Matt smiled. “High praise. Thank you.”
MJ reached up and touched his face, letting the truth rise without fighting it. “I love you.”
His breath caught, like the words hit someplace deep. Just as he lowered his head to kiss her, they heard a loud, high-pitched scream that cut through the hushed night.
MJ gasped. “What was that?”
They both rushed to the window, looking down to see Cabin Four lit up with every possible light, the front door gaping open.
“Help! Help me!” a woman screamed.
Not any woman—Bianca.
That woman could ruin anything—including MJ’s best moment in many years.
Without saying a word, they both rushed to the door. MJ grabbed her phone on the way, instinct telling her to call Gracie.
Gracie woke to the sound of her phone buzzing against the nightstand, a persistent, vibrating rattle that yanked her straight up through layers of sleep. She blinked at the dark room, disoriented, and fumbled for the phone, squinting at the screen.
Mom
Her stomach dropped. No one called at—what was it, four-thirty?—on Christmas morning unless there was a big, fat problem.
She swiped. “What’s wrong?”
MJ’s voice came in a breathless whisper. “Bianca’s screaming outside. Like—screaming. Matt and I are going out now.”
Gracie bolted upright. “What? Why?”
“I don’t know but she’s yelling for help. I thought you’d want to know.” MJ hung up before Gracie could say anything else…like why she was with Matt at this hour?
Pushing that thought away, she launched out of bed and grabbed the sweatshirt draped over a chair. She yanked it over her pajama top, found sweats and socks, jumping around the dark room to hastily dress.
Bianca screaming for help outside the lodge? What in the world?—
Halfway in her second sock, the fog of sleep cleared in a rush as a horrifying possibility flashed through her mind.
Bigfoot.
They wouldn’t have! They couldn’t have!
But this was Benny and Red and nothing—not any homemade, wildly misguided, slightly ridiculous, and possibly dangerous escapade—was out of the question.
She could actually hear her son cook up an idea like that.
I know, Grandpa! What if we scare her so bad she leaves Utah forever? Like, Bigfoot-level scare.
“Oh, no. No, no, no—pleaseno.”
She hurried into the hallway, pausing in the glow of the nightlight that made sure both Benny and Red could find their way to the bathroom in the middle of the night. They slept across the hall from each other, at the end in the back of the rambling old house.
Both of their doors were closed and no light seeped out from under either one.
Could they have snuck out to pretend to be Bigfoot? Again, with this duo, anything was possible.
With a gut-sick feeling, she marched to Red’s door, pressing her ear against the wood, hoping to hear his loud and distinctive snore. Nothing. She twisted the knob and flung it open.
Red shot up in bed like he’d been launched from a toaster, his white beard bushy, his eyes cloudy but fearful.
