When in December (Home Haven #1)

Chapter 11

eleven

. . .

Aaron

Oz stared at me, waiting for his chance to pounce off into the thick, icy mounds of snow like the world’s most uncoordinated reindeer.

What a little shit.

I’d woken up this morning to a working doorbell. It rang an obnoxious number of times before I finally tore the door open. Cold air hit me in the face, along with the image of Barrett shoving a leash into my hands before appearing to decide if it was too late to run.

It was the worst ding-dong ditch I’d ever seen.

“He’ll be good for you,” Barrett had said. “Come on. Don’t you remember when you said you owed me a favor?”

“When was that?”

He paused. “I’m sure it was some time.”

I glared before I glanced back at the dog. Oz had already roamed past the entryway to the living room before finding a space in the corner and curling up on top of a drop cloth.

“He’s deaf now in that bent ear of his,” he explained to me, coming back to pat me once on the shoulder. “But he’s good, Hayes. Take care of him.”

“Take him back.”

“I need to leave him with someone. I have to go back to base to pick up the rest of my stuff. As well as revel in the party they’ll probably have for me,” said Barrett.

Anyone else, and I’d have figured that they were joking. Barrett, however, was, oddly enough, widely liked. A fact that I was more and more confused by every second I spent with him.

The dog looked at me with a dark face. Gray, which I didn’t remember, painted a thick line around his muzzle.

“I need to leave him with someone,” said Barret. “I can’t leave him alone while I’m away.”

“Are you talking about me or the dog?”

He laughed.

“Come back here and get him!” I yelled after him again as he made his way back to his car and drove off.

He didn’t.

Now, I was stuck in the cabin with two unwelcome visitors—the one looking at me like he was reacquainted with his long-lost friend and the other who wanted nothing more to do with me after last night.

Not that I could blame her.

Barrett was right. I was a mess. I couldn’t even apologize like a normal person.

I nudged my boot against the snow, running my hand up my face. I didn’t bother making Oz stop his antics, trotting outside through the woods like a prize stud anymore. The stupid dog was smart in some ways, but in others?

As if to prove my point, the dog stumbled through the snow back in front of me, looking behind my frame, as if in search of someone.

I shook my head, taking a deep breath until I could feel the frosty air hit my lungs.

Vassar was Oz’s handler. Those two were stuck at the hip, and Oz made sure everyone knew it.

He thought he was the shit.

And he was.

But I spent just as much time with Vassar. Though Barrett and I had been good friends since high school, Vassar became a part of our team soon after. He had been a scrawny kid, especially in the beginning. You couldn’t count on him to have your back in physical training for the first year, but, God, he was always funny.

“Why do you think they gave me the dog, Hayes? Think they can trust you?” he’d teased me.

Oz twirled around me once more before coming back to stand in front of me.

I bit the inside of my cheek, shaking my head. “He’s not here, Ozzy.”

He continued to stare.

We’d had this conversation already a few times now. The first time, I’d tried to get him to stop looking around like he was missing something. The second time—maybe that was the real reason why the Army had given the dog to calm, cool, collected Vassar, who liked to do extra work and study strategy and best team habits in his free time.

When emotions came to shove, I never could keep a completely clear head.

Luckily, even when I’d screamed about how Vassar wasn’t coming back after I got out of the shower and saw Oz waiting for me, the dog had looked at me like he’d expected nothing less.

Just like everyone else who seemed to know me better than I knew myself.

I was a broken soldier who couldn’t handle anything anymore. I almost wanted to agree with them unless I was going to follow through with what I’d told Barrett last night. I was going to push through this and get out of this funk I was in. Then, I was going to get cleared. I was going to get back to being what I had been.

Who I had been.

When I had first joined the Army, I’d thought the service was my only option, but it quickly became all I’d ever been and wanted to be. I was no longer just Aaron Hayes, the kid who was decent at sports and could get by well enough in school.

My job. My position. My team had made me whole.

Even if I wasn’t sure, without Vassar, I’d ever fully be exactly who I’d thought I was again.

“Yeah, I don’t know how the hell you managed to survive when he didn’t.” I wondered the same thing about myself. Sometimes, if I thought for too long about it, I could convince myself that this all was all just some kind of fucked-up dream.

“Come on.” I waved a hand for Oz. If he was done frolicking around like a bunny, we might as well go back inside, where it was warm. “Inside. I still need to go and get you some treats or something, bud. You’re retired now, you know?”

Walking alongside me, Oz jumped into the mudroom and shook off.

I seethed. “You’re going to make an enemy out of the homemaker, too, if she catches you doing that.”

Oz sneezed.

