by Sabrina York
He put on his jacket and gathered the tools. “A storm is coming. You better get inside.”
“Fine,” she said. Her tone was as cold as the wind.
He turned his back and heard Miranda drag the suitcase over the uneven pathways as her faithful dog trotted behind her. His first impulse had been to pull her into his arms. A foolhardy idea. She probably had moved on, while he was stuck in the past.
“A good first meeting,” the woman said. “Better than expected.”
He flinched. He’d thought he was alone. “You should also go inside.”
“You don’t remember me.” It was spoken more as a statement than a question. “My hair
was less blue back then. I’m Miranda’s Aunty Bell, but everyone calls me F.G.”
He took another look at the woman. Barely five feet tall with a moon-shaped face and eyes as blue as her hair. When she’d stepped in between him and Miranda, her eyes had been a darker shade, almost black. Now they were summer-sky blue. One of the vendors who had a booth at the faire had had eyes like hers. She had been popular with the children but had the annoying habit of appearing out of nowhere when least expected and reciting random lines from Shakespeare plays or Irish proverbs. She was well-loved by everyone.
“You’re Miranda’s aunt, Mrs. Bell.”
“I prefer F.G. these days.”
“My parents mentioned they’d hired an event planner. Is that what Miranda does these days? Or is that your new thing?”
“Among others. Right now, Miranda has a successful dog walking business, and I convinced her to come help me.”
“That was nice of her.”
“She’s still the same person.”
“I’m not.”
F.G. looped her arm through Jake’s. “I would argue that point, but I’ll let it go for the moment. You can fool your parents, but you can’t fool me. For the time being, lets focus on the problem at hand. This place needs a complete makeover. Can you work with Miranda to make that happen?”
Jake glanced toward the lodge. It was only seven days until Christmas Eve. His parents deserved to have a beautiful setting when they renewed their vows. He nodded. “Yes, I can do that.”
8
Miranda rolled the suitcase into the lodge, with Woofy close behind. She flipped on the overhead light. It flickered a few times and held. Leaning the suitcase against the registration desk, she crossed under an arched doorway into the great room that was used as a restaurant. Her first impression was that it wasn’t too bad. The long trestle-style oak tables that lined the restaurant, with their bench seats, were polished to a high gloss and mirror smooth, and the wood floors were swept clean. Woofy made himself at home and trotted over to curl in front of the fire.
Closer examination showed that not everything had received the same meticulous attention. Windows were coated with dust and ash from the fire, the murals on the walls that depicted middle life were faded, and the tartan plaid upholstered chairs and sofa grouped in front of the fire were threadbare.
She heard Jake chopping wood and glanced out the window. The panes of glass were so dirty all she made out was the outline of Jake as he labored to split wood. Her imagination filled in his features and her pulse spiked. She remembered his expression when his eyes met hers. Time rolled away. She’d sensed that he had had been glad to see her – as glad as she was to see him. Then she had seen his expression change as no doubt the memories returned along with the hurt.
His outburst of anger had enflamed her own and the deeply buried wound had resurfaced. It was true that she had broken off their relationship by saying that she was seeing someone else, but he never questioned her, never fought for her. How could he so easily believe that she was seeing some else? Did he have such little faith in their love? The pain was fresh and new. She preferred it buried.
The image beyond the window blurred as she remembered how Jake had looked at her when he had first seen her a short time ago. There was the familiar look of love in his eyes. It vanished quickly, but not before she recognized it, and felt her heart leap in response. They had been so young – newly graduated from high school. Did anyone that young always think clearly?
“Stop,” she said aloud. “You’re not here to fall back into love.” Her very loud inner voice reminded her that she had never fallen out of love with Jake. That was beside the point. She would do what she came here to do, no more no less.
