Kitabı oku: «Christmas In Icicle Falls»

Chapter One

This is the time of year to offer thanks for all the wonderful people in our lives.

—Muriel Sterling, A Guide to Happy Holidays

Thanksgiving, a day to spend with family, to give thanks for all your blessings, to...have a close encounter with your cranky neighbor’s shrubbery. Oh, yes, this was how Sienna Moreno wanted to start her day.

Why, oh, why, had she ventured out in her car on an icy street to go to the grocery store for more milk when she could have asked her cousin Rita Reyes to bring it? Rita’s husband, Tito, worked at the Safeway meat department. He could have picked up a gallon.

But oh, no. She had to go out on her cheap no-weather tires. She should have stretched her budget a little further and gotten those snow tires like Rita had told her to do. “Here in the mountains, you want snow tires,” Rita had said.

Yes, she did, especially now as she was skidding toward Mr. Cratchett’s front yard.

“We’re gonna die!” her nine-year-old son, Leo, cried, clapping his hands over his eyes as they slid up and over Mr. Cratchett’s juniper bush. Sienna could hear the branches crunching under them, the bush equivalent of breaking bones. Madre de Dios!

The good news was the bush brought her to a stop. The bad news was she was stopped right in front of Mr. Cratchett’s house.

Maybe she hadn’t damaged the bush too much. “It’s okay, honey. We’re fine,” she assured her son and got out of the car on shaky legs. She probably couldn’t say the same for Mr. Cratchett’s landscaping.

She was barely out of her car before her neighbor stormed down the walk, an ancient navy pea coat thrown on over pajama bottoms stuffed into boots, a knit cap pulled over his sparse gray hair. He was scowling. Great.

“What have you done to my juniper bush?” he demanded.

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Cratchett. I hit a slippery spot.”

“You shouldn’t be out if you don’t know how to drive in the snow,” Cratchett growled.

She wasn’t sure how she’d learn to drive in the snow if she didn’t get out in it but she decided this wasn’t the time for that observation.

He leaned over the bush like a detective examining a corpse. “This thing will never come back. You’ve damaged it beyond repair.”

“I’ll buy you a new one this spring,” Sienna promised.

“You certainly will,” he snapped. “If you don’t, you’ll be hearing from my lawyer. You’re becoming a real nuisance.”

“So are you,” she muttered as she got back into her car.

“He’s mad,” Leo observed.

There was an understatement. “It’s okay,” she said as much to herself as her son. She put the car in gear, held her breath and inched toward their driveway. The car swayed as they turned in. Ooh.

“I want to get out,” Leo said.

“Stay put. We’re fine.” She bit her lip as she braked—oh, so gently—and the car fishtailed to a stop right before she hit the garage door.

She let out her breath. There. Something to be thankful for.

She could see Cratchett standing on his front walk, glaring at her. “You shouldn’t be driving,” he called.

Yeah, well, neither should he. She’d seen him behind the wheel and he was scary even when there wasn’t snow. Honestly, what had she ever done to deserve inheriting him?

“Just lucky, I guess,” teased her cousin Rita Reyes later as Sienna recounted her day’s adventures to her family over their evening Thanksgiving feast.

There were plenty of people present to enjoy it—Rita, her husband, Tito, and their toddler, Linda, were present, along with Sienna’s tía, Mami Luci, and Tito’s sister and brother-in-law and their two small children. It was Sienna’s first holiday celebration in her new house and she loved being able to fill it with company.

Especially on Thanksgiving, which was her favorite holiday. The food—turkey and pork, tamales, Mami’s arroz con gandules, coquito and flan for dessert; the music—salsa, merengue and bachata; and, of course, time with family. With her parents and two brothers still in LA, it was a comfort to be able to have her aunt and cousin living in the same town. It was also nice to have them right here to complain to.

No, wait. No complaining on Thanksgiving. She was simply venting. Justifiably venting. “I mean, it’s not like I meant to run over Mr. Cratchett’s juniper bush.”

“You didn’t exactly get practice driving in snow down in LA,” Rita said consolingly. “That man.” She shook her head in disgust as she helped herself to more fruit salad. “Neighbors should come with a warning label.”

“This one should have,” Sienna said. “He shouldn’t be allowed to have neighbors. He should be a hermit. Actually, he’s already close to one. He hardly ever comes out of that big, overgrown house of his except to yell at me.” Okay, maybe that was a slight exaggeration.

Or not.

“Mr. Cratchett’s mean to me, too, Mommy,” put in Leo.

