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

by Gina Robinson

  She watched Gram walk slowly and stiffly toward the bedroom. How much longer could Gram and Grandpa keep working and holding on? They should have retired years ago. They would have if Chad hadn't died. Or if she'd married Ryan.

  Tara swallowed a lump in her throat, seeing clearly what her decisions had cost them. "Gram!" she called on impulse.

  Gram paused at the doorway that led through the kitchen back to the bedroom and cocked her head.

  "Would you like some help with the pies tomorrow?"

  Gram smiled and nodded. "I'd love some."

  "You're usually in the kitchen at four, right?" Tara grimaced, dreading getting up in the middle of the night. She wasn't an early morning person.

  "I am. But you can come down at six," Gram said, taking pity on her. "I'll have all the prep work done by then. There will still be plenty of pies to bake at six."

  "Thanks, Gram. You're an old softie, you know that." Tara wasn't going to argue with two more hours of sleep.

  Gram turned to leave.

  "You'll teach me how to make your famous Christmas pie?" Tara called after her.

  Gram chuckled and waved behind her back. "I'll think about it."

  "You better," Tara told her. "You're going to have to pass the secrets down to someone, and I'm a better cook than Mom."

  Margie smiled as she got ready for bed. Things had gone pretty well today, all things considered. They might not even pull her matchmaker's license over this one. She chuckled.

  Yes, it had been risky, very risky, arranging for Tara and Ryan to meet like that. But what was a grandma to do?

  They'd avoided each other for ten years, each beating themselves up over Chad's death. They had to learn that life was a lot like the salad dressing Ryan delivered for her—a little bitter like the vinegar and sour cream, a little sweet like the sugar, and with a blend of herbs to spice things up. Individual ingredients, like individual times and events, might be too bitter or too sweet on their own, but mix them up, take them as a whole, and you have an excellent, tasty dressing. Or life.

  Oh, Margie would love for those two kids to get back together. She'd always believed they belonged with each other. Anyone with eyes and a heartbeat could see that. But it would be enough for her old heart if they'd just forgive each other.

  That's why she'd put Tara in room ten. Tara had to come to terms with her feelings about that mountain, too. And ten had a prime view of Ryan's cabin. Seeing that cabin every time she looked out the window would keep Ryan fresh in Tara's mind.

  Margie chuckled again. People thought she was getting forgetful and maybe a touch senile. But she was just wily enough to use their impression to her advantage.

  She sighed. She couldn't help dreaming of great-grandchildren running around the resort. How she'd love that!

  4

  Six a.m. Too early to be up, dressed, and ready for pie-baking action in Tara's sleepy opinion.

  Her night had been terrible.

  She may as well have been visited by the Ghost of Christmas Present for all the rest she'd gotten, for all the visions dancing in her head all night long. And the visions that haunted her were anything but sugarplums.

  She had a bad feeling remembering the way Gram spoke so fondly of Ryan. He seemed to be taking root into her grandparents' good graces like holly bushes in the forest.

  She'd thought about it all night. She was going to stop by and pay him a visit at his office. She needed to talk with him.

  She sighed and pulled on a sweatshirt and jeans, then went to the window and paused. Moonlight filtered in through a crack in the curtains. The storm had passed.

  Her heart raced.

  When she'd been young, the moonlight streaming in intoxicated her. Clear, cold skies after a storm meant snowboarding heaven. Fresh powder from the day before. Clear visibility. Boarding down the mountain would be like flying without wings.

  With Ryan flying beside her, life was perfect. She could almost feel the nipping bite of the breeze in her face. See him as they raced down the runs, throwing powder in their wakes. Feel his arms around her as he hugged her at the bottom of the run. Taste his warm tongue in her mouth as their frozen lips met...

  She shook her head. Useless thinking.

  Heart pounding in her ears, she threw open the curtains.

  A host of stars shone overhead. A nearly half waxing moon hung over the mountain, lighting the lake to liquid silver, and silhouetting the strong, unforgiving mountain. She could see the ski runs, silent and crisp.

