Summer in Snow Valley (Snow Valley Romance Anthologies Book 2)

by Cindy Roland Anderson

  With deft fingers she cut and arranged the cheese and crackers on the tray while the cookies defrosted in the microwave.

  Seven minutes later she set the tray down on the coffee table next to the cocoa. “Voila!” Becca said brightly.

  “Ah,” Mr. Cook grunted. He grabbed one of the small paper plates and loaded it with cookies, still eyeing his paper perched on his knee over the rim of his reading glasses.

  Becca fought the polite urge to stoke the fire and keep it going. Instead she lowered the damper to the closed position so the fire would die faster. Hint, hint, she thought. Bedtime, people!

  “Thank you, my dear,” Mrs. Cook said, daintily picking up a cracker with cheese. “Might I have a glass of cold water?”

  “Of course,” Becca said, hiding niggles of impatience. Her face was plastered into a mold of smiling. Not that she minded really. After all, it was her summer job and they were paying guests. When she was here all summer she got to meet people from all over the country—and mostly the tasks around Starry Skies B&B were fun.

  But once eight o’clock rolled around most B&B guests were off doing their own thing: dinner in town, a show in Billings, sitting on the porch watching the fireflies, reading in bed upstairs. They weren’t expecting to be waited on.

  Becca camouflaged another yawn with a swallow and blinked back the burn behind her eyes. Maybe she just hadn’t hit her summer stride yet. The summer baking and running errands with Rayna was catching up. Besides, college graduation had only finished two weeks ago, and she’d had a brutal Senior year. Plus changed apartments and the cleaning behind the stove had been even fiercer than finals week.

  In contrast, her aunt loved company, her job, and the beautiful B&B she’d practically singlehandedly remodeled—and quaint, tiny, stifling Snow Valley, Montana.

  Becca didn’t mind the small town so much, but it could use a good movie theatre and sushi restaurant. By August she was a bit stir-crazy and claustrophobic.

  “Water coming right up!” She walked through the foyer on her way around to the kitchen, wanting a peek at the just arrived guests.

  “Rebecca, our newlyweds have arrived,” Aunt Rayna said, her smile never wavering. Meet Sam and Lily Kingston,” she added, reaching for their room key. They’d reserved the biggest and nicest of the suites at the far end of the second floor, up another half landing, which made it a bit more secluded from the other rooms.

  The Romantic Skies Room wasn’t actually called a Honeymoon Suite on the Starry Skies website, but Rebecca had always referred to it as that. She picked the vase of fresh lilies herself from the gardens whenever it was rented.

  “Hi, I’m Rebecca, Rayna’s niece,” she introduced herself. Good grief, they looked young. Were they even as old as she was—at the ripe age of twenty two? The bride was willowy with long, lanky dark hair. She hung on her new husband’s arm like glue, staring at him with such constant adoring, Becca was ready to gag. Lily looked as if she might float away without his hand as her anchor. He grinned down at her as he finished signing the lodging paperwork.

  Becca tried to smile pleasantly and not think about what would be happening in the honeymoon suite this week.

  “Will you show them up to the suite?” Aunt Rayna asked Becca.

  “Oh, um, sure. But I was just on my way to the kitchen to get ice water for Mrs. Cook though.”

  “Are they still eating their snacks?”

  She gave her aunt a weak smile. “I made up a plate of cheese and crackers and the cookies I baked earlier.”

  “Cookies?” Sam, the new husband said, his eyes lighting up. “Do you think we could—”

  Lily jumped in, squeezing his fingers. “Sam loves cookies! We even got four cookie sheets as wedding gifts so I can bake them for him.”

  “How nice,” Becca said, inwardly laughing. “Um.” she paused. “I’ll go make up a plate for you and then we’ll walk upstairs, how does that sound?”

  “Perfect.” Lily gave a giggle and Sam kissed her.

  “I’ll get the ice water,” Aunt Rayna volunteered. “After you show Mr. and Mrs. Kingston to their room, you go on to bed, Becca. I’ll turn out the lights downstairs.”

  That last part was code for I’ll force the elderly Cooks out of their easy chairs so we don’t have to keep waiting on them.

