Poles Apart (5 page)

Niklas trudged toward his home, his
thoughts as lost as his feet beneath the powder. Ninety minutes ago, he’d
thought he might never see this woman again, never know who she was. Now she’d
be living next door for three weeks as his tenant. A pleasant and unexpected
answer to his prayers.

Thank you, Lord, for your speedy reply.

But South Africa? A long way from Lapland.
Literally poles apart.

Mila raised her head as he stepped
inside. Risto let out a bark causing Niklas to press his finger to his lips.
“Risto.
Ole hiljaa
.”

With a whimper, Risto sank his head
between his front paws as he obeyed. Niklas stooped to pat him then stepped
past and headed down the short passage to the bathroom. Opening the cabinet
above the basin, he reached for the tube of aloe vera gel. This would sort out
Sarah’s injury.

The dogs eyed Niklas as he closed the
front door and slipped into the night again.

Back at Sarah’s cabin, he tapped on the
wooden door and waited. Getting no response, he tried again, with the same
silent result. He eased the door open and cast his gaze toward the couch.

Asleep.

Niklas tiptoed over to Sarah and knelt
beside her. Taking her hand out of the water, he dried her fingers with the
dishtowel he’d discarded on the floor earlier. His thumb brushed over the
number penned on her skin. Would she call?

Taking care not to waken her, Niklas
massaged the gel into her burned fingers. She didn’t stir. She must be exhausted.
Just how far was the journey from South Africa?

He swept away the long, silky shock of
hair covering her face—the color of the strands totally opposite to the local
norm. Dark, like the shaded parts of an open pine cone, flecks of lighter brown
skimming the tips.

Niklas pushed to his feet. Leaning over
Sarah, he turned up the heat on the wall panel beside the couch then hurried up
the step ladder and grabbed a blanket from the mattress in the loft bedroom. He
covered Sarah, unable to resist the urge to plant a good night kiss on her
forehead. Why had God brought this woman from the other side of the world
across his path?
What’s your purpose, Lord?

He had to find out.

Stretching
on the two-seater couch, Sarah gave a long yawn and extended her legs over the
armrest. Her eyes struggled against the semi-darkness as she curled into the
blanket. Where was she? Oh yes—Lapland. Santa. Beautiful blue eyes. Writing
deadline...

Writing deadline!
She bolted upright.

On the other side of the window, the
world bathed in a cold hue. Blue Lapland light. After hearing she was headed
this way, Matthew researched the country and pumped them with facts all the way
to the airport.

Sarah pushed to her feet. She needed to
get started on that manuscript, whack out a few thousand words.

Wrapping the blanket around herself, she
pulled it tight. Ouch. That hurt. She unfurled her fingers, palm facing the
ceiling. Difficult to see in the dim light, she lowered her head to her hand,
examining her fingertips. No blisters at least, but they were tender to touch.
How would she type today with two fingers out of action?

Slowly.

As she stepped toward the table, her
foot kicked against something. The object bounced across the rug that covered
most of the wooden floor. What was that? Spotting the white tube with green
writing, she bent down and picked it up. Aloe vera. How did that get there? And
how did she end up sleeping on the sofa, covered with a blanket?

Vague recollections of Niklas rubbing
her fingers drifted into her mind. She closed her eyes, trying to remember. His
fingers on her cheek, sweeping the hair from her face, his lips on her brow.
Sarah drew a sharp breath as heat flooded her cheeks. Had he kissed her? Or had
she dreamed it all? She glanced at the cream in her hands. Not hers. Proof it
had to all be real.

How dare he?

Chill. It was only a peck.

Didn’t matter, she didn’t know him. And
that’s what Andrew had said—just a peck. Look how that turned out. Probably
best to steer clear of the landlord. Should be easy enough. Except for some
research visits to Santa and to replenish groceries, she had no intention of
stepping outside this cabin. Oh yes, and to use the toilet, which she now
desperately needed to find.

But there was the matter of her muse who
wanted Niklas around.

After suiting up, Sarah headed out into
the cold. She’d definitely watch her liquid intake. Far too much trouble to
make a tinkle.

