Page 32 of Stella's Christmas Rescue
“Your feet are not good.”
“This is nothing,” I lie. I’ve kept my flashlight off my feet when she’s around. I don’t want her to see the extent of the damage. She’ll freak out. “Just make sure to get Wes out here, tell him about the power, too, so he brings whatever we need for that.”
“Okay.” she makes the call, pacing while she dials.
Telling her what to do seems to calm her down, and I’m glad for the victim assessment courses I’ve taken over the years. In an emergency, most people want to be told what to do. It gives them a place for all the energy they get from the adrenaline of the emergency.
“Max, don’t worry, you’re a good boy,” I tell him. He is worried about all the blood. I pet him and turn my attention to his guardian. “Sugar, you’re such a good girl, going after that mean man like that. You protected Max like a champ.”
She nuzzles my thigh.
“But you both have to let me finish up here, okay? Why don’t you go lay down?”
They won’t leave my side, though, so I have to figure out how to wrap my feet with two dogs trying to snuggle me back to health. I smile at them, as I weave the bandages. There are worse problems to have.
Like, we could all be dead right now.
I’m not sure if they were here to kidnap Stella or kill her. They weren’t particularly trigger happy, so I have to imagine the order was to kill anyone with her, then to take her. Breaking in via window was sloppy. They must have thought she’d be alone. Is Riker bringing in cheap contractors for the job, or does he hire untrained guys? Unclear. And I’m not asking Stella anything about him right now.
She nods on the phone, then hangs up. Her voice is stronger now, “They’ll be here in a half an hour. Do you need anything?”
I need to get her talking about anything aside from what just happened. “I could use some of that eggnog, if you think it’s still good from sitting out all night.”
“It has enough alcohol to keep it fresh forever, but I’ll get you some from the fridge.”
“Made a big batch?” I finish the wrap job on my feet and stand to give them a test. Not too bad. Got all the glass out.
She grabs some coffee mugs and pours eggnog from a milk jug. “The recipe makes a party batch. I have another gallon in there.”
“Why not scale the recipe down? Make a half batch.”
She laughs, “You’ve tasted my eggnog, Jordan. Would you want only half?”
I laugh, too, “No. I’d be pretty disappointed not to have more. I could drink it every day and not get tired of it.” I realize I’m not talking about her eggnog, and I wonder if she knows it.
I see it in her eyes. She knows it.
Stella smiles, then drinks her mug down. But then she frowns. “Oh, hell, we never did have the pot roast.” Two oven mitts later, she pulls the casserole dish out and lifts the lid. Steam pours up. “Well, it’s definitely cooked.”
I take a look at the carnage. “Doesn’t look too bad.”
“Yeah, let me try it.” She gets a fork and has a stab at it. Then, she spits the bite out into the sink. “Overcooked and dry. But I bet the dogs will love it, and they deserve a treat for keeping us safe.” She makes them each a bowl of pot roast and vegetables, and it isn’t two seconds before they dive into their treats.
“Guess it’ll have to be more eggnog for our,” I look at the clock and sigh, “two a.m. snack.”
“I have crackers and cheese for us.” She set it all up, and when we sit at the table, she looks at her home. “They really did a number in here, didn’t they?”
“I’m afraid so. I’m sorry. I tried?—"
Her warm hand strokes the back of mine. “You are my hero. Thank you. Don’t ever apologize for what you did.”
I blush. “You’re welcome, but I don’t?—"
“Stop. Seriously. I’m just sorry I almost shot you,” she says firmly.
I laugh. “Don’t worry about it.”
“No, I mean it, I just panicked, and I could have killed you. I’m so sorry! I feel terrible for it.”
