Cecily remained alone in the kitchen. When she’d first offered to come home and help with the festival, she’d had a vague feeling that her family needed her, that destiny was waiting for her in Icicle Falls.
So far her destiny seemed to consist of irritating her sister and running unimportant errands. As for Mom, well, all she really needed was time and that obviously wasn’t something Cecily was in a position to give.
“Why am I here?” she muttered.
The cuckoo clock on the kitchen wall struck the hour and the little cuckoo popped out the door to tell her just what he thought of her. She left before he could finish.
* * *
Blake had several errands to run this morning, but a visit to his grandmother topped the list. Janice Lind was one of the town’s old-timers. She’d been a young woman when Icicle Falls pulled itself from the brink of extinction by transforming a collection of boarded-up storefronts and empty streets into an alpine village. Blake’s maternal grandfather, Tom, whom everybody called Swede, had been the town’s only mechanic for years. He’d owned the gas station where Blake’s dad worked as a teenager before he married Blake’s mother and went into car sales. Even Blake had worked at the station a summer or two. Since he was the only boy in the family, both his dad and his granddad had plans for him. Gramps had wanted him to run the garage after he graduated. Dad had wanted Blake to come and work with him selling cars in Seattle. If he’d done either, he could’ve connected with Samantha under different circumstances. Maybe they’d have been an item by now. He frowned as he made his way up the front walk to his grandparents’ cozy log home.
She must have seen him coming because he was halfway up the walk when she opened the door, a slim modern granny with a flour-dusted apron over her slacks and tiger-print bifocals dangling from a chain around her neck. “This is a nice surprise,” she greeted him.
A surprise? Rather like learning he’d been entered in the Mr. Dreamy contest.
“I’m making oatmeal cookies.”
“My favorite. You must’ve known I was coming.”
“Well, they’re almost your favorite. I’m trying out a new recipe,” she said, leading him into the kitchen. “This one uses Sweet Dreams chocolates. I figure it can’t hurt to try and impress the judges.”
He wished all Samantha Sterling needed to be impressed with him was home-baked cookies. He took a seat at the old red Formica table. Gram’s kitchen always smelled great. This morning the aroma of the day was spices mixed with coffee. Not only did the place smell good, it looked like a stage for some cooking show. Everything was state-of-the-art, from the stainless-steel fridge to the ceramic-top stove. Copper pans polished to a high sheen hung from a rack over her counter, and two baking racks were stacked with man-size cookies.
She poured him a mug of coffee and set it in front of him, along with a plate of cookies. “If they’ve got chocolate, I’ll pass.”
“Silly,” she said, tapping his shoulder playfully. “I made a special batch just for you. No chocolate, only raisins and nuts.”
“In that case.” He took one and stuffed half in his mouth.
“How is it?”
“Good,” he said around a mouthful of fabulous. “Where’s Gramps?”
“At the garage, doing some paperwork. And making sure the new mechanic really knows what he’s doing.” She shook her head. “Your grandpa just can’t stay away from there. So much for semiretirement.”
Blake had known all along that his grandfather wouldn’t ease up, no matter how many mechanics he hired. Running that garage and filling station was his passion. Lucky guy. He’d found something he loved to do and been able to do it his whole life.
Once Blake had believed that banking was what he wanted, but life in the real world hadn’t matched his vision, especially lately.
“Did the people from Sweet Dreams contact you?” his grandmother asked, bringing up the very reason he’d come. She was smiling like she’d done a wonderful thing.
“That’s why I came by.”
The smiling stopped. “Oh. I can see you’re not pleased.”
“I don’t want to be in a male beauty pageant.”
“Oh,” she said again, sounding downright disappointed. “I saw all those wonderful prizes and…well, you truly are the handsomest young man in Icicle Falls.”
He had to smile at that. “I think you might be prejudiced.”
“I most certainly am not,” she said stoutly.
“I appreciate the thought.” Not really, but she’d meant well and he didn’t want to hurt her feelings. “But it wouldn’t look right. Not fitting the position of a bank manager.”
“Yes, I suppose so. Your mother and I just felt it would be fun for you.”
So his mother had been in on this, too. Why was he not surprised? He supposed he could be thankful that only one of the women in his life was currently living in town. He shuddered to imagine the mischief his mother and grandmother would dream up if they were both here. Factor in his sister, and he’d have had a triple threat.
“We hoped maybe it would loosen you up a little,” Gram continued.
“Loosen me up?”
She reached across the table and laid a hand on his arm. “You used to be such a happy young man. You seem so serious these days.”