She gazed beyond where she’d parked the
small blue car. Between a forest of tall pines painted white, she spotted the
tiny red outhouse standing in stark contrast to its snowy surrounds. With its
peaked roof it resembled an arrow, pointing the way.
Though your sins be as
scarlet, they shall be white as snow.
Her favorite Bible verse. She hadn’t
thought of it in four years.

Sarah let out a huff, her breath
vaporizing and dissipating into the air.
Tell it to Andrew, Lord. He’s the
one stained with his sin against me.

Taking care as she stepped across the
small bridge, she glanced to the sides of the snow-covered stream beneath.
Probably frozen solid. She followed the short path, glancing in all directions.
Were there wolves or bears living under these trees?
She pushed the
wooden door. It swung open and banged against the side wall. Great—a long drop
loo. Maybe she should fast for the next three weeks.

The call of nature satisfied, Sarah
hurried back toward the cabin as fast as her puffy, snow-pants-covered-legs
would carry her through the soft powder. The sky had lightened, the surrounds
more white now than blue. As she turned the corner she stopped in her tracks.
Her heart thumped faster and harder. Blue pants, red jacket, kneeling on her
porch. What was he doing?

Niklas glanced back then pushed to his
feet. “Sarah. Good morning. I brought fresh logs for your fire. Did you sleep
well? Warm enough? How are your fingers?”

Sarah stared, mute. It was only a peck,
and a sweet one at that. She cleared her throat. “Tender, but surprisingly not
blistered.”

“Good. Aloe vera has amazing healing
properties. You hold onto that tube.”

“No, I couldn’t.”

“Please. I insist.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. Unless you want me to keep the
fireplace in your cabin fed.” He grinned.

The thought far too appealing, Sarah
pushed it aside. What was wrong with her?

Bounding up the steps, she brushed past
Niklas, and opened the front door. Fingers on the handle, she turned around.
“Thanks for the firewood.”

Niklas tipped his head and started down
the steps, stopping at the sound of her voice.

“Where would I find the
Wi-Fi
password? It does work out here, doesn’t it?”

“Yes, it works. It’s on the door inside
the first cupboard in the kitchen.”

“Thank you.” She stepped inside,
venturing a last lingering look over her shoulder. “Have a nice day.”

He nodded and made his way back to the
snowmobile, the sled behind carrying but a handful of logs. How had she not
heard him arrive?

As she eased the door closed, Sarah
watched Niklas drive away. The snow swallowed the sound of the engine. Closing
the door, she moved toward the couch and sank into it, only her confused
thoughts for company. She unzipped her boots and tossed them toward the front
door. There was no denying how hot Niklas looked riding that mean black
machine.

Sarah padded toward the kitchen in her
sub-zero socks, stopping at the table to turn on her laptop. She checked the
time. Almost midday? How was that possible? It had only begun to get light
outside. A screen popped up with the
Wi-Fi
connection. Only one
available. Toivonen. She clicked connect and another pop-up requested the
password.

Inside the kitchen, Sarah opened the
first cupboard. Cups and glasses glistened their greeting. There on the door,
just as Niklas said, was her access to cyberspace.
Joulupukki.
Figures.
Doubt the password in Bethlehem hotels would be ‘Jesus’ though.

She glanced toward the sauna door. She
should take a shower and change her clothes before starting to write. And have
breakfast and coffee. Shower first.

Stepping forward, Sarah opened the sauna
door and turned on the faucet. The water should be warm by the time she chose
clean clothes.

Her stomach growled, protesting the idea
of her exiting the kitchen. Food first, perhaps. Her eyes darted to where
Niklas had dropped the packets last night. The corner was empty. Where had her
groceries disappeared to? She opened the fridge. The cold foodstuff was neatly
stacked inside. She moved to the cupboard beside the fridge and took a peek.
Staring at the chocolate slabs stacked in a neat pile—her milestone treats—she
cringed. What had Niklas thought as he unpacked these last night? One
consolation, those slabs only added words—nothing else. Her muse thrived on
being rewarded. Although, in these puffy pants, Niklas wouldn’t know it made no
difference to her waistline.

