by Sabrina York
Last night she’d rationalized choosing the silk confection because she’d never owned anything as fine. And if on the off chance a fire broke out in the lodge, she’d rather dash out of her room in a sexy nightgown than flannel, oversized, baggy sleepwear.
She accidentally must have added mind-blowing mushrooms to the stew she cooked yesterday, because last night that argument had seemed rational.
She’d created a stable life through rigid plans and realistic goals. A life where she wore flannel pajamas to bed and jogging clothes to work. A comfortable life, a life without Jake. One day back at the Mistletoe Lodge and she had veered off her path. Time to get back on track.
She sat up abruptly and rubbed her bare shoulders.
Tree branches scratched against the window and a bird perched on the sill outside and pecked on the window as though sending her a message that it was time to get out of bed. She looked for Woofy, but he must have gone downstairs already.
“Okay, I’m up,” she said aloud and threw off the comforter and slipped out of bed. The cold floor was like walking on ice. She raced to the bathroom. Her aunt remembered to pack a lace negligée, but forgot slippers and a robe? A hot shower, a change of clothes, and a cup of coffee would set her world back in order.
The bathroom was as adorable as the bedroom that featured, a raised clawfoot ceramic bathtub and a two-person tile shower. She made a mental note to indulge in a leisurely bath with candles and a romance novel as she turned on the shower.
Ice cold water shot out of the nozzle and she jumped back from the spray. Moving back, she turned the knob as far as it would go in the direction of the hot water indicator. The lodge was old. Maybe it took a while for the boiler to heat. But after a few minutes with only glacial-cold water continuing to pour out, she gave up.
She jumped in, scrubbed and performed her fastest shower on record. Dressing in the warmest clothes her aunt had packed, she rushed downstairs to meet Jake.
He was in the great room that served as the lodge’s restaurant. The room was as cold as the upstairs. He had cleaned out the firebox and was scrubbing down the stone mantel.
She blew on her hands. Watching him work warmed her in ways she didn’t want to examine too closely. “Can I help?”
He returned her smile and chuckled. “I had the bright idea to let the fire die down last night and rely on the furnace, with the plan of cleaning the hearth this morning. Didn’t plan on the storm knocking out the power.”
She blew on her hands again and strolled toward him. “That explains the cold shower. Cleaning out the fireplace was a good plan. It looks better.”
His gaze lingered on her. “So do you.”
Flustered, she tried to tug the body- hugging sweater down over the hips of her skinny jeans. “It’s my aunt’s doing. She packed a suitcase full of new clothes
He set the rag aside and reached for kindling. “I wasn’t talking about your clothes. You look different. More relaxed.”
“Oh.” She smothered a smile and glanced around the room as a distraction. She didn’t want to dwell too long on how his comment made her feel all warm and fuzzy inside. “Have you seen Woofy?”
“He came down earlier and wanted to go outside.”
“And you let him? By himself? He’s never been here before. He’ll get lost or be attacked by a bear or mountain lion.”
“Calm down. He’s a smart dog. I’m sure he hasn’t gone far.”
She moved toward the door, painfully aware that Jake hadn’t denied that there were wild animals in the woods. “We have to find him.”
12
The faire grounds looked like a ghost town in the mist shrouded morning light. Shutters and doors were closed tight over cottages that advertised candle, soap and pottery classes. Ivy smothered walls in a green veil and crept toward roof lines. The fence that circled the demonstration field, where Miranda had viewed knights fight in mock battles, was covered in waist-high grass.
She called for Woofy, but there was no answer. “What happened to this place?” Miranda said.
“That depends on who you ask.”
“I’m asking you.”
“I thought we were here to find Woofy?”
“We can do both.”
Jake unlatched the gate. Hinges protested as he shoved the gate through tall grass. “My parents said families stopped coming. They blamed the popularity of fantasy and science fiction conventions.”
Miranda waded through the sea of damp grass as she called out again for Woofy. “Are they thinking of selling?”
“It would be a practical plan. This much land, close to Seattle, is worth a fortune. The lodge is considered one of Seattle’s oldest, continually running, small hotels. My parents mentioned that they had it declared a historical site. But I fear they would never get what it’s worth in its present condition. Let’s look over here. There’s a break in the fence. We’ll find your dog.”
Jake had brought along the long-handled sledgehammer he used to split wood. That made her feel a little better. She jogged to keep up with his long strides through the grass. “What if we see a bear?”
“We won’t see a bear.”
She caught up to him. “What if we do?”
He raised the sledgehammer. “I’ll scare him away. But I’m not worried. Woofy is a big dog with a deep scary growl. Any wild animal out here will keep their distance. He sure made his intentions clear when I first met him.”
She smiled, remembering Woofy’s first reaction to Jake. “But Woofy is a city dog.”
Jake paused and took her hand. “We’ll find him.”
She liked it when he did that. It felt natural and reassuring, like they were still friends. But is that all she wanted?
Woofy barked and Jake took off in the direction of the sound with Miranda close on his heels. She crashed through dense underbrush and low hanging branches.
