Page 54 of Wishing for Christmas
When they reached the bottom, she was still laughing. Brent watched her for a moment and said nothing while he caught his breath. Her eyes twinkled.
He finally spoke. “So . . . was it worth it?”
She nodded at him, looking deep into his eyes from underneath her long eyelashes wet with snowflakes.
He scooted closer, a sudden urge to kiss her overwhelming all his other senses. Still sitting in his tube, Brent moved toward her. He leaned over as far as he could, but before he realized what was happening, he lost his balance and tipped over just before he reached her. He landed face-first in a fluffy pile of snow.
Clara howled with laughter.
Brent wiped the snow from his face and popped up quickly. “Want to go again?”
“Definitely,” she said.
They immediately headed up the hill—this time running.
Clara no longer seemed scared. Even so, she held on to his hand tightly each time they raced down the mountain. He liked that it was still thrilling enough for her to want that comfort. She seemed to be having a blast, and he was happier than he had thought possible. Who cared if they didn’t get to do any of the things he’d planned or talk about the things he’d wanted to talk about? Instead, they were simply having fun. Maybe that was what they needed more than anything.
On their fourth climb up the hill, they both began to run out of steam. Clara suddenly dropped to the ground right in front of him. She let out a small scream of pain.
Brent rushed to her side. “Clara, are you okay?”
She let out a small moan. “I wasn’t watching my footing, and I twisted my ankle.” She sat on the ground, holding her foot, her knee up to her chin.
He could tell she was in pain. He crouched down and lifted the bottom of her pant leg to look. When he removed her boot, he noticed her ankle begin to swell instantly.
“It’s probably only a sprain, but we’ll take a better look at it once we get back to the house.”
“I feel so stupid,” she said. “Who gets hurt from sledding?” She tried to stand, but crumpled to the ground as soon as she put weight on her foot.
Brent scooped her up in his arms.
Clara laughed. “Are you going to carry me all the way back to the house?”
“I sure am,” he said.
She looked into his eyes and held his gaze with heavy eyelids. “My hero.”
He melted.
Brent broughtClara home and carried her into the living room. He placed her down gently on the couch, then took some time to build a fire.
Once the fire roared, he sat next to her on the sofa and placed her foot in his lap. He took her boot off again, along with her sock. After a few moments of silent inspection, he said, “Looks like it’s just twisted. You should be able to walk on it soon.”
“How do you know so much about ankle injuries? I thought you were a pilot, not a doctor.”
He shrugged. “The Air Force always gives us basic first-aid training before a deployment, in case someone gets injured when we don’t have a medic around.”
“Ah,” she said. “Have you ever been injured?”
His heart skipped a beat. He said nothing, refusing to react the way he had the other night. He only rubbed her ankle.
She pinched her forehead. “I mean . . .” She let out a breath. “I mean, I know you were injured. But do you want to talk about it?”
He didn’t know what to say. The truth was, hedidwant to talk about it with her. The way they used to talk about it. The way they had talked about it when it happened. When Brent was deployed, he felt he could talk to her about anything. Now, every time it came up, Clara retreated. Or worse, got agitated. He was tired of constantly upsetting her by bringing up old memories.
He was thoughtful about what to say next. He scratched his neck. “Well, I can tell you that you were the best nurse a man could have asked for. Even from thousands of miles away.”
She seemed surprised.
