A Forever Christmas - By Marie Ferrarella Page 0,7

It would take more than that, but he kept at it, knowing he needed to get a grip on his emotions. People would be asking questions and he was vaguely aware that he had to put this all down in a report.

It started to rain again.

Nature was putting out the fire, he thought absently, unable to look away.

He was so completely focused on what had just happened that he remained almost totally oblivious to his surroundings for at least a couple of minutes. By the time he saw the other two vehicles, they were all but on top of him.

The weather-battered tow truck led the way. Mick had come, just as he’d promised.

The second vehicle was a Jeep. The official markings on its sides proclaimed it to belong to the sheriff’s department. As they approached, the Jeep suddenly picked up speed and wound up reaching him first.

Barely coming to a complete stop, the deputy inside the vehicle jumped out. Alma hit the ground running at her top speed.

Reaching the truck, she cried out breathlessly, “Are you all right?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Gabriel told her, dismissing himself. “But she’s not.” And then his mind suddenly backtracked, remembering. His only call had been to Mick. He’d stated the problem. He had not asked for reinforcement. “What are you doing here?” he asked.

“Having a heart attack,” Alma retorted. She nodded toward the scruffy mechanic in the worn sheepskin jacket and faded overalls.

“Mick called the sheriff’s office as soon as he hung up with you. I picked up the call,” she added needlessly. Satisfied that her brother had no mortal wounds, she seemed to relax a little. For the first time, she took note of the woman slumped beside him on the passenger seat. “What happened to her?”

Gabe shrugged, his wide shoulders reinforcing his answer. “Damned if I know. I was driving into town when I spotted her car.” He nodded in the general direction of the ravine. “It was tottering on the edge, two wheels in the air and set to drop like a stone at the slightest shift in weight.”

“And she didn’t say how that happened?”

Gabe shook his head. “She was unconscious when I got there.” His eyes shifted toward Mick. The mechanic was now standing behind Alma. With the sedan burned, there was nothing for the man to tow or fix. “Sorry I got you out here for no reason, Mick,” he apologized.

Mick rubbed the ever-present graying stubble along his chin as he looked back at what was left of the sedan. “Oh, I dunno. Might take it back to the shop, anyway, and do me a little detective work on the remains. Figure out why it burned,” he explained, adding, “Things are a might slow right now. Could use the diversion.” He paused and peered closer into the cab of Gabe’s truck. “You don’t need a tow in or nuthin’, do you?”

With a pleased smile, Gabe sat up and affectionately patted the dashboard. “She handled herself just like the trouper she is, Mick.”

Mick beamed with satisfaction, like a parent whose child had remembered all his lines in the school play. “That’s ’cause she had a good mechanic,” Mick pointed out matter-of-factly. Then he nodded at the woman whose car was now a charred heap and asked, “What are you gonna do about her?”

Alma already had her cell out. “I’ll call ahead to the doc, tell him we’ve got an emergency coming in.” She looked at her brother. “Two emergencies,” she corrected. When Gabe raised one quizzical eyebrow, she said, “Have him check out both of you.”

“I’m fine,” Gabriel told her firmly. He absolutely hated being fussed over, especially when the person doing the fussing was a doctor.

With a sigh, Alma shifted the cell phone to her other hand. Leaning in, she ran the tips of two of her fingers along his bare arm. Holding up “Exhibit A” for Gabe’s perusal, she said, “Not from where I’m standing. You’ve got cuts on both your arms, big brother. You’re seeing the doctor.” There was no room for argument in her tone.

Gabe tried, anyway. “But—”

Alma leveled a pointed, silencing look at him. “You’re seeing the doctor, Gabe,” she repeated with deadly conviction, “even if I have to beat you senseless to do it.”

He laughed shortly. That was Alma. If sweet talk didn’t work, she instantly turned to verbal threats, which in turn bore fruit if necessary.

“Comforting,” he cracked.

“I wasn’t trying to be comforting,” Alma informed him crisply. “I was just trying to keep you