Tito shook his head. “Threatening to call the cops over a baseball through the window.”

“I didn’t do that,” Leo declared hotly. “It was Tommy Haskel. Tommy said it was me.”

Poor Leo had taken the fall and Sienna had bought Mr. Cratchett a new window.

“Culo,” muttered Tito. “I should have come over and taken a baseball to the old dude’s head.”

Tito’s sister pointed her fork at him. “Then he really would have called the cops.”

“He’s been there, done that,” Sienna said. “Remember?”

“Yes, making such a stink when we had your housewarming party,” Rita said in disgust. “Too loud, my ass. It was barely nine.”

“Maybe that’s what got us started on the wrong foot,” Sienna mused. That had been back in the summer. Even after all those months it would appear she and her crusty neighbor still hadn’t found the right foot.

Tito shook his head. “No. The dude’s a cabrón.”

“Oh, well. Let’s not think about him anymore,” Sienna said. There were plenty of nice people in town to make up for her unneighborly neighbor. She liked Rita’s boss, Charley Masters, who owned Zelda’s restaurant, and Bailey Black, who owned a tea shop, was quickly becoming a good friend. Pat York, her boss at Mountain Escape Books, was great, and Pat’s friends had all taken her under their wings.

“Good idea,” agreed Rita. “Pass the tamales.”

Venting finished, Sienna went back to concentrating on counting her blessings. So she didn’t have husband. Who wanted a creep who walked away when the going got tough, anyway? She had her family, new friends, a wonderful job and a pretty house that she’d been able to purchase from the previous owner on a private contract with a very minimal down payment. It wasn’t as big as Cratchett’s corner-lot mansion—nobody’s was—but it had three bedrooms, two baths and a kitchen with lots of cupboard space, and it was all hers. Or it would be in thirty years. And she had the sweetest son a woman could ask for. Her life was good, so there’d be no more complaining, er, venting.

* * *

Olivia Claussen’s feet hurt. So did her back. For that matter, so did her head. Serving Thanksgiving dinner to all her guests at the Icicle Creek Lodge was an exhausting undertaking, even with help.

Thank God she’d had help. Although one particular “helper,” her new daughter-in-law, had been about as useful as a roadblock.

“I was a waitress at the Full Table Buffet,” Meadow had bragged when Olivia had asked if she’d be able to give her a hand with the holiday dinner service. “No problemo.”

She’d showed off her experience by setting the tables wrong, spilling gravy in a customer’s lap and then swearing at him when he got upset with her. She’d capped the day off by leaving halfway through serving the main course.

“Meadow doesn’t feel good,” Olivia’s son Brandon had explained.

Meadow didn’t feel good? Olivia hadn’t felt so good herself. She’d been nursing a headache for days. Perhaps it had something to do with the arrival of her new daughter-in-law? But running an inn was not much different from show business. The show must go on.

And so it had, but Olivia was still feeling more than a little crabby about the performance of one particular player. “Whatever did he see in her?” she complained to her husband, James, as he rubbed her tired feet. Besides the obvious, of course. The girl was pretty—in a brassy, exotic way. Brandon had always dated good-looking women.

James wisely didn’t answer.

Olivia had been longing to see her baby boy married for years, but she hadn’t expected him to sneak off to Vegas to do it. She certainly hadn’t expected him to commit so quickly, before anyone really had a chance to get to know this woman. Before he really even had a chance to get to know her!

Brandon had met Meadow when he was skiing. She’d been hanging out at the ski lodge at Crystal Mountain after her first ski lesson and there was poor, unsuspecting Brandon. They’d wound up having dinner together and then spent the night partying, which led to private ski lessons followed by private parties for two. And then it was “Oops, I’m pregnant.” And that was followed by “Surprise, we’re married!” This sudden turn of events had taken place quite clandestinely. He’d known this girl only a few months. Months! And had never said anything about her. Now suddenly they were married. And, well, here they were.

Not that Olivia wasn’t happy to have her wandering boy home again, ready to help run the family business. It was just that the woman he’d brought with him was taking some getting used to. Actually, a lot of getting used to.

The couple had started married life in Seattle, and Brandon had settled down and gotten a job working for a large company that was slowly taking over the city. The benefits were great, but the hours were long and Meadow had complained about not seeing him enough. So he’d called his mom and suggested coming back to Icicle Falls. Olivia had loved the idea of her son coming home. The bride, not so much. But the lodge would be passed on to him and Eric eventually anyway, so of course, she’d gotten a little suite ready for them, one similar to what her older son, Eric, and his wife had, making them all one big, happy family.

