Page 13 of Kidnapped for Christmas

I’m not sure why I can’t take his silence. It’s not like there’s an issue with anyone being quiet, but there’s something about Arnie that drives me mad in all kinds of ways.

I run up behind him and take the rope from his hand. “Tell me what’s going on. Why are you frustrated with me?”

He rolls his head to the side and scrubs his gloved hand down over his beard. In this light the chocolate of his eyes is brighter. I wouldn’t hate it if he threw me down in the snow right now and taught me a lesson for frustrating him.

“You’re dragging that in? Fine. Prop the tree up on the porch before you come in. We need to let it dry out a little.” He turns away and walks toward the house.

“I’m serious. I’m out here, and I’m trying. What’s going on?” My tone is angrier than it was before, though I’m not entirely sure why. I just want him to talk and I’m trying angry on for size. Next is crying.

He glances back toward me, biting back a grin. “Who were you dreaming about?”

“What?” My breath picks up, and he stalks toward me through the snow.

His hand slides under my chin and he lifts my gaze to his. “Who were you dreaming about last night?”

I draw in a freezing breath, trying to calm my nerves. I could tell him that I was dreaming of him, but then what? What happens when he decides that dreaming of him means that I’m a weird, psycho, little girl that he has to run away from. I mean, I don’t even know if this man has a thing for my mom yet. He could be my stepfather in a few months.

I bite the inside of my cheek and prepare to lie. “Jack. I was dreaming about Jack.”

He shakes his head, his jaw tight. “That’s what I figured.”

The sled rope gathers in his hand, and he drags the tree back to the cabin. This time I don’t stop him.

Why would he be angry if I dreamed about Jack? It’s not uncommon to dream about your ex. And though I get that we all hate him, it’s a reasonable thing.

I follow behind, watching as Arnie reaches the porch and leans the short, sparse tree against the rail. He picked the tree he knew I’d like.

I blow out a heavy breath and bypass the cabin for the shed. I’m not ready to talk to him yet.Why would he be mad at me for having a dream, and why would he cut down a tree without me, even if it was a tree he thought I’d like? Besides that, we’re going to need decorations for the tree, and I figure the shed has fishing lures or something I can use.

Inside there are deer antlers, a saw, a car jack, an old truck, sixty thousand fishing poles, twenty-nine million fishing lures, and various other bits of nonsense that people use up on the mountain. I study the inside of the building for a short while in an attempt to get to know Arnie better. Thirty minutes ago, I’d have let him lay me out right on top of this work table, and part of me believed he’d like it. Now, I’m not so sure of any of that.

He’s carefully placed everything on its own shelf. Even objects that don’t have their own space are marked and situated neatly. He’s organized. I like that. Even though the inside of his cabin isn’t the cleanest, he’s organized in there as well.

To the left of a toolbox, there’s an array of lures spread out on the counter. It looks like he’s hand making some with fancy feathers and small silver balls. I don’t touch those. Instead, I dig through the old box on the floor for some that look like they haven’t been used in ages.

The fishing line is easily labeled above the box. I’m not sure yet what I’m doing, but it doesn’t take long to figure out a plan. I pull down some fishing line and start moving things around, an old flashy fish, a few feathers from another lure, a red and green bobber… and boom, I have an ornament. A shiny, flashy, perfectly fish shaped ornament. I think Arnie will appreciate it… if he ever gets over my dream.

Either way, it was safer to lie about that dream than tell him it was his body I was dreaming of. In the odd scenario that someday he is my stepfather, I wouldn’t need that hanging over my head. I did my mother and I both a favor.

When I’ve made an array of ornaments with fishing lures, I head outside of the shed, and into the nearby forest to look for some pinecones. It’s been a while since I made a pinecone ornament, but I think I remember a variation that will work. Of course, that requires more fishing wire and maybe some glitter.

No! I’ll pick fresh berries and string them onto a line and layer the pinecones in. Oh yeah, a garland. The tree needs garland!

For a second, I overlook that I’m ‘kidnapped’ and even forget that Arnie’s mad. Instead, I’m a girl outside playing house. A girl excited to make ornaments for a tree I imagine is mine and Arnie’s.

I suppose this is why Poppy checks on me before bed every night. Apparently, I’m susceptible to the romanticism in captor play.

“It’s cold out here,” a voice resonates in from the edge of the woods. At first I think it’s Arnie, but the second I turn, I see Jack’s jet black hair and I know the fantasy is over.

Chapter Six

Arnie

Not being a complete asshole is probably the first step to creating a safe space for anyone, and that’s what I want for Grace. I want her to feel safe. If she has dreams about her ex, that’s on her. I have no fucking clue what made me think she’d ever have a dream about me.

The mere thought is ridiculous beyond any rational thinking.

I stir a pot of soup on the stove and set the lid over the top. The diner sells frozen soups as the winter nears and they’re a time saver that I indulge in. A good base for venison and elk stew.

---