Misfortune: Christmas With Scrooge by Peggy Ann Craig Read Free Book Online

you're doing?”
    Coming to a direct halt on the second last
step, she came face to face with an angry Dexter. “I just want to
thank you for saving—”
    “Well don't!”
    Stunned, she stared at him. His eyes were so
dark they were almost a charcoal black. Something horrific in his
expression caused a chill to shoot down her spine.
    “What do you mean—?”
    “I mean I don't want your thanks. I did what
needed to be done. Case closed.”
    “But you saved my life—”
    “What I did had nothing to do with you.” He
looked as cold and listless as the northern climate around
them.
    On a whisper, she replied, “You're wrong. It
had everything to do with me.”
    The coldness in his face could have turned
her to stone. “Don't get any stupid ideas. I'm no hero! You were
right about me. You mean absolutely nothing to me and I would have
gladly left you in the ravine.”
    Hurt, she stared deeply into unmoving eyes
and whispered, “But you didn't.”
    “No,” he agreed. His own voice low but hard.
“But I easily could have.”
    Then he swung away leaving a wounded Laura
staring after him, her emotions scattered at her feet. As she stood
there feeling every wretched sensation, she became unexpectedly
bitter and a tiny flame of resentment was lit once more. She wasn’t
terribly sure why Dexter O’Reilly should leave her feeling as if
she was just stung. All she knew for certain was that dreadful void
of loneliness had returned.
    Once in the sanctuary of her own little home,
Laura paused in the entrance and took a deep steady breath. What
she wanted was for this day to end, once and for all. Along with
all the memories of her horrific crash down Suicide Point, the
terrifying moments subsequently when she remained alone and in the
dark, and most certainly her unceremonious rescue.
    Dexter O’Reilly made it impossible for her to
so much as like him, let alone be grateful toward him. He was rude,
obnoxious, unsympathetic and above all—a hero. No matter how hard
she tried, she could not bring herself to dislike him. Without
being able to describe it, he was to blame for her present
melancholy state and feeling of loneliness.
    Idly strolling down the hall, she stopped
inside the sitting room. Against the bay window stood an old
antique bureau where a colorful miniature village was gaily lit.
Tiny figurines of mothers, fathers, and children were historically
dressed for the cold Christmas climate, their faces beaming of joy
and love.
    The village had belonged to her mother. Each
piece collected over the years she was alive. It was her favorite
collection. Carl Witherow had left the home completely as his late
wife had left it on her deathbed. Not wanting to change a single
thing. Each Christmas they pulled out her decorations and hung them
as she had done years before. Visual memories of her mother graced
the walls in honor of her memory and in doing so, Laura never
forgot the image of her mother.
    The night before, she left the lights of the
village burning brightly, so when she arrived home from the party,
alone, the Christmas spirit would remain. With a despondent sigh
she reached over and flicked off the large black switch. The
festive lights blinked off leaving the shop windows dark and bleak.
Reminiscent of her heart.
    Still, she hadn't spent Christmas Eve alone,
though she could think of plenty more pleasant ways of spending it,
and she was alive today. For that, she was grateful. But, oh, how
he made it so difficult!
    Determination gripped her suddenly. She had
been given a second chance, a second chance at life. With a sudden
surge she realized it was time she picked up the shattered pieces
of her life and try to get on with it.
    Quite frankly, as she felt her car go off the
road, she felt a sense of resolution. She almost welcomed death. In
matters of only hours, her life suddenly had meaning once more. For
the first time in months she sincerely believed that, yes, she
could live on without her beloved