I shook my head as I walked through, pausing in the kitchen when I heard the water running. I watched the homemaker stumble as she turned to the door outside.

Toward me.

Poppy stopped in her tracks as if caught. Her eyes were wide, like a deer in headlights. Her pale face dipped down to the towel she had wrapped around her hand.

Now, my eyes were wide.

I took two large steps until I was standing directly in front of her. “Are you bleeding?”

Her lips parted before pressing closed again, as if she was suddenly angrier than she had ever been with me. She didn’t answer.

I gaped at the red on the towel she held.

Yep. That was definitely blood.

I pointed at Oz to stay. He didn’t put up much of a fight. He shook out again.

I knew it was bad when the homemaker didn’t say anything at the distinct notice of her mudroom about to be covered in snow droplets and dog hair.

“You hurt yourself with one of the tools, didn’t you?”

“No, I didn’t,” she insisted, voice tight.

She was even more ridiculous than I’d thought.

“Forgive me if the whole gushing blood onto one of my new towels doesn’t exactly exude the truth.”

“I didn’t hurt myself with one of the tools,” she muttered, swinging around to face me, her eyes filled with watery anger.

“Let me see it.”

“It’s fine,” she insisted.

“Yeah, that’s why you’re running away like a dog about to die,” I said.

She squinted at me over her shoulder. “Dogs run away when they’re about to die?”

“Sometimes.” I took her hand, turning it over in the towel to see the damage. I kept my face neutral, even when I wanted to kiss the deep gash there. It didn’t look awful, but it didn’t look great either.

Far from it.

“I didn’t know that,” she whispered, starting to gently tug her hand back from me.

“They want to save their owners the pain,” I said.

Or at least I thought that was what Barrett had told me. And though Vassar had been the one with the dog and I was his closer companion when we were on the job, working, Barrett was the real dog lover. He knew just about everything about them.

“Or something like that. They’re considerate.”

“Then, you should’ve left me alone. I could’ve been considerate too,” Poppy argued before sighing, seeing that I wasn’t going to give her hand back until I knew what had happened. “I slid my hand against the wood as I was putting it up, and I guess I forgot to sand that one well, and …”

Her hand was completely tugged out of mine as she took another step through the slush on the driveway. I’d been too lazy to shovel it yet. I’d figured with even more snow planning to come by the end of the night, it wasn’t worth it.

“Where are you going?”

It was clear she was heading toward her car now. That wouldn’t end well.

“You need to go to the hospital,” I informed her, in case she was losing some sense to her brain by the way her hand was still bleeding. I thought that the homemaker was supposed to be the smarter of the two of us.

“What?” Her eyes widened. “No. I’m going home.”

“You’re going to drive home? By yourself?” I asked.

“I have a first aid kit in my car. I’ll fix it better with some bandages when I get home.”

“Your hand is going to need stitches.”

It looked like she was going through all the different scenarios of what was happening right now in her head. Dear Lord, and to think I’d already seen her attempt to park in my massive driveway once. I couldn’t imagine what kind of menace she’d be on the road if I let her go now.

“I think it’s fine,” she said quietly.

“You’re coming with me to get it checked out. You’re not going home right now.”

“I’m not going to the hospital.”

“What’s the big deal?”

Her eyes were already brimming with thick, heavy tears.

A moment ago, she had been standing here better than most guys when they were vaccinated to go overseas. Now, she was crying?

“I …”

I almost heard the petulant I don’t care what you say; I’m not going —like a child. Any concern I’d had over her tears disintegrated into a smirk.

“Don’t you dare smile at me right now.”

“I’m not smiling,” I told her.

“You are too,” she insisted. “I told you not to bother me and to leave me alone so that I could work.”

“And I can see that’s going well.”

“You’re a big asshole.”

“A big one?”

“Yes. You’re probably happy I got my hand sliced open,” she said.

“I am not.”

“Are too,” she argued. “Probably. Deep down.”

Well, I was starting to find this a little funny as well as frustrating.

“Or not so deep down,” she mumbled.

We stood out in the snow. Her legs started to shake. Who knew if it was from the cold or blood loss?

I raised an eyebrow. “Don’t be inflexible.”

She gasped as if I’d hit a nerve. “ I’m inflexible?”

“Right now, yeah. What’s it going to take?” I made my way over to my truck. I pulled the passenger door open and waved a hand to get inside. “Want me to promise to be cheerier so you’ll get in and stop bleeding all over my driveway? Or do I need to get a tourniquet out here?”

Poppy blanched. “It’s not that bad.”

“I was joking.”

“Well, it wasn’t funny.” She bit her lip.

