A Cunningham Christmas by Ember Casey Read Free Book Online Page B

falls back, I once more pin him down in the snow and sit on top of him.
    “It’s a very simple question,” I tell him.
    “But not a simple answer.”
    “It can’t be that complicated,” I say. “Just tell— ooof !”
    He’s rolled me onto my back again, and this time his grip on my shoulders is stronger. He won’t let down his guard a second time. I wiggle beneath him.
    “Let me up!”
    “Promise me you’ll go back inside.”
    “I will never—”
    “Then promise me you won’t tackle me.”
    “Just tell me what you’re doing!”
    He must hear the desperation in my voice, because I see something falter in his expression.
    “Please,” I say softly. “I’m worried about you.”
    I’m not sure if he can hear me over the wind, but he doesn’t move. He doesn’t say anything, either, but I can see some sort of battle raging behind his expression.
    “I just want to know that everything’s okay,” I tell him. I reach up and cup his face.
    He leans down and presses his forehead against mine.
    “Trust me,” he says softly, his breath washing over me in waves of heat. “Just trust me.”
    There’s something so tender in his voice that I can’t find the strength to refuse him. But I’m also afraid to leave him out here by himself when clearly he’s desperate and upset.
    “Let me help you,” I murmur back to him. “We’ll find it together.”
    He shakes his head. “No, Lou. I need to find this on my own.”
    “But why—”
    “You’ll understand. I promise.”
    I can’t imagine anything that he’d need to find on his own. But it’s Christmas Eve. I don’t want to fight. And I can’t bear when he looks at me like that.
    “Fine,” I say. “On one condition.”
    “What?”
    “You take my coat. And my scarf. And my gloves.”
    He starts to argue, but I cut him off.
    “Otherwise there’s no deal,” I say. “I’ll survive the walk back to the house. And you’re already turning blue.”
    He sits up slightly, still frowning, but he doesn’t protest when I pull off my gloves and shove them into his hand. I take that as a good sign.
    I have to sit up to get off my scarf and coat. I wiggle beneath him, reminding him that he’s still trapping me, and he slides off. I’m tempted to push him into the snow again, but I’ve already committed to trusting him. With a sigh, I push myself up onto my elbows, then to my butt—wincing as my now-bare hands sink through the freezing snow. But that pain is nothing to the jab against the tender skin of my palm when my hand accidentally comes down on something hard and sharp on the ground.
    I curse and yank back my hand. It’s probably just a rock, but something makes me reach down into the snow again and feel around until I find the object that poked me. I pull it from the snow.
    It’s a tiny bag. Small enough to fit completely in my palm. The bag is made of something like velvet, but the fabric is completely soaked, making it clear that there something inside. Something about the size and shape of a bottle cap. That is what poked me.
    Ward makes a strange sound. I’m not sure whether it’s a curse or an exclamation of surprise, but when I look up into his eyes I realize that this is why he rushed out here. This is what he was trying to find.
    “What is this?” I say, almost to myself. Somehow I know he won’t answer. And I know I probably should just hand it to him, but something compels me to open the little bag. My stiff fingers fumble with the ribbon until it falls open, and then I reach inside.
    The thing inside is round. And metal. It’s freezing cold—cold enough that it cuts through the numbness of my fingers. Carefully, I pull it from the bag.
    It’s a ring. I know it’s a ring even before I see it—and really, I can’t see much. Not in this darkness and this weather. But it’s a ring, a ring with some sort of large stone, and my eyes fly up to Ward’s.
    He’s looking at the ring. His expression is unreadable. But then his gaze