Read Online A Very Special Delivery by Linda Goodnight - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Linda Goodnight
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pinch, I can commandeer a snow plow.”
They both smiled at his silliness.
He was so incredibly brave and she was such a coward.
“Well, you’re right. We can’t hold out much longer. And you
have to be as sick as I am of washing dish towels by hand every day.”
Laney had long since used her last diaper
and Molly had
appropriated soft dish towels and safety pins as replacements. Ethan called her
pioneer woman, but the task of melting and boiling ice, washing the towels and
hanging them to dry in front of the fireplace had grown tiresome in a hurry.
Elbows on the tabletop, she sipped at her coffee, savoring the
strong, hearty brew. Thanks to the supplies she’d bought when the storm was
first predicted neither she nor Ethan had wanted for food. But now the most
fragile member of their party was running short of formula.
“It’s still so cold out there, Ethan.”
“Yeah. But I’ll be fine as long as I know you girls are safe
and snug here.” He rubbed at the scar over his eye, a reminder of how stark and
white it had looked that first night when he’d almost frozen. She didn’t want
that to happen again. “Before I take off, I’ll bring in another stack of
firewood.”
Molly pushed aside her empty plate, took one last sip of coffee
and stood. “I’ll do it. I think there may be another lamp in the cellar. I want
to bring that up.”
The candles and kerosene were running precariously low and if
by some chance she was forced to be alone with Laney after dark, she needed
light more than ever.
Before Ethan could insist on going in her place, she threw on a
coat and gloves and hurried outside.
Chin tucked into the fleece-lined parka, Molly scooted through
the teeth-aching weather to Aunt Patsy’s storm cellar. At least here, on the
south side of the house, the wind was blocked.
Ice crusts sealed the heavy cellar door. After several minutes
of stomping and pounding, they gave way and Molly entered the dim shelter.
At the top of the steps, she shoved aside an old spider web
with the elbow of her jacket and hoped a black widow wasn’t waiting to seek
revenge for the destruction of her home. Inside the cellar proper, she felt
along the wall until her eyes adjusted to the darkness.
Winter or summer the old concrete storm shelter smelled the
same—like a mixture of gym socks and pickle juice. She wrinkled her nose against
the smell.
“There you are.” On a shelf lining the far wall sat a
green-globed hurricane lamp along with a collection of empty fruit jars, a blue
speckled canner, and a pair of dry and withered gardening gloves. An ax and a
shovel stood in one corner next to the folding camp chairs and a moldy tent.
She knew people who hated the inside of a storm shelter, but
she’d never been one of them. She didn’t love the close underground confines,
but she wasn’t afraid either. There was only one thing that truly frightened
Molly McCreight. One irrational fear that controlled her life. And she’d give
anything to have a phobia for cellars or crawly creatures, instead of tiny,
beautiful babies.
She lifted the lamp down, gave it a gentle shake, and heard
with satisfaction the slosh of much-needed kerosene. This was enough to keep her
and Laney illuminated until Ethan returned.
As she started to leave Molly realized that Ethan would need
the shovel. She took it from the corner and started back up the narrow, sloping
stairs.
She was four steps up when the shovel caught
on the
door’s tie-down chain and tipped sideways, knocking the lantern globe askew.
Hands full, Molly tried to catch the teetering globe with her shoulder, lost her
balance, and stumbled on the falling shovel.
The shovel clattered, the globe shattered and the base of the
lamp flew out of her hands. Molly thrust both arms in front her…and crashed down
onto the concrete steps and broken glass.
Molly lay prostrate for several stunned seconds. Her hands,
knees and shins smarted from contact with the concrete. Her head spun
They both smiled at his silliness.
He was so incredibly brave and she was such a coward.
“Well, you’re right. We can’t hold out much longer. And you
have to be as sick as I am of washing dish towels by hand every day.”
Laney had long since used her last diaper
and Molly had
appropriated soft dish towels and safety pins as replacements. Ethan called her
pioneer woman, but the task of melting and boiling ice, washing the towels and
hanging them to dry in front of the fireplace had grown tiresome in a hurry.
Elbows on the tabletop, she sipped at her coffee, savoring the
strong, hearty brew. Thanks to the supplies she’d bought when the storm was
first predicted neither she nor Ethan had wanted for food. But now the most
fragile member of their party was running short of formula.
“It’s still so cold out there, Ethan.”
“Yeah. But I’ll be fine as long as I know you girls are safe
and snug here.” He rubbed at the scar over his eye, a reminder of how stark and
white it had looked that first night when he’d almost frozen. She didn’t want
that to happen again. “Before I take off, I’ll bring in another stack of
firewood.”
Molly pushed aside her empty plate, took one last sip of coffee
and stood. “I’ll do it. I think there may be another lamp in the cellar. I want
to bring that up.”
The candles and kerosene were running precariously low and if
by some chance she was forced to be alone with Laney after dark, she needed
light more than ever.
Before Ethan could insist on going in her place, she threw on a
coat and gloves and hurried outside.
Chin tucked into the fleece-lined parka, Molly scooted through
the teeth-aching weather to Aunt Patsy’s storm cellar. At least here, on the
south side of the house, the wind was blocked.
Ice crusts sealed the heavy cellar door. After several minutes
of stomping and pounding, they gave way and Molly entered the dim shelter.
At the top of the steps, she shoved aside an old spider web
with the elbow of her jacket and hoped a black widow wasn’t waiting to seek
revenge for the destruction of her home. Inside the cellar proper, she felt
along the wall until her eyes adjusted to the darkness.
Winter or summer the old concrete storm shelter smelled the
same—like a mixture of gym socks and pickle juice. She wrinkled her nose against
the smell.
“There you are.” On a shelf lining the far wall sat a
green-globed hurricane lamp along with a collection of empty fruit jars, a blue
speckled canner, and a pair of dry and withered gardening gloves. An ax and a
shovel stood in one corner next to the folding camp chairs and a moldy tent.
She knew people who hated the inside of a storm shelter, but
she’d never been one of them. She didn’t love the close underground confines,
but she wasn’t afraid either. There was only one thing that truly frightened
Molly McCreight. One irrational fear that controlled her life. And she’d give
anything to have a phobia for cellars or crawly creatures, instead of tiny,
beautiful babies.
She lifted the lamp down, gave it a gentle shake, and heard
with satisfaction the slosh of much-needed kerosene. This was enough to keep her
and Laney illuminated until Ethan returned.
As she started to leave Molly realized that Ethan would need
the shovel. She took it from the corner and started back up the narrow, sloping
stairs.
She was four steps up when the shovel caught
on the
door’s tie-down chain and tipped sideways, knocking the lantern globe askew.
Hands full, Molly tried to catch the teetering globe with her shoulder, lost her
balance, and stumbled on the falling shovel.
The shovel clattered, the globe shattered and the base of the
lamp flew out of her hands. Molly thrust both arms in front her…and crashed down
onto the concrete steps and broken glass.
Molly lay prostrate for several stunned seconds. Her hands,
knees and shins smarted from contact with the concrete. Her head spun
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