Christmas Duet: A Big City, Small Town Christmas Romance Bundle

by Gina Robinson

  "Nonsense!" He took her hand and closed it around the key, giving her hand a squeeze. "That room's always yours during the holidays. We aren't breaking with tradition now."

  Harry walked off before she could argue with him further. "Go easy on her, girls," he called over his shoulder. "Our Tara's just barely got here. Don't go fixing her up with some local yokel before she's even unpacked." He winked at her.

  Tara turned to Gram and arched a brow. "Who does he mean?"

  "Oh, forget that old fool. He doesn't know a thing, not a thing." Gram shook her head, looking exasperated as she watched him walk off.

  Harry and Margie had been married for over fifty years. It was safe to say Harry knew his wife pretty well. And so did Tara. She stared at her grandmother, waiting for the truth to come out.

  "Did I tell you we have a salad dressing man now?" Gram sounded too casual about him to be trusted completely. "He'll be here later with a case of Copper Creek's finest. For our cookbook experiments."

  "What cookbook?" Tara asked, trying hard not to sound as surprised as she was. People were always asking Margie for her recipes. Usually she found a way to avoid giving away the secrets to her specialties, especially her pies. "Finally putting a collection of your secret pie recipes together to sell in the gift shop?"

  "Sell my babies?" Gram shook her head and laughed. "No, no, no. Since when would I do that?" Then she beamed. "Kathleen and I are helping Copper Creek Salad Dressing put a book together for their customers. One with regional flavor. And we're going to get credit as collaborators and the lodge will get a mention, too. It's good publicity for us."

  Kathleen cut in, "We invent and test recipes using their products. They're going to print them up into a cookbook to hand out to customers—theirs and ours." She nudged Tara and winked. "It was the dressing man's idea."

  A terrible thought crossed Tara's mind. "Oh, really? Is this dressing man pimply-faced Charlie Hopkins? Because if you have any crazy idea you're going to fix me up with him, you're all seriously insane."

  Charlie was her age and the heir to the Copper Creek Dressing fortune. His parents had a big house on Horseshoe Bay. She'd had a single disastrous date with him when she was sixteen, orchestrated by her grandparents.

  Stormy cocked a brow. "He had his face sanded. He's got great skin now."

  "And a wife and three kids," Gram added, shaking her head and laughing. "Fix you two up, what an idea!"

  2

  Ten years in the food business. An MBA. New vice-president of production and product development for Copper Creek Dressing. The youngest VP, next to Charlie, the owner's son, and Charlie obviously had nepotism coloring his meteoric rise. Ryan Sanders was a bona fide salad dressing executive. Yet three months back in town and already he'd been given the ignoble title of the "dressing man" by the ladies at Echo Bay Resort.

  Ryan shook his head. Sometimes you didn't get any credit for being a good guy. You certainly didn't get any respect.

  Not that he didn't know what Margie Jansen, Harry's wife and co-owner of the resort, was up to. Todd "The Beer Man" Barney, the delivery guy for The Basin Brewery, had already warned him. He hadn't needed warning. He'd known Margie his whole life. A new bachelor in town, especially a prodigal son, was fair-game fresh meat in her book.

  He'd seen Margie's machinations firsthand and wasn't particularly concerned. As far as he knew, she'd never managed to make a match that stuck longer than a year. As for him, he was doing just fine with the women he met on the slopes.

  It would take more than Margie's scheming to keep Ryan away from Echo Bay Resort. He and that old place went back too far. When he was a kid, his mom cleaned rooms at the lodge while he ran wild through the resort and hounded Harry to take him fishing. When Ryan got a little older, he went from angling for trout to trying to hook girls. Harry spent the better part of Ryan's high school and college years trying to make sure Ryan's rod didn't end up anywhere near Tara. And failing miserably. There'd been no keeping Ryan from Tara, or her from him.

  To be fair, Ryan's friendship with Tara's older brother Chad had complicated Harry's task, making it nearly impossible. Ryan was always with Chad. And wherever Chad went, Tara followed. Before it was alluring, it was simply annoying having Chad's little sister always tagging along. Then, suddenly, Tara blossomed and Ryan's hormones kicked in.

