A Lake House Holiday
Megan Squires
Copyright © 2018 by Megan Squires
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
To Brad.
Your unending support means more
than I could ever fit into a few sentences here.
You encourage me to run after my dreams and to live up to the faith you have in me, and for that,
I’m so very grateful.
I love you always.
Contents
1. Jolene
2. Luke
3. Jolene
4. Luke
5. Jolene
6. Luke
7. Jolene
8. Luke
9. Jolene
10. Luke
11. Jolene
12. Luke
13. Jolene
14. Luke
15. Jolene
16. Luke
17. Jolene
18. Luke
19. Jolene
20. Luke
21. Jolene
22. Luke
23. Jolene
24. Luke
25. Jolene
26. Luke
27. Jolene
One Year Later
The End
About the Author
1
Jolene
ACE BARKED THREE times every morning, right at the stroke of seven.
He was the best alarm clock Jolene Carter ever had, but he didn’t appreciate it when she’d bop him squarely on his head in an attempt to hit the snooze, like she did that morning. He let his distaste be known with a low rumble in his throat. It would’ve intimidated a stranger, but little about the one-hundred-pound ball of fluff could rattle Jolene.
The dog had wandered his way out of the dense Merrylark forest line and onto Jolene’s property years ago, and after posting on local websites and venturing a trip down the hill to the humane society, she concluded that the mutt had been abandoned on purpose. That revelation broke Jolene’s heart, yet at the same time healed it. Ace could become rightfully hers.
And they needed each other. How they needed each other.
They’d been a team for four years now, but judging from Ace’s annoyed groan, he wasn’t as thrilled about the ongoing partnership.
“Oh, cheer up, grumpster,” Jolene teased as she rolled over to rough up the soft hair of his hackles. “I’m only trying to get a rise out of you. You make it so easy.”
Ace groaned again and stretched his long body out on the mattress, his paws shoving down the flannel sheets to the foot of the bed, bunching them up like an accordion.
“I wouldn’t bop you if you could just find a different way to wake me up, you know,” she reasoned with the animal. “Barking is so loud. Startles me every single morning. Maybe a lick on the cheek or a nuzzle under my chin instead?” On cue, Ace rolled onto his back to face her. He pressed a soft paw to her collarbone. His chestnut eyes blinked twice, then stayed shut as he drifted back to sleep, his wakeup call duties complete. “Silly pup.”
Swinging her legs over the side of the bed, Jolene paused to let the sleep lift from her eyes. Gold streaks of winter morning light slanted through the window in front of her, hitting her toes as they painted the worn and knotty hardwood. Through the window frame, waves crested and fell across the lake. They looked like thousands of tiny mirrors in mosaic form as they caught the glimmering winter sunlight. It was a new, original piece of artwork every morning, and Jolene treasured that daily gift.
Her heart swelled along with the waves.
“Coffee?” She turned to Ace as he let out a huff. “I’ll make yours extra caffeinated. Sounds like someone needs it this morning.”
The closet was a short walk from the bed and she padded across the room to collect her fuzzy robe and slippers. Even though the day’s temperatures promised to be warmer than yesterday’s, mornings always began with a chill that caused Jolene to tug the sash on her robe just a little tighter to keep in the extra body heat. She liked days like that, ones that swung all over the thermometer.
Making her way to the kitchen, she flipped the switch to the coffee maker on the counter and it roared to life. Within minutes, the entire house awoke with the invigorating scent of rich, dark coffee. Jolene pulled her favorite Christmas mug from the sink, rinsed it quickly, and poured the drink all the way to the rim. Even though the holiday was still weeks off, she had already packed away her everyday plates, dishes, and bowls and restocked her cabinets with festive and colorful serveware boasting illustrated evergreen trees and holly berries on their surfaces.
Jolene took a swig of the coffee, a spicy blend with notes of nutmeg. The first sip was always her favorite. She warned herself each time that it would be too hot and cause her taste buds to sizzle right off, but she never could help herself from stealing that initial guzzle before the temperature had sufficient time to cool. Jolene wasn’t very good at waiting on things.
Glancing out the back window, she saw the familiar shadow of her deck rocker swaying. With a mug in one hand, she retrieved and filled another and then walked to the back door of the house. Roger Wilkins looked up as Jolene stepped across the threshold and onto the back deck. His wire spectacles were low on his bulbous, red nose and needed the push of his index finger to slide them back up the bridge where they belonged.
“Morning, Jojo.” Tremors in his hands shook as he stretched out to collect the proffered cup. “Glorious day.”
“Indeed,” Jolene agreed as she took her usual place beside him. “Coffee’s hot. Careful.”
“I sure hope you’re not worried I’ll sue over scalded taste buds. Don’t have much need for them anymore and certainly don’t have much need for any of your money, either.”
She laughed. “That’s awfully good to hear because I don’t have any to offer.”
“No, no,” he said, his head nodding in a constant and wobbly bob. “But money’s not always the most valuable thing a person can have.”