Why did she care what he thought?

On the top shelf stood the cereal box,
bread, a few tins of instant soup, tea and coffee. Hmm, coffee... She could do
with a shot of caffeine to kick-start the day.

After filling the coffee machine, Sarah
turned it on. Once brewed, that jug should last the day, especially as she
planned to limit her intake.

A bowl of milk and cereal in her hands,
she turned back to the sauna. Couldn’t risk running all the hot water out. She
opened the door, expecting steam to billow out. Nothing. Sarah ventured a hand
under the water. Cold. Why wasn’t there hot water? She glanced at the stove in
the corner with its tap on the side of the metal drum, rocks for heating
stacked on the top. She would need help to figure out how that worked, or brave
an icy shower.

So much for avoiding the landlord.

She’d brushed him off politely. Pity.
Niklas would’ve loved to sit down to a cup of hot coffee and a chat before
heading to the village.
Isä
still wasn’t well and would need his help a
few more days. Good. Not that he wanted his father ill, but hopefully Miss
Jones would call during the time he still filled Santa’s shoes. If he could
turn their next conversation from Santa Claus to Sarah Jones, maybe he’d get an
insight into why God caused their paths to cross.

Who was he kidding? As interested as he
was in understanding what God was up to, he wanted to spend time with her—even
if it meant being dressed in red and disguised in a white beard.

Niklas parked the snowmobile at the side
of his house and strolled across to the sauna. Pulling out his phone, he glanced
at the screen. Nothing yet. He checked the clock. Almost eleven AM. Enough time
for a quick sauna and
avanto
before he needed to leave. The chilly dip
in the ice hole would invigorate him for the long shift ahead at Santa’s
Village.

Stepping inside the dressing room, he
stripped down to his running shorts. Hot air hit him full on as he opened the
sauna door. He scooped a ladle of water from the bucket beside the sauna oven
and splashed it over the hot coals. Steam whooshed to the roof. Trapped, it began
to descend. He threw on a second and third ladle, checked the thermometer, and
headed for the top bench. A hundred and eighty Fahrenheit. Toasty. Wouldn’t
take long before he’d need to run to the
avanto.
Leaning back against
the wooden wall, beads of perspiration already dampening his skin, Niklas
closed his eyes. Long dark brown hair, stunning blue eyes, and the softest pink
rosebud lips filled his vision. Eyes wide or shut, she filled his thoughts, his
dreams. But, they lived on opposite sides of the world. Falling for her was
sheer madness.

The snow crunched beneath Sarah’s feet
before they sank into its softness as she headed in the direction Niklas had
gone thirty minutes ago. She’d walked to just beyond the grove of pine trees
bordering her cabin when she spotted the snowmobile parked between a larger
cabin with a porch like hers, and a really small one, puffs of smoke emanating
from its chimney.

Sarah pushed through the white terrain
until she came to the large cabin. Stepping onto the porch, she shifted her
gaze back to the smaller structure. The path cleared from its door revealed a
walkway leading to a flat, treeless expanse of white.
Wonder why there are
no trees there.

Raising her hand, she tapped on the
wooden door. From inside, a dog’s bark answered her knock. Another
echoed—lower, deeper. He had dogs? Coincidence?

“Mr. Toivonen?” She waited a moment
before calling again. “Niklas...”

A door slammed open, but not the one
Sarah expected. She whirled around in time to see Niklas’s half-naked body
sprinting down the cleared path. From where she stood, his black shorts looked
like one of those censorship strips often seen in paparazzi photos. Where was
he running to, like that? Was he crazy? When she’d checked the thermometer in
her cabin earlier, the outside temperature read ten degrees Fahrenheit.
Unfamiliar with imperial temperatures, she’d Googled a conversion. Minus twelve
Celsius. She’d never experienced sub-zero temperatures before, at least not
this far below freezing. Wasn’t quite as bad as she thought it would be, but
then she did have on more layers than an onion.