Christmas in Bruges Read Online Free

Christmas in Bruges
Book: Christmas in Bruges Read Online Free
Author: Meadow Taylor
Pages:
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blanket and took her mittened hand in his. Whatever concerns had made him anxious on the tower seemed to have evaporated.
    The horse trotted out of the square and into a narrow street, edging past a car coming in the other direction. Everywhere were chocolate shops. “It’s good we stopped at four,” James remarked.
    â€œYes, as good as they were, I feel a little ill at the prospect of eating more, at least today. I wonder if Belgians eat chocolates much? Maybe they’re sick to death of them.”
    The driver pointed out a dock. “If you haven’t done a canal tour, this one belongs to my friend. He’s decided to run on Christmas Day—first tour at noon. After that movie
In Bruges
, everyone comes here at Christmas. He says he’ll be rich. Have you seen the movie?”
    They were just about to say yes when
bang!
An explosion shattered the air.
    The horse whinnied, rising onto its back legs, jolting the carriage.
    Bang! Bang!
    â€œGet down! Get down!” James screamed. He pushed Paula back onto the carriage cushions, throwing himself on top of her.
    Bang!
    Oh my God
, she thought,
gunshots!
The horse bolted now, the carriage jerking forward.
    James pushed her off the seat, her arm twisting painfully behind her back as the two of them crashed to the carriage floor. Her head struck the step, and she cried out.
    â€œWhoa! Whoa!” the driver shouted. Paula heard the skid of car tires and the crash of the horse’s hooves on the snowy cobblestones. James’s face was pressed against her own, his breathing panicked as he frantically sought to protect her body with his.
    The carriage lurched over a bridge, and as Paula’s head bounced once more against the carriage step, above her clouds raced by.
    â€œWhoa! Whoa!” the driver shouted again.
    A car horn blasted, brakes screeched, a woman screamed, and now the horse itself seemed to be skidding, the carriage rocking precariously as if about to roll over at any moment.
    â€œWhoa! Whoa!”
    At last the horse started to slow and came to a stop beneath a tree.
    The driver’s face appeared between Paula’s and the sky, sweat beading on his forehead. He spoke first in Flemish, before remembering they were Anglophones. “Oh my God! Are you all right down there?”
    â€œNo—yes!” she said. Not a gunshot, of course not. A car backfiring. That was all. Just a car backfiring.
    The driver looked at James’s head, still buried in Paula’s hair. “Are you sure?”
    â€œWe’re fine,” Paula said, speaking for them both. Should she explain to the driver that James had been in Afghanistan? No, probably not. “Can you take us to the Hotel Ter Brughe?” she asked calmly.
    â€œOf course, of course,” he said. “And there’s no charge for this ride. I’m so very, very sorry. This has never happened before.”
    â€œIt’s okay,” Paula said. “It couldn’t be helped.”
    The driver turned back, and she stroked James’s hair. “It’s okay. It was just a car backfiring,” she said trying to infuse her voice with lightness. “But you are squashing me. Can we get up now?”
    Untangling himself from her, he sat back down on the seat. “You see why I said that last night. About how much someone can change in nine years. Well, welcome to post-traumatic stress disorder, PTSD,” he said bitterly.
    He helped her up, and she rubbed the back of her head. “Did I hurt you?” he asked anxiously, running his hand over her hair. “I’m so sorry—you’re going to have a bump.”
    â€œIt’s okay, just stings a bit.” Her arm hurt too, but she decided not to tell him and, flexing it as innocuously as she could, concluded that a swollen elbow was the worst she could expect.
    â€œI feel so stupid.” His face was ashen, and he shook all over. Paula felt a little shaky
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