  Suddenly claustrophobic, she tugged open the window and inhaled deeply. The frigid air burned her lungs, but smelled perfect, familiar and clean.

  Oh, Chad! You'd love this. Why aren't you here?

  Tara found Gram in the kitchen, working on pies. Mel, the muscled, middle-aged breakfast short-order cook had just arrived.

  He greeted her with a cup of coffee. "Hey, kid, good to see you back." His gaze ran over her. "Looks like you could use some caffeine to get you going."

  She gave him a hug. "Gotta love a man who encourages my bad habits."

  He laughed. "Go help your grandma before she finishes on her own."

  "Hey!" Tara gave her grandmother an accusing look. "I thought I was supposed to be helping. Or am I just here for KP?"

  Margie smiled and wiped her flour-dusted hands on her apron. "I have the shells made for the lemon meringue. You can get busy on the filling."

  As Tara cracked and separated eggs for the meringue, she heard the hum of an engine outside and the distinctive scrape and swish of snow being plowed. She knew better than to think the county plow had reached them yet. She wondered which neighbor had come to plow them out.

  Mel went to the window. "Looks like Ryan's out early with the plow." He stood there a minute. "Huh, appears he's going on by and won't be in for breakfast today. Guess we'll try the ranch dressing omelet on him another day." He wiped his hands on his apron and went back to work.

  Tara turned to Gram, who ignored her questioning look. Just how much time did Ryan spend at the lodge? Tara was getting a funny feeling that he practically lived here.

  A few minutes past seven, as Tara pulled the last perfectly browned meringue-topped pie from the oven, the young new waitress named Sarah called through the pass-through window into the kitchen, "Does anyone know when Ryan will be in today? I have a customer who says he said he'd help him wax his board. Oh, and he wants Ryan's opinion on which kind of goggle lenses are best for sunny weather. He says Ryan has some in the gift shop he was going to show him."

  Tara whipped around to stare at Sarah as Mel answered her. "Looks like he went straight to Copper Creek this morning. He should be back here by six tonight, like he always is."

  As Sarah bounced off to deliver the news, Tara's grandpa drifted into the kitchen wearing his coat and Seahawks stocking cap, killing the question on Tara's lips. Just how deep was Ryan's involvement in all things Echo Bay?

  The breakfast rush had begun. Mel and Gram were scrambling eggs and popping toast at an alarming rate.

  Barely taking his eyes off the grill, Mel handed Harry a plate of bacon and eggs.

  "Pour me a thermos of coffee, Tara. I like a little cream, one packet of sugar." Harry looked out the window and squinted. "Looks like the storm's gone."

  "It's going to be a pretty day." Gram slid another round of toast into the industrial-size toaster and began buttering the batch that had just come out.

  Tara got the feeling Gram was staying busy partly to avoid her.

  Gram slapped two slices on the plate Grandpa held. "Good thing. You haven't been to the bank all week. We need change and small bills. Now you can go to town and make the deposits after you finish plowing the lot."

  Grandpa scowled. "Too much snow. Going to take me all morning into the afternoon to plow the lot. By the time I get done, there won't be time to get to town and back before it gets dark."

  Tara frowned, a sense of unease dawning on her. Since when had it taken Grandpa all day to plow t
he lot with his little Bobcat? And when had he become so afraid of driving in the dark?

  Gram looked anxious. "Now Harry, you missed going on Monday—"

  Harry turned around and snapped at her. "I'll get there when I get there, woman."

  Tara held her breath. This was her opportunity. She looked out the window. Ryan the happy plower had cut a single swath through the parking lot to the main road and beyond. Once she hit the highway, the roads should be in good shape. She knew how to drive in this stuff. She'd done fine yesterday in the teeth of the storm. "I'll go the bank for you, Grandpa."

  Ryan sat in his office, head bent over plans he was making to improve the second production line when Beth, his office assistant, tapped on the door.

  "You have a visitor!"

  Ryan wondered why Beth sing-songed the announcement. "Do I have an appointment I forgot about?" Beth always kept him honest.

  "A drop-in. But I think you should see her. She's waiting in the lobby." Beth winked at him and disappeared.

