Page 20 of Christmas Past
Aware of a horrible pain in her foot, Bella shot straight up in bed. Only to find Chad there already, standing over her. Protectively. He looked much more…approachable…in the dark blue sweats and grey T-shirt he’d changed into when they’d agreed to try to get some rest. One of his deputies had dropped off a bag of his things.
She’d said she’d sleep with her door open, but had drawn the line at having him in her room with her. She’d never been alone with a man in a bedroom in her entire life.
“You cried out,” he said, when she sat there in her cotton flannel pajamas buttoned up to her throat, staring at him.
“You were sleeping on my floor,” she guessed. She’d have woken herself if she’d cried out.
“I…”
Leaning over, Bella noticed a pillow from off her spare bed, along with an afghan from the couch. And his holster, too, up by the pillow.
She looked back up at him. Half bemused, liking the fact that a man with a gun was lying on the floor beside her, protecting her from all of the boogey men that were loose in the darkness.
And then her gaze went to the stocking she’d carried in with her from the mantel. It hung from the knob of her dresser drawer. Just before she’d crawled beneath the covers, she’d put the note from her mailbox inside the old hand knitted decoration.
“Her foot is bothering her,” she said now. “I’m certain of it. I was sleeping peacefully and it’s almost like I could see her…”
His gaze sharpened.
“…I couldn’t. I’m sorry, Chad, I wish I could. I have no sense of where she is. Nothing as concrete as walls or colors. Just that there was a sense of softness. Of…Christmas. And then searing pain in my foot.”
“Was there still the sensation of pulling?” he asked. “As if her foot was tethered somehow?
“No,” she said, realizing that she wouldn’t have noticed the absence if he hadn’t brought it up. “No, it was more like the pain came in and of itself. Just like the foot started to hurt really bad. Enough that it drew her complete attention.”
“Was she afraid?”
“I didn’t get that far. I sat up as soon as I felt it.”
“But there was no immediate sense of fear?"
She shook her head.
"She could have been drugged and the drugs could have worn off,” he said softly.
And she frowned. “You think so?”
“Maybe. Someone might have given her something if she was crying from pain.”
“You don’t think there's a chance she’s out there alone?”
“Not if she’s warm and dry. She’s three, Bella.”
She didn’t want to think of what might happen to the little girl who’d started to share her soul, if they didn’t find her soon.
“It means she’s still alive, Chad,” she said.
He nodded.
She lay back down, saying nothing more about him on the floor beside her, and most purposefully didn’t ask what he thought the girl’s chances were of being alive another day.
She couldn’t let worry interfere. If she was going to be the recipient Camille needed, she had to remain open. Safe. Filled with love.
She had to be there for her.
And if that took an old knitted stocking and Chad sleeping on the floor beside her, she was good with that.
~*~
