"Think you can help me with something?" I asked casually.
No matter how calmly I approached him, he tapped his leg nervously and usually stared at his boots. "Sure. Something for Bella?"
"She doesn't like that name, you know," I pointed out. "But yes and no. Something for me that might be for Ara… if she doesn't hack up a lung trying to throw me out first."
Jay peeked up finally, curiosity quirking up one of his bushy eyebrows. "How d'you mean?"
I pointed to the right, behind the house where the ranch sprawled over several acres before sloping upward into a thickly forested area. "I need a tree."
Jay's round features puckered with uncertainty. "You mean like a Christmas tree?"
"Yep." I put my hand back in my pocket. "Think you can take me up that way to get one?"
Amusement flickered across his expression, and then he looked away again, swinging the ax absently. "I mean, sure. When?"
"Give me a second to check on Arabella. You free right now?"
He shrugged. "Chores are short in winter."
"I'll meet you here in fifteen, then." I went back to my car, gathered what I belatedly realized was far too many bags full of Christmas shit, and then went through the front door, kicking snow off my sneakers as I did. The front door led right into the long, open rectangle of a living space, so as I took off my shoes, Arabella popped her head over the back of the couch to glare at me. "What is all that?"
"Oh, this?" I juggled the bags and my coat as I shucked it off before depositing everything on the kitchen island. "Just a moment of insanity, honestly."
The pink in Arabella's hair had faded a little, and she had it pulled up in a wild mess that framed her disgruntled expression. "I can see that glitter from over here."
I peered at the random holiday shit I'd purchased as it sat innocuously in the brown bags. "Yeah. To be honest, I don't know what most of this is, but I figure we can throw it around until it looks festive."
"Why are you decorating my house for Christmas?" she sighed.
I left the paraphernalia and crossed the dining area to the living room where the wood stove simmered with soothing heat and Arabella sat wrapped in a nest of quilts on the plaid couch. I was glad to see she hadn't gotten up and tried to work again. In fact, it looked like she'd been sleeping, which was what she'd been doing on and off since dinner last night. I crouched down in front of her, rolling my shoulders to loosen the tightness in my muscles. "To be honest, I thought we could both use a little fun."
Arabella's pale, cat-like eyes blinked once. She had a sleepy, ruffled look about her that made me want to pull her into a snuggle she wouldn't be able to wriggle out of. "Is this punishment for the heater?"
"What heater?" I looked around.
"Never mind. Spencer, we've been over this. You don't have to do all this." Her features took on a hint of worry, and I released a breath of resignation. She was worried about owing me. I couldn't blame her after the way her mother had treated her, but how could I explain this to her in a way that wouldn't sound strange? I'd watched her suffer for years under her mother's thumb. It was like Knox and Arabella asking for my help had opened the floodgates. I needed to make up for all the years Ihad stood aside and let it happen. But if I were to explain that to her, she would take it as pity. She'd reject me all over again.
"I wanted to. I haven't done anything for Christmas in ages, and hell, we used to spend Christmas together with Knox, right? I figured it would be… nice."
"Nice," she repeated tonelessly.
"You're so grinchy," I added defensively. "You need to lighten up." I had my bag of cobbled-together physician's equipment on the floor by the couch, so I reached over and grabbed the thermometer. "But itisyour house, all jokes aside about who owns it. If you really want me to stuff all that garland in a shed somewhere, I'll do it."
Her irritation wavered, softening to something dangerously close to acceptance. "I guess… I haven't ever decorated for Christmas on my own. My mom always hired people to do it for us."
That was the saddest fucking thing I'd ever heard. I took her temperature, careful not to let my carefree mask slip. "If you're stuck inside until your lungs heal, then we might as well try something new. Right?"
As the display lit up green, and I breathed a sigh of relief that the antibiotics were working, Arabella glanced over her shoulder where the bags sat. "I guess it can't hurt."
"That's the Christmas spirit," I said dryly.
She coughed into her elbow, her slight frame trembling violently with every expulsion, and I listened to the cough, making sure it was getting looser and not wheezing on the intake anymore. She was getting better. Now, I just had to keep things that way. I patted her back until she was done, and then she slumped over against the couch, her features slack with exhaustion. "Why do I feel like I've been—" she paused, screwing up her features like she'd lost her thought.
"Run over by a team of mustangs?" I supplied, knowing the cowgirl reference would draw out that irresistible pucker thing she did with her lips.
She didn't let me down. "I was thinking, 'through a minefield.' But thank you for reminding me how insufferable you are."
"Trampled in a bullpen?" I continued, taking her wrist between my fingers to count her pulse. "Dragged behind the handcart?" She didn't even bother to respond. She just rolled her eyes before closing them. Her pulse was good—a little weak, but better than two days ago. "Okay, now that I know you're not dying, I'm going back out there to find a Christmas tree. When I get back, we can decorate."
