6. Madeleine
MADELEINE
Adopt-a-Family Shopping Day
Overcast · Cold
Supper: Baked ham · Scalloped potatoes · Green beans
Iwoke the morning after the sleigh adventure fairly certain I was dying a slow, painful death.
That was the only way to describe it. Something had gone catastrophically wrong with my head.
It throbbed with every heartbeat, a slow sick pulse behind my eyes.
My mouth was a desert. My stomach was not only uneasy and filled with anxiety, but I thought I might hurl if I moved the wrong direction.
I was hot too, sweating and tangled in blankets.
I lay very still and took inventory. I was in my cabin. Good. That was a start. I was also, I registered with dawning horror, in my bra and underwear.
I sat up too fast. The room tilted and my stomach lurched in protest. I had to brace both hands on the mattress and breathe through it, eyes shut, while my pulse jackhammered in my skull.
When I could open my eyes again without the room sliding, I looked around, and the evidence assembled itself into a narrative I wished was false but probably wasn’t.
My jeans and my sweater were folded neatly, edges squared, and set on the dresser in a tidy stack. My boots stood side by side at the foot of the bed, paired and straight. A glass of water was on the bedside table as were two burnt umber hued pills. Ibuprofen. Thank the heavens.
However, all of which begged the question. Who had taken off my boots and clothes and set out water and aspirin like they knew exactly what kind of morning I was going to have? Who had tucked me in under every blanket in the cabin?
I reached for the water because I was dying, and drank it greedily, then swallowed the pills. I sat there, my aching head in my hands and tried to remember the night before.
It came back in pieces. Broken, out of order, lit too bright in some places and gone entirely in others.
There had been the sleigh ride there, bells jingling, very cold air on my cheeks but my body warm next to Knox.
We’d gone to the cabin all decorated for Christmas.
Platters of food. Ribs with meat that fell off the bones and roast beef, neither of which I ate because I’m a vegetarian.
I’d had some of the side dishes though. But mostly, I remembered the cocktail.
My new nemesis. Sweet as punch, going down way too easy.
I remember thinking, these barely taste like anything while a server filled the jar again.
How many times? I wasn’t sure. Everything started sparkling after the second one, including me.
There was dancing. A lot of dancing. In fact, I’d asked Knox to dance with me.
He’d said yes. He’d spun me around the floor, making me laugh until my face hurt.
Then a slow song had come on. “Save the Last Dance for Me.” I loved that song.
And with Knox's hand at the small of my back and the other holding mine, it had never sounded better. I’d pressed my cheek against his chest and heard the steady thud of his heart.
He’d been as intoxicating as the sweet drink, smelling of cedar and leather.
I’d thought, dreamily, that I could have stayed right there forever.
Oh no.
More details slivered in like a venomous snake. I’d talked about my sister Charlie. Had I blabbed on about Dumbo, Charlie’s invisible boyfriend, for God's sake? Had I—yes. What else had I told him? Something about my duck feet. Why would I have said anything about my embarrassing feet?
Because he took your boots off, dummy.
And then, surfacing through the murk like something rising off the bottom of a muddy lake, the worst piece of all.
Me on the bed. Something about my jeans being too tight and I wanted them off. Him, tug, tug, tugging as I stared at the ceiling. Then, another image came. Me basically straddling him, my feet on the floor on either side of him where he’d knelt to help me undress.
But before that. What had happened before? We’d been over by the fireplace. His mouth had looked so delicious. I’d wanted to feel it on my own more than I’d ever wanted anything in my life. Oh God, what had I said? I want you to kiss me. Really bad.
I groaned out loud and pressed the heels of my hands into my bloodshot eyes.
I had asked Knox Hartley to kiss me. I had begged him, essentially.
I’d sat there with my flat duck feet and my sweater missing, God only knew how many cocktails to the wind, and had asked my professional adversary—the man who thought I was a soulless machine—who I thought of as a liability to be managed—to kiss me!
I could hear my own voice, and I’d sounded like Mindy from Arkansas, not Madeleine from Nashville.
And he had said no.
That part I remembered with terrible clarity. His hands on my shoulders, gentle, holding me back. I don't think tonight is the night for that. The kindness in it, which was so much worse than cruelty would have been. He'd looked at me with a soft expression on his face and he had turned me down.
