Chapter 3
CELESTE
I can't get the way he looked when I thanked him out of my head. I should be focused on the hike, the snow, the cold, but instead, my eyes are trained on the path he makes with each step, and my mind replays the shock in his gaze at my simple gratitude.
It makes me wonder what this man's life has been like. He's clearly fit and capable, physically able to excel in these frigid conditions. His broad shoulders are hard to miss, and he exudes this sense of no nonsense ability that made me trust him instantly.
He'd even given in when I'd refused to leave without the gifts. It probably seemed stupid to him, frivolous or ridiculous, but he'd seen the problem and helped me solve it. There was a heart underneath all the gear he wore. I was sure of that.
The constant movement keeps me warm, but my jeans are getting more and more wet as the snow continues to blow around us, and my feet are getting heavy. At one point, I stumble, and my hands land on his back. He stops instantly, turning and looking me over, top to bottom.
"I'm okay," I say, aiming to reassure him that I can keep up, but the urge to find a warm place to sleep is weighing on me.
He shakes his head, sets the bag of presents he's carrying on the ground, and strips off his coat, holding it out to me.
"I can't." My thoughts are sluggish, but foremost in them is that this man is my only hope of getting to safety and he needs his coat for us to make it out of here.
"You will." It's all he says in answer, and we're at a stand off for an instant. Like when we were facing off outside my car, and he gave in to my resolve, rescuing both me and the gifts.
I drop the blanket I'm carrying, making sure nothing slips free, and then hold my arms out. The mountain man slips his coat onto me, then takes time to zip it up and fasten the clasps for extra security.
"We're almost there," he says, loud enough that I can hear him, and then we're gathering the presents up once more, and striding forward through heavy piles of snow.
I'm warmer in his coat, and with every step, my head feels a little clearer, though there are stinging pains in my toes that tell me I'm colder than I think I am. With every step, I repeat his words, promising myself we're almost there, almost safe, and I make myself keep going.
Until a cabin appears through the whirls of blowing snow, and I want to cry at the sight. It's perfect, it's shelter, and it's hope that I can still accomplish what I set out to do.
It's hope that I can still make Christmas miracles happen.