For some reason, Roger preferred to look at life upside down, dangling from Rick’s arms. Flipping a switch to turn on the Christmas lights they’d strung up along the hallway, Rick frowned at a three-foot section that had been pulled down. Some of the lights were out.
“Roger, are you eating my decorations again?”
The tabby mewed his innocence…not that Rick believed him.
“Hey, crazy cat guy,” Diego called from the living room. “Did you pick up milk?”
Dammit. Rick knew he’d forgotten something.
Draped across the same side of the same living room couch he’d been sitting on for years, Diego still managed not to look sure of his place there. Like Roger, Diego had tawny eyes and a bad attitude. But since they were the only family Rick had, he figured he was lucky. Sure beat coming home to an empty room.
“You didn’t get the milk.” Diego rolled his eyes.
Knowing he was busted, Rick countered, “When did I become the crazy cat guy?”
“When you decided to stop dating and showering and started talking to the cat instead.” Diego didn’t smile very much, but he was really good at smirking. And that was definitely a smirk on the kid’s face.
“I still shower.” Rick raised an arm to give himself a sniff. Did he smell? If he did, had Lana noticed? They’d been standing awfully close…
“I fed Darla.” Diego managed to sound like that was somehow Rick’s problem. “She’s mad at you.”
“She’s not mad at me. She loves me.”
“Go ask her about it. She seems mad.”
Well, that was never good. So off to the “study” Rick went to apologize to a hedgehog. The study was actually a third bedroom that Rick had arranged with bookshelves and an old desk. And also Darla.
Tucked in the Roger-proof cage he’d built her, the tiny hedgehog was sleeping deeply. Complete with a little house, furniture, and even a hedgehog-sized potted plant, Darla had the good life. When Rick adjusted Roger on his arm, visually checking Darla’s water bottle—because opening the cage with Roger present was a bad idea—the movement woke her up, earning him a sniff and then her quills fluffing up as she turned her head.
Yep. That was a disgruntled hedgehog.
“Sorry, Darla. I had to work late.”
She refused to look at him.
“It’s how we eat, honey,” he reminded her. Darla was not willing to be convinced.
When he returned from the study, Diego followed Rick into the kitchen. While Rick rubbed an upside-down tabby belly, Diego pulled two large bowls out of the dishwasher, still steaming and beaded with moisture from a freshly run load.
“All you had to do was buy the milk.” Holding up a nearly empty gallon of milk, Diego shook it pointedly.
Amused at the younger man’s grumbling, Rick grabbed two boxes of cereal from the cabinet with his right hand, knowing better than to set Roger down to use his left. Roger required a solid ten minutes of upside-down reflection before consenting to be uprighted. Any less than ten minutes would result in a meow, flattened ears, and a scratch. Any more than fifteen minutes would bring a bite and some fairly dramatic hissing.
Roger’s needs were complex and many.
This week, dinner was Raisin Bran and Cheerios. Next week, it would be Apple Jacks and Frosted Flakes. Really, it depended on who did the shopping. There was a kitchen table, but they hadn’t eaten there since Jen had left. It had become Roger’s domain, where he draped himself, tail twitching, judging whatever Rick was up to that day.
“I went to the town hall. Jonah said the Santa Moose is back.”
“No shit. I’ll tell Quinn. She loves crap like that.”
And Diego loved Quinn, the curly-haired young woman he worked with up at the resort. Not that he’d ever told her. Rick supposed opposites could attract. Quinn was bright and sunny and happy, and Diego was…well…Diego.
But still…he’d waited dinner on Rick. And that was progress.
They’d been doing this for three years now. Cereal. Roger. Sitting on the couch to watch TV and eat in silence. Pissed-off cat on one side, pissed-off twenty-year-old on the other, Rick picked up his cereal bowl and took a bite.
Unbelievably grateful for them both.
Chapter 3
Every morning, Lana tried to put her own makeup on. Every morning, she failed.
