Once Upon a Christmas by Lisa Plumley Page A

over,
    okay? For Pete’s sake, I’m sure Sam will pay you, if that’s what’s worrying
    you.”
    She could practically hear Brad’s interest sharpen. “Sam?”
    “My roommate. I told you someone was moving in,
    remember? Don’t tell me you forgot…”
    He hadn’t forgotten. He hadn’t believed her in the first
    place. Holly could hear it in his voice as Brad went through some lame
    explanation about how rushed he’d been the last time they talked. She smiled,
    feeling less and less un spontaneous by the second.
    “Elevate the foot,” Brad said. “I’ll be there
    shortly.”
    The line went dead. Holly blinked, then replaced the phone
    in its stand. She turned to Sam. “He’s on his way.”
    “It’s broken, all right.” Brad pinched Sam’s bare
    big toe between his fingertips and waggled it a little.
    Sam turned gray, but remained silent. Good thing, too. He
    appeared to be biting back several choice words. Holly doubted whatever came
    out of his mouth would be polite.
    “Try to stay off of it as much as you can,” Brad
    said. “Call my office if the swelling doesn’t go down or if it feels more
    uncomfortable, rather than less.”
    He straightened, pulling his car keys from his pants pocket.
    As he turned to leave, Holly grabbed his arm to stop him.
    “Let you know if it gets uncomfortable? That’s it?”
    she exclaimed. “You’re just going to pack up and leave now? What about
    medicine, what about a cast?”
    She looked from Sam to Brad and back again. She’d arranged
    poor Sam on the sofa as comfortably as she could, with his bare foot propped on
    both pink-fringed throw pillows. It might have been a mistake to use two
    pillows—she’d somehow elevated his toe to roughly nose-height. Holly made a
    mental note to try a single bed pillow instead and turned to face down Brad.
    Horribly enough, he looked about to laugh. “I can’t put
    a cast on a toe, Holly. A broken foot, sure, but not a broken big toe.”
    “Must be tough to maneuver around all those other toes,
    eh Doc?” Sam quipped from the sofa.
    Holly didn’t find Sam’s pain funny in the least. “I
    want you to do something right now, Brad. There must be something you can do.”
    Sighing, Brad took off his glasses, holding them in one hand
    while he rubbed the bridge of his nose.
    “Brad!”
    “I’ve done all I can.” He handed one of his
    business cards to Sam, shaking his head sympathetically. “What did you do
    to him, anyway, Holly?”
    “Me?”
    Sam looked at her with renewed curiosity.
    “Yes, you.” To Sam, Brad added, “Watch out.
    This woman’s a walking recruiter for personal injury lawyers. One time she
    knocked a ladder out from under me when I was changing a light bulb, up near
    this ridiculously high ceiling. I took the whole light fixture down with me.”
    They all glanced upward. “I just bumped into the
    ladder,” Holly protested.
    “Another time she threw a cast iron skillet at me.”
    Brad spread his thumb and forefinger a couple of inches apart. “Missed me
    by that much.”
    “I did not! The handle was hot, and I let go of it too
    quickly, that’s all.” As an aside to Sam, she explained, “I was
    concentrating on a new recipe. I told him to stay out of the kitchen.” She
    glowered at Brad.
    “Naturally, it’s not limited to other people. Did Holly
    tell you about the time she bashed herself with a garlic press? Gave herself a
    really bad bruise on the collarbone,” he went on blithely. “I wouldn’t
    have thought kitchen utensils were so dangerous.”
    To his credit, at least Sam didn’t laugh. Most people
    laughed at the garlic press story.
    “Then there was the time—”
    “That’s enough for now,” Holly interrupted,
    steering Brad toward the front door. “Thanks for stopping by. Let Thomas
    know I’ll be calling him tomorrow to get a second opinion on Sam’s toe, would
    you?”
    Thomas White was Brad’s partner, the doctor he shared office
    space with. Brad would have