  Her?

  For just a second, his heart pounded. No, he shook his head. No way Tara would drop by. He ran his fingers through his hair, made sure his shirt was tucked in, and grabbed the sports coat he kept for emergency business meetings from the hook in the corner.

  He pushed through the glass door separating the offices and the plant from the public lobby to find Tara sitting in one of the guest chairs, leafing through a Copper Creek brochure.

  She wore skinny jeans stuffed into faux-fur-rimmed boots, a fashionable black jacket, and scarf and matching knit cap. Hearing him enter, she looked up from the brochure. She was still Tara and still so damn beautiful.

  His breath caught. His heart suddenly decided to act as if he'd just gone into a full-out sprint and it needed to pump at one hundred and sixty beats per minute. "What are you doing here? Something wrong?"

  "Pessimist? Should there be? Maybe I misheard, but I thought you invited me for a tour?" She stood and shrugged. "I guess I should have called first."

  Her impromptu visit would have made him way too happy if he hadn't detected an edge to her voice. "No need to call. We run a casual operation."

  Ryan found the rosy flush in Tara's cheeks sexy as hell. "Come back this way. We need hairnets and white coats if we're going to get an up-close look at the production lines. We'll drop by my office first and pick some up." He indicated the door he'd just come through.

  They went into his office.

  Tara unzipped her coat. Beneath it she wore a tight pink sweater that showed off her curves.

  "Take your coat?" he asked.

  "Thanks, I'll just keep it on. I haven't warmed up yet. I'm afraid I've lost my tolerance for the cold. It rarely dips below freezing in Seattle."

  It took all his effort not to simply stare at her. What did she want?

  "It's not just you," he said. "Fifteen degrees is hard to tolerate."

  An ad for the Santa Ski was pinned to the bulletin board just inside his office door.

  Tara paused and studied it. "There are ads for that thing everywhere."

  "It's big news here."

  "Copper Creek's a huge sponsor, I see." Her tone was neutral. "Grandpa and Gram donated a prize to it, too. I suppose you're going?"

  He laughed. "The whole town's going."

  "I'll take that as a yes." She stared up at him with those penetrating green eyes of hers.

  "I have to. The whole ski patrol will be there—"

  "You joined the ski patrol?" She suddenly looked almost frightened.

  "Yeah, of course." He couldn't understand why she sounded so surprised. He'd been a member of ski patrol since he was twelve. "You going?"

  "No. I'm spending the evening with Gram and Grandpa."

  He couldn't let her miss the event of the season. "You should come! Just for a few hours. I'm sure Harry and Margie would want you to. With the snow we've been getting, the boarding will be fantastic. You'll enjoy it, believe me."

  She paled.

  He stopped short and swallowed hard as a horrible realization began to dawn on him. "Tara, you still board and ski?"

  "No." She shook her head. "I vowed never to go up on the mountain again and I've kept my word."

  She'd been a natural, a talented snowboarder and skier. It was a love and passion they'd always shared. He couldn't believe she'd given it up.

  "You're kidding?" He could tell from her expression the moment he spoke that he shouldn't have.

  "I haven't been up since..."

  He knew since when and what.

  "I haven't been up on any mountain. I don't have the stomach for it anymore." She trailed off.

  There were two possibilities why she hadn't been boarding, neither one of them good. Either she was too scared to get back up on the mountain or she was punishing herself for living when Chad wasn't. He swallowed a lump in his throat at the thought.

  Right then and there, he vowed to get her back up on the mountain and onto her board. He owed her that much. Maybe giving her one of her passions back would atone in a small way for all the hurt he'd caused her. In the meantime, he knew enough to drop the subject.

  "We each have our own way of dealing with grief." He spoke softly.

  Tara was studying him intently.

  He gave her a curious look. "What's on your mind?"

  "I'm not really here for a tour." She hesitated. "Can we speak someplace private?"

  He got a bad feeling from her tone. "This office is as private as we get." He closed the door. "Have a seat." He indicated a chair for her to take before leaning against his desk in front of her.

