Cupid's Holiday Trilogy

by Geeta Kakade

  “I understand,” said Bridget.

  They smiled and moved away and Bridget wondered if they’d seen the direction she’d been looking. What on earth was wrong with her staring at Andrew Blackwell as if she had to write a report on him?

  “So how did you shatter your knee cap?” Mrs. Kemp asked Mr. Blackwell. She never wasted time getting to the heart of things.

  “Auto accident.”

  “What happened?”

  “I swerved to avoid someone coming straight at me and smashed my patella against the dashboard.”

  “And the other person?” asked Mr. Kemp.

  “He was fine… just kept going on his motorbike.”

  Bridget wondered why someone would want to run into a car on purpose? Had it been a practical joke to scare a driver on a lonely road or someone with another reason? She wondered what kind of work Andrew Blackwell had done in the Army. Mark had mentioned he’d returned from a tour in Afghanistan but not supplied any other information. Bridget would have to rely on Mrs. Kemp for more details.

  “What kind of fracture is it?” Christy said with a quick look at Mark. Clearly intervention was needed to head Mrs. Kemp off at the pass.

  “Transverse.”

  “The rehab takes a little longer on those but you’ll have a hundred percent recovery.”

  Trust Christy to emphasize the positive in every situation.

  “Let’s eat shall we? Frank and I are starving and I bet so is Andrew.” Mark cut in quickly before anyone could ask Andrew Blackwell any more questions.

  “We’re going to sing Happy Birthday first,” Christy smiled. “So those of us who are in a hurry for dessert can go straight on to it. Don’t get up,” she told Andrew quickly. “We are going to bring the cake out here and then Mark will fix you a plate.”

  “I can manage, thanks.” He got to his feet and though he hadn’t sounded rude it was clear he didn’t want to be waited on. Bridget wondered if Christy had seen the look of tension that crossed his face.

  Bridget brought out the chocolate cake she had baked for Frank as her gift to him. Moira placed the candles on it letting Frank light them and then they all sang to the beaming eleven year old. Christy had told her and Mrs. Kemp Frank hadn’t wanted to celebrate his birthday last year as his father had just left them and his mother had no money. All three women had agreed a boy as thoughtful as that deserved the very best birthday party they could throw him. Bridget had tried to make his cake very special. It contained three layers. Each had a different kind of chocolate, condensed milk and caramel topping in the mix. It was finished with whipped cream and crushed toffee bars. It was her masterpiece, much in demand at the Convent. It was called Better than Sex cake on the website where she’d found the recipe but the nuns had firmly changed the name to Heavenly Chocolate Cake.

  Andrew looked at her as Frank lit the candles and she smiled at the boy. Bridget Cupid had a beautiful smile.

  While they sang and Frank cut his cake she looked up and saw Mark and Andrew Blackwell look at each other. Suddenly Bridget remembered where she’d seen the man before. At the rib cook off in Reno in August, talking to Mark behind one of the cooking trailers. He must have had his accident right after that.

  “Did you get a look at the guy on the motorcycle?” Mark asked Andrew later.

  The Kemps had retired for the night. Moira had insisted Frank complete his homework, birthday or no birthday and Bridget and Christy were in the kitchen finishing the dishes and getting things ready for the morning.

  Judging from the discussion in the kitchen, punctuated by laughter from both women there was no chance of being overheard.

  “He had on a full helmet so I couldn’t see his face and the license plate was splattered with mud.”

  “What are you really in the area for?” Mark wanted to know.

  Andrew looked around and then said in a low voice, “I need a place to lie low for awhile.”

  “Are you on a mission?”

  “Was but they took me off it when I had the accident. They can’t rule out it wasn’t deliberate and don’t want me on the case any longer.”

  Mark was relieved Andrew’s story backed up what he’d told Christy.

  “I hate being taken off the case and being so helpless.”

  Mark nodded. “I know the feeling.”