  By the time the attraction between Tara and Ryan became obvious, no mere grandfather could break them up. Especially not with Chad watching Ryan's backside.

  Yeah, well, water under the bridge.

  Chad and Ryan had had such big plans for Echo Bay Resort. When Harry retired and Chad inherited and took over, he and Chad were going to carry on Harry's legacy and improve on it. Ryan sighed. The thought of what could have been made him melancholy, just like thinking about Chad brought back the old grief and guilt. Miss you, buddy. If only he could tell Chad how seriously sorry he was.

  Ryan still planned to own the resort one day. Harry was refusing to sell, but he was getting old. It may have been pure optimism on Ryan's part, but he thought he was winning Harry over. Just the other day Harry mentioned how he could see Ryan owning the place. Ryan had to convince him before he got senile, or, heaven forbid, died. Tara would sell the minute she inherited. To anyone but him.

  Ryan forced his thoughts back to the present. He had to be the only vice-president who made deliveries. Anything for the cookbook and his cause. He loaded the case of dressing for the resort into the cargo area of his SUV and slammed the door closed just as his buddy Dean, Copper Creek's production manager, came out of the building.

  "Snowing again! Fifth day in a row." Dean laughed, scooped a handful of snow into a ball, and pelted a tree at the far end of the parking lot. "Woot!" He did a victory punch in the air. "Going to be a great ski season this year if this keeps up. Finest powder around."

  "Heading up tonight?" Ryan grabbed his broom from the backseat and began sweeping snow off his vehicle.

  "Yeah. Gotta get a little night boarding in. You?" Dean started his car and turned the defroster on full, then popped back out with an industrial-strength scraper in his hand.

  Ryan shook his head. "Making a delivery."

  Dean laughed at him. "Ah, dressing man. Right." Dean clapped him on the shoulder. "How long are you going to play up to Margie and kiss Harry's butt?"

  "Kiss butt, what are you talking about?" Ryan shook his head and grinned. "I like the old man and enjoy hanging around the place."

  Dean gave him a long, skeptical look. "Have fun, then. But don't get your hopes up. Harry's never going to sell to you. He'll leave the place to Tara."

  Ryan shrugged and shook the rapidly falling snow off his head. "Maybe." He didn't like admitting Dean could very well end up being right. And he never talked about Tara.

  Dean tossed his ice scraper into the car. He slid into his driver's seat and kicked the snow off his boots on the running board. "Doing the Santa Ski on Christmas Eve?"

  Ryan nodded. "Couldn't miss it if I wanted to. The entire ski patrol's required to be on duty. With bells on. Literally. Jingle, jingle, jingle."

  Dean laughed. "Hope you already bought your Santa suit. Walmart's out."

  "Got mine online in October."

  "Great! Maybe wearing the suit will finally score you a few babes. Girls love sitting in Santa's lap."

  Ryan scooped up a handful of snow, enough to pelt Dean. But Dean was too quick. He slammed his car door shut before Ryan got a shot off. Dean honked, laughing and mouthing ho, ho, ho as he drove off.

  "What's this? What's a Santa Ski?" Tara picked up a cardboard tri-fold sign from the center of the booth table and held it out to Gram, who sat across from her.

  At Gram's urging, Tara had just ordered the mega-calorie Copper Creek Bleu Cheese Burger from the newly revised resort menu. Gram needed her opinion on it before it got starred-most-favored-recipe status in the crazy cookbook she was writing. Tara still couldn't believe Charlie or his dad Bob actually paid Gram enough interest to
ask her to do the book for them, even at the mysterious dressing delivery man's bidding. But who else would think of it?

  Except in the off-season, Gram rarely cooked in the small kitchen in the private quarters at the back of the lodge. Friends and family alike ate in the restaurant. Close family, like Tara, usually helped themselves in the kitchen or behind the counter. But the first day back, Gram insisted Tara be treated like a guest and let herself be waited on.

  Tara suspected Gram's insistence also had something to do with the dressing man's imminent arrival. Though Gram refused to name him, Tara had the distinct impression Gram was dying for her to meet—and eventually date—him. Gram didn't want her grabbing something and hiding out in her room.

  Tara was just curious enough about the dressing man and his influence on Gram to hang around and get a look at him.