This morning was like all the rest, but still, she was determined to try. As she stood in front of her bathroom mirror, makeup laid out on her vanity in front of her, Lana didn’t want someone else to take care of this for her. She wanted to pick up the eyeliner and put it on herself. She wanted to feel normal. She wanted to feel competent.
Except…when Lana lifted her hands, they would always shake.
Her hands had been this way for as long as Lana could remember. The best her doctors had come up with was that it was a low-grade stress reaction, starting in her childhood and settling into permanency by the time she had grown. Stressful situations made it worse. Yoga, meditation, and a lot of time in therapy made it better. The result was Lana could control the shaking…to a point. But it was her tell. And when one stepped into boardrooms for a living, it was never good to have a tell.
The hardest part to stomach was the fact that no one ever blinked an eye at her requests to have her makeup done at whatever hotel was home for the week or month. As if she were shallow—or spoiled—enough to insist on having even the smallest lines of liquid liner painted on her lids for her.
But the opposite was worse. When one was a Montgomery, eyes were always watching. And shaky hands didn’t let her achieve the required facade of having herself completely together at all times.
Maintaining the family reputation went hand in hand with maintaining the company’s reputation. Whether it was commercial, industrial, or residential real estate, the Montgomery Group had their hands in it. Hundreds of transactions, thousands of properties. From tiny studio apartments to skyscrapers. Lana had facilitated those acquisitions ever since taking her place at the head table of the family business. Working for her family might have given her premature stress lines, but it had also given her an important position at the top of a powerful company, with all the challenges and personal gratification that came in meeting those challenges. Her job had made her stronger, tougher, and more business savvy. She had seen the world one boardroom at a time, experiencing things most people only dreamed of.
But never once had the Montgomery Group given Lana the one thing she’d always wanted: a home.
Abandoning her makeup, Lana made herself a cup of tea. She liked to start her mornings this way, standing in front of the window, her robe wrapped around her, and her shaky fingers cradling a warm drink. She gazed out at the thick blanket of snow covering the mountainside, evergreens thrusting vertically into the sky, strong and straight trunked even in the harshest of Alaska’s weather.
No matter what was thrown at them, those trees stayed tall and true, refusing to bend and break.
On every city street, on every beach, in every desert estate…no matter where Lana went, she always thought of these trees. Taking her strength from the lifeblood of the place where she one day wanted to stay forever.
A knock on the door of her suite pulled Lana’s attention.
“Ms. Montgomery?” Quinn, her favorite employee at the resort, stuck her curly blond head in through a small opening in the door. “You asked to be woken at seven.”
“You can call me Lana,” she gently reminded the young woman—not that any of her overtures for real friendship had stuck with the employees at the resort. “And thank you, Quinn. A wake-up call would have been sufficient though. No need to come all the way up here.”
The last time she had seen Quinn’s name badge, it had read “Hospitality Specialist.” Now, her title had a “Head” in front of the other two words.
“Did you get a
promotion?”
A rosy blush filled Quinn’s cheeks. “Hannah promoted me when she took over as general manager.”
“Good.” Lana nodded. “It won’t be long until you get more. You’re very skilled at your job.”
The young woman beamed at the compliment, but it wasn’t unduly given. Hannah had been smart to advance the best inside her company. Jackson Shaw—the playboy son of the resort owners—wouldn’t know a good employee if he tripped over them. Working with Hannah was far easier than dealing with Jackson, and not only because Hannah took her job seriously. Jax would rather hide in town with Graham and Ash than answer her calls or actually show up for any of their scheduled meetings.
No stranger to diversionary tactics, Lana was now no stranger to the pool hall Jax kept hiding out in.
She liked it there too.
“I heard you’re trying to catch the Santa Moose,” Quinn said, her large eyes widening. “Do you really think you can? It causes so much trouble.”