With a cuckoo in the nest.

“She tricked him into marrying her, I’m sure,” Olivia said to James.

“Now, Olivia, you don’t really believe that, do you?”

“I can’t help but wonder.”

Her second son had always been a bit of a ladies’ man, but she’d never known Brandon to be irresponsible. The idea that he’d gotten someone pregnant—someone he barely knew and who was so clearly not his type—didn’t make sense to her at all. It was just so unlike him. In fact, the more she’d thought about it after hearing the news, the more she couldn’t help the sneaking suspicion that the whole pregnancy thing had been a ploy to chain Brandon down. Olivia’s suspicion only grew when, just a few weeks after they were married, they’d told her the pregnancy had ended. It was a terrible thing to think, and yet Olivia couldn’t shake the feeling that there probably hadn’t ever been a baby—only a trashy girl looking to snag a good-looking man and some financial security.

Okay, she had to admit that Brandon did seem smitten with Meadow. So there had to be something hiding behind the revealing clothes, the lack of manners, the self-centeredness and the haze of smoke from her electronic cigarettes. Such a filthy habit, smoking, and so bad for your health.

“I’d rather smoke than be fat,” Meadow had said to Olivia when she—politely—brought up the subject. “And if I didn’t do this, I’d be eating all the time instead.”

Olivia was a little on the pudgy side. Was that a slur?

Not only did Meadow appear to disapprove of Olivia’s looks, she obviously disapproved of her decorating skills. The first thing out of her mouth when she’d seen the lodge had been “Whoa, look at these granny carpets.”

Granny carpets indeed! Those rose-patterned carpets were classic, and they’d cost Olivia a small fortune when she first put them in. Plus, they complemented the many antiques Olivia had in the lobby and the guest rooms. Well, all right. So the girl had different tastes. Obviously, she wouldn’t know an antique if she tripped over one. But did she have to be so...vocal about them?

She’d hardly raved over the small apartment that Olivia had given her and Brandon when they arrived. She’d walked into the bedroom and frowned. “Where’s the closet?”

Olivia had pointed to the antique German pine armoire and said, “This is it. It’s a schrank.”

“A what?”

“For your clothes.”

“I’m supposed to fit all my clothes in there?”

Taking in Meadow’s skimpy skirt and midriff-bearing top, Olivia had doubted that her clothes would take up much room. “I’m sure Brandon can remodel for you,” Olivia had said stiffly.

“I hope so.” Meadow had drifted over to the window and looked out. “Wow, that’s some view.”

At least she’d appreciated something.

“It’s gonna be really cool living here,” she’d said and Olivia almost warmed to her until she added, “Once we fix this place up.”

“So what do you think of Meadow?” Brandon had asked after he’d brought her home to meet Mom.

By then they were already married. It had been too late to say what she really thought. Instead, she tried a gentler approach. “Wasn’t this a little fast? I always thought we’d have a wedding.” I always thought you’d pick someone we wanted you to marry.

That was when he’d blushed and confessed that they were pregnant. They’d wanted to get married anyway, so what the hell?

What the hell indeed.

“Dear, this isn’t like you,” James said, bringing Olivia out of her unpleasant reverie. “You’re normally so kindhearted and welcoming.”

“I’ve welcomed her,” Olivia insisted. She’d given Meadow a home here at the inn with the rest of the family. That was pretty welcoming.

But you haven’t exactly taken her in with open arms.

The thought gave her conscience a sharp poke and she squirmed on the sofa. Her cat, Muffin, who’d been happily encamped on her lap, meowed in protest.

“If only she was more like Brooke,” Olivia said as if that excused her attitude. “At least Eric got it right.” Brooke was refined and well educated and appreciative. She loved the lodge, granny carpets and all. Not only did she truly want to be helpful, she actually was. She and Olivia were on the same wavelength.

James couldn’t help smiling at the mention of his daughter. It had been Brooke who was responsible for James and Olivia meeting. “No one’s like Brooke,” he said proudly.

“She is one of a kind, just like her daddy.”

James, who had spent most of his life playing Santa Claus, was as close to the real deal as a man could come. With his snowy white hair and beard, husky build and caring smile, he embodied the very spirit of Christmas.

“Thank you, my dear,” he said and gave her poor, tired foot a pat. “But, getting back to the subject of Meadow, I’m sure she has many redeeming qualities. All you have to do is look for them.”

