The Christmas Cabin, page 12
When she arrived at her building, the doorman handed her a package. It was from Jack.
“Happy Valentine’s Day!” said the doorman, who was taking the holiday better than she was.
She gave half a nod and mumbled the same. Once upstairs, she set the package down on the table. What if he’d ordered it before they last met? “O cruel fate, thou suckest.”
She stared at the package for a moment or two then sat down on the edge of the sofa, took a deep breath, and tore off the brown paper. “If it’s one of those bears with a heart, I swear I’ll shove that little bastard down the garbage disposal.”
Abbie,
You left these. No hard feelings.
Love,
Jack
P.S.— I didn’t get the job, so I guess you were right. It wouldn’t have worked out.
Wrapped in a few paper towels were the cookie cutters she’d left at the cabin. She’d forgotten about them. She exhaled, disappointed. “Well, what did you expect?”
She picked up the box to get it out of her sight, when she heard something bump against the side of the box. She reached in and found—also unceremoniously wrapped in a paper towel—a copper cookie cutter in the shape of a log cabin. She turned it over in her hands. He had touched it, and she felt foolish because touching it made her feel closer to him.
She recalled sitting with him by the fire, when he’d read Yeats to her. “Murmur, a little sadly, how love fled… and hid his face amid a crowd of stars.”
She already felt old and full of sleep. She’d achieved her life goal. She’d made partner and continued to toil away at work that she didn’t really enjoy. Since they’d parted, her thoughts had been more on Jack than on her successful career. But how many people could have it all? Life just wasn’t like that.
But she’d had a chance, and she’d blown it.
Abbie sat up in bed and looked at the clock. Eleven o’clock. Wow. Look at you, Miss Partner, living the dream.
Then a thought nagged at her. Is this really the life that you want?
Jack had sent her that little cabin cookie cutter as a reminder of their week together. Why would he have done that if he didn’t want her to remember? And if he wanted that, maybe there was a chance that he still wanted her.
But here they were, back where they’d left off: with him in the mountains and her in the city. But he’d tried to meet her far more than halfway. Maybe it was her turn.
She picked up her phone. “Taylor? It’s Abbie.”
“Is something wrong?”
“No. I’m sorry. I know it’s late, but I wanted to tell you. I won’t be in for the rest of the week—or maybe ever. Wish me luck.”
“Luck?”
“I’m going to the mountains.”
Abbie was beaming as she hung up the phone. She got out of bed and threw some clothes and toiletries into an overnight bag. She was nearly packed when she realized that she didn’t have a car. She did a quick Internet search on her phone and found a twenty-four-hour car rental place across town. An hour later, she was on her way up the West Side Highway with a venti coffee in the cup holder beside her.
A little after 6:00 a.m., Abbie stood at Jack’s door and knocked. After what seemed like an eternity, the door opened, and there he stood, disheveled and wearing only his boxers.
Oh, dammit, just take me now.
He looked as if he thought he was dreaming. “Abbie?”
“I’m sorry I didn’t call first.”
He shook his head, still looking confused. “It’s okay. Come in.”
She followed him into the kitchen but stopped in the doorway when she spied Boomer asleep in the corner.
Jack woke Boomer up and led him to another room then returned, closing the door behind him.
Abbie said, “Taylor gave me the name of a therapist. She’s supposed to be able to cure people of their fear of dogs within weeks.”
“Okay.” He looked even more confused.
Abbie couldn’t seem to collect her thoughts. “I know I’m not making any sense.” She looked about the room. “I got your package.”
“Oh, that. I kept meaning to bring those to you.”
“Thank you.”
“Abbie… why are you here?”
“I’m quitting my job. It turns out I don’t love being partner. It also turns out I love you.”
Jack didn’t move for a moment. “I didn’t get the job. I can’t leave here anytime soon.”
Abbie smiled. “I know. I don’t care about that. I just care about you.”
“Abbie…”
She rushed into his arms and kissed him. Between kisses, he said, “Are you sure?”
“I’ve never been surer of anything.”
Jack held her face in his hands. “It’s not going to be perfect.”
She looked into his eyes. “Perfect is boring.”
“Abbie Harper, you will never be boring.”
Eighteen
The Following Christmas
On the snow-covered lawn in front of an old log cabin stood a small wooden sign that said, Abbie Harper Whelan, Attorney at Law.
The front door swung open, and out walked a very pregnant attorney, followed closely behind by her forest ranger husband, with an overnight bag on his shoulder and a dog at his heels.
As he slipped his arm about her waist to support her, she grumbled, “But it’s Christmas! This was not supposed to happen this way.”
Jack steadied her as he led her down the walk to his pickup truck. “I never promised you perfect.”
“Good, ’cause if you had, I’d be filing a lawsuit on the way to the hospital.”
Jack smiled. “That’s one of the reasons I love you. You’re a great multitasker.”
Her pain having subsided for the moment, she looked at him in earnest. “Do you really think so?”
“No.” He laughed and helped her into the seat and buckled her in. Then he put his hand on her cheek. “But I love you.” And he kissed her.
She looked up at him with a soft look in her eyes. “I love you, too.” Then she moaned at the onslaught of another contraction. “Okay, you can skip the courthouse. Just get me to a hospital.”
And Jack did just that, while Boomer barked his good-bye.
Acknowledgments
Thank you to Colonel Andrew T. Jacob, Assistant Director of Forest Rangers, Division of Forest Protection, New York State Department of Environmental Conservation. Colonel Jacob graciously answered my questions about forest rangers with specific and helpful details, for which I am grateful. I applaud him and his department for the work that they do.
Thanks to authors Nick Russell and Billy Kring, who shared their knowledge of guns and police procedures. If either of them rents a secluded cabin in the mountains, do not park in their driveway without advance notice.
As always, many thanks to Red Adept Editing.
Thanks also to Ethan Gutzeit of Gtarms.com, for recommending a number of choices for Jack’s off-duty weapon and for coaching me on proper firearm terminology. He actually knows a guy who could Cerakote a Glock for me in Barbie pink. (I was kidding!)
To my librarian daughter, I extend my gratitude for tirelessly listening to and advising me on my sometimes-nutty plot ideas.
And thanks to my personal hero, with whom I am happily stranded in our own mountain home.
Thank You!
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About the Author
J.L. Jarvis is a left-handed opera singer/teacher/lawyer who writes books. She received her undergraduate training from the University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign and a doctorate from the University of Houston. She now lives and writes in New York.
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J.L. Jarvis, The Christmas Cabin