She swiped away the budding tears and concentrated on Jake. He was frustrated, she could tell by how he attacked the wood. He faced a monumental task. He had seven days to bring order out of years of neglect. The problem was where to begin. As a result, Jake attacked a task where there was a clear sign of success: chopping wood. She’d leave him to it. And concentrate on the things she could control. Besides, he needed to work out his frustrations. God only knew she had giant ones of her own.
He had a lot on his mind and if she was honest, so did she. What was her aunt thinking in bringing her here? That crafty old woman always had three or four motives for doing things and none of them were the reason she gave.
Miranda glanced over her shoulder at the murals along the walls. Ash and grime coated the characters in the settings and obscured their features. All the people in the scenes were so depressed. No one smiled and their clothes looked as though they’d washed them in muddy water. She ached to refresh the murals but that was outside the task set before her. Perhaps Jake and his parents liked the murals the way they were.
Her stomach grumbled, reminding her that she hadn’t eaten since last night and she always thought better when she had food. If memory served, Jake was the same way. They might be at odds with one another right now, but they shared the same goal. Besides, she needed to take an inventory of the food in the kitchen if they were to prepare a feast for his parents’ party guests. She’d ask Jake if he knew how many guests were invited.
For the present, the smells of a nice pot of stew simmering away on the stove would cheer this place, and if any place needed cheering up, it was this one. Seven days before Christmas and there wasn’t even a tree.
She left the restaurant and headed toward the kitchen and stopping abruptly. It was spotless and bulging with food. She did a little happy dance. It was the one place in the lodge that didn’t need a face-lift. She hummed as she opened the pantry and sighed with pleasure.
Garlic ropes hung from the ceiling and glass jars of dried basil, thyme, rosemary, oregano, and dozens of other herbs and spices were stacked in neat rows along the shelves. Sacks of potatoes and onions leaned against each other on the floor, while rows of colorful canned goods lined the shelves opposite the spices. There were canned green cucumbers pickled with orange carrots and baby onions, Mason jars of burgundy beets, and white and green asparagus, tomatoes, canned peaches, pears, sliced apples packed with cinnamon sticks, cherries, and an assortment of jams and jellies.
The bounty of food made her mouth water. If there was flour, and she suspected there was, she could make pies. A wedding cake was a bit beyond her capabilities, but she knew the perfect person to ask. DeDe had expressed interest in helping in any way she could and as the owner of a fabulously famous bakery, DeDe would be the perfect person to ask when Miranda returned home this evening.
Miranda gathered spices, potatoes, and a jar of tomatoes, turned and almost bumped into her aunt. “Oh, hello, I didn’t see you standing there.”
Her aunt took a jar of raspberry jam from the pantry and followed Miranda to the wood chopping block-style table in the center of the kitchen. “What are you up to?”
Miranda set her collection of goodies on the table. “I’m making stew.”
“And?”
Miranda pulled an iron pot from the cupboard. “You tell me. It was your idea to lure me here. My life was chugging along just fine until you stepped back into it. My life was under control.”
Her aunt popped the wax seal on the jam and scooped out a spoonful. “Your life had stalled,” she said as she ate the
jam. “It lacked magic. This is good jam.”
“Magic never did anyone in this family any good.”
Her aunt drew up a chair. “I’m not talking about fairy dust and fortune cookies and you well know it. You have this strange idea about me and your mother.”
“I’m fixing stew that’s all. Then I’m going to tackle the restaurant and entry. If you want to help you can stay and chop potatoes and onions.”
Her aunt resealed the jam. “Perhaps later. What I will do to help is to make sure all the rooms are clean with fresh linens. Lodge guests will start arriving in a few days.”
Miranda went to the pantry to fetch more potatoes. “Jake said the lodge was closed.”
“Someone must have reopened it. Oh, and before I forget. The freezer is full of meat for your stew, and of course, dark chocolate.”
Miranda smiled at the retreating woman. “The idea sounded outlandish, but after Miranda had gone to live with her aunt when her mother died, outlandish meals were the norm: brownies for breakfast, and candy corn pizzas for lunch and dinner. “Just so you know, I’m not adding chocolate to the stew,” Miranda shouted after her aunt.
