Chapter 17 Gracie
Gracie woke to the sound of her phone buzzing against the nightstand, a persistent, vibrating rattle that yanked her straight up through layers of sleep. She blinked at the dark room, disoriented, and fumbled for the phone, squinting at the screen.
Mom
Her stomach dropped. No one called at—what was it, four-thirty?—on Christmas morning unless there was a big, fat problem.
She swiped. “What’s wrong?”
MJ’s voice came in a breathless whisper. “Bianca’s screaming outside. Like—screaming. Matt and I are going out now.”
Gracie bolted upright. “What? Why?”
“I don’t know but she’s yelling for help. I thought you’d want to know.” MJ hung up before Gracie could say anything else…like why she was with Matt at this hour?
Pushing that thought away, she launched out of bed and grabbed the sweatshirt draped over a chair. She yanked it over her pajama top, found sweats and socks, jumping around the dark room to hastily dress.
Bianca screaming for help outside the lodge? What in the world—
Halfway in her second sock, the fog of sleep cleared in a rush as a horrifying possibility flashed through her mind.
Bigfoot.
They wouldn’t have! They couldn’t have!
But this was Benny and Red and nothing—not any homemade, wildly misguided, slightly ridiculous, and possibly dangerous escapade—was out of the question.
She could actually hear her son cook up an idea like that.
I know, Grandpa! What if we scare her so bad she leaves Utah forever? Like, Bigfoot-level scare.
“Oh, no. No, no, no—please no.”
She hurried into the hallway, pausing in the glow of the nightlight that made sure both Benny and Red could find their way to the bathroom in the middle of the night. They slept across the hall from each other, at the end in the back of the rambling old house.
Both of their doors were closed and no light seeped out from under either one.
Could they have snuck out to pretend to be Bigfoot? Again, with this duo, anything was possible.
With a gut-sick feeling, she marched to Red’s door, pressing her ear against the wood, hoping to hear his loud and distinctive snore. Nothing. She twisted the knob and flung it open.
Red shot up in bed like he’d been launched from a toaster, his white beard bushy, his eyes cloudy but fearful.
“Who died?” he croaked.
“No one, I hope,” Gracie shot back. “Bianca’s screaming outside and I need to make sure you’re not out there pretending to be Bigfoot.”
Red blinked. Then blinked again, trying to make sense of the accusation. “Why would I—? Sweet fancy Moses, you don’t think Benny…”
“I hope not,” she said dryly. “Because you’ll both be grounded for a year.”
“Me? What did I do?”
“Guilt by association.”
They hurried to Benny’s room, Red shuffling in his pajamas and thick wool socks. Gracie cracked Benny’s door open, bracing herself.
Her little boy was sprawled across the bed, mouth open, drooling on his pillow, breathing in that unmistakably deep, unshakeable sleep of an eleven-year-old who’d spent the evening with sheep, goats, and baby Jesus in the snow.
Gracie let out a shaky breath of relief.
“Okay,” she whispered. “Good. Stay here with him. I’ll go see what’s going on.”
Red nodded, still bleary. “Call me if you need an ambulance or a bat to clobber Bigfoot.”
“Not funny.” She headed toward the stairs, her mind spinning.
If Benny and Red weren’t behind whatever Bianca saw, then what could possibly have terrified her in the dark?
She snagged her jacket from the hook by the kitchen door, stuck her feet in boots, and stepped into the quiet, frigid night.
A thick layer of snow from a few hours ago coated the ground, fresh enough that her boots sank deeply with every step. The air hung blue and breathless, that hour when the world felt unreal and still.
She was halfway to the lodge when a thick cloud covered the moon and she reached for her—
Dang. Her phone was next to her bed. She hurried down the trail toward the cabins, breath puffing white as she imagined what might have unfolded.
Had Bianca run to him? Screaming in the middle of the night just to get his attention?
Or—what if Bianca really was pregnant and something had gone wrong? What if she was bleeding or in pain? Of course she’d go to Marshall.
Her breath faltered as she remembered how they’d ended the evening.
She had barely had a chance to talk to Marshall after the Live Nativity. She’d driven home with Red and Benny, who conked out in the van. She had to get him to bed and then returned to get the cabin key for Marshall, who was in Bianca’s cabin doing…midnight presents.
The last thing she heard was Bianca begging Marshall to stay and help her put Olivia to bed on Christmas Eve—just like the old days!
Marshall, apologetic and visibly uncomfortable, had accepted the key Gracie handed him for Cabin Two and softly promised they’d talk tomorrow.
