Up the Chimney Page 12

  “Good, sweetheart. You’re doing so great.” His hands had swept to her waist.

  “Don’t close the door after I get in,” she ordered. “I’ll decide when I’m ready.” She climbed onto the driver’s seat and started the Land Rover. After sitting in one spot for over a week, the engine ground a little before it jumped to life. She buckled her seatbelt and glanced at Mason, who had made a couple steps backward, his hands in his pockets. His smile was one of pride and he dipped his head in silent reassurance.

  She closed her door and backed out of the parking spot. He’d allowed her to be resilient in her own way. Through his encouragement, he’d made her feel confident and strong. Her shoulders square, she drove to the store more in love with him than she thought possible.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Ciera was getting ready for her first day back at work. Her stitches were starting to itch and she’d get them out two days before Christmas. That couldn’t come fast enough. She stood in front of the mirror, applying her eye make-up, hoping to hide the yellowing bruises. My period is late. Did the stress of the attack really throw me off schedule?

  That was the excuse she gave Mason every time he asked if she’d gotten her period yet. Since he’d started sleeping with his palm spread protectively over her abdomen, she suspected he didn’t believe her lame excuse.

  Mason in all his naked hunkiness lay in the bed, playing with Gabby. He’d been here every night since her attack.

  “Now that I’m returning to work, are you moving back to your condo?” She chose a pair of boots to wear from her line of footwear on the closet floor.

  “Are you tossing me out?”

  “No. I feel like I’ve disrupted your life. I’m back to normal.” She bent to kiss him. “You need to get back to your normal life, too.” But she wasn’t back to normal. Her period was two days late.

  “Actually, this feels pretty normal to me. The three of us. You, me, and Gabby.” His chocolate eyes rose to lock on hers. “It’s almost the holidays. What if I stayed on through the New Year?”

  Warmth flooded her. He wanted to stay a little longer. “That sounds great to me.”

  “I meant what I said over dinner last night, baby. I’m not hiding our relationship at work. We’ll have to drive separate vehicles because of our shift hours, but I want everyone to know you’re mine.” He hooked his arm around her neck and brought her to him for a major, sock-melting kiss.

  Darla was already in her chair when Ciera walked in. Both Juanita and Darla squealed a welcome and hugged her. “It’s so great to see the two of you. I feel as if I’ve been gone two months.”

  “You must have been shopping while you were off.” Darla ran a hand down the sleeve of Ciera’s new red coat. “This is beautiful.”

  “Mason bought it for me. My black one had a knife cut and blood on it.”

  “Mason?” Darla’s eyebrows shot to her hairline. “Why?”

  “Because he’s crazy in love with her,” Juanita chimed in. She reached in the locker for her coat. “Ladies, you have a good day. I’m off to dreamland.”

  Ciera hung up her coat and scarf before turning to face Darla. “How are things going with you and Chase?”

  “We broke up. He was too possessive. I’m confused. Are you and Mason…like…a thing?”

  “Yes, we are. He’s been staying at my house, playing nursemaid. My cat’s adopted him.” Ciera laughed. “He makes me so happy. I’m sorry to hear about you and Chase.”

  Darla shrugged. “He didn’t understand my friendly nature. He always read more into the things I did than he needed to. I mean, what’s wrong with hugging a friend whenever you see him?” She gave Ciera a slow once over. “I must say you aren’t Mason’s typical type. He like stilettoes and sexy flash.”

  Talk about a backhanded insult.

  What the hell? Darla’s feelings were probably hurt. She operated on the belief that every man who worked in the building belonged to her. Not Mason, though. Ciera would fight for her hero.

  She’d just finished a 911 call when she inhaled familiar cologne and smiled. A Starbucks cup and bag were plunked next to her. “Hey, love.” Warm lips kissed below her ear. Large hands swept down her arms until they rested over hers. “I missed you after you left. I brought you some breakfast. Broccoli quiche you’ll have to heat in the microwave.”

  “I’m going on break.” Darla stood.

  “You’ll be back in ten, though, right?” Mason glared at her.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Ciera’s still recuperating. This is her first day back. You can’t expect her to man the center while you take you usual hour-flirt-break.” He glanced at his watch as if he was going to time her.