“It was kind of funny. Come on. Into the car, or it’s high and tight. Then, you probably won’t even have to lose your hand.” I swung my hand toward the passenger seat once more. “Let’s go.”

“Stop it.”

“I’ll get you food on the way back if you’re good. But we aren’t talking about this anymore.”

“You think that’s what it will take? You getting me food?” She scoffed as if the entire idea was crazy.

This whole thing was crazy, so I didn’t think I was far off.

“I know that you usually bring snacks,” I told her. “You eat about every other hour, but you haven’t eaten since you got here—at least from what I’ve noticed—so you’re probably hungry.”

She continued to stare at me.

“Plus, that means if you pass out while driving, you’re not just endangering yourself, but also all the other drivers out there,” I reasoned. “Think about the poor ma and pa, trying to get their sweet babies home from college for the holiday, only for you to run them off the road.”

“Urgent care, or I’m not going.”

I doubted they could do anything at urgent care at this hour. We weren’t in a city that was crawling with health-care professionals.

I threw my arm again for her to get into the passenger seat, and surprisingly enough, she listened. I slammed the door shut before trailing around to the driver’s side.

“Fine. Let’s go before I’m blamed for another person bleeding out on me.”

The urgent care smelled like vomit and disinfectant wipes. The nurses looked freshly graduated from vocational technical school in their patterned scrubs and enamel pins that declared they were Nurse Strong . The one who brought us both back to one of the three rooms to be seen had one shaped like a cartoon pill bottle, asking, Am I on crazy pills?

By the way Poppy’s leg wouldn’t stop shaking, I almost hoped she was so that she had some to share.

“Would you calm down?” I muttered.

Poppy glared at me. “I am calm.”

“If this is you calm, I’m afraid of what’s going to happen when they stitch up your hand. You look like you’re preparing for one of the nurse Barbies to come back in here and chop your entire arm off.”

Dear Lord, did she just gulp?

“Can you … can you be quiet?” The usually authoritarian homemaker hugged the side of the plastic chair.

I leaned against the wall as we waited, crossing my arms. “You shouldn’t be nervous.”

“Wow, that helped so much. Thank you.” She managed to keep her voice down below a whisper. Her polite venom was a talent. “I’m not nervous.”

“You’re not special,” I told her, realizing how callous my words sounded, but at least it turned that fearful look in her eye into something a little fierier. “This kind of shit happens to tons of stupid people using power tools. We’ll be in and out of here once the doctor or whoever we need to see gets in here.”

We were the only ones at the small-town urgent care, yet for some ungodly reason, we still had to sit here and wait for longer than fifteen minutes.

After another two, I sighed, listening to her sneakers tap against the linoleum. “They aren’t going to amputate, homemaker.”

“I know that,” she said. “I just don’t like it.”

“That you messed up and hurt yourself?”

“Hospitals. Doctors …” She drifted off, as if realizing that I was still the one standing next to her. “You don’t care. And you know what? It doesn’t matter.”

Who said I didn’t care?

I was here, wasn’t I?

The curtain was awkwardly yanked away on the metal track.

“Did I hear someone is a little nervous?” The doctor on call stepped in.

“Nope. I’m good. Perfectly fine,” Poppy assured yet another person in this room unsuccessfully.

The woman glanced down at the homemaker’s hand. “I hear it’s a home renovation wound. The good news is that it doesn’t appear to need any stitches.”

Poppy glared up at me. See? her expression seemed to say.

I rolled my eyes.

“We can glue you up to make sure it stays closed. Then, all you’ll need to do is keep it clean. You’ll be right back to finishing up any projects. Renovations are always stressful for new homeowners, especially with the holidays right around the corner. Hopefully, this is the only hiccup you two have.”

“Oh, no,” Poppy quickly corrected the doctor, waving her injured hand before catching herself. “We’re not together.”

“Oh. I apologize.”

Yet she continued, “I’m working on his home. He drove me here. I told him that it was fine.”

“It’s not fine,” I muttered.

The doctor looked between us, making a few more notes. I was pretty sure obsessive protesting was going to be marked somewhere in that chart.

“I’ll get someone in here to finish up with you, and then you two can head out. Have a good night.”

“Thank you,” called Poppy. Peeking back up at me, she took a deep breath as if preparing herself for whatever came next.

I resisted saying, See? You’re going to be fine , again.

Relief stretched from the center of my chest that it wasn’t as serious as I’d thought. A flesh wound. It was good that was all it was. But I was sure to her ears, any more encouragement would sound like I told you so.

After her hand was sealed with what looked like a thick coating of superglue and gauze, we drove back to the house in near silence. There was a low hum of country music over the radio—holiday country once Poppy got her hands on the settings.