  She gave her a grateful look and then did some hinting of her own. “Are you putting the Cooks in the Western Room?”

  Rayna winked. “Of course!”

  “Mr. and Mrs. Kingston,” Lily repeated her words from a moment ago, giggling again. “That sounds so old. Like we’ve been married forever. But sooo wonderful, too,” she added with a happy sigh. “I love it.”

  “Mmm,” Sam murmured, looking down at her and touching the tip of her nose with his as he whispered against her lips, “And I love you.”

  Becca tried not to gag. She wondered how many newlyweds were booked this season. She’d conveniently be in the kitchen next time. Or weeding the Bermuda grass.

  She strode back to the kitchen while Sam and Lily made gaga eyes at each other. Grabbed a plate, loaded it with an assortment of crackers, cheeses, and cookies. Then, feeling guilty for being so resentful, she scrounged around the garage pantry where they kept a stock of canned and bottled food, got a bottle of sparkling apple cider, stuck it in a bucket of ice, found two fluted glasses, and laid it all on a pretty tray.

  “Here we are,” she said, meeting the newly married couple at the bottom of the stairs. “Got your luggage?”

  “Oh, look!” Lily cried when she saw the tray of goodies and bottle of Martinelli’s. “How lovely. You’re so sweet. Thank you.”

  “We aim to please here at Starry Skies.”

  “You picked the perfect place for our honeymoon,” Lily added, squeezing Sam’s arm so hard Becca was sure it was going to snap.

  Sam hefted the two suitcases, Becca carried the tray of food, and Lily oohed and aahed while gliding her hand along the polished banister. A faint scent of lemon oil drifted into the air.

  “I just love old houses,” Lily said. “You wouldn’t happen to have a hot tub, would you?”

  Becca’s smile was tight as they turned left at the landing and went up the rest of the carpeted stairs to the room situated by itself at the end of the hall. “Sorry, no. Most B&B’s don’t come with hot tubs. Terribly expensive to install into an old house, plus there’s mostly just me and my aunt to care for everything.”

  “Oh, right,” Lily said vaguely, disappointment crossing her face.

  Becca was sure the girl had a red hot bikini in her bag with visions of herself and Sam lounging in a hot tub with champagne glasses, a masseuse scheduled afterward for his-and-her-massages.

  Aunt Rayna had commented just the previous week when someone inquiring about rooms and prices hung up on her, “We’re not a day spa, a resort hotel, or Las Vegas. People need to remember that we’re a bed and breakfast in a small town in the middle of nowhere!” She always shook her head and batted her lashes in an imitation of the latest request.

  “You are so bad,” Becca would tease her.

  “I suppose it’s natural for guests to want every amenity. But darn it, you make the best brownies this side of the Rockies, Becca. They should be grateful.”

  That had made Becca laugh. “Your flapjacks are to die for,” she added with a southern California girl accent.

  “Don’t they know we raise the hogs, butcher them, and make our own bacon, too?”

  “City folks,” retorted Becca, as if that explained everything.

  “It must be my purple hair,” Aunt Rayna added, flipping it behind her shoulder. “When they see me in person, the guests think we’re totally upscale and Manhattan.”

  “Maybe we could practice a bit of soft shoe for their entertainment. We could become little Broadway.”

  “Charge $25 bucks for reserved seating.”

  “On the patio with the deer! They’ll love that!”

  Becca’d had a hard time maintaining
a straight face. “Your brochure might be misleading,” she’d added, picking one up from the counter and reading, “Deer are known to gallivant about the yard during breakfast.”

  “Oh, pshaw,” Aunt Rayna said, waving a hand as she lapsed into a thicker than normal hick accent. She was always making fun of herself despite the fact that, even though she’d grown up here, she’d spent twenty years away from Snow Valley, going to school at Berkeley and then living in Brooklyn for awhile flitting between a myriad of acting and waitressing jobs. She was a fabulous singer and managed a few off-Broadway shows.

  She’d also been the recipient of several marriage proposals but there was always something wrong with the man; they were married, too old, too young, too short, or too bald.