“I’m certainly going to try,” Lana promised. “I spent half the night researching how they usually go about relocating a moose. We’ll probably have to think outside the box on this one. At the risk of sounding judgmental, it does seem to be quirkier than most.”
Quinn looked suitably impressed.
“Come sit with me a moment,” Lana invited the younger woman. “Tell me all about this new promotion of yours.”
Quinn never needed to be asked twice to talk, which was something Lana loved about her. Lana had positioned a chair at her favorite spot to look out the window. Patting the arm of the chair for Quinn to sit, Lana leaned against the windowsill, shoulders pressed to the cold glass.
“Would you like a cup of tea or some coffee?”
“You? Getting something for me?” Quinn looked horrified at the idea of Lana serving her.
“I promise I won’t keel over dead at having to lift a finger.” She abandoned her window and the trees for the kitchenette.
“Coffee, please. Black.”
“You take it strong.” Lana raised an eyebrow.
Quinn radiated a sort of bright energy that was both positive and addicting to be around. She was also the most likely person in Moose Springs to have a house decorated roof to floor in unicorn plushies and puppy dogs with bow ties. The idea of Quinn taking anything strong warred with Lana’s previously held assumptions about her. Quinn seemed more the sprinkles and whipped cream type.
“Diego always says if I stopped drinking so much caffeine, my hair wouldn’t stick out in every direction.” Quinn snickered. “I think if he drank a little more, he wouldn’t be such a grump.”
The single-serve coffeemaker never took long, although longer than one with pods might have. Quinn wasn’t the only one who drank a lot of caffeine to keep going, and Lana preferred to avoid creating a small mountain of plastic pods in a landfill simply because she worked too many hours. Returning with Quinn’s coffee, Lana settled into the couch, tucking her legs beneath her. It wasn’t the Montgomery way of sitting, but she couldn’t have cared less about propriety at the moment. Her toes were cold.
“How’s everyone handling the ski season?” she asked. Having never spent an actual Christmas at Moose Springs, she hadn’t known how busy the resort would actually be. She’d always returned for the best skiing in late January. Rick wasn’t wrong—the resort was filling with more visitors every day.
Quinn slurped her coffee as if it weren’t piping hot. The young woman must have a tongue devoid of nerve endings. “Christmas weekend is so busy. But I like it. I love staying busy, plus there’s all the different parties everyone is throwing, although nothing like your gala this summer. That was the absolute best party I’ve ever seen here, and everyone was wearing such gorgeous gowns, and oh my gosh, can you imagine if it had been holiday themed?”
Quinn sucked in a breath, merrily plunging into a fifteen-minute description of how much she loved holiday parties and how much she wished she could attend the ones in town, but she was always so busy, not that she minded. She’d started taking classes in hotel management online, so one day she might be able to be a manager too, not that Hannah needed any help, but there was an assistant manager position open.
Another breath and a slurp of coffee. “Oh, and then I was telling Grass—”
“From the front desk?”
“He’s been promoted too. He’s a temporary night manager until they can hire someone with enough experience. So many people have applied, but for some reason, Mr. Shaw hasn’t hired anyone yet. It’s driving Hannah up the wall.”
Lana frowned to herself. No, he wouldn’t want to hire a night manager because Jax didn’t want to admit the hotel was stretched too thin financially. Instead, he’d stretch his current manager too thin to make up the difference.
“—how Hannah’s trying hard to promote as many of us as possible,” Quinn continued on, blissfully unaware of Lana’s train of thought. “At least the ones who live in town. I think Grass is going to stay permanently now, when he used to be seasonal. I told Diego that Grass got the promotion, and you should have seen how annoyed he was.”
Quinn made a face, imitating Diego’s surliness. “He looked like he was sucking on a lemon, but you can’t blame Hannah. Diego is so nice, but he hates being here, and he doesn’t try to hide it. Why would she promote someone who can’t stand the guests?”