Jake stood in a clearing near a pond, littered with leaves and branches and nestled beneath a frozen waterfall.
Woofy bounced beside Jake, barking at a tree. Jake looked toward her and grinned. “Your dog chased a squirrel up the tree.”
Miranda called Woofy, and this time he bounded over to her, allowed him to pet her, then raced back to his position beneath the tree.
“I remember this place,” Miranda said.
Jake lifted branches off the pond and tossed them beside a tree. “It used to be our place. I loved it here.”
“Me too,” she said, helping remove leaves from the life-size fairy sculpture made from weathered bamboo reeds. It was missing one of its wings and some of the reeds that created the flowing lines of a gown were broken. “It’s a shame what happened here.”
Jake nodded. “I keep going over conversations I’ve had with my parents over the years. They must have tried to tell me, but I was too absorbed with building my career to really listen. It looks like they gave up.” He picked up a palm-sized stone as though he meant to throw it into the pond. The gesture reminded her of another time.
She stopped his hand. “But we don’t have to give up. I mean my aunt asked me to hang a few decorations. We don’t have to stop there. We have six days. We could accomplish a lot in that time. What if we fixed it up? I don’t mean just add a few decorations and sweep out the cobwebs, but a real makeover. I have an idea. Your parents helped a lot of people who would be more than happy to return the favor. I’ll make a few phone calls.”
“That might be a few days. While we wait for reinforcements, I could repair the pathways and cottages.”
She nuzzled Woofy. “I’ll work on doing a little painting. How attached are you to the murals in the restaurant?”
He bent down to pet Woofy. “They’re depressing.”
“I thought the same thing. Mind if I take a stab at changing them?”
“I trust you completely. Are you always this positive?”
“No, but I’m working on it.”
13
Jake couldn’t sleep. Sometime in the late after
noon yesterday, the power had come back on. He and Miranda had spent the day implementing their plans. He worked outside, while Miranda cleaned the inside of the lodge in preparation to recreate the murals. Dawn was hours away and even the birds had the good sense to still be asleep. He threw off the covers and shrugged on jeans and a sweater and headed downstairs to start breakfast. As much as this place represented a fantasy, it felt more real than the years he had spent in England.
He reached the bottom of the stairs and heard Miranda humming. It took him back to his childhood. It was one of the songs that his father had played for guests during the Christmas feast days. He scrubbed his face free of the memory and opened the door to the kitchen.
Miranda was inside stirring something in a double boiler over the stove. Woofy padded over and nuzzled his hand.
“You’re cooking again,” Jake said.
She slid him a glance and grinned. “I needed chocolate.”
He joined her, watching her profile and the shadows that played over her face. He hadn’t realized how much he missed her until he’d seen her again, but when she needed him the most, he hadn’t been there for her.
“I’m sorry about your mom.” He wanted to ask her why she hadn’t told him that her mother was seriously ill. He hadn’t found out that Miranda’s mother had died until six months after the funeral. He had been mad that his parents hadn’t told him sooner. He’d been mad at Miranda, but mostly he had been mad at himself.
‘I’m sorry, “he said again “I should have been here for you.”
She broke off squares of dark chocolate and added them to her mixture. “I should have told you.”
He wouldn’t ask why she hadn’t. This was on him. She had been in pain and he’d been too blind to notice. “Do you want to talk about it? Tell me I was a fool?”
She smiled, the expression softening her features as though a ray of sunshine had spread over the kitchen. “Maybe later. Right now, I need to make my Christmas Chocolate Surprise.”
“What’s the surprise?”
“That’s it so easy to make.”
He joined her at the stove. “You wouldn’t have to melt the chocolate; you could just eat it.”
“Boring. Anyone can eat a chocolate bar. I believe food, especially desserts, should be an adventure. I’m glad you are here. You can chop the nuts and marshmallows. I set them out on the wood block.”
All he heard was that she was glad that he was here. “Come again?”
She pointed to the bags of nuts and marshmallows. “They just need to be chopped into smaller pieces.”
He picked up a bag of pecans. “Where did you find these?”
“In the pantry, along with the chocolate. Chocolate helps me think,” she added. “How about you?” she said, adding the last of the chocolate.
“What helps me think is splitting wood.”
“What about inspiration?” She turned back to the stove to stir the chocolate. Her hips swayed as she hummed the Christmas tune again.
He concentrated on his task. They were talking again, like old times. He wouldn’t spoil it by giving into how he felt.
When he was younger, it would have been easy to answer her question. Everything inspired him: running in the woods, learning how to shoot a bow and arrow, or helping the tradesmen and women set up their booths. He’d loved his life and had written plays, stories. Every day he had learned something new. Most of all he had been inspired by the times he and Miranda walked the woods and talked about their dreams. Most of the inspiration for his music revolved around those talks.
He ripped the bag of pecans open, and they bounced all over the counter. He gathered them in a pile and reached for a knife to dice them. “What is the song you’re humming?”
