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She didn’t confess that her family wouldn’t be the slightest bit concerned. He didn’t need to hear her story, and she certainly didn’t want to tell it.
“Mabel has an impressive selection of books.” Jason reached down and removed a couple from the shelf below the window seat. “I love the way the window seat is also bookshelves. It’s clever.”
Grateful that he was keeping the conversation neutral, she dutifully studied the bookshelves. There were thin layers of dust along the edges, as if no one had removed a book for a long time.
“At least we won’t be short of reading if we’re snowed in for a while. It will be a good way to fill the time.”
“Yes. And finally, we’ll have time to talk.”
Panic rose inside her.
Get out, Izzy. Get out now.
“I’d better go downstairs and see if I can help Mabel.”
“Izzy—”
She fled to the door. “Can you imagine how she must feel about this invasion of strangers? It must be overwhelming. Poor thing. Brooke has the girls to look after so I need to give Mabel all the help I can, starting right now.”
“Izzy.” His voice was firmer this time. “We really need to—”
“If you want to help, you can make up the bed and put some blankets on the window seat,” she said, dragging the door open so violently she almost removed the handle.
Maybe this wasn’t going to be as easy and dreamy as she’d first thought.
12
Brooke
Brooke approached the task of making up the beds with grim determination. It was good to have something practical to do. It stopped her thinking about the fact that her Christmas was going to be spent in this place that didn’t even show a hint of the season. Grateful though she was to Mabel, it didn’t change the fact that Christmas had effectively been cancelled.
And then there was her mother.
She closed her eyes briefly. Her mother. She’d be so worried.
She’d be calling and worrying when she didn’t get an answer. She’d be imagining Brooke, her only daughter, freezing to death in a snowdrift. She’d probably be calling all the hospitals.
Brooke hoped her father would provide the voice of reason. The news was reporting that power lines were down and the roads were impassable in many places so hopefully, they’d assume she’d taken shelter.
Brooke grabbed a sheet and made up a bed with a speed that had Matt raising his eyebrows.
“Ever think of running a B & B?”
“No.” She tucked the sheet in. “Never. I’m doing this because I’m stressed, and activity is supposed to reduce stress levels.”
“And how is that working out for you?”
“So far, it’s not.” She smoothed the sheet briskly and glanced over her shoulder at Poppy, who had crashed out asleep on the unmade bed, her thumb in her mouth. “I can’t believe she has fallen asleep without Not-A-Cat. That’s a first. She must be exhausted. Tuck a blanket around her, Matt. We can make that bed up later.”
He gently snuggled Poppy under a blanket. She didn’t stir. “Is it wise to let her sleep again? She won’t sleep tonight.”
Brooke started on the pillows. “Let her have a short nap.”
“I’m sorry about all this,” he said. “I know how much you wanted to get home to your parents.”
“They’ll be worried, and I hate that.” She clutched a pillow to her chest. “And you know my mother—she’s not very flexible about arrangements. She has a plan, and she wants to stick to it, and when things don’t go the way they’re supposed to—” She listened to her own words and felt a lurch of horror.
Matt frowned. “What?”