I lay back down very slowly and considered whether I might simply stay in this bed until the wedding was over and everyone went home. Or I could just crawl into the snow and let nature take its course.
I’d offered myself to him and he hadn’t wanted me. Nothing, and I mean nothing, had ever made me feel this humiliated.
How in the world was I going to face him?
It was nearly noon before I made myself presentable enough to face daylight, and even then it was a generous use of the word.
I'd showered, drunk most of a pot of coffee, and applied concealer like a woman spackling a condemned building. I’d even blown out my hair.
Regardless, I looked like death in a cashmere sweater.
But I couldn't hide in the cabin forever without someone coming to check on me. As much as I hated the thought, I would rather be seen looking rough than have someone—anyone—arrive at my door for a welfare check. I was not the type who needed checking up on. I was the checker, for God’s sake.
I was pulling on my boots when I noticed the chair was out of place. It was pulled up close beside the bed, angled toward it, and over the back of it—was a hat. Knox’s black hat was hooked over the back of the chair where a man might hang it if he meant to sit a while.
I stared at it for a long moment while the last pieces slid into place with a soft, sickening finality.
The chair had been dragged from across the room to the edge of the bed for someone to watch over me.
And that someone had been Knox. He'd stayed and watched me sleep, then left his hat like a calling card.
He hadn't just walked me home and dumped me in bed and left.
He'd pulled that chair up close and sat down in it to make sure I was okay.
Somewhere in the ruin of my memory a fragment surfaced that I'd taken for a dream. I’d woken once, still drunk, and seen a dark shape in the chair. Knox.
I hadn't imagined it.
He'd sat right there. All night, from the look of it, or near enough that he'd forgotten his hat when he finally left.
That was the most alarming part. Knox Hartley did not forget his hat.
He was hardly ever without it. If he left it here, what did it mean?
Had he been rattled? Had I embarrassed him that much?
This was a nightmare.
I picked the hat up off the chair. It was heavier than it looked, the felt soft and worn smooth at the brim where his hands went.
Despite myself, I brought it close to my nose and breathed in the smell of him.
I stood there holding it like an idiot, my head pounding, my face hot, thinking of what to do about the fine mess I’d gotten myself into.
What if he came by to get it? I couldn’t face him.
I had to get it back to him before he showed up here.
As quickly as I could, I put on my puffy jacket and bolted out the door, practically running to his cabin.
When I got to the little porch, I looked right and left like a criminal, but saw no one. I left it on the doormat.
Like a wounded cat, I limped toward the restaurant. I’d eat something appropriate for a hangover and then maybe I would go back to my cabin and spend the day on my laptop. When everything was a disaster in my personal life, I always had work.
Ivy was coming out the door of the restaurant when I arrived. The second she saw me, her whole face creased with a tenderness that made me want to run the other direction.
“Hey, honey. You’re alive.” She came down the steps and folded me into a hug. “How are you feeling?”
“I’ve been better.” My voice came out like gravel. “I’ve also been a lot worse, professionally speaking. Please tell me I didn’t do anything unforgivable.”
“Not at all. In fact, you were delightful,” Ivy said. “You were the life of the party. You danced. You sang. You made people laugh. You were as cute as a button the whole night.” She squeezed my hands. “It’s okay to let loose every once in a while.”
“I’m never drinking again.”
“You say that now.”
I pressed the heel of my hand to my throbbing forehead. “How bad was the end of the night? Be honest. I have gaps.”
“You were not feeling any pain whatsoever. Do you remember singing in the sleigh?”
“No, no. Please tell me you’re making that up?”
“You started singing ‘Jingle Bells’ at the top of your lungs. Everyone joined in. It was awesome. When we got back to the ranch, you practically fell out of the sleigh. I was a little worried, but Knox told me he’d look after you.
Promised he’d get you back to your cabin. Make sure you drank some water.”
“I know. He stayed with me, Ivy. Like the whole night. I was totally passed out, and he must have thought I needed tending, in case I was sick or something.” I paused dramatically.
“I could die right now. Honestly, this might be the most mortifying thing I’ve ever done. He’ll never let me live this down.”