  Becca thought she had the coolest aunt around. Her parents wished she wasn’t an “old maid,” but Becca never thought of Rayna like that. She was just Rayna. Pretty in her own unique way, a wanderer, a gypsy, never taking anything too seriously, but content with herself and thrilled with her beautiful Bed & Breakfast.

  “Here we are,” Becca said now, shutting off her memories when she inserted the key into the Romantic Skies Honeymoon Suite and pushed the door open with her hip. At least it was a honeymoon suite this week.

  Quickly, she set down the tray of food, glasses, and sparkling cider on the high table and stuffed the bottle deep into the ice bucket to chill. “The bathroom is through there,” she said, indicating a short hallway past the king-sized bed. “A Jacuzzi tub is the next best thing to a hot tub, right? And there are plenty of towels and soap, etc.”

  Trying not to show that she was anxious to be done and get to her own comfy bed and novel, Becca slowed down her words. “Television remote is here. And tada! You have a balcony behind these draperies.”

  While Sam and Lily gave gasps of exclamation, Becca drew the floor-length curtains and showed them how to unlock the door. Two chairs were placed behind the hardwood railing.

  “The view is breathtaking,” Lily said, putting her chin in her fist as she leaned over the sturdy railing.

  Sam smoothed his hand up and down his bride’s back, commenting on the full moon and how it lit the hills and forest in the distance.

  Becca began to back away, talking faster. “I’ll just leave the key here on the high-board. Enjoy your night. Breakfast is between eight and ten.” She nearly stumbled over the suitcases lying behind her, catching herself as Sam and Lily were suddenly, right before her eyes, locked in a passionate embrace. No! Not thinking about husbands and honeymoons and, and, all that, Becca sternly told herself.

  Even if she hadn’t had a decent date in two years.

  Those Engineering dudes in her classes didn’t date. So much for having classes with all males.

  She’d read her nice, safe, spine-tingly novel, Rebecca by Daphne du Maurier where there was romance but not a smidgen of physicality.

  Safe. Becca Dash played life safe.

  Chapter 3

  “I declare after all there is no enjoyment like reading! How much sooner one tires of anything than of a book! -- When I have a house of my own, I shall be miserable if I have not an excellent library.”

  —Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice

  With a sigh that sent her long bangs flying up her forehead, Becca made her way downstairs to her own room behind the kitchen. Just like Cinderella, she’d thought when she was younger. Her own little space, all private and away from the rest of the living quarters. Aunt Rayna had a room on the opposite side of the big living area.

  A sudden wave of loneliness came over her. Now where did that come from?

  She’d never minded not having many friends here in Snow Valley. It had never bothered her to be a summer visitor. She liked being with Aunt Rayna while they worked about the place, fixing, cleaning, and planning menus. She liked baking, enjoying a slower pace without homework and projects and roommates. Reading a towering stack of books. Writing her silly little stories, riding the horses, occasionally driving into Billings for a movie by herself with a monstrous bag of hot buttery popcorn or picking up the newest release at the local Redbox in front of Dove’s, the local grocery. Which made her, unexpectedly, think about Nick Walton and their old movie nights.

  Maybe she was getting too old to be spending summers away from the real world. Eight summers.

  Maybe she was hiding out.

  On purpose.

  Because real life was and friends’ wedding were much too scary and fraught with responsibility—and a loneliness more acute than she felt here.

  In Snow Valley she could escape. Pretend she had a life, was useful.

  “Get a grip,” she said to herself as she pushed the door into her cozy room and flopped on the bed amid the stacks of pillows and stuffed bears and dolls she’d kept here. “This is real life, isn’t it?”

  Becca consoled herself with the fact that Aunt Rayna had mentioned some new people in town: two sisters who were doing their own farm remodel, one an artist and the other writing the Great American Novel. Perhaps she needed to reach out and try to meet them—if she could get past her reticence.

  Rayna had also mentioned the excitement over the new youth pastor, James Douglas—although he’d already been claimed by Jessica Mason, the dancer who’d made good in the professional world of ballet. Becca was looking forward to seeing a more professional talent show this year with Jessica in town. Too bad Jessica had her claws into James. Rayna said he was a real hottie.