  Darla’s face was a mass of red blotches when she stormed out, muttering under her breath.

  Four days later, Ciera got her stitches out. On her way home, she stopped at a pharmacy and bought three home pregnancy tests because her period was now six days late. Or was it seven? Her nerves were fraying. She wanted Mason to stay with her because of her, not because of a baby.

  When the phone rang late at night, Ciera rolled over, burrowed deeper into her comforter, and decided not to answer. It was Christmas Eve and she needed to feel better to join Mason and his family for their Christmas celebration.

  With Ciera’s banger headache, she couldn’t deal with talking to anyone. Mason knew how bad she felt. It wouldn’t be him. She could barely keep her eyes from crossing and the contents of her stomach down. Yes, the “Grinch Migraine” had come to wrap its vice-like claws around her head to steal part of her Christmas joy.

  Soon after her cell stopped ringing, it began again. She was about to pull the quilt over her head when she heard someone yelling. Her heart tattooed a rapid beat against her chest. Who was in her house?

  “Answer your damn phone!”

  This had to be a nightmare. Ciera fumbled for her cell and swiped the screen. “What?” She tried reading the caller ID with blurry eyes and blinked.

  “I’m stuck in your chimney.” The man gave an embarrassed laugh. “Could you come, grab my boots, and pull me down?”

  “My…my chimney? Who are you?” She opened the drawer to her nightstand and pulled out her .32 revolver. A woman alone could never be too careful.

  “I don’t suppose you’d believe me if I said I was Santa Claus.”

  Ciera shoved the covers off and jammed her feet into her furry puppy bedroom slippers. “Do I sound like an idiot? And speaking of sounds, the next one you’re about to hear is me shooting a hole in your backside. Then, I’m hanging up and calling the police.” She ended the call and shoved her arms into her old pink terrycloth robe, slipping the phone into a pocket.

  She took long, deep breaths to calm her rapid breathing as she slowly turned the doorknob leading to the hallway. She hadn’t had a flashback of her knife-wielding attacker since that day in the parking lot. So she dug deep for strength. Seeing no shadows in the darkness, she began the slow journey to her living room, the revolver gripped in her hand. After all, this “being stuck in her chimney story” could just be a ruse.

  She made a stop at the linen closet, quietly opened the door, and removed the flashlight. The house seemed empty. No unfamiliar noises. Maybe it was all a joke. Someone with too much eggnog making random calls, thinking he was funny.

  Still, she shuffled to the brick fireplace and aimed the flashlight’s beam up her chimney only to see two boots dangling. One pivot had her back flush against the bricks and her hand coiled tighter around the gun. Holy hell! There really is a guy up there.

  She tossed the flashlight on her recliner, turned on a lamp, and with both hands wrapped around the revolver peered up her chimney again. Why would the robber use this way to enter her house? Why not pry open one of her doors? Boy, the criminals get dumber every year.

  “What did you plan on doing by breaking into my home through the chimney? Why not use forced entry on one of my doors or break a window like any self-respecting criminal
?”

  “Because I’m not a criminal! The voice sputtered as if it had a mouth full of cotton. “Baby, it’s me, Mason.”

  “Mason? My Mason?”

  Ciera picked her flashlight off the chair and aimed the beam up the chimney. “No, you’re not Mason. You don’t have his ass. And if anyone would recognize his behind, it would be me.” She turned off the flashlight and flung it onto the recliner again. “I’m asking you one more time. Who the hell are you and why are you stuck in my chimney?”

  “Come on, Ciera. It’s a Christmas Eve tradition I do. I go to my parents and stuff their stockings. Then I go to my sister’s and leave presents for her and the kids. Eva Marie doesn’t have a fireplace. She leaves her front door key under the mat so I can unlock the door and walk in. The kids are always peeking around the corner, and mayhem breaks out. They know it’s me and they beat the crap out of their Uncle Mason while he empties his bag of presents. I told you all about this.”

  He had. In fact, he’d wanted her to go along, but she hadn’t felt up to it. “Okay. So that still doesn’t explain why you’re stuck in my chimney.”

  “Are you or aren’t you going to help me down?” He was using his officer voice now.

