Bring Me Home for Christmas

just send Rich in the morning. Didn’t I tell you that?”
    “Well, you said I could send Rich. You said I didn’t have to come back, but I wanted to. Just in case. Is it terrible? The ankle?”
    “I think the pain shot’s wearing off. Did you tell Rich what happened?”
    “Sort of. I didn’t exactly tell him I figure it was my fault for pissing you off. He said your mother is going to kill him for letting that happen to you and I told him you didn’t want him to call your folks. He said you probably didn’t want to ruin their trip to Mexico, since you’re okay.”
    “My mother,” she said with a groan. “Oh, man…”
    “What?”
    “I didn’t tell my mother I was coming up here.”
    “You didn’t? Why not?”
    “I didn’t want to deal with her,” she said, and winced.
    He tilted his head. “Because…?”
    “Because she adores Doug. Because she wouldn’t have approved of me going on a hunting trip with a bunch of guys that included you, even if Rich was part of the group.”
    “Aw, Becca…”
    She laughed a little bit. “Well, I’m old enough to make my own travel plans. Right? Maybe I’ll just explain when I get home….”
    “I could’ve told him you wanted him here, but I didn’t,” Denny said. “He’s planning to play poker tonight and hunt tomorrow, anyway….”
    “Good old Rich. He means well, but he can be clueless. Loveable, but clueless.”
    Denny sat on the edge of her bed. He touched the ice pack. “You need a new one—this is almost warm. Can I look?”
    “Knock yourself out,” she invited. “There’s nothing to see.”
    He lifted the dead ice pack. “Nice bandage,” he said optimistically.
    “It’s a splint,” she said. “It’s gauze, plaster and an ACE wrap. They’ll take it off to remove the stitches in about ten days.”
    “Jeez, Becca.” He carefully put the useless ice pack back on her raised, ace-wrapped ankle. “Listen, can I ask you something?”
    She gave a shrug. “What?”
    “Did you really have a desire to go hunting?”
    “Oh, gimme a break,” she said. “What do you really want to ask me? Like, did I come up here to see you?”
    “Okay, maybe that crossed my mind. Did you?”
    “Not exactly,” she said. “Here’s the deal. Rich started talking about this guy-trip a few weeks ago—he was so jazzed. Then I lost my job. Then I thought, what the heck, I’ve never done anything like hunting but I have handled a shotgun and like shooting skeet. But I knew if I asked Rich, he’d tell me no. And if I even mentioned it to my mother, she’d freak out—she is in love with Doug. So I planned to give Rich no time to refuse.”
    “And Rich agreed?” he asked.
    “I didn’t give him much choice. And honestly, I thought maybe enough time had passed that maybe we could at least be friendly toward each other. For all I knew, you were with someone now. Then when I saw how mad you were that I’d shown up, I started thinking something else.”
    “Something else?”
    “Yeah, Denny. Something like maybe we’d better get this settled between us and move on. You and Rich are good friends. We’re going to bump into each other sometimes. We broke up angry, too angry to even be friends. I don’t know about you, but I’m twenty-five and not interested in carrying around grudges till I’m forty-five. I just want to be happy. It didn’t work out for us, that’s the way it goes, let’s at least be friends and get on with life.”
    “We might need a little practice at that—you have a broken ankle because we weren’t getting on with life real well.”
    “Yes, and it’s midnight and my pain shot is wearing off and it hurts like hell. And I have to go to the bathroom.”
    Even in the dim light of the room, Becca could see him pale and it almost made her smile, pain and all. Ha-ha, Denny! Bet you didn’t think I’d need something like that!
    “Okay,” he said bravely. “Do I carry you to the bathroom or do I get a bedpan? What should I do?”
    She gave him a small, tolerant half smile. “You get the nurse. I need something for the pain and a little help with the bathroom.”
    He looked so relieved, and he let out his breath slowly. “Okay. Be right back.”
    “You might want to hurry,” she advised.
    “Right,” he said, heading out the door.
    Very interesting, Becca thought. He’s either sleeping in the chair out of guilt or a feeling of obligation or interest. She would undoubtedly find out which before too long. What she