It was possible Bianca was just drumming up drama and sympathy and was, right now, in the arms of her ex-husband getting comfort…and setting her evil plans in motion.
The prospect made Gracie’s stomach roll—not that she thought Marshall would fall for it. Not a bit. But still…everything about that woman was unsettling.
Gracie cut across the path and rounded the corner toward the cabins. Just as she had Marshall’s cabin in sight, she spotted Bianca launching up the stairs to his door.
She pounded on the wood with both fists.
“Marshall!” Bianca shrieked into the silent night. “Help me! There’s a bear! Marsh!”
A few seconds later, the door opened and Marshall, sleepy-eyed and wearing only flannel sleep pants, blinked at her. “Bianca? What—”
She launched herself closer. “Please! It’s still out here!”
Gracie stayed frozen in the shadows across the path, hidden by a giant pine tree, able to watch and hear them as long as they stayed outside. If they went in together, well, then, all bets were off.
Bianca wrapped herself around Marshall, still shrieking about a bear. Gracie could hear him mutter something and Bianca actually laughed—another inside joke? Another memory?
Whatever it was, the exchange was enough for him to back inside and—oh, no. Bianca followed, obviously invited.
No! Was he that dumb, desperate, or dense? Didn’t he see what she was up to?
For an instant, Gracie considered telling him—right now. She should just storm up there, pound on the door, demand Bianca come clean, force the issue out into the open, and…and…and look entirely unhinged.
No. She had to trust him. Alone with his warm and willing ex-wife, who’d come to Park City for the sole purpose of seducing him. Her plan could never work—Marshall wasn’t dumb.
But he had a soft, good heart and that’s what Bianca was counting on.
Gracie took a deep, painful breath, turned, and walked away. She put one foot in front of the other and found herself on the long wooded trail that snaked through the woods.
It would get her home—the long way.
That was fine, because she needed a minute to breathe, to think, to keep herself from falling apart in the snow. Was Marshall not the man she’d hoped he’d be—the man she’d started to believe he was?
Certainly not a man who’d take what Bianca was offering, but then…he was a man. Flawed, human, and tender-hearted.
Her boots crunched softly. The world was quiet again until she heard a rustle in the distance, and a thump, and a…breath?
Gracie froze.
A twig cracked and some leaves crunched. Then she heard the unmistakable sound of heavy footsteps and more labored breaths. Her heart leapt into her throat as it got closer and closer.
She threw a look over her shoulder just in time to catch a massive silhouette emerging from the trees. Huge, hulking, and covered in shaggy fur. That was either Benny or a bear or…
“Bigfoot,” she croaked the word as she started to run, her boots slipping wildly on the snowy incline.
She stumbled, slid, and pitched sideways into a deep drift, snow exploding around her as cold crystals rushed over her coat and into her hood.
Footsteps pounded behind her. The breathing got louder.
She covered her head with both arms, squeezed her eyes shut, and prayed she wouldn’t get mauled and murdered on Christmas Eve in the woods.
A hand grabbed her shoulder.
She opened her mouth and sucked in a breath to let out a blood-curdling—
“Gracie?” a familiar voice said. “For heaven’s sake, honey. It’s me. Bertie.”
She cracked one eye open.
Bertie Kessler stood over her, bundled in a monstrous puffer jacket, enormous fur hat perched on her head. Her breath puffed steadily, as if she’d been out walking for hours.
“Oh, my gosh.” Gracie sagged into the snow. “Bertie! You scared me half to death.”
“Well, you look half dead,” Bertie said matter-of-factly, offering her a hand. “Get up. You’re going to freeze in that snow pile.”
Gracie managed to get to her feet. Snow cascaded off her coat and down her legs. “Why are you out here? It’s almost four in the morning.”
“Oh, I can’t sleep past three, sometimes four if I’m lucky,” Bertie huffed. “So I get my steps in. Body burns best in a fasted state. Ask Red. I taught him that.”
Gracie let out a slightly off-key little laugh. “Did you…did you see anything strange? Like…a bear?”
“Only strange thing out here is you acting like you’re being kidnapped.” Bertie clicked her tongue. “I saw Bianca running down the lodge road earlier. Thought she was having some sort of fit.”
That’s what Bianca saw—the octogenarian cardio queen power-walking in a fur hat that could camouflage a moose.
Well, at least Bianca had been legitimately terrified. She wasn’t losing a pregnancy.
She’d simply been given a great excuse to run straight into Marshall’s cabin—and arms.
“Now, you get yourself home, Gracie,” Bertie said with authority. “It’s Christmas morning and you have a young child.”