  Outside it was dark. Much to Tara's relief, the only view out the window was the white of falling snow. She wasn't ready to see the mountain yet. It reminded her too much of Chad and all she'd lost. Even the happy memories she had from good times there made her melancholy.

  "Oh, that Santa Ski's the brainchild of the Basin marketing team and the town council." Gram shook her head, but her dancing eyes contradicted any apparent disapproval. "First annual Santa Ski and Snowboarding Event. It's going to be held on Christmas Eve.

  "We have to do something to compete with the Silver Valley's Jingle Run." Gram got a devilish look in her eye. "Hah! They think people wearing battery-operated lights around their necks as they slide down their slope can compete with us." She leaned forward toward Tara, her body language indicating she was about to share something terribly exciting.

  "Our Santa's going to ski down the main run with a pack of toys on his back. At the bottom of the run, he'll jump into a horse-drawn sleigh that will pull him to the ski lodge and the Christmas party of the season! Roaring fire. Christmas tree loaded with real gifts underneath. Christmas carols. Dancing, for the young people who like that sort of thing." Gram shook her head.

  As far as Tara knew, Gram had never liked dancing.

  "At the end of the evening, Santa will hand out gift prizes donated by local merchants. The grand prize is a season pass to the Basin." Gram wrinkled her nose. "Guess who insisted on that?" She shrugged as if to say, What can you do?

  "Grandpa donated a night's free lodging here at Echo Bay. I'm giving away my one of my pies."

  Tara cocked a brow and couldn't help teasing. "And the secret recipe, too?"

  "Ha! They wish." Gram winked. "No one outside the family's getting any of my top-secret pie recipes. I already told you, not even my Copper Creek cookbook."

  The event sounded like fun, and very good business for the Basin. But no way Tara would be going, especially on Christmas Eve. Just being in Echo Bay gave her frazzled nerves. She planned to spend the night before Christmas cuddled in front of a roaring fire with her grandparents as they waited for Saint Nick.

  "People are supposed to wear their best Christmas sweaters, or Santa hats, maybe jingle bells, or reindeer antlers. Even necklaces with lights if they want." Gram chuckled. "We're throwing a Santa suit contest. Did I tell you Jim Dickson is going to play Santa? You remember him? Big guy, round belly. And he's gone completely white-haired—"

  "And for people who don't board or ski?" Tara cocked a brow.

  "They get to stay back here at Echo Bay Resort and cook dinner for the few lingering guests." Gram winked at Tara.

  "Uh-huh. Right." Tara's stomach growled. She glanced at her watch and then out the window, where the snow looked like it was falling harder.

  "It appears the snow's delayed your dressing man." Tara frowned in consternation. "What aren't you telling me about this guy, Gram? Why are you so eager for me to meet him?"

  As if on cue, the bells over the lobby doors jingled. Tara couldn't see the newcomer from where she sat. But she felt the cold breeze that blew all the way across the lobby into the dining room.

  "That's got to be your man. No one else is crazy enough to be out in this weather." Tara flew from her seat and rushed around the corner into the lobby to get her first look at him.

  A tall, dark, snow-covered stranger stood in the doorway under the mistletoe, head down, tamping the snow off his boots on the rubber mat. He wore an AFI beanie, a navy jacket, and tight black jeans that showed off powerful skier's thighs. He held a twelve-bottle case of Copper Creek salad dressing in his arms. If he wasn't the dressing man, he was doing a darn good imitation.

  Tara held in an appreciative sigh. She liked her men tall with broad shoulders. This guy fit the bill in spades.

  And then in a twinkling, she got an idea. She got a brilliant, wonderful, evil idea. She'd stop Gram's matchmaking in its tracks and give them all a laugh. She shrugged. Blame it on him. The man was standing under the mistletoe.

  She unbuttoned her blouse a button, fluffed her hair, bit her lips, and sidled up to him way too far into his intimate, personal space. She hoped Gram was watching. She'd be mortified.

  Wearing a flirty, teasing grin, she brushed against him. She touched his sleeve, ran her fingers up his arm, and squeezed, feeling a firm bicep beneath all that coat. She leaned into him on tiptoes, staring into his chest, whispering in her best sultry voice, "How about a kiss to warm you up, dressing man?"

