Free Baby It's Cold Outside by Susan May Warren Page B

bandaged her head.
    “I think I’ll just check on those shutters,” he said, glancing at Violet. And where, exactly, did her friend run off to? The man smelled highfalutin, as if he’d never done a proper day’s work in his life. Something about him—his store-bought suit, those fancy shoes. His expensive coat…
    Jake dredged up memories of TJ.
    Another good reason for him to stay and keep watch.
    Gordy buttoned up before stepping outside. The snow pelted his face, the wind biting his ears. In the last hour since he’d trekked over, probably five inches had accumulated. Lighter, fluffier snow than what fell before, and he sifted right through it to the crusty foundation below. The light glowed from the house, barely pushing back the night, but he saw movement, down by the tree.
    What was that kid doing? He was on his hands and knees, under the tree, rooting for something.
    Gordy tucked his head, hunching his shoulders against the wind, and slogged through the snow down to him. He braced his hand on a branch as he started to slip.
    Jake sat up, caught his hand.
    He hadn’t needed help. “What are you doing?” He had to shout above the wind.
    “I lost my suitcase!” Snow frosted Jake’s dark hair, his upturned collar. “I need it!”
    Gordy grabbed him by the collar. “What’s so important you have to find it tonight?”
    “It has letters in it. From Alex to Violet. I want to give them to her.”
    He just didn’t get this kid. First, he’d traveled all the way from Minneapolis to Frost, just to tell her that some pen pal had died, and now he dug around under a tree to deliver the man’s letters? Talk about pitiful. At least Gordy had known when he couldn’t get the girl, when to walk away. This chump had all the makings of lovesick fool written on his reddened face. And, he didn’t handle weather well, the way he doubled over, started to cough.
    “C’mon—we’ll find it in the morning!”
    “But it’s important!”
    “So’s not freezing to death.”
    He wrangled the man to his feet, catching him as he doubled over again. They struggled back up to the house, but before Gordy could deliver him inside, Jake slammed his hand against the doorjamb. “Just…a second.”
    He seemed to be wheezing, his face whitened.
    “Are you okay?”
    He shook his head.
    Gordy reached for the door handle.
    “Not…yet.” Then, as Gordy watched, he pulled out a pack of cigarettes.
    “Are you serious?”
    Gordy had never been a serious smoker—just when he wanted to relax—but he knew those who had to have a pack a day. With that cough, this kid might want to slow down.
    Jake pulled out a cigarette, dropped the pack in his pocket, then tried to light the smoke. The match flickered out. Another.
    “You’ll never get that lit in this wind. You don’t need it!”
    But Jake shook his head, tried again.
    Gordy grabbed him by the shoulder then turned around and dragged him in the direction of the barn. Twelve steps—he knew the count exactly to the corner—then dragged his hand to the door, found the handle, and flung it open.
    He pushed Jake inside, followed him in, and shut the door behind him.
    Jake stood in the darkness, coughing, his breath wheezing between bouts.
    Maybe he had some sort of disease. A match struck, then Jake’s face glowed as he managed to light his smoke. He inhaled deeply. Held the smoke in his lungs.
    Gordy watched him all the way to the exhale before he shook his head and walked over to the electric light, flicking it on.
    Jake stood, his eyes closed, breathing in through his nose, out through his mouth, slowly, deliberately. He’d take a drag on his cigarette and do it again.
    “What’s wrong with you?”
    Jake glanced at him. “I’ll be fine in a moment here. It was the cold. And the wind.”
    Gordy frowned.
    Jake took another pull on his cigarette. Breathed that funny way again. Finally, “I have asthma. I’m smoking for medicinal purposes.”
    “If that’s what you want to