“Starting in with the words of wisdom already? I need at least one cup before I can process anything, remember? At the very minimum, a few sips.” Her rosebud lips pressed to the mug and she slurped in a mouthful that had cooled to a drinkable temperature. She could hear Roger laugh at her side, his crackly chuckle a comforting sound.
They sat in companionable silence for a long stretch of time. Jolene always enjoyed watching the winter forest awake across the expanse of water—the way the deer would prance in and out of the stalks of trees and how the birds would flutter about, ready to get the worm with an eagerness only Mother Nature could bring forth in the wintery temperatures.
From his seat next to her on the deck, Roger mouthed the verses in his Bible while he read, and every once in a while his volume would increase and the sounds would become an audible murmuring. Jolene loved it. It was as though he was reading his devotional to her, including her in the spiritual routine like he was the pastor and she, the congregation.
He shut his book after several minutes and looked up. “Big plans today?”
Jolene’s mug had run dry so she settled it onto the small table between them. There was already a stained ring on the hardwood top and she fit the empty cup within its circular loop. “Just the holiday craft fair later this morning. I told Cat I’d help with the coffee truck since Vick’s gone down the hill for Tanner’s hockey tournament. Shouldn’t be too lo
ng. Just a couple of hours. She’s always so short staffed for these sorts of things.”
“I sure hope you’re not volunteering again.” Roger looked sideways at his young friend through low glasses. They never could seem to stay put where they belonged on his narrow face. Jolene didn’t answer. “Jojo, dear, you need to stop doing favors for everyone around here. First the O’Connells use you as their own personal house maid and now you’re making mochas for free for the Feltons? You gotta start charging what your helping hand is worth, sweetheart, or you’ll be taken advantage of ‘til kingdom come. Your generosity needs to be appreciated.”
“It’s not being taken advantage of if you offer your help freely. You know I like keeping up the O’Connell place. Plus, they pay me enough to make ends meet. And Cat’s got more on her plate than she can handle right now. I’m more than happy to help ease their burden. No sweat off my brow. I like helping my friends succeed.”
“You can ease their burden without being a burden to their pocketbook, you know. Their success means they can afford to pay you. You think Scott McKinley’s making cappuccinos for free? No ma’am. Guarantee he’s demanding a wage that’s more than fair. And the O’Connells have more money than they know what to do with. It’s why they’re able to maintain a guest house at a lake that they haven’t even seen in over five years.”
“Well, in fairness, I maintain it.”
“My point exactly.” Roger’s frail hand came down over Jolene’s. His skin was like crepe paper, soft to the touch. She wondered what his hands must’ve been like in his youth when they held strength and vigor and roughness born from work. At one point in time, she figured he’d had hands young women competed with one another to hold. “Can’t live off of the savings forever, Jojo. You and I both know that, hard as it is to hear.”
Roger wasn’t trying to upset her, of course not, but she felt her green eyes burning and she blinked them swiftly to halt whatever emotion was tempted to come out. They had an awful habit of spilling over without her permission. “Another cup?”
Her old friend sighed. “One’s all I can handle. Already got the shakes bad enough without the added help of caffeine.” Roger smiled sweetly and rocked back in his chair, his rust-colored loafers planted on the splintered decking to keep steady. “I need to head down the hill to the post office this morning, but Millie said she’d let me take her to the fair, so I just might see you there when you’re working Cat’s coffee truck.”
“Volunteering.”
As Roger rose slowly from his seat, his back hunching and legs protesting against the strenuous effort, he shook his head, swinging it side to side. His glasses fell off and clattered to the wooden boards. “Stubborn thing, you are, dear.”
“I love you too, Roger.” Jolene collected her mug and his glasses and stood from the rocker, though she kept her motions purposefully slowed. Roger had been known to call her a showoff a time or two when she outdid him.
“And I, you, Jojo. And I, you.”
“DECAF, PEPPERMINT WHITE mocha!”
“Thanks, Scotty!” Jolene grabbed the pink paper cup and slid it into a folded cardboard sleeve.
Things slowed as fairgoers transitioned over to Santa’s Workshop set up at the far end of the street. During the winter months, downtown Merrylark became a wonderland of brilliant holiday lights, all sparkling and twinkling in time with familiar carols that echoed through rented sound systems. Though Christmas was still three weeks off, Merrylark was ready for it, the festivities underway.
After handing the customer her drink, Jolene swiped her hands on her apron, wringing them to pull the moisture away.
“Good work today, Jo,” Cat said. She slammed the cash register drawer with a bell-like ding and then swept her jet black hair into a handheld ponytail with one hand while fanning her face with the other. “Hotter than blue blazes in here with all the steam from that dang machine, yet you’re still able to look remarkable. Tell me your secret, would ya? It’s certainly not fair. In fact, I’m close to accusing you of some sort of magical sorcery. I’ve come to the conclusion that that’s the only plausible explanation. Wizardry!”