“With a magnifying glass.”

“Olivia,” he gently chided.

“You’re right. I’m just having such a hard time warming to the girl.”

“I know. But this is the woman Brandon has chosen.”

Olivia sighed. “Yes, and you’re right. I need to make more of an effort for his sake.”

And she would. Tomorrow was another day.

Another busy day. They’d be decorating the lodge for the holidays. Meadow had been excited over the prospect and assured Olivia she loved to decorate. Hopefully, she’d be better at that than she was at helping serve food. And maybe this time she wouldn’t ditch them halfway through the job.

The next morning Eric was knocking on the door of Olivia’s little apartment in the lodge. “We ready to do this?” he asked James.

“Yep. Let’s start hauling up the holidays.”

And there was plenty to haul up from the huge basement storeroom where Olivia kept the holiday decorations—ornaments to go on the eight-foot noble fir they’d purchased for one corner of the lobby, as well as ones for the tree in the dining room, snow globes and red ribbons for the fireplace mantel and, of course, the antique sleigh that would sit right in the center of the lobby. It was a favorite with their guests and people were constantly taking pictures of it. There were stuffed teddy bears and antique dolls to ride in the sleigh, mistletoe to hang in the hallways and silk poinsettias to be placed on the reception desk. Decorating the inn was an all-hands-on-deck day.

“Where’s your brother?” Olivia asked as he set down the box of toys for the sleigh.

“He’s coming. Meadow’s just now getting up. They closed down The Man Cave last night and she’s pooped.”

So, she’d recovered from her earlier illness. How convenient. “Maybe she’s too tired to help,” Olivia said hopefully. Playing pool all night could be exhausting.

No such luck. Fifteen minutes later Olivia and Brooke were sorting through the first bin of decorations when Meadow dragged herself into the lobby accompanied by Brandon. She was wearing tight ripped jeans, complemented with a sheer blouse hanging loose over a low-cut red camisole that perfectly matched the patch of hair she’d dyed red. The rest was a color of blond that made Olivia think of light bulbs. Olivia could see the butterfly tattoo Meadow had over her right breast fluttering over the top of the camisole. Her holiday look was completed with a ring through her nose and one through her eyebrow. She made a shocking contrast to Brooke, with her soft brown hair and tasteful clothes. Now almost eight months pregnant, Brooke was wearing a long gray sweater accented with a blue silk scarf over her black maternity leggings and gray ankle boots. Meadow even looked like a total mismatch with Brandon, who was in jeans and a casual button-down black plaid shirt.

“I feel like shit,” she confessed. “I think those fish tacos were off.” She shook her head. “Now I know what they mean when they say ‘toss your tacos.’”

The queen of refinement this girl was not. To think Brandon could have had sweet little Bailey Black if only he’d gotten with the program. Bailey had carried a torch for him for years. Too late now. She was happily married. And Brandon was...trapped. So were the rest of them.

You’re going to have to make the best of it, Olivia reminded herself. Her son loved his new wife. He’d obviously seen something in her. She probably would, too. If she looked harder.

James and Eric arrived in the lobby, bearing more decorations. “You’re just in time,” Eric told his brother. “You can help me haul in the sleigh.”

Brandon nodded and followed the men back out.

Olivia pasted a smile on her face. “Well, girls, let’s get started.”

“All right. This is going to be fun,” Meadow said eagerly and opened a bin.

Eager and excited to help—that was commendable. And surely this was bound to go better than Thanksgiving dinner.

Meadow pulled out a pink ribbon ball holding a sprig of silk mistletoe and made a face. “What the hell is this?”

“It’s mistletoe,” Olivia explained.

“Mistletoe.” Meadow said it as if it were a foreign language.

“You’ve heard of mistletoe, right?” Brooke prompted and Meadow shook her head.

Both Olivia and Brooke stared at her in amazement.

“So, what is it?”

“You hang it up and then when you catch someone under it, you kiss him,” Brooke explained.

Meadow shook her head. “Why do you need a plant for that? If you want to kiss a guy, just kiss him!”

Good Lord. The child was a complete philistine.

Brooke smiled. “It’s a fun little tradition people enjoy.”

“Whatever,” Meadow said, unimpressed.

She was impressed with the sleigh, though. “Wow, that’s epic.” The minute the men had set it down, she climbed into it and tossed Brandon her cell phone. “Take my picture, babe,” she commanded and struck a rapper-girl pose, complete with the weird finger thing and the pout.