  Andrew knew he could share information with Mark. He and Mark had worked together in June and they had met quite a number of times since then. Mark had mentioned Christy hadn’t known about the transfer of two people in June from the safe house next door; that he didn’t like her mixed up in his work.

  “A contact of ours in Russia who’s been passing me important information has come under suspicion. He and the colleague who’s helping him have to get out before his cover is blown.”

  “How will he do that?”

  “They are both world class skiers, part of an official team. Their group is arranging a visit to Tahoe as we speak to train here at Devil’s Run for two weeks. Viktor cannot go back.” Andrew pronounced the name as a Russian would. Veektor.

  “Are you going to have anything to do with this man?” Mark demanded. “The safe house is shut down for this month so you can’t use it and I don’t want anyone coming here putting Christy or anyone else in any kind of danger.”

  Andrew’s brows snapped together. “I wouldn’t do a thing like that. HQ says I’m off the mission and I have to focus on rehab if I want my job back. It’s just that I have to lie low so if anyone has become suspicious of me or arranged my accident the trail’s gone cold for them.”

  Mark stared at the bottom of his glass and Andrew said, “I can be out of here by the morning if you’re not happy about this. I still have my apartment in Reno till the end of the month.”

  Mark looked up at him, “As long as you give me your word you are off the mission in every way.”

  Andrew’s gaze met his. “Word of a friend, I’m not on the project.”

  Mark knew Andrew was reserved. He kept to himself, had a few friends but he had the reputation for being absolutely trustworthy. They had met in boot camp and separate training in the specialties had again together in their last deployment to Afghanistan as they had been in the same battalion. They had hung out together and Andrew had shown him how to crack some basic codes. When Mark had told Uncle Paul about Andrew, the General had asked Andrew if he wanted to try out for the special task force. Andrew had worked on it since June this year. His main job was still cracking foreign codes but he had also started working up systems that could defend them against electronic warfare and sabotage.

  “You’re going to need some help, driving to Reno for rehab three times a week.” Mark said.

  “Yes but I can call a cab for that or take a shuttle.”

  “I’ll be happy to give you a ride.” Mark paused and said, “I had to cover up the fact you have been ordered to lie low so I used PTSD and said the injury had gotten you down. I’m giving you a heads up because they might ask you about it.”

  Andrew groaned. “You didn’t mention it to that large lady who looks as if she won’t rest till she knows everything about me?”

  Mark grinned. “I did and by the way you better be nice to her. She makes the best pot roasts I’ve ever had among other things. Mr. and Mrs, Kemp are going to run Cupid Lodge for us while Christy and I are in Chicago. He was a banker and is a sharp businessman and she’s a people person. They are really decent folk. Couldn’t ask for a better couple to leave in charge. ”

  Mark looked at Andrew and saw he was frowning and staring into the distance. “What’s wrong?”

  Andrew hesitated and then said, “On the subject of PTSD, its partly true. I have these nightmares…”

  Mark gave him a sharp look, “So do I. All the more reason for you to be around people and not alone in an apartment.”

  “I started CBT three months after I got back.”

  “It really helps.” Mark had been treated with Cognitive Behavioral Therapy too. Being a
round Jake and his assignments with the Special Task Force had helped him tremendously at the time too. “The therapy takes a while but if you stick with all they tell you to do, it gets better,” he told Andrew.

  The latter nodded and then continued his original line of questioning anxious to steer the conversation away from himself. “I know Moira’s the general help and Frank’s her son. Who’s the other young woman?”

  His first impression had been she was a fashion model. Her looks were stunning not to mention those million dollar legs.

  “Bridget’s a friend of Christy’s. She’s going to be here for a while.”

  Andrew liked the way Bridget had felt against him. He’d liked the scent of roses that had drifted to him from her but something about her bothered him. She hadn’t said a word throughout dinner. Better steer clear of her too. He didn’t care for the snooty, glamorous type who thought they were above everyone else.

