Chapter Two #2
Rudy let out a low whistle. "Wickett’s ex-fiancée? This is huge. She's been tight-lipped since their split, even when rumors were flying about his cheating."
"She's not tight-lipped now." I glanced at her again. She'd abandoned all pretense of not listening. "Says she has evidence of him diverting charity funds."
"If that's true, it's the final nail I need. Is she willing to go on record?"
"She's right here. Ask her yourself." I held the phone out to Pepper, who wiped her hands hastily and took it.
"Hello?" Her voice was uncertain.
I stepped away, giving her space for the conversation, but not before I heard Rudy introduce himself and launch into rapid-fire questions.
I busied myself checking the generator's fuel levels and firewood supply.
If we really were going to be stuck here for a few days, I needed to ensure we had necessities covered.
When I returned, Pepper was still talking animatedly with my brother.
"...and he had the whole spreadsheet open on his laptop. It was labeled 'Reallocation,' can you believe that? Not even trying to hide it." She paused, listening. "Yes, exactly. That's what I thought too."
I cleared my throat. She startled, then nodded.
"I should go. But yes, I'll send everything when I can. Thanks, Rudy." She handed the phone back to me.
"Well?" I asked after she'd hung up.
"Your brother's nice. Much chattier than you."
"Everyone's chattier than me. What did he say?"
She perched on a stool at the counter. "He confirmed everything. Said he's been investigating Nolan for months, but couldn't nail down proof of the embezzlement. The USB drive might be exactly what he needs."
"Good." I crossed my arms. "So when the storm clears, you take the evidence to Rudy, and he handles the rest."
"That's the plan. If Nolan doesn't find me first." She wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly looking smaller in my oversized clothes.
"He doesn't know you're here," I reminded her.
"He's persistent. And vindictive."
I didn't doubt that. Men like Wickett—small-town power players with inflated egos—were often the most dangerous when cornered.
"We've got time to figure it out," I said. "Storm's not letting up anytime soon."
Pepper nodded, then straightened, her usual brightness returning. "So what do you normally do during blizzards? Please tell me you have more than military field manuals to read."
"I work. Security consulting. Remote."
"Sounds thrilling."
"It pays the bills."
She looked around the cabin. "Must pay well."
I shrugged. "I don't need much."
"Except solitude, apparently." She slid off the stool. "Well, I should get my costume dried properly. Don't want the evidence getting damaged."
I watched as she gathered her elf outfit from where it had been drying by the fire. Something about seeing her handling the ridiculous outfit while wearing my clothes created an unexpected feeling in my chest. Not quite discomfort, but something equally unfamiliar.
"Storage closet," I found myself saying. "Down the hall past the bathroom. There's a drying rack."
"Thanks." She smiled, heading in that direction.
I turned my attention to cleaning up the remains of breakfast, trying to restore some semblance of order to my kitchen. I had just finished when I heard a crash, followed by Pepper's voice.
"Uh, Pax? You might want to come see this."
Exhaling sharply, I stalked down the hallway. Had she broken something? Set something on fire? With her, both seemed equally possible.
I found her standing in the open doorway of the storage closet, surrounded by several fallen cardboard boxes. At her feet lay a tangle of Christmas lights, ornaments, and what appeared to be an artificial tree stand.
"What happened?" I demanded.
"I was just looking for the drying rack," she said, eyes wide. "These boxes were stacked behind it, and when I pulled the rack out, they kind of...avalanched."
My jaw clenched at the sight of the scattered decorations. "Those aren't mine."
"Then whose are they?"
"Previous owners, I guess." I'd bought the cabin as-is three years ago, after my discharge. Hadn't bothered going through every box in storage.
Pepper knelt, carefully picking up a glass ornament shaped like a pine tree. "These are beautiful. Vintage, I think." She examined another. "This one's dated 1986."
"Put them back," I said, more sharply than I'd intended.
But instead of complying, she continued sifting through the fallen decorations, a strange expression crossing her face. "Someone loved these. Really loved them." She held up a hand-painted ornament with "Baby's First Christmas" written across it. "They left behind their memories."
My stomach knotted as tears welled in her eyes.
"Hey," I said awkwardly. "It's just stuff."
