A Christmas Message - Debbie Macomber Page 0,39

probably dreadful, or he would’ve called.

Perhaps the hospital had decided to keep Max overnight for observation. While there’d been a lot of blood involved, K.O. didn’t think any of the cuts were deep enough to require stitches. But if Max had filed a police report, that would cause problems for LaVonne and might explain Wynn’s silence. Every scenario that roared through her head pointed to trouble.

Even before she made her first cup of coffee, K.O.’s stomach was in knots. As she headed into the kitchen, she discovered a sealed envelope that had been slipped under her door.

It read:

Katherine,

I didn’t get back from the hospital until late and I was afraid you’d already gone to bed. Dad’s home and, other than being cantankerous, he’s doing fine, so don’t worry on his account. The hospital cleaned and bandaged his arm and said he’d be good as new in a week or so. Please reassure LaVonne. The cuts looked worse than they actually were.

Could you stop by my office this afternoon? I’m at the corner of Fourth and Willow, Suite 1110. Does one o’clock work for you? If you can’t fit it into your schedule, please contact my assistant and let her know. Otherwise, I’ll look forward to seeing you, then.

Wynn

Oh, she could fit it in. She could definitely fit it in. K.O. was ready to climb Mount Rainier for a chance to see Wynn. With purpose now, she showered and dressed and then, on the off chance Max might need something, she phoned Wynn’s condo.

His father answered right away, which made her wonder if he’d been sitting next to the phone waiting for a call.

“Good morning,” she said, striving to sound cheerful and upbeat—all the while hoping Max wasn’t one to hold grudges.

“Who is this?”

“It’s K.O.,” she told him, her voice faltering despite her effort to maintain a cheery tone.

He hesitated as if he needed time to place who she might be. “Oh,” he finally said. “The woman from downstairs. The woman whose friend caused me irreparable distress.” After another pause, he said, “I’m afraid I might be suffering from trauma-induced amnesia.”

“Excuse me?” K.O. was sure she’d misunderstood.

“I was attacked yesterday by a possibly rabid beast and am fortunate to be alive. I don’t remember much after that vicious animal sank its claws into my arm,” he added shakily.

K.O. closed her eyes for a moment. “I’m so sorry to hear that,” she said, going along with it. “But the hospital released you, I see.”

“Yes.” This was said with disdain; apparently, he felt the medical profession had made a serious error in judgment. “I’m on heavy pain medication.”

“Oh, dear.”

“I don’t know where my son’s gone,” he muttered fretfully.

If Wynn hadn’t told his father he was at the office, then K.O. wasn’t about to, either. She suspected Wynn had good reason to escape.

“Since you live in the building...” Max began.

“Uh...” She could see it coming. Max wanted her to sit and hold his uninjured hand for the rest of the day.

“I do, but unfortunately I’m on my way out.”

“Oh.”

It took K.O. a few more minutes to wade through the guilt he was shoveling in her direction. “I’ll drop by and check on you later,” she promised.

“Thank you,” he said, ending their conversation with a groan, a last shovelful of guilt.

K.O. hung up the phone, groaning, too. This was even worse than she’d imagined and she had a fine imagination. Max was obviously playing this incident for all it was worth. Irreparable distress. Rabid beast. Trauma-induced amnesia! Oh, brother.

Wanting to leave before Max decided to drop by, she hurried out the door and stopped at the French Café for a mocha and bran muffin. If ever she’d deserved one, it was now. At the rate her life was going, there wouldn’t be enough peppermint mochas in the world to see her through another day like yesterday.

Rather than linger as she normally did, K.O. took her drink and muffin to go and enjoyed a leisurely stroll down Blossom Street. A walk would give her exercise and clear her mind, and just then clarity was what she needed. She admired the evergreen boughs and garlands decorating the storefronts, and the inventive variations on Christmas themes in every window. The weather remained unseasonably cold with a chance of snow flurries. In December Seattle was usually in the grip of gloomy winter rains, but that hadn’t happened yet this year. The sky was already a clear blue with puffy clouds scattered about.

By the time she’d finished her peppermint mocha,

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