  “The other guests come and go. We get all their info a week before they come and run a background check on them but occasionally Christy’s been known to take guests at a moment’s notice if we have the space. Mr. Kemp knows the drill. The guests won’t bother you and you can avoid the pre-dinner social hour by staying in your room if you want to. Not all the guests come down as some of them prefer to watch tv or work out in the bonus room upstairs. Some nights everybody’s out or no one wants dinner and we have the place to ourselves.”

  “I’ll take you up on that offer,” said Andrew. “If you don’t mind I’ll turn in now. I’ve got to take those damn meds now or I can’t fall asleep by midnight.”

  Mark walked him to his room, made sure he had everything he needed within easy reach and wished him good night.

  “Bridget said Andrew had a fall when we were gone,” said Christy when Mark went into the kitchen.

  Mark’s brows shot up. “He didn’t mention it,” he said.

  “Probably was embarrassed,” said Bridget. “He was down on his back as if his crutches had slipped out from under him.”

  She was glad that the lights were being turned off in the kitchen and they couldn’t see the color rushing to her face at the reminder of the way she had helped him up. Or the way he had fallen against her after that.

  “We’re going for a walk,” said Christy. “Want to join us?”

  Bridget smiled. “No thanks. I have a few things I want to catch up with before I go to bed.”

  She was getting adept at making excuses to give Mark and Christy time alone.

  They said goodnight and she went to her apartment. She’d brought three dolls down with her in a basket earlier on and she worked on them with the doll cleaning kit Christy had ordered on the Internet. One of them had an apron with a tear in it and she copied the painstaking tiny stitches the original sewer had put in, grateful at last for Sister Winifred’s insistence that she learned to sew properly. The number of times she had been told to rip out her stitches and then re-do them were countless. Sister Winifred’s statement, ‘One day you’ll thank me’, had finally come true.

  Later as she knelt by her bed to say her prayers, Bridget thought of the man who had served his country and come back only to get involved in an accident. “Please bless Andrew Blackwell so he can heal quickly, in every way. Please take care of all those who serve our country in so many different ways and keep them safe.”

  Christy had mentioned how Mark had dreams that had him tossing and turning at night and there were days he woke up as if he hadn’t slept at all.

  The price servicemen and their families had to pay was huge.

  “Where do you find them, Ma?” Phillip demanded.

  “What’s the matter?" said Agnes. “Don’t you like him? I think he’s very good looking with that dark hair and strong features.”

  “We’re not judging a beauty contest here, are we?” Phillip said sarcastically. “He’s got a bum knee and it’s going to take a while for him to recover.”

  “Exactly!” Agnes’ voice held satisfaction. “Bridget’s just the girl to help him.”

  “There’s trouble coming,” Phillip said in the same gloomy way he had once before. “Bad trouble.”

  “Let it,” said Agnes. “There’s nothing like coping with a problem together to bring people closer.”

  “Have I mentioned we’re not supposed to meddle?”

  “Who’s meddling, Pa? If you see me meddle, let me know.” She sailed out of the window, her nose in the air. Outside she smiled. If women didn’t meddle every now and then to help matters along, the world would still be stuck in the Ice Age where love and romance were concerned.

  Bridget was in the kitchen two mornings later and had started the coffee when Mark and Christy came in.

  “Thanks,” said Christy pouring herself a mug. “I used to be the first one down and now I can’t get out of bed in the mornings.”

  “Lazybones,” teased her husband and she blushed. “I’ll just take this in to Andrew, see if he needs any help.”

  They hadn’t seen much of Mark’s friend since the party and Bridget assumed he was resting.

  Bridget was measuring flour into a huge mixing bowl for blueberry muffins and Christy got the chopping board out to get the vegetables for the omelets ready. Moira came in after seeing Frank off in the mornings and she would get the toast ready, brew some tea and get some freshly squeezed juice ready for the guests. She would also serve breakfast in their rooms to guests who requested it the night before and paid extra for the service.