A tear spilled over, tracking down her cheek. "It's not, though. It's someone's Christmas history. Their traditions." She looked up at me, her expression earnest. "Don't you think it's sad? That they left all this behind?"
I shifted uncomfortably. "Maybe they upgraded. Got new decorations."
She shook her head, holding up a hand-knit stocking with "Grandma" embroidered on it. "You don't replace things like this."
More tears were falling now, and I felt myself floundering. I hadn't dealt with a crying woman in...hell, maybe ever. What was I supposed to do with this?
"Hey," I tried again, softly this time. "It's okay."
"I'm sorry," she sniffled, wiping her face with the back of her hand.
"I don't know why this is hitting me so hard.
It's just—the holidays are about making memories, you know?
Traditions passed down. Keeping the magic alive.
" She gestured at the scattered trimmings.
"And these are just sitting here, gathering dust."
I ran a hand over my face, knowing I was going to regret what I was about to say. "We could put some of them up."
Her head snapped up. "What?"
"Not all of them," I clarified hastily. "But if it'll stop the waterworks...maybe some of the lights. A few ornaments."
Her entire face transformed, tears still wet on her cheeks but her eyes shining with something else now. "Really? You wouldn't mind?"
"I said minimal decorating," I stressed. "Not the full North Pole experience."
"Of course, of course," she agreed, though her expression suggested she'd heard only what she wanted to. "Just enough to honor the Yuletide spirit.”
I sighed, already regretting my moment of weakness. "Let’s get this cleaned up first."
We collected the embellishments, returning them to their boxes. Every so often, Pepper would hold something up with an expression of pure delight, setting it aside in a growing "keep" pile that I pretended not to notice was getting larger by the minute.
"Look at this!" She held up a string of lights with multi-colored glass bulbs. "They don't make them like this anymore. These are the good ones, from before everything went LED."
I took them from her, examining the ancient wiring. "These are a fire hazard."
"They're vintage."
"Vintage electrical fires are still electrical fires."
She pouted. "Fine. But these are safe." She held up a more modern-looking string of white lights. "We could put these along the mantel. Very tasteful, very minimal. You'll hardly notice them."
"Sure," I conceded, knowing I was fighting a losing battle.
Her smile was bright enough to power the aforementioned lights. "And maybe just a few ornaments on that pine bough you have on the bookshelf?"
"Don't push it."
"Right. Minimal. Got it." She nodded seriously, then immediately ruined the effect by bouncing slightly on her heels in excitement.
With the mess mostly contained, we carried the "approved" decorations back to the living room. I insisted on checking the wires thoroughly before plugging them in, a precaution that earned me an eye roll but that I refused to skip.
"They work!" Pepper declared triumphantly when the white lights illuminated. "Now for the mantel."
She climbed onto a chair to reach the top of the stone fireplace, wobbling slightly. Without thinking, I positioned myself behind her, steadying the chair with one hand, the other hovering near her waist in case she fell.
"I've got it," she assured me, stretching to drape the strands along the mantel.
"Just hurry up," I muttered, suddenly conscious of our proximity. From this position, her hair was inches from my face, carrying the scent of vanilla and cinnamon from the pancakes—a civilian intrusion into my ordered space.
"Almost done," she said, reaching for the far corner. The chair wobbled again, and instinctively, my hand went to her hip to stabilize her.
She froze at the contact. So did I. My palm registered every detail—the curve of her waist, the warmth radiating through my flannel shirt she wore, even the slight hitch in her breathing.
Our eyes met. The flickering glow emanating from the tiny bulbs reflected in her emerald, green irises, turning them into something magical and dangerous. The cabin seemed to shrink around us.
Then she cleared her throat. "I, uh, think I'm good now."
I removed my hand immediately, stepping back. "Right."
She finished hanging the lights in silence, then climbed down from the chair without meeting my eyes. The sudden charge between us lingered in the air like the static before a thunderstorm.
"They look nice," she finally said, gesturing to the shimmering beacons now twinkling along the mantel.
"Hmm." I backed away, suddenly needing to escape the unfamiliar tension. "I'm going to check the perimeter." I grabbed my coat and yanked on my boots, escaping to the howling whiteness outside for a few minutes of clarity.