“I’m happy,” he insisted. But as he did, he realized that he hadn’t laughed once since he’d moved back. Taking over the management of a troubled bank and feeling like some sort of cartoon villain whenever he saw Samantha Sterling was sucking his soul dry.
“Are you?” Gram said, and observed him over the rim of her coffee mug.
“For the most part. I have a lot of responsibility at the bank.”
“Your grandfather has a lot of responsibility at the station and your father has a lot of responsibility at the dealership. They still enjoy themselves.”
“That’s different. They don’t have people’s lives depending on them.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Oh? No families to support? No families working for them?”
She had a point there.
“Everyone has responsibilities, dear.”
“I guess you’re right,” he conceded. “But I still don’t want to be Icicle Falls’ first Mr. Dreamy.”
Not that he would have been. These days he was anything but Samantha Sterling’s idea of a dream man. Somehow, someway, he had to do something to change that.
* * *
Grief was a heavy burden to carry but guilt was even worse and Muriel didn’t think she could bear the load any longer. Her poor daughters were working so hard to clean up the mess she’d created. She had to do her part.
But how? She knew nothing about business. Yes, she’d worked at Sweet Dreams off and on over the years but she’d never been involved in any aspect of running the company. Her most important business had been her family. It still was and now she needed to help them put Sweet Dreams back in the red. Or the black. Or whatever it was. She might not know business, she told herself, but she knew people. She had friends in this town, people who’d want to help if she just asked.
Cecily had gone over to Samantha’s—Muriel wasn’t sure for what, but it most likely had something to do with the festival. So the house was hers.
A couple of weeks ago she’d have taken advantage of that time alone to look through photo albums or sleep or simply cry. She’d cried enough tears in the past few weeks to make the Wenatchee River flood. Nights were the worst. She felt her loss acutely
when she climbed into bed and no strong arms reached out to hold her. Trying to fill up that big bed all by herself reminded her how utterly adrift she was.
But with the daylight hours, more pressing concerns took precedence. If they couldn’t save the company she wouldn’t have to worry about being alone in her big bed or this house. The house would be gone, like the company her grandmother had founded.
There was no time for moping. She grabbed the phone. She couldn’t run a business, but she knew how to get donations. She’d made these kinds of calls raising money for the food bank when she and a couple of friends at Icicle Falls Community Church first started it years ago. It was time to make some calls again, this time for some personal loans.
She’d begin with Del Stone. If he was as interested in her sober as he was drunk, then maybe he’d like to put his money where his mouth was and help her out.
Chapter Seventeen
Expect the unexpected. This way you’ll always be ready for company and prepared for problems.
—Muriel Sterling, Knowing Who You Are: One Woman’s Journey
Samantha had gotten in touch with her inner Cecily and kept quiet about her traitorous romantic exploits after the Mr. Dreamy kickoff, and Cecily left her on Saturday assuming she was hungover and worried about the business. No lie there. She was. That pathetic makeout session with Blake was merely the cherry on top of a big cupcake made of poop.
Friday had been torture and Saturday had been exhausting. After meeting with Cecily on Saturday, she’d made the rounds of all the restaurants, wheeling and dealing and talking up the festival, encouraging them to come up with special recipes featuring Sweet Dreams chocolates. She’d visited shops, glad-handing and flattering fence sitters and offering free chocolate right and left. With all her bribes and promises, she’d spent a fortune. Way to ignore your bottom line, she scolded herself.
What bottom line? How could you have a bottom line when you were a flatliner?
By Sunday she needed stress relief. She decided to hide out in her condo.
“That’s the last thing I want to do,” she said when Cass called and suggested an afternoon hike on Lost Bride Trail. Well, there were other things she’d like to have done, like rob a bank (and she knew just the one), but she was better off hiding at home.
“Come on,” Cass urged. “The sun is out and the sky is blue. How often do we get that in winter? You don’t want to sit inside and grow fat on your hips.”
Actually, yes, she did.
“And you might see the lost bride,” Cass teased.
Locals always looked for the ghost of the lost bride. According to legend, back in the 1860s a farmer named Joshua Cane got himself a mail-order bride. He quickly became the envy of every man within a fifty-mile radius because his bride, Rebecca, was beautiful. In fact, she was so beautiful that Joshua had a hard time keeping her to himself. She fell in love with his younger brother, Gideon, a gold prospector. Townspeople witnessed fights in the saloon and threats were exchanged. Then one day Rebecca went missing. So did Gideon. Speculation abounded. The two had run off. Joshua had murdered them both and buried the remains somewhere in the mountains. Joshua murdered his brother and left Rebecca on the mountain to starve. Sometimes people would swear they saw her over by Icicle Falls. After the town spinster saw her right before the new Methodist minister proposed, it became a lucky thing to catch sight of the lost bride’s ghost flitting behind the waters of the falls. If a woman saw the ghost of Rebecca Cane, it meant she would soon be married. Naturally, the falls became a favorite destination for couples on the verge of engagement.