An older couple was walking through the lobby, and the husband stopped to enjoy the moment. “Now, there’s my kind of Christmas present,” he joked.

His wife, not seeing the humor, grabbed his arm and got him moving again. “Tacky,” she hissed.

Meadow flipped her off and Olivia’s cheeks heated. This girl was like a puzzle piece that had wound up in the wrong box. However were they going to get her to fit in?

Dear Santa, please bring me an extra dose of patience. I’m going to need it.

* * *

Sienna was still smiling when she went into work on Friday, remembering her fun evening of feasting, laughter and dancing. While the day had gotten off to a bad start, happily, it had ended on a positive note. And now she got to go to a job she loved. She had so much fun at Mountain Escape Books that her time there never felt like work, even when things were at their busiest.

The store was especially busy this day. In addition to shoppers enjoying Black Friday bargains, Muriel Sterling was there, signing copies of her newest book, A Guide to Happy Holidays.

Sienna took advantage of her employee discount and bought one. “I hope I can write a book someday,” she confessed to Muriel. I want to be just like you when I grow up. Gush, gush.

“We all have a story to tell,” Muriel said.

“I don’t know what mine would be.”

“You have lots of time to figure it out,” Muriel assured her. “You’re still young.”

“I keep telling Muriel to write a book about Icicle Falls,” said Pat, who was stacking more books on the table where Muriel was seated. “Maybe you’ll be the one to do that, Sienna.”

“Yeah,” put in Dot Morrison, one of Muriel’s friends who’d come in to purchase a book and offer moral support. “Or...why don’t you write a juicy novel with lots of sex? And a murder. You can set it right here in Icicle Falls.”

“If you need characters for a book, there’s your girl,” Pat teased, making Dot frown.

Known for her crazy sweatshirts, Dot was definitely a character. Today’s offering said Apologies to Anyone I Haven’t Offended. Please Be Patient. I’ll Get to You Shortly.

“Murder in Icicle Falls?” Muriel gave a mock shudder.

Dot shrugged. “Yeah, I guess that wouldn’t work. Who would you murder?”

“Your neighbor Mr. Cratchett?” Pat suggested to Sienna.

“Well...” Sienna regretted having told Pat about her problem neighbor. Complaining to family was one thing. Complaining to other people was plain old bad-mouthing. Although if anyone deserved to be bad-mouthed, it was Cratchett.

Dot gave a snort. “That old grump. Don’t mind him. He’s lived here forever. Comes into my restaurant every once in a while. Never leaves my gals a tip. You could bump him off in a book. Put him in my place and have someone slip poison in his coffee. The way he gripes about it, you’d think it was poisoned.”

“There’s probably more to Mr. Cratchett than what you’re seeing,” Muriel said.

“As in, you can’t judge a book by its cover,” said Pat.

“Not even in a bookstore,” Muriel added with a smile.

Sienna had seen enough of Mr. Cratchett and she didn’t want to read any further.

“We shouldn’t be too hard on the poor man. Maybe he’s got a good reason to be so grouchy. He’s a widower, after all,” Muriel said in Cratchett’s defense.

This produced another snort from Dot. “I’ve been a widow for years. You don’t see me whining about it.” She shook her head. “Men. They’re the weaker sex.”

At that moment a member of the weaker sex came into the store, needing help finding the latest Suzanne Selfors book for his daughter, and that broke up the confab as Sienna went to help him and Pat moved to ring up a sale.

Business remained brisk for the next two hours, with townspeople popping in to get signed copies of Muriel’s book. Her daughters Samantha and Cecily both came by, bringing treats from their sister Bailey’s tearoom. And Vance Fish, one of the town’s older single men, stopped in to say hi to Muriel. He owned a bookstore in Seattle but he always came by Pat’s when she had a special event going on.

“We indie booksellers have to stick together,” he said.

While he was there, two women came in looking for the latest Vanessa Valentine book. Sienna had heard a rumor that Vance Fish himself was really Vanessa Valentine. She’d worked up her nerve to ask him once. He’d laughed and replied, “Do I look like a Vanessa Valentine to you?” So much for that rumor.

Muriel’s book signing ended, but before she left the store, she handed out invitations to her ladies’ Christmas tea the next Sunday afternoon.

“It’s a tradition,” Pat told Sienna. “She does this every year for her girlfriends and daughters, so make sure you line up your cousin to watch Leo, because you won’t want to miss seeing Muriel’s place all fixed up for the holidays.”