Her aunt paused by the kitchen door. “Of course not. Whatever gave you that notion?” She winked. “There are much better uses for chocolate.”
9
The winter sun set over the horizon in a burst of red and gold as Jake hauled an armful of kindling up the stairs to the lodge. He’d lost track of the time as well as how many cords of wood he’d stacked, but he estimated that he had cut enough wood shakes to reroof one small cottage, and possible two or three of the booths. A good day’s work. What he didn’t know was if his father wanted to repair the buildings.
The longer he worked, the better he felt. Tomorrow morning he’d contact his parents and ask them what plans they had for the lodge. If they wanted to sell, he was okay with their decision. Well, not exactly okay, but he would learn to live with it. He hadn’t realized how much he missed this place. But he couldn’t expect his parents to keep it if it had become too much for them to manage. And his life was in Europe, which reminded him that he should also call his manager, Cally, and let her know to tell the rest of the band that he wouldn’t be back until after Christmas.
The thought of returning held little appeal, which caught him off guard. He had everything he’d ever wanted. He had his music and his band, and everyone said how lucky he was. He was living the dream. But was it his dream?
He pushed open the door to the lodge. The aroma of beef stew mixed with herbs greeted him like a hug. He followed the aroma to the restaurant where the flames in the fireplace danced and gave off a sunset glow.
Jake stacked the kindling in the wood box near the fireplace, petted Woofy who eyed him carefully, and headed into the kitchen. He considered it a win that the dog hadn’t bitten off his hand.
He paused before entering the kitchen. Miranda had transformed the space and made it her own. The smells of a rich stew bubbled on the stove. Fronds of ferns, cedar, and dried hydrangeas were grouped in vases and displayed in every nook and cranny. His mother always had kept the kitchen pristine, but there were subtle changes that he knew were entirely Miranda. She loved bringing the outdoors inside.
Her hair was damp from the heat of the kitchen and her face flushed as she stirred the stew. She was the most beautiful vision he’d ever seen. How could a woman fill his heart the way she did? He had been a fool to let her go. He’d realized it too late.
He cleared his throat. “It smells delicious.”
She removed the spoon and set it on a plate, wiping her hands on a towel attached to the waistband of her jeans. Her expression was guarded. “I hope you don’t mind. I sort of took over the kitchen.”
“Mind? It never smelled better in here.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “We got off to a rough start. I’m sorry,” Jake said, and meant every word and more. “I overreacted when I first saw you.”
She slid him a glance and a gentle smile. “Me too. Come in. I’ve set the table for us.”
His heart stopped at her use the word, “us.”
“Your dog growled at me.”
Her eyes sparkled with mischief. “He’s my protector.”
Jake took a seat at the table. “The only one?”
“Excuse me?” She ladled stew into their bowls and sat down opposite him.
He shook his head and reached for a spoon. “Never mind. To answer your question earlier, I didn’t know what happened to this place. I haven’t been home in a long time. Whenever they spoke of the place, they said business had slowed but that they had plans that would turn things around.”
“Why would they misrepresent what had happened?”
“That’s a mystery to me as well. My parents are proud people. Perhaps they didn’t know how to tell me.”
“Perhaps.” Her voice trailed off as she stirred her stew. She set her spoon down. “My aunt said the strangest thing earlier. She said that there were guests arriving in a few days. For some reason I had the impression that it would be a small gathering of family and a few friends. But my aunt made it sound as though the lodge would be filled to the brim. Do you have any idea how many are expected?”
“Not a clue. My impression was the same as yours.”
The back door of the kitchen burst open and Owen walked in. “Smells like old times in here. If I hadn’t promised my Mary that I’d be home before dark, I’d ask if I could join you for dinner.” He nodded to Miranda. “Your aunty told me to tell you that she had to leave.”