  Well, she knew how to toss down some attitude, too. “I’m going to make a pot of coffee. Obviously, it’s going to take you awhile to come up with a likely excuse as to how you got yourself into this hell of a mess.” She stepped back.

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake! A guy can never catch a break with you, can he? I have a stocking full of gifts for you and one for Gabby. I was going to hang them on your mantle and then yell ‘Ho, ho, ho’ to wake you up.”

  Now, wasn’t that the sweetest gesture? She rushed the couple steps to the fireplace. Her one puppy slipper got tangled on the edge of the brick of the hearth. She fell into the firebox, and her gun went off.

  “You shot me in the ass! I’m trying to romance you and you shoot me? What kind of woman does that?”

  “I didn’t mean to, Mason. I fell. Are you okay?”

  “Would you be okay with a bullet in your ass?”

  She wiped the blood from her forehead with the sleeve of her pink robe. Evidently she’d scraped it pretty hard against the bricks when she tripped. White feathers drifted over her, and she blew them off her face.

  “Mason, are you padded with pillows?”

  “Some. The Santa suit I rented was too big. Could you stop talking about my ass and get me the fuck out of here? Please?”

  Then Ciera noticed the falling feathers were increasingly covered with blood. Oh hell, she had hit him. “I’m going for my stepstool so I can reach your boots.” She slid out of the fire box and stood, the room swaying just a bit. “Don’t go anywhere. I’ll be right back.”

  “So help me, God, when I get my hands on you…”

  “You need classes in anger management, hero.” She stumbled for a few steps and then straightened herself. Returning with her folding stepstool, she reached the top step, stood on her tiptoes, and reached his toes. She pulled and tugged. “It’s no good. I can’t get a good enough grip. I’m too short.”

  He didn’t respond, A whooshing sound of sheer fear roared through her head. Was he unconscious? “Let’s sing some Christmas songs, shall we?” She began her off-tune singing of “Here Comes Santa Claus.” There was a faint groan and an uncalled for remark about her not giving up her day job. This man needed medical care and fast. Her hand shook when she fished in her robe’s pocket for her cell phone and dialed a number.

  “Nine-one-one. What’s your emergency?”

  “Larry? It’s Ciera Parker. I have an officer down.” She glanced at the pile of ever-increasing feathers. “Or, officer up situation. A detective is stuck in my chimney.”

  “A detective? As in police detective? In your chimney? Uh-huh.” The suspicion in his voice made her feel as if he thought she’d been drinking her Christmas cheer.

  “Yes! It’s Mason, Larry. He’s stuck up my chimney, dressed like Santa, and I shot him in the ass. He had a cushion shoved in his suit, so I don’t know how badly he’s wounded, but the feathers are getting redder. I can’t reach his boots to…”

  Larry’s boisterous laughter caused her to jerk the phone a few inches away from her ear. “Are…are you fucking telling me you’ve shot our hotshot…pardon the pun…ahahaha…detective in the backside of the body he spends hours in the weight room keeping in shape? Bwahahaha. Little ole you?”

  “Tell that blowhard not to put you down, baby.” A voice bellowed behind her and she jumped. She’d feared Mason was unconscious. “Obviously, there’s nothing wrong with your aim. It figures, doesn’t it? Three years on the force, building up my reputation and one Santa suit ruins it all. I’ll never live this down.”

  She hadn’t expected Mason to rise to her defense like that with her bullet lodged in his cute backside. “Look, Larry, I have an actual emergency! I need an ambulance and emergency crew sent to four-twenty-nine Rainbow Road to help pull this overstuffed Santa out of my chimney. Now!” She ended the call.

  “If I don’t hear sirens in ten minutes, I’m calling Larry-the-Giggler back and I won’t be very nice.” Ciera peered up the chimney. “How is your pain level?”

  “On a scale of one to ten?” he barked. “Twelve.”

  He sounded livid, which worried Ciera. “I thought since you stood up for me, you weren’t angry at me.”

  “Oh, I’m angry all right, but no one gets to growl you, except for me. To be truthful, I’m more upset with myself. I should have come in the door and hung the stockings. I don’t know what possessed me to try this dumbass idea. I wanted tonight to be extra special. Memorable. Guess I wasn’t thinking straight. I was so eager to propose.”