  “Breakfast's easier since Mrs. Kemp came up with a set menu idea,” said Christy. “We were all over the map fixing different things before that but now they know from the printed menu in their rooms if it’s Wednesday it’s omelets, muffins, toast, butter and homemade jam.” There was always a couple of different cereals, fresh fruit, a cold meat and cheese plate, tea and coffee as well. Bridget was getting the hang of the breakfast routine. The English and American guests loved a cooked breakfast. The Europeans preferred the cold meats, cheese and rolls.

  Those who asked for it the night before could have a packed lunch to take with them. Christy took care of the people with special dietary needs. As one guest had put on the Cupid Lodge website: ‘The food alone deserves seven stars.’

  “I’m going into town to the library and the post office later,” said Bridget when the breakfast rush was over. “Want me to run any errands while I’m there?”

  Sister Winifred wanted a hand written letter from her every week and Bridget mailed it at the post office. The reference librarian was getting a book for her from the New York library about the A-Z of doll restoration that she wanted to pick up.

  “Take my car,” said Christy. “I’m going to help Toby for a while and then get ready for my online quilting bee this afternoon. I can’t believe I’m actually getting the hang of this new pattern so quickly. There’s hope for me yet.”

  “Take my SUV,” said Mark coming in, “and would you mind giving Andrew a ride in to see Dr. Ali’s brother Dr. Rustom? He has another specialist at the Veterans Hospital in Reno he’ll be seeing once a month but if Dr. Ali’s brother will supervise his rehab on a weekly basis here and Andrew’s comfortable with him, it will save him going into Reno three times a week. We’re lucky we have a good facility in Silver Lake because of all the skiers and other winter sport enthusiasts who come here and all the accidents that follow. I’d take him today but there’s a man coming to check out the boat and I’d rather be here for that. Christy says that’s my area of expertise and she doesn’t know enough to talk to the man.”

  “Of course I don’t mind,” Bridget said. “I’m going to town anyway. Is eleven o’clock all right?”

  “That’s fine. Dr. Rustom told him he could come in any time this morning. The rehab center is at the back of the Professional Building. Andrew says he’ll pay you for taking him and we agreed he’d fill the tank once a month to pay for gas. He won’t let you do it otherwise.”

  Bridget kept quiet. She wasn’t too stiff-necke
d to earn some money before she went back to the Convent. She was saving up enough money to pay for all the orphans to have a day trip to Sacramento next year. The bus and their lunches would cost about a hundred and fifty dollars but it would be worth it.

  Bridget helped Moira with the laundry before she went to town. They were going to have leftovers from the Mexican feast available for any guest who wanted to eat in tonight. Christy had ordered two extra roast chickens so chicken salad was also an option.

  The running board Mark had installed on the SUV made it easier for Andrew to haul himself into the passenger side of the vehicle but his forehead was still beaded with sweat and his blue eyes shadowed with pain.

  “Is it very painful?” Bridget asked once they were on the road to town.

  “No,” he barked.

  Bite my head off, why don’t you? I was just making polite conversation.

  She leaned forward and pushed a cd into its slot and strains of Tchaikovsky filled the car. Maybe the tumultuous music would match his mood.

  Andrew was taken aback. He’d expected her to try to make another effort at conversation, try to tell him how sorry she was about the accident, ask about his last tour abroad but she’d simply turned the music on and was now focusing on driving. He was used to women who wanted to talk with him once they’d heard he’d just returned from Afghanistan. Some of them even asked if he was free to go on a date.

  “Thank you for your service to the country.” The usual comment irked.

  He hadn’t fought there. Intelligence work was done in the background well away from enemy fire but he couldn’t reveal any information about himself so he kept quiet. He hadn’t done any more than the emergency crews at home did to keep everybody safe.

  His work engrossed him to the exclusion of all else. The few women he dated knew he wasn’t the marrying kind and he guessed he hadn’t developed any special skills in the polite conversation department.