  She took the chair he offered, tilted her head and stared directly at him. "Why are you back, Ryan?" Her tone was soft.

  The question caught him off guard. "This is home."

  Her intense look didn't waver. "You mean working for pimply-faced Charlie Hopkins is your dream?"

  "Sshhh, this is his place." He laughed, trying to lighten the mood. He remembered how he used to tease her about Charlie liking her. They'd both called Charlie names behind his back. He lowered his voice. "No one's called Charlie pimply-face for years. And I don't work for Charlie. I work for Bob—"

  "And we both know Bob's going to leave Charlie the business."

  He couldn't refute that. He didn't try.

  "Stay long enough and eventually you will be working for Charlie."

  He didn't reply. Better to wait for her to explain herself.

  They stared at each other.

  When she finally spoke, her tone was pleading. "Don't do this, Ryan. Don't make me be the bad guy in this situation. Please. It's pretty obvious you've resurrected your old dream of owning Echo Bay. And that you're hoping Grandpa will sell the resort to you." She paused, looking like she was cautiously measuring her words, hoping to soften something there was no easy way to say.

  He held his tongue, even though his heart pounded in his ears, and braced for bad news as he waited for her to continue.

  "Please don't misconstrue what I'm about to say as vindictive." She paused again. "Grandpa isn't going to sell the lodge to you." She took a deep breath and spoke in a rush. "He won't part with it during his lifetime. And he insists he's leaving it to me as my inheritance. It's important to him to leave me his legacy.

  "Ten years ago, I swore I'd sell the minute I inherited. Since then I've come to realize how important it is to keep it in the family. In any case, that's all a long way in the future." She paused, looking like she was trying to stay composed. "A lot of dreams were shattered that Christmas Eve ten years ago on the mountain. We've all had to move on and adjust. Let this aspiration of yours go, Ryan. Your obsession with owning the lodge will only hurt you. You don't owe it to Chad to keep his dream alive. It died with him. Let it stay there."

  He opened his mouth to speak, but she cut him off.

  "Don't bother denying it. I've already been to the bank and the local cash and carry. Everywhere I went people were eager to catch me up on all you've been doing
for my grandparents. To tell me how much Gram and Grandpa love you and how you've been helping them out like a grandson since you've been back.

  "And I appreciate it. I really do. Just don't expect more out of it than gratitude.

  "I know you have the means, now, too. Ross at the bank said your grandparents left you a nice little nest egg in their will." She paused again. "I'm sorry about your loss. I liked your grandparents."

  Ryan was too stunned to reply.

  "Grandpa's past getting old. He is old. Even in the short time I've been back I've seen the change in him. He's slowed way down. If he slows down much more, he won't be able to run Echo Bay at all." She stopped herself, looking as if she'd almost said too much. "He'll have to retire soon. He should have years ago.

  "I know how your mind works. It's like the Tucker place all over again. You think this is your opportunity to come back and convince Grandpa to sell Echo Bay to you." She stared him directly in the eye, still pleading with him.

  He refused to flinch.

  "Am I right?"

  He shrugged.

  She waved her hand. "It doesn't matter. You can deny it if you like, but I can read you, Ryan. Over the past months, I've made it clear to my grandparents that they can leave the lodge to me with confidence. I'll do my best by it.

  "If you make a play for it, I'll discourage Grandpa from taking any offer you make. I'm sorry. I'm only doing what I think is best for everyone, my family especially."

  He went cold. He knew she'd be trouble, but he hadn't imagined she'd be so direct. "What's your plan for the place? Are you going to come back and run the resort?"

  She frowned at him. "I didn't say that."

  "If you're not going to run it, then who is?"

  "That's none of your business. But believe me, I'm doing what I think is best for everyone—Gram, Grandpa, and you."

  He ran his hand through his hair and popped up to a full stand.

  At his sudden movement, Tara looked startled. She stood, too, and tossed her purse over her shoulder like she was ready to run.

  He stood tall. He didn't like himself for doing it, but he used his full height to intimidate her. "You're going to hire someone to run it, aren't you?" He had a hard time keeping his voice under control.