I hadn’t even known that was a thing.

I pushed the car into the park. Most of the lights were still on inside the cabin from our hasty exit.

Home sweet home.

For now anyway.

I made my way out of the car and to Poppy’s door before she could reach it.

Holding on to the sleeve of her coat, I helped her down the big step from the truck to the ground. She made a little surprised noise when her feet hit the slush of snow that was still slowly coming down in a flurry.

I wasn’t sure if the snow around here was ever going to stop, though I couldn’t say that I minded. It had been a while since I’d been home for snow, and this year might’ve broken records for it already.

“Thank you.” She shrugged out of my hand. “I appreciate you driving me there and making sure that I was all right.”

“It’s fine.” I started to walk toward the door, waiting to listen to the crunch of footsteps behind me to know that she was following.

“I guess I should really head home now.”

I stopped in my tracks. She headed to her car, covered in a thick layer of snow.

She had to be kidding me. Again.

Poppy Owens was really turning into a pain in my side.

“What are you talking about?” I asked.

“I should probably go home.”

I nearly barked a laugh. “You’re not going home. You just got your hand hot-glued back together, and it’s snowing out,” I reminded her. “You’re staying here.”

“Here?” She looked behind me at the cabin, as if I were suddenly living in a run-down motel. Sure, the accommodations these days weren’t much better, but at least she could pretend to be proud of her work.

“Yes, here.”

People would probably blame me if something happened to the pitiful thing at this point, and to be honest, I didn’t need my blood pressure to get any higher in the name of Poppy Owens.

“You’re staying here for the night. The weather is awful, and you’re down a hand. You want to go out and get into another accident today?”

She laughed lowly. Twisting on her heel, she took another step toward her car. “You’re being ridiculous.”

I watched she climbed into the car and then attempted to buckle herself in with one hand. I also watched as her tires spun in the snow. Hands on my hips, I didn’t move to help her. More heavy flakes were coming down. We were no longer in flurry territory. No way was she going to make it back into the city with those bare, bald tires. It was a wonder the little homemaker had even made it here when the roads weren’t completely plowed earlier in the day.

Or maybe she almost hadn’t.

When she walked in the house earlier today, she was a little shaken up and red-cheeked, and neither thing could’ve been just because of Oz testing her out.

She didn’t give up though. She never did. Until finally, she closed her eyes and rested her forehead against the steering wheel.

Defeated.

Who knew that was a look the unconquerable Poppy Owens had?

Taking my cue, I wandered over to knock on the window. “Turn off the car and come back inside. You’re not going anywhere.”

She hesitated for another minute. Then, the car shut off. She stepped out.

I waited patiently before reaching to help her towards the house.

“Just don’t touch me,” she stammered with something akin to a whine, yanking out of my hand as if she was going to make a run for it. She gasped as she stepped on a slippery patch.

I reached for her right before she steadied herself.

“Grab my arm before you fall,” I ordered.

She needed to stop whatever this was she was doing right now.

“I’m fine. Let me hold on to an ounce of my dignity for one day,” she insisted.

Was that what this was? “Let me help you.”

“I’m not going to fall!” She took a step away from me, looking much steadier on her feet than she had before. “See?”

I rolled my eyes as I watched her head to the house.

And listened to the sharp, momentary squeak, followed by the crunch of snow.

I pressed my lips together, swallowing and ending up coughing instead.

God, if there was ever a time to not laugh.

If there was ever a time to laugh.

Poppy was still on the ground, and no longer choking on my tongue, I cleared my throat.

“You making a snow angel, or are you ready to head inside now?”

Clenching her jaw, the homemaker looked to be one second away from at last cursing me out. “Slippery.”

“Wow, imagine if someone had told you that.” I reached out a hand. “I’d be laughing hard as hell right now, but I don’t know if you’re hurt.”

“I’m fine,” she mumbled.

Of course she was. Poppy Owens, Home Haven designer extraordinaire, was always fine.

I was beginning to see that, even though now, I was less sure if it was true.

“I’d better start laughing then,” I said without a hint of humor.

She scoffed. “That would be the day.”

“The day what?”

“Hell would rise, and the snow would suddenly miraculously melt,” she pleasantly informed me.

I snorted, not quite a laugh.

I bent down and swept her up into my arms. She let out a small yelp. It echoed through the trees.

“The phrase is when hell freezes over , homemaker.”

“I think Satan wouldn’t mind this moment of creative freedom to describe you.” She held on tight to my neck, but didn’t argue with me as I carried her the rest of the way into the house.

“I’m Satan now?”

“One of his underlings maybe,” she muttered. “This isn’t professional.”

“Too bad.”