Jolene didn’t feel magical in any way other than the fact that she’d managed to not completely melt into a puddle. She considered that a big win. Years ago, she’d given up the fight between her hair and humidity and let the elements do their thing with her unruly tresses. Having a hairdresser who knew how to cut curly hair was also a game changer. It was totally wash and wear for Jolene and her chin-length, blonde ringlets that sprung out of her head in whichever direction they pleased.
“No secrets, Cat. Just dollar store shampoo and Merrylark’s infamous hard water.”
“Hard water, hmph,” Cathy grumbled as she dropped her hair back down. She grabbed a wet rag and swept it over the counter, collecting crumbs and splattered coffee droplets left there from the busy morning. “Just one more thing not to love about these parts.”
“Oh, but there are so, so many other reasons to love it here. I can easily put up with those stubborn water stains on shower doors and dinner plates if it means I get to live in the best place on earth.” Jolene draped her hands onto Cat’s rounded shoulders and gave a tiny squeeze before bringing her fingers back up to her own apron to untie it from her neck. She folded the fabric into square, even sections and handed it to Cat, her cue that she was informally clocking out. “Mind if I head out? I need to head home to get the lake house prepped for today’s newest renter.”
“You still taking care of that place? Gotta be a lot of work with tenants arriving every few days and all. Can’t imagine it’s much fun cleaning it up each week.”
“I enjoy it, actually. Gives me something to do and new people to meet. It’s my kind of gig.”
“You never cease to amaze me, Jo. Always looking for that silver lining, even if you have to find it while scrubbing a toilet bowl.”
Jolene flashed a bright, toothy smile. “Sometimes that’s the only place it exists!”
2
Luke
EVERY BUTTON LIT up the dashboard, like a retail store’s Christmas window display on the fritz.
“Just a few more turns, Bessie. You can do it, girl. I promise I’ll be good to you once we get there. Give you that oil you love so much and a nice, long bubble bath.” The aging truck didn’t appreciate the smooth talk and belched an indignant gurgle that shut her engine down like a plug pulled from the wall. The vehicle coasted to a stop on an icy tract of highway that was neither home nor destination for Luke Handley, but some unknown patch between. “Really? That’s no way to treat the man who’s taken such good care of you for the past ten years, Bessie. I really thought we had something here.”
Luke dropped a palm to the dash, knowing it would do nothing, but often a man’s first instinct was to swat an inanimate object if it wasn’t working. That approach didn’t work on Bessie. Luke was just about to start in with more nonsensical compliments as a Hail Mary when a truck just as beaten and worn as his sidled up next to him, its hazard lights blinking out a greeting of acknowledgment. While the trucks might’ve been the same in age, the span of half a century separated the drivers.
“Need a lift, son?” an elderly man asked as he hand-cranked the window down. His voice quivered but was still audible above the rumbly engine that burped and belched under the hood. Luke noticed a cross hanging from the rearview mirror, swinging like a pendulum set in motion. It flickered holograms of glittering light across the cab which filled his chest with the promise of hope. “Heading up to the lake?”
The thought of leaving Bessie alone on this foreign stretch of road didn’t sit well in Luke’s gut, but without the help of a tow truck to pull her the rest of the way, she wasn’t going to budge, the frustrating mule that she was. Luke’s options were few, the amount of people he’d passed on the road in the last hour even fewer.
He took this selfless offer from a stranger as a sign from the Big Man Upstairs that someone had his back.
“If the lake you’re referring to is Merrylark and you’ve got room for one more traveler and a smelly old duffle bag, I’d be most grateful for the ride, sir.”
“Hop in. This ol’ sniffer doesn’t work all too well these days, anyway, so you’re in luck. Name’s Roger Wilkins.”
“Luke Handley.”
“Like Cool Hand-ley Luke?” The man’s wrinkled upper lip edged into a smile.
“Something like it.”
Grabbing the brim of his ball cap between two fingers, Luke offered a sort of quick salute, and then strode to the back of the truck to toss his luggage into the rusted bed next to a toolbox and orange water jug. He returned to the front and yanked on the passenger door handle. The unoiled hinges moaned loudly, a squeal that drew his broad shoulders to his ears in instant reaction.
“What brings you to the lake, son?”
That question was a loaded one, and Luke wasn’t up for offering the full explanation. “Just a much needed getaway.”
“Well then, you’ve come to the right place. My 78 years in the same house, staring at the same glorious body of water might make me a little biased, but there’s no better place to get away for the holidays than Merrylark. It’s straight off a Christmas postcard.”
Luke glanced across the cab and grinned at his new comrade, hoping the assertion was right. He rested his hands on the thighs of his faded blue jeans and swung his gaze out the frosted windshield. There was a crack clear across the middle, like it had been carved out of ice with the blade of an ice skate. Tall pines stretched skyward, flanking the twisting road on either side, hemming it in with thick green needles. Despite their sharp texture, they looked soft and calming as they blurred past the windows while they drove.
A Lake House Holiday: A Small-Town Christmas Romance Novel Page 1
