Bring Me Home for Christmas

weight.”
    “Come on, gimme,” he said, grabbing the suitcase out of her hand.
    He nearly toppled down the stairs. It weighed a ton. “Jesus,” he swore. “What have you got in this thing?”
    “Clothes. Warm clothes. A couple of jackets. Boots.”
    “And bricks?”
    “I was doing fine,” she said. “Let me have it.”
    “No, I’ve got it,” he insisted. He winced as he hefted it, but he was not about to pull it up on its wheels, one step at a time, as she had been doing.
    She skipped up the stairs ahead of him, getting out of his way, and waited at the top. “Thank you, Denny,” she said. “Very thoughtful.”
    He opened the door.
    “Oh.” She laughed. “I was waiting for you to unlock it.”
    “Hardly anything is locked around here.” He flipped on the light just inside the door and dropped her bag.
    Denny went to the trunk at the foot of his bed and pulled out a military duffel. He went to the bathroom and got his shaving kit. While he was in there, he pulled out a clean towel for Becca, tossing his towel from the morning into the hamper. When he came out of the bathroom, she was standing in the middle of the room, checking it out. “There are clean sheets under the sink in the bathroom,” he said.
    She looked around the room with interest. “This is very…cute.”
    The bedspread was floral, the upholstery on the chair and ottoman was striped with some birds on it, the curtains yellow-and-white striped. The walls were yellow with white trim. “Mrs. Fitch decorated this room. She offered to butch it up a little but I told her not to bother. I’ve been looking around for something a little more…permanent. Larger.”
    “Permanent?” she asked.
    “That’s right,” he said, opening the chest of drawers to find his thermal underwear. It was going to be cold, wet and miserable at 4:00 a.m.
    “Rich said you were planning to stay here awhile.”
    “A long while,” he said. “I like it here.” He shoved the shaving kit, underwear, jeans and sweat shirt into the bag.
    “You’re not coming back to San Diego?” she asked.
    He gave a shrug. “What for?” he asked.
    “Won’t you miss it? The sunshine and beach and wonderful weather?”
    The look that came into his eyes was unmistakably sad. “There’s a lot about San Diego I’ll miss, Becca. But not the beach or the weather.” He hefted the bag over one shoulder and grabbed the twelve-gauge shotgun that leaned up against the wall.
    “Really, Denny? You’d never come back?”
    “What would I go back to San Diego for? We’re meeting at 4:00 a.m. at the bar tomorrow, Becca. Don’t make us wait for you. Dress in camouflage. You brought camouflage, right?”
    “Right,” she said.
    “See you in the morning,” he said, going out the door.
    “Whew,” she said when the door closed. This was a bad idea. He hates me! Her next thought was, If I hadn’t come up here, I’d never have seen him again!
    After brushing her teeth, washing her face and putting on some warm pajamas, she crawled into bed. She hadn’t bothered with the clean sheets, but she should have. She caught Denny’s scent on the linens and she remembered it far too distinctly. It was that perfect combination from both of them—her flowery scent combined with his masculine musk. It was so long ago she was astonished she could still summon it in her mind, but it came back to her effortlessly.
    A tear escaped. They’re going to come after me with a net, she thought. What if she was still in love with him? And he hated her? How the hell was she going to have a life?
    This is going to be torture, she thought. Pure torture.

    Denny and Rich were all ready at the bar at 4:00 a.m. when Troy and Dirk arrived. Denny had Jack’s decoys and a duck boat in the back of Big Richie’s truck, a couple of thermoses of coffee and a box of sandwiches Preacher had gotten ready the night before.
    “Jack’s from Sacramento and did a lot of hunting around there with his dad. He says you’re going to find it even better up here,” he told Troy and Dirk. “Colder, but better. He and Preacher prefer deer hunting, but they go out for a little fowl sometimes, so he showed me a great blind back in Trinity, not too far from here. You can follow us. We’re going to meet one of the neighbors out there—Muriel St. Claire. She’s a big waterfowl hunter and she’s bringing at least one of her dogs. Where’s Becca?”
    “Right here,” she said from behind them.
    He turned to look at