  Then she reached to cup his face, looking up, up, six feet four up, into the deep brown eyes of Ryan Sanders.

  He froze beneath her touch, looking as surprised as she was.

  Her heart stopped. Her mouth fell open. Their gazes locked. For just a second, she felt as if she were looking into the eyes of the young Ryan, the one she'd loved and planned to marry and spend the rest of her life with.

  Embarrassed, she jumped out of mistletoe territory as if scorched, sure her face was flaming. "I'll take that."

  Reacting with pure survival instinct and shock, she wrenched the dressing out of his arms before he could speak. It was heavier than she'd thought, but she had to keep up the charade.

  She turned, and strutting with hips swinging like a runway model, carried the carton to the kitchen where she dumped the dressing on the counter and started shaking.

  Ryan stared after her. What did he do now? Even in his wildest imagination, he'd never pictured meeting Tara again like this. He'd been bamboozled, duped, and taken by surprise. How had everyone kept Tara's visit a secret from him?

  Margie stared at him from the dining room entrance. He hesitated a second too long. She converged on him, effectively blocking his escape as she took his arm and patted it. He was almost certain she looked pleased with herself.

  "I'm sorry about that." Margie shook her head. "You know Tara. She likes to tease." She paused. "You all right?"

  "Fine." He didn't feel all right. He felt sucker punched.

  Margie smiled timidly at him. "You're covered in snow." She called to Stormy. "Get the boy a cup of coffee. He looks like he could use some warming up."

  "I'm fine. I've got to go." He tried to turn toward the door.

  "Nonsense. You wouldn't leave before you've filled an old lady in on what's up in town. Plus I have a new fry sauce using the dressing for you to try." Margie grabbed his arm and led him to his usual booth. "You must be starving after fighting this weather."

  She called to Kathleen in the kitchen. "A cheeseburger, heavy on the pickles, and an extra helping of fries with our new sauce."

  Kathleen poked her head out. "Already on it."

  Margie slid in across the table from him. "On the house tonight. For helping us out. We can't send you out into this storm on an empty stomach. You don't have an ounce of fat on you. Heaven forbid you get stuck in a drift and starve to death before morning." She chuckled in the small, merry, self-deprecating way she had. "I won't have that on my conscience."

  He had no idea what to say. He was still feeling Tara's breasts brushing against his arm and hearing her breathy dressing man in his ear. He was stunned, simply stunned she still had the power to rock his socks w
ith a simple touch and a come-hither look. He'd assumed what they'd had together as kids had been hormonally driven, not mature, lasting stuff. That's what he'd told his wounded psyche when he made himself forget her. Now he wasn't so sure.

  Margie reached across the table and patted his gloved hand. "I don't want Tara's presence to chase you off. Harry and I enjoy having you around." She smiled, looking so kindly and grandmotherly there was no way to cross her. "Understand?"

  He nodded, wondering how Margie had managed this ambush without giving herself away. How long had everyone but him known Tara was coming for Christmas?

  Before he could ask, Stormy arrived with his coffee.

  Margie patted his hand again and smiled brighter. "Sugar?"

  3

  In the kitchen, Tara steadied herself against the counter across from the grill as she watched Kathleen cook. What had happened out there? Why did she feel as flustered as the sixteen-year-old she'd been fifteen years ago when she fell for Ryan the first time around?

  Cooing in his ear certainly wasn't what she'd imagined she'd say to him when she saw him again. And she'd run through every possible scenario throughout the years they'd been apart. Or so she'd thought until a few minutes ago.

  Kathleen handed Tara her bleu cheese burger, then plopped two patties on the grill for Ryan's double cheeseburger.

  Tara took a bite of her burger more out of politeness than hunger, eating on autopilot. And because it gave her something to do with her trembling hands. She should have headed off to her room. But that seemed so cowardly, and besides, she couldn't make her wooden legs move.

  She didn't believe in Santa Claus and she refused to believe in one true love for everyone. Because if she did, she'd have to accept that quite possibly Ryan had been hers and she'd blown her chance with him when she'd been too young to realize what she was throwing away in favor of her career. Falling for Ryan had simply been a matter of proximity and naïveté. That was the lie she'd told herself since their split. And right now, as shaken as she felt, it sounded hollow.