Miranda shot up from her chair. “What do you mean she left?”
10
“What do you mean she left?” Miranda repeated as she raced out the front door of the lodge and down the path that led to the parking lot. She skidded to a stop. The parking lot was empty.
She reached into the pocket of her jeans and removed her cellphone. She’d call a taxi and go home, contact her aunt, and give her a piece of her mind. Why did she leave her alone? Miranda couldn’t decorate this place on her own. It would take more than a handful of people to turn this place around in seven days.
Her phone went dead. “No cell service? Really?
She turned on her heels and ran into Jake.
“There you are,” he said. “You should get inside. There’s a storm coming.”
“I can’t stay. I need to go home and ask, no beg, my friends to help me with the decorations, bake a cake, contact a florist, a million other things. Can you drive me into town?”
“I don’t have a car and Owen left right after he told you about your aunt. He seemed in a hurry.”
Wind whipped through the trees and a branch cracked. She jumped and sneezed.
“I’m sorry,” Jake said.
“It’s not your fault. I allowed myself to get talked into coming here. I don’t know what I was thinking. I’m not an event planner. I was swept up in the whole idea that I could swoop in, put up a few decorations, and leave before you arrived.”
“Ouch. Shouldn’t I be the one who is mad at you? You broke up with me, remember?”
Chilled, she rubbed her arms. “Why aren’t you? Mad at me that is?”
“You’re cold.” He shrugged off his wool shirt and wrapped it around her shoulders. “Let’s get you inside.” He draped his arm over her shoulder as they walked toward the lodge.
The wind picked up strength and tore through the branches. Leaves rained down with the freezing sleet.
Once inside, Jake bolted the door and guided Miranda toward the sofa by the fire and covered her with a blanket. She snuggled into its warmth and gazed over at Jake as he added more wood to the flames. There was a tenderness about him that she didn’t remember when they were younger, or maybe she’d been too young herself to notice things like that. “What’s it like living in England?”
He prodded a log into place with an iron poker. “Do you want the version I give my parents or the truth?”
“The truth.”
“It�
�s lonely.”
11
Miranda sat on the bed in the biggest room she’d ever seen. Jake had taken the blue suitcase up to this room and announced the room was the best in the lodge. The room was bigger than her apartment and a whole lot more cheerful. There was wallpaper decorated with bouquets of lavender, an icy-green silk comforter, antique furnishings, and a view from the double windows that overlooked the quiet mountainside of the lodge. Her studio apartment overlooked a busy street.
She stared at the suitcase as though it might sprout wings. Her aunt had meant to strand her alone with Jake all along. Miranda’s mother had claimed her sister had a wee bit of the Irish fairy in her. Matchmaker was closer to the truth.
Miranda opened the suitcase. Her aunt had packed all the essentials, toiletries, extra sweaters, underwear, jeans, flannel pjs, black lace nightgowns…
She shut the lid. Her face flushed, and she snapped her eyes closed against the image of what she would look like in the barely-there negligée and Jake’s reaction. Her face flamed hotter as she gritted her teeth. When she returned, she would have a serious talk with her aunt on how inappropriate she was, not to mention presumptuous.
Miranda sucked in a deep breath and reopened the lid, looking for slippers and a robe. Instead she found a cardboard box with the logo of the art shop she’d visited the day before. Inside was the tin of brushes she’d almost bought and a supple of paints.
She fingered the high-quality brushes. “Aunty Bell, what are you up to?”
Six o’clock in the morning and she was wide awake. If this were a normal day, she would already be out of bed, showered, dressed and preparing to take Woofy for a run. Instead, she was in bed and had allowed her mind to drift in any direction it fancied. A huge departure that had the word caution written all over it. Miranda’s eyes were wide open. She lay on the big four poster bed under a down comforter. The window was open, and the cold breeze frosted the air. She had opted to wear the black negligée instead of flannel pajamas, not the wisest decision in retrospect.