Realizing what she said, Quinn’s large, expressive eyes went wide. “Oh, I mean…I didn’t mean…”
Patting Quinn’s hand, Lana laughed softly. “Trust me, I’m well aware of the inherent biases of the locals. Graham loves to remind me every chance he gets.”
“Oh, he’s the worst about meeting new people. Me, I love it. His girlfriend works here now. He didn’t mind meeting Zoey, did he? See, he’s just too stubborn about the tourism in town.”
Quinn promptly launched into a description of how amazing Zoey was, which Lana could only agree with. Unable to get a word in edgewise, Lana settled in, finishing her tea as Quinn continued her one-person conversation.
“And then I told Mr. Shaw that Zoey—Oh! I almost forgot why I came here instead of calling.” Quinn riffled through her pockets, finally withdrawing a bright orange sticky note. “Mr. Shaw left this note last night. He said to tell you he needs to reschedule your meeting. He has pressing business in town.”
Did he now? Pressing business like snowmobiling out on the lake all day or darting off to New York and not telling anybody.
Lana barely kept from sighing, only because Quinn wouldn’t have understood the reasoning behind it. “Would you be willing to give Jax a message for me?”
When Quinn nodded earnestly, Lana decided on the more pleasant of the two messages she was considering. “Please tell him that I’m happy to meet him in town whenever his pressing business is completed” was far nicer than what she was tempted to say.
Which was: he’d better get his ass in a chair, or she was getting lawyers involved.
This wasn’t the first time he’d ducked her. Lana was far too busy to keep playing his game, which Jax knew and used shamelessly to avoid growing up and actually being a productive member of society. It was his job to work with her on coordinating the condominium construction, to negotiate terms for amenity sharing, and a hundred other details that popped up every day. So far, every time he dodged, Lana had been able to shift and stand in his way. Every time he ducked, she simply aimed lower. Jax was good at running away from his responsibilities, but Lana was much better at sticking her foot out and making him trip.
Hiding out in town was his most recent trick to avoid her.
“Well, I better get back to work,” Quinn said cheerfully. “Hannah won’t like it if she catches me sitting.”
When she reached the door, Quinn hesitated. “Ms. Montgomery? The next time Mr. Shaw is having a late breakfast in the VIP lounge, I can call you. He usually ti
mes breakfast for when he knows you’re in a morning meeting.”
That sneaky son of a bitch. Lana wasn’t surprised one bit.
“You’re a treasure, Quinn,” she told the younger woman. “I’ll make sure to mention it to Hannah.”
Quinn blushed beet red at the compliment, then hurried out the door. The young woman was sweet and never seemed to lose her wide-eyed startlement at the guests in her care. Lana didn’t have the heart to tell her that ninety-nine percent of the “special” guests Quinn catered to were selfish, spoiled brats.
“I probably resemble that,” Lana murmured to herself as she made a fresh cup of tea and took it into her bathroom. This mug was made to retain heat for a long time. Better for slowly sipping a drink and for keeping one’s fingers warm. She sat in front of the mirror, opening her makeup kit.
Maybe today, if she focused hard enough, her hands wouldn’t shake. Maybe today, she could be what she wanted to be…a woman with some mascara and without a reputation to maintain. A woman who would face the world with her head held high, who would make good choices for her company, for her family, for her friends, and for the town she loved. A woman who wouldn’t be sitting alone at a bar at the end of the night, trying to shed the stress of her workday, because at least the bartender was someone to talk to. A woman who could catch an uncatchable moose and earn the approval of the people she desperately wanted to accept her.
Three dark smudges on her eyelids later, Lana quietly put her mascara away.
* * *
It had been a horrible death.
Arms crossed over his chest, Rick took a step back from the carnage in front of him. Jonah was made of stern stuff, but even he shifted uncomfortably. They’d been standing there in the snow for a while, taking it all in.
Some things…some things you couldn’t unsee.
“Takes a lot of rage to do something like this,” the officer finally said.
Mistletoe and Mr. Right Page 6
