CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
Amber~
Rhonda was chatting with the guy from FedEx when Amber came out of the restroom. The administrative assistant told him goodbye and waved her over.
“It’s for you.” Rhonda’s face was alight with glee.
Amber eyed the huge box on the counter warily. “For me?” She hadn’t ordered anything. What could it be? There had to be some mistake. “Where’s it from?”
“Cherry Creek,” Rhonda said smugly. “You’ve gone up in the world.”
“Who or what the heck is Cherry Creek?”
“Just the fanciest shopping center in Denver,” Rhonda crowed. “I’ll bet your sister has sent you a present.”
“Maybe. But it’s not my birthday or anything.” She and Heather weren’t in the habit of giving each other expensive presents for no reason. Of course, now that Heather had married money, maybe she was getting into impulse purchases. And there had been those over-the-top ostrich skin boots at Christmas.
“Go on. Open it up,” Rhonda urged.
Amber shook the package. It was moderately heavy. Didn’t rattle or tick. Probably not a bomb or a snake shifter. She took out her penknife and slit the packing tape. There were two more sealed cardboard boxes inside the first one. She pulled them out and stacked them on the counter.
Rhonda’s eyes were sparkling. “Are you this slow at Christmastime?” the older woman teased.
“Probably.” She and Heather usually tried to drag out opening their presents, seeing as they only ever had one each. Although last Christmas had been a little different. Heather had gone crazy buying her twin treats.
Amber slit open the smaller box. Lifted the lid. Took out half a roomful of bubble packing and found a long, slender dark-green box with silver scroll-work on the lid. Opened that. Silver tissue sealed with a silver horseshoe concealed the contents. Underneath was a pair of heavy red leather gloves.
“Ooh,” squealed Rhonda. “Try them on.”
There was no price tag. They weren’t even attached by those little plastic doohickeys. On the inside of each wrist there was a discreet leather label stamped with a silver horseshoe and the size. Amber slipped on the right glove, settled her fingers into the thick sheepskin lining. Snugged them down. They fit as if they had been made for her.
She pressed her gloved hand against her cheek. “They’re so soft. Feel.”
“Like butter,” Rhonda agreed. “They fit well too. I love that color. It’ll look great with that blue-gray coat of yours.”
Amber put on the other glove and opened and closed her fists. The gloves followed her movements like another skin. They were beautiful and well made. Snug, warm, but not in the least stiff. Perfect in fact. Way better in every way than the ragged oversized pair in her parka pocket.
She slipped them off and examined them. On the ridge, lots of hunters tanned their own leather and made their own gear. These were beautifully made. Tough, double-stitched, and gusseted between the fingers. A knitted cuff inside the wrist would keep out the weather. The fell-stitching around the tops would help them last forever. But why on earth had Heather splurged on handmade gloves for Amber to wear to shovel horse apples? A pair from the hardware store would have been good enough.
“Is there a card or a note?” Amber sifted through the tissue and paper on the counter.
Rhonda also peered into the empty boxes. Shook her head. “I don’t see one. Maybe there’s one in the other box?”
“Maybe.” The gloves were gorgeous. She had never seen or felt anything to compare with them. Heather must have spent a small fortune. They were almost too nice to wear to muck out a stall. She took them off carefully and laid them back in their fancy box.
The other carton contained a boot box. No note. No card. Just a pair of soft, supple, pull-on red boots in a shade to match those pricey gloves. At least these were factory made of some easy-care waterproof fabric that only resembled suede. Heather hadn’t lost her whole mind.
“Try them on,” begged Rhonda.
Amber sat down, and pulled them on. Her feet sank into cozy warmth. She stretched out a leg to admire them. They came up to her knees and had laces at the front that tightened to adjust the fit. “Cool,” she said holding out one leg.
“And just what you need,” Rhonda said happily. “Your sister must have been listening to us this morning.”
Amber grinned at an image of Heather with radio antenna eavesdropping on Colorado from Washington State. “Or had an angel whisper in her ear. I’ll just call and thank her, right this minute – if you don’t mind?”
“Of course not, you go right ahead. I’ll go put these boxes in the recycling.”
Heather took a while to answer her cell, but when she did, she expressed total bewilderment. “I probably should have sent you some, if your old boots are leaking, but I didn’t. I haven’t left the hospital in days. Stella has a respiratory infection.”
“Oh, no.”
Heather launched into technical details of what the pediatric pulmonologist had said, versus what the neonatal nurse thought. Moved on to how slowly the antibiotics were working. Amber concentrated hard, hoping to glean something she could use to encourage her despondent sister. But it all seemed to be bad news.
In the end, Heather comforted her. “Stella’s getting the best of care here. I know that – intellectually. And she will be fine. It’s just so horribly disappointing for us all when we thought we’d be taking the girls home tomorrow. I can’t help feeling scared.”
“I know. They’ll send them all home soon,” Amber said helplessly. She sure hoped that was true.
“And then you can come and play auntie.”
“I’m looking forward to it. I can’t wait to hold them.”
“Love you, twin.”
“Love you, more.” They hung up together.
“Well?” asked Rhonda who had been shamelessly listening in.
“Stella’s got a cold – at least I think that’s what all that fancy talk meant. It’s settled on her chest, as my Grandma would have said, and she’s sick as a pup – tries to cough but she’s just too tiny.”
“What about the boots?” prompted Rhonda.
“Heather doesn’t know a thing about them.” Amber wiggled her toes in the plush fleece lining one last time and sat down regretfully to remove the boots. “If I don’t know who sent them,” she said, “they’ll have to go back. Gloves too. I can’t keep such expensive gifts from a stranger.”
“Don’t be foolish, Amber,” Rhonda said. “Aside from the fact that you need them – badly – and that they are a kind and thoughtful gesture, you’ll crush the giver if you send them back. Might even break his heart.”
Oh, of course. Rhonda meant that Lance had bought them for her. It was just like him. She bent her head admiring the color. “Do you think it’s all right? I mean, they were a pretty expensive purchase.”
Like out the wazoo expensive. And they weren’t engaged or anything. How could he afford such a lavish gift? If this was Lance’s idea of a going steady token, he needed taking in hand. But, they were so beautiful. She just loved them. She decided that it would be rude to comment on the cost when she thanked him. She snuggled her toes happily into the fleece before putting Laura’s loafers back on.
Rhonda’s grin widened. “More than all right. You accept them as the considerate gesture they are. You wear them home. They’re fine looking boots and the wind’s turned right around and, without a doubt, that mud has already turned into ice.”
Now that Rhonda mentioned it, the aluminum siding on the building was rattling in a howling wind. “So fast?”
“That’s the Chinook for you. You bundle up warm and I’ll see you tomorrow after morning stables to finish up Laura’s backup.”
“It’s done,” Amber said. “I’m just running an overnight virus scan. But I’ll come back tomorrow to see if that found any malware.”
Her old boots were gone. Just a muddy puddle on the boot mat showed where they had dripped all afternoon. Probably Rhonda making sure she did not change her mind. Not that it mattered who threw them out. Those tired old things were only fit for a garbage can.
She crammed her knitted cap over her ears, pulled up her hood, and fastened every snap and zipper. The outer door opened. Lance grinned at her. “I see you’re ready,” he said. “Let’s go.”