  One thing about Snow Valley: there weren’t usually many single men to date.

  Not that dating someone had ever been a priority when Becca was here for the summer. She hadn’t even thought about it, actually. She had come here to get away from her cloying parents, to unwind from school, to read for hours, and bake to her heart’s content (there was never time during the school year—a bag of store-bought Oreos and milk had to suffice).

  At least during past summers she’d had Nick Walton to get a burger at Big C’s with. He was around, but she hadn’t seen him yet.

  For eight years Becca had lived a split life. One at college. And one here in Snow Valley. “And never the twain shall meet,” she whispered, fingering the bookmark sticking out of the top of Rebecca.

  Out here on the edge of town Nick and Sally had truly been the only locals she’d spent time with. No parties, no hanging out—only Snow Valley’s Independence Day Bash. Two whole weeks of Founder’s Day Festivals, softball tournaments, farmer’s market, Miss Snow Valley Pageant, potlucks at the church, concerts in the Park, the rodeo, local artists, and a talent show, ending with two nights of spectacular fireworks.

  Old people kind of stuff with little kids running around. Babies in strollers and young moms pinching fruit and getting the kid’s faces painted.

  “Geez, I’m a total bore at twenty-two.” Actually she’d be twenty-three in August—and that was a little depressing.

  Becca shut her bedroom window when the acrid night air wafted through. She pulled on her cozy PJ’s and climbed under the comforter, opening the book and leaning back against the pillows. Twisting her hair with one finger, she was immediately engrossed.

  Ten minutes later, the front door slammed open, and then slammed shut. The bell at the front desk began to ring imperiously.

  Becca bolted upright, pushing off the blankets. “Who the heck is that?”

  The front door was locked when everyone went to bed. Had someone broken inside? She slipped through the darkened kitchen, not wanting to appear in public the way she looked. Even the knee in her thinning pajama pants had a hole in it. She’d already taken off her makeup and her hair had been twisted around her fingers to death. A bad habit while she read.

  Aunt Rayna’s voice called out from the foyer. “I’m sorry to wake you, Becca, but a Mr. Grantham’s car broke down and he called wondering if we had an available room.”

  “The doors were locked, right?” Becca asked.

  Aunt Rayna turned from the desk. “Yes, I came downstairs to meet him.
I’ll put him in the Sagebrush Room, other side of the Cooks.”

  Becca shifted her head to see a grumpy man wearing a business suit and carrying a briefcase coming through the front doors.

  “Was supposed to make Billings tonight,” the man huffed. “All the rooms in this pimple of a town are booked.”

  “Snow Valley fills up for our Fourth of July celebrations,” Aunt Rayna said pleasantly. “People come from all over. Only time our population goes over 5,000. Well, except for Christmas time. We do Christmas big around here. Just like our state.”

  “Obviously, I’m not here for fireworks,” Mr. Grantham said, loosening his tie.

  “I’ll call and arrange a tow truck for you,” Aunt Rayna added smoothly. “Where’s your car at the moment?”

  “About a mile from here on a side road where I pushed it.”

  “It should be fine. Snow Valley is very safe.”

  Her words made Becca wonder. She’d never seen someone come in after ten o’clock at night. Chills ran along her neck. What did her aunt do when she was here all alone most of the year? Although guests were fewer and farther between during the cold, snowy winters months. Aunt Rayna said she screened her guests.

  “Identification, please?” she said now. “And a credit card.” Becca’s aunt glanced over her shoulder and shooed at her. “Go on to bed. Can’t have you grumpy in the morning during breakfast.”

  “If you’re sure.” Becca wanted reassurance. She didn’t like the way Mr. Grantham scowled. His car break-down wasn’t Aunt Rayna’s fault.

  “Positive. Goodnight, sweetie.”

  Becca wasn’t grumpy, but she was hungry after a long evening of guests coming and going. On her way back to her room she picked up a half-eaten bag of Doritos from the pantry and an ice-cold Dr. Pepper from the fridge.

  She spent the next hour finishing her novel and making crumbs on the comforter.