  She wiped her bleeding forehead again. “Pro…propose? Like marriage?”

  “I’ve got the ring in your stocking, baby.”

  Sirens pierced the silence of the night. She rushed to open her front door and turn on her outside lights. “Help is here, Mason.”

  “Wait! What are you wearing?”

  She pivoted toward her fireplace. “What? What difference does it make?”

  “Is it something sexy? Like that black number you wore for me the other night?”

  Ciera’s jaw dropped. Maybe the bullet had lodged in his brain instead of his buns. An ambulance sat in her driveway, cop cars were careening in from every direction, and Detective Santa wanted to get kinky?

  EMT’s jogged up her sidewalk, equipment in hand. A few lights snapped on in the vicinity of her house. Some neighbors’ questioning voices filtered through the air. She stepped away from the door and pointed to the feather-covered hearth. “He’s up there.”

  Six or seven policemen filled her small living room, each one firing off questions as to why she’d shot an officer. Did she realize the trouble she was in? Her head snapped from one cop to another as she tried to answer their many questions. Yet, her gaze kept sliding toward her fireplace. How was Mason?

  After checking her chimney, one EMT ran for a short stepladder. In a matter of minutes amid much groaning and cussing, the EMTs had Mason flat on the stretcher on his stomach. One cut away the red soaked Santa pants and extricated the pillow while the other EMT checked Mason’s vitals.

  His soot covered beard and mustache were now an impromptu wig. Ciera kneeled in front of the gurney. “I’m going to take off your beard. Tell me if I hurt you.” He grunted and she pulled on the ruined whiskers. “Mason, I’m so sorry. It was an accident.”

  “What happened to your forehead?” His face wrinkled in concern.

  “I tripped over the bricks at the hearth.” She stood and lifted her foot to show him her puppy bedroom slippers. “Dumb slippers. I lost my balance, fell into the area you put the logs, hit my head on the bricks and that’s when the gun went off.”

  The policeman who’d taken charge of the nerve-wracking interrogation stepped between her and Mason. “You want to tell me what happened here, Detective?”


  “An accident, pure and simple. She’s a woman who lives alone. The gun is registered. Hell, I taught her how to shoot it. She tripped over the hearth and it went off. An accident. No charges are to be filed against her. Do I make myself clear? Besides, I’m proposing to her tonight.” Mason reached for her with his hand and she took it. The officer shot a glance between the two, shook his head, and escorted the rest of the policemen out.

  “Thanks for sticking up for me.”

  Mason grinned. “This will be some story to tell our kids, won’t it?”

  “The bullet’s not too deep, detective. Want me to dig it out and put some butterfly stitches on it? The pillow absorbed most of the bullet’s damage.”

  “Have at it. I’d really rather not make a trip to the emergency room on Christmas Eve. I have other plans for tonight.” He waved the red stocking, dirty from the chimney, at Ciera. Gabby’s stocking was green with a black felt cat on it. “Oh, medic, Ms. Parker needs some medical attention. She hit her head pretty hard on the fireplace.”

  The second medic cleaned her forehead and applied a bandage over the grazed area. When he asked if she’d had any dizzy spells, she lied. She didn’t want to go to the hospital either. If she had a slight concussion, she’d just rest for a few days.

  A strong hand cupped the back of her bed-mussed hair and brought her cheek next to his. He kissed her below the ear in her delightfully sensitive spot he knew all too well. “What a pair we are. I gave you a dirty stocking and you gave me a slug in the ass.”

  “Yes, we are quite the pair, hero. I’m going to get you a pair of pajama bottoms. Want a t-shirt, too?”

  “No, just the sleep pants.” Gabby hopped onto Mason’s back and did her kneading thing to his hair. “Cat, for fuck’s sake!” The medics laughed and continued repairing the damage to Mason’s ass.

  Ciera took those moments to lock herself into the bathroom and take the third pregnancy test. Like the previous two, it was positive. She carried it to the bedroom and wrapped it in the piece of wrapping paper she’d cut special for the occasion. After she taped it shut, she slipped it under the ribbon around a book she’d bought him. She carried a pair of plaid sleep pants to the living room. The medics were packing their gear and Mason stood, the raggedy ass blown out of his Santa suit. She did her best not to laugh.