Page 29 of Christmas at the Ranch
The calming motion of the sled combined with the familiar scent of the dogs’ damp fur lulled Samantha into a new kind of happiness. Normally, in a situation like this, her fears of what could go wrong would consume her: she’d be bitten by a rabid dog andend up in the hospital, they’d be buried by an avalanche and no one would find them for days. Now those fears were strangely absent.
She was about to text a photo of the scenery to Charlie when the dogs started barking. Beatrix tried to quiet them. The lead dog was distracted by something in the distance. Suddenly, the sled lurched off the trail and careened down the hill.
Samantha watched anxiously as Beatrix leaned over the side and commanded the dogs to stop. They slowed and everyone sighed in relief. Then the dogs pulled free and the sled teetered and landed with a thud on its side.
Samantha brushed the snow from her jacket. She had fallen on soft snow and wasn’t hurt. The other guests stood up and dusted off their parkas and boots. Only Beatrix remained on the ground. Her ankle was bent at a strange angle.
“Are you all right?” Samantha rushed over to her.
“A rabbit crossed the path. I should have known to avoid it.” Beatrix’s voice was muffled, as if she’d swallowed a mouthful of snow. “Some Alaskan racing dogs can’t resist the smell of rabbit. It’s like giving me a whiff of Chanel’s Coco Mademoiselle.”
“It wasn’t your fault,” Samantha assured her.
She wondered if Beatrix ever had to apologize for anything in her life. If Beatrix ever got so much as a parking ticket, the traffic cop would take one look at Beatrix’s blond ponytail and full mouth and tear it up on the spot. This wasn’t the time for petty jealousies. Beatrix was injured.
Samantha reached out her hand. “Try to get up.”
Beatrix took Samantha’s hand. Her face contorted into a grimace and she fell back on the snow.
“I can’t, my ankle hurts,” she said, wincing. “I’ll have to wait until the other sled catches up.”
Beatrix had been driving so fast, Drew’s sled was far behind them. And Beatrix’s parka was completely soaked. By the time the others arrived, Beatrix would be freezing.
Samantha unzipped her parka.
“Here, put on my parka.” Samantha handed it to her. “And you can wear my gloves. Yours are ruined.”
Beatrix glanced at her gloves, as if she’d just noticed the rip in the soft, Italian leather.
“You don’t have to worry about me,” Beatrix said firmly. “Once in St. Moritz, I cross-country skied from Corvatsch to Corviglia. The trail was closed due to bad weather and by the time I arrived, I had a terrible case of frostbite. All it took was a couple of Brandy Alexanders and an hour in front of the fireplace, and I was fine.”
Samantha thought briefly that her publisher should hire Beatrix for the Extreme Sloane Parker campaign. Beatrix wasn’t afraid of anything.
But Beatrix definitely wasn’t fine now. Her voice came out in the wrong octave and she was shivering.
“You don’t sound fine and I don’t need my gloves.” Samantha pulled off her gloves. She managed a smile. “I’ll stand here and do jumping jacks until help arrives.”
By the time the other sled appeared, Samantha’s lips were blue with cold and she couldn’t feel her fingers. Someone handed her a jacket and she was bundled onto the sled. Then she closed her eyes and didn’t open them until the sled stopped in front of the ranch.
Hours later, Samantha stood in the hallway outside Beatrix’s guest room. Arthur’s doctor left and Drew came to find Samantha to tell her that Beatrix wanted to see her.
“Come in,” Beatrix instructed when Samantha knocked.
Beatrix was propped against the headboard. Samantha had somehow expected her to resemble an invalid in a 1940s movie: The heroine’s face would be perfectly made up with blond ringlets framing her cheeks like an angel. She’d be wearing some sexy silk camisole and be surrounded by bouquets of flowers sent by her admirers.
But Beatrix’s skin was pale and there was a bruise under her eye. Her hair hung limply at her shoulders and Samantha couldn’t help but notice the dark roots.
“Please sit.” Beatrix waved at an ottoman. “I wanted to thank you.”
“I didn’t do anything,” Samantha said, and shrugged. “Anyone would have given you their jacket.”
“No one else did,” Beatrix pointed out. She moved gingerly. “The doctor said it’s a nasty sprain. A day in bed, and I’ll be fine.”
“When my father sprained his ankle, my mother applied hot compresses every two hours during the night,” Samantha offered. “By the morning, the pain was almost gone.”
“Drew and I aren’t staying in the same room. Arthur is old-fashioned that way.” Beatrix colored slightly. “Actually, I’m glad.” She glanced at Samantha and her eyes seemed larger. “Drew and I are having a little communication problem. It’s nothing serious. I wondered if you could talk to him.”
“About what?” Samantha asked incredulously.