She dipped the spoon in the melted chocolate and took a bite. I’ll Be Home for Christmas. Do you know it?”
He nodded and concentrated on chopping the nuts. “It was my parents’ favorite song. They knew it didn’t fit the medieval time period, but they sang it anyway. They said it brought people together.”
There was one line in the song that haunted him: I’ll be home for Christmas, if only in my dreams.
He should have made more of an effort to spend the holidays with his parents, with Miranda.
Miranda removed the double boiler from the stove and set it on a hot plate. “Have you considered the menu for the feast after your parents renew their vows?” She spooned the melted chocolate over a parchment lined glass pan.
Jake popped a pecan into his mouth and reached for a cookbook on the shelf and set it beside Miranda. “According to my parents these are authentic fourteenth century recipes.”
Miranda scrunched up her nose. “I remember them well. The only negative aspect of that century was the tasteless food, although many say it wasn’t as bad as we think.” She licked chocolate from her fingers to turn the pages of the cookbook. “Can you sprinkle the chopped nuts and marshmallow over the chocolate?”
“Did your customers ever offer feedback on these recipes?”
Jake used a spoon to spread out the nuts as he chopped. “They liked the bread.”
She laughed. “That settles it then. This cookbook will be our inspiration and we will make a few adjustments. We’ll say the recipes were inspired by the fourteenth century.”
He’d forgotten how easy it was to talk with her. He still hadn’t called his band manger and let her know that he planned to return after Christmas. What was he waiting for?”
14
Later that day, Jake set the kindling in the wood box. The mural on the far wall nearest the fireplace looked brighter. He reached out to touch a scene of people dancing around a tree decorated with candles.
“Please don’t touch,” Miranda said as she wiped her hands on a towel. “The paint is still wet. If you like it, I plan to redo the whole room. You can blame my aunt. She gave me the brushes and paint.”
He glanced over his shoulder toward her. She was splattered from head to toe with different shades of paint. He sucked in his breath. She looked adorable.
“Do you like it?” Her eyes were wide, her voice like sunshine. “I only planned to repaint one of the murals, but I’m so pleased with the result that if it’s okay with you, I’ll keep going. Do you think your parents will mind?”
“They’ll love it.”
She talked on and on about how she first painted the walls white and raised the heat in the room so that the paint would dry faster. Then said that she couldn’t wait until the morning. She’d recreated a middle ages Christmas themed scene, but instead of the somber images that were there before, the new scenes were joyful. Everywhere you looked, people laughed, danced. or kissed. Children built snowmen or created snow angels in drifts of snow. Trees were decorated with candles and red apples, while musicians played instruments and people sang.
It wasn’t one hundred present historically accurate to the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, but Miranda had captured the spirit of the times. He glanced over in her direction. She was describing the inspiration of a musician who played a violin as he gazed up at an open window toward a woman who threw him a rose. Miranda was animated, alive and full of excitement. He’d never seen anything he liked more.
Miranda paused. “You hate it.”
He pulled her into his arms and kissed her. It was like coming home.
She melted against him and gave into the feel of his arms wrapped around her. His kiss deepened, and he traveled to a place where dreams come true. He had missed her.
He cupped the back of her head in his hands and drew back. “I’m not sure I know why I did that.”
Her gaze was a confused collection of emotions that drew a smile from her lips. She snuggled against him. “I don’t know why I kissed you back.”
They laughed. The sound was music in his ears.
“Does this mean you like my paintings?” she said.
He laughed again and kept his arms around her. “Very much. You’re really good.”
<
br /> “A hobby that turned into a passion. Some people say that they lose themselves in their art. I’m the opposite. I feel the most like myself when I’m painting.”
He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “That’s the same for me as well. When I’m writing a song or playing my music, I feel like I’m me.”
“I made more stew.”
“I’m not hungry.”
She tugged on his shirt.” Yes you are.”
He grinned. “Yes, I am. In fact, I’m starving, but I don’t want to let go.”
“Then don’t.” She reached for his hand and drew him to the kitchen. “We have a lot to talk about. My aunt said that guests are arriving in a few days and we’re not ready.”
He sat down at the table where Miranda had set bowls and silverware. “We’re closed.”
She scooped stew into his bowl. “According to my aunt that changed.”
He took the bowl of soup from her and set it down, then lifted her onto his lap. “Did you say that the guests won’t arrive for a few days?”
“What are you suggesting?”
He brushed a kiss on her lips. “I’m suggesting that we have plenty of time before they arrive to get reacquainted.”
15
Stars outside Miranda’s window winked in and out from behind the clouds. She had just gone to bed and was trying to fall asleep, but all she could think about was Jake. They hadn’t slept together, but each moment of stolen kisses and heated glances told her they were close. Two days with him felt like a dream come true. She was painting again and loved every minute.
She stretched and raised her arms. Two days had passed and each night she’d gone to bed exhausted. She’d scrubbed every inch of the downstairs reception area, entry, and great room. According to her aunt, guests should be arriving soon. In the morning she’d start on making sure all the guest rooms were ready.
