the room decorated for Christmas, and from somewhere Clayton couldn't see, the kitchen maybe, came the sound of Christmas music, turned down low.
"Where's your phone?" asked Kyle. "Is it still in your car?"
"I don't know," said Clayton. He wiped his upper lip and struggled to compose himself, took another swallow of coffee, and let out a long, low breath. "Look, if you can give me the knife and sheath, I'll be on my way."
"No," said Kyle. "I'm going out to your car to get your phone, you're calling your sister, and then you're spending the night."
"I don't want to impose," said Clayton as he watched Kyle shrug on his thick down coat. Kyle was on the slender side, broad shoulders, narrow hips, so the coat was swallowing him, though it looked warm and just the right kind to wear in Colorado during the winter.
"Too bad for you," said Kyle, zipping the coat shut. "The nearest motel is half an hour away, and that's in good weather. Besides, you are in no shape to do any more driving."
"But—" sputtered Clayton helplessly. He didn't want to impose, but his body wanted to believe what Kyle had just said.
That he'd be able to stay the night, on the couch maybe, and that he could, in a little while, close his eyes and sleep until the vision of never-ending snowfall that was stamped on the back of his eyelids was erased away.
Thus, in spite of his fervent desire to get up and get his own damn phone, he stayed on the couch, snow dripping from his hair, the warmth of the room erasing the chill from his bones, his skin.
He watched the fire dance in the fireplace, all golden and red-hued, and the sparkle the flames cast on the garlands and the tinsel.
He was catching his breath, he could feel it, and his body's tension was easing bit by bit.
Kyle came in the front door and shut it carefully behind him, then took his coat off and hung it on a hook next to Clayton's coat. He toed off his boots and came over sock-footed to the couch, holding out his hand.
"It's broken," said Kyle. "I think it must have fallen in the snow and hit some ice when you got out of the car."
"No," said Clayton, though it was easy to see that it was true.
As Clayton took the phone from Kyle's outstretched hand, he ran his thumb across the shattered glass that was once a protective screen he'd bought especially for the phone. Beneath the screen, the phone was black as pitch. Melted snow dripped from the corners.
"Damn it."
He looked up at Kyle and thought he'd forever remember the expression on Kyle's face, the round blue eyes, the way the firelight flickered on his face, shimmered in his hair.
Clayton shook his head, knowing that he was very tired, too tired to keep such thoughts at bay, thoughts he should keep at bay, but then he stopped himself.
In a room like this, maybe it was okay to have a little hope that everything would turn out all right.
"Can I borrow your phone?" asked Clayton, his voice a little husky. "Just to call Sarah."
"Sure," said Kyle and without hesitation, he grabbed his silver phone from the little side table next to the couch and handed it to Clayton.
Clayton tapped Sarah's number into the phone and realized that the phone told him it was 11:37 at night when she answered.
"Hello," said Sarah, her voice a little tired. Clayton quickly realized she'd answered the phone without recognizing the number, which explained the wariness in her greeting.
"Sarah, it's Clayton," he said quickly.
"Where are you?" asked Sarah. "Are you near? I've got the front porch light turned on."
"I'm in Orchard," said Clayton. "It's east of Greeley, and I'm not going to make it to Parker tonight."
"I'm glad you stopped, if you're that far away," said Sarah, and Clayton could hear it in her voice that she meant it. "Are you in a motel?"
"No, I'm at—" Clayton stopped, though he was not sure why. "Somebody answered your Craigslist ad, and I'm at his house."
"What?" asked Sarah with a shriek that made Clayton wince and pull the phone away from his ear. "You're not supposed to go to anybody's house from Craigslist, you're supposed to go to a coffee shop or someplace with lots of people, otherwise—"
At that moment, Kyle came up to Clayton, and with both hands, held out a box lined with gold and white tissue paper. Inside the box was the bone-handled Bowie knife and beaded sheath, safe as could be. The leather was softly yellow, and the beads twinkled in the lights from the Christmas tree.
"It's fine," said Clayton. "I've got Shawn's gift right in front of me, it's fine. This guy, Kyle, didn't know that it was stolen and so he doesn't want a reward—"
"Tell her you're spending the night here," said Kyle, half whispering.
"And I'm spending the night here," said Clayton obediently.
"Let me talk to him," said Sarah, and Clayton, instantly recognizing her older-sister-I-will-protect-you voice, held out the phone to Kyle.
Kyle handed the box to Clayton, who handed the phone to Kyle and took the box in both hands, placing it on his lap.
The tissue paper rustled, and the scent of leather rose.
He ran his fingers gently across the beadwork and smiled.
Then, at the anxious tone of Kyle's voice as he spoke to Sarah, he snapped his head up.
"No, no, it's nothing like that," said Kyle. "I honestly didn't know—"
Kyle's eyes were wide as he listened, his whole body at attention.
"My name is Kyle Tobin," he said. "I'm a software developer and I live in Orchard, Colorado, and no, I don't have any nefarious designs, not about your brother, or about anything.
You can call the county sheriff and ask him.
He knows me. Call Sheriff Bob. He knows everybody in town, and they can all tell you—"
Clayton put the box on the couch and got up and took the phone from Kyle's hand.
"Hang on, now, Sarah," he said, as firmly as he could, so she would know he meant business. "Kyle's a good guy, I can tell. He's not going to murder me in my sleep, so I'm not going to end up on the news. Besides, I can take him. He's half a head shorter than me and about twenty pounds lighter—"
"Hey, now," said Kyle, sputtering a bit.
"So I am going to sleep on his couch—"
"In the spare bedroom," said Kyle, dipping his head as he whispered this quickly.
"In his spare bedroom and then, when the roads are plowed, I'll head home for Christmas. Okay?"
There was a moment of silence on the other end of the line.
"Are you sure?" asked Sarah, her voice shaking a little. "Look, it's almost midnight, and I've been so worried about you, and the weather reports look so awful. I don't mean to be mean, but it means so much having you here for Christmas. I just want you safe."
"I am safe," said Clayton, looking around the warm room that was bright with firelight and Christmas decorations, and which, he now realized, smelled like cloves and cinnamon and honey.
"I'm so safe you wouldn't even believe it.
The drive was hell, but I've got a place for the night, and in the morning, well, in the morning we'll figure it out.
I'll call you, okay? But you need to get to bed. Let me talk to Luke. Is he awake?"
"Yes," said Sarah, and she sighed. "Here he is."
"Hey, Clayton," said Luke in that hearty way of his.
"How is she?" asked Clayton.
"She's good," said Luke. "Worried but good. And listen, if it takes you a few days to dig yourself out of wherever you are, we'll hold Christmas for you."