Samantha wasn’t on the verge of anything except maybe a nervous breakdown. “No chance of that,” she said.
“You never know,” Cass said.
“You could see her, too,” Samantha teased back.
“That’d be the day. But I think Dani’s got hopes. So come keep us company. You need to think about something besides the festival.”
Samantha reluctantly agreed and went to find her hiking boots. What the heck. If she sat around all day she’d probably drive herself insane worrying about the festival, not to mention the fate of Sweet Dreams.
An hour later they were making their way up the trail that ran alongside Icicle Creek. The air was fresh as only mountain air can be and they could hear the thunder of the falls in the distance. In spite of the blue sky and sun they could see their breath as they walked, and the trail was muddy from the recent showers of sleet and wet snow that refused to stick. It sucked at their shoes as they walked.
“Gosh, it’s wet,” Samantha said, dodging an icy puddle.
“I hope we don’t have a rockslide,” Danielle muttered.
“Bite your tongue,” her mother said. “That’s all we don’t need. Anyway, the sun will help dry things out.”
That was fine with Samantha. If they couldn’t have a foot of snow, they could at least have a little taste of sunshine.
They made it to the falls without mishap, in spite of the slippery trail, and the view of white water lunging over the jagged mountain precipice was well worth the walk. “Look,” Danielle cried. “A rainbow in the water!”
If only there was a pot of gold at the end of it…
“Is that all you see?” Cass asked her.
Danielle blushed. “That’s all.”
“It doesn’t get much better than a rainbow,” Samantha said, gazing at the rushing water. Then she caught a fleeting glimpse of something else. A person? She took a few steps closer and strained to see. Was that a person? Good heavens, it was! “There’s someone in back of the falls,” she said, pointing. “On that ledge. See her?”
Cass looked where she was pointing. “See what?”
“That’s dangerous. She could slip.” And bounce off the jagged rocks on her way down into the creek. “Hello!” Samantha called.
“Who are you calling? There’s no one there,” Cass said.
“Yes, there is.” Samantha frowned at her. “Don’t you see her? She’s right…” But now there was no one. “Well, that’s odd. I could’ve sworn I saw someone.”
“The lost bride,” Danielle gasped. “You saw the lost bride!”
“That’s just a legend,” Samantha said.
“But you saw her,” Danielle insisted.
“And you know what that means, don’t you?” Cass asked.
Samantha gave a snort. “It had better mean the festival will be a huge success.”
According to the ad they’d taken out in the Mountain Sun, it was going to be stellar. Samantha stopped at the Safeway on the way home and purchased a paper. She stepped out of the flow of traffic and opened the paper to the full-page ad, which featured their calendar of events. Celebrate Icicle Falls’ First Annual Chocolate Festival proclaimed the banner at the top. Oh, how she hoped it would be the first of many.
Lila Ward walked by and grudgingly wished her a good-morning, then added, “That’s going to be a zoo.”
“I sure hope so,” Samantha responded.
With a disgusted huff, Lila walked on.
Samantha went home and celebrated by trying a glass of white wine from the Sleeping Lady Winery that Ed had given her a while back. After a couple of sips she opted for cocoa instead. She raised her mug to Nibs, who was regarding her from one of the kitchen chairs. “Here’s to success.” Maybe seeing the lost bride would bring her luck.
That night she slept like a stone, dead to the world, and awoke the next morning refreshed. She had to m
eet with Lizzy, the bookkeeper, today and that would not be fun. She’d already pared her spending down to the bone but they were going to have to get out the knife and pare some more.
Still, she felt hopeful. The festival would be a success. They’d make a chunk of money and with that she’d find a way to bargain for time. Or she’d do…something. Something good was going to come of this, she’d make sure of it.
She was still smiling when she entered the office.
Elena didn’t smile back at her. “You haven’t seen today’s paper?”
Cold fingers of dread squeezed her heart. “What’s in the paper?” What could possibly have happened between yesterday and this morning?
Elena said nothing, simply handed it over.
That was what had happened. “A rockslide,” Samantha said weakly.
“Right on Highway 2.”
The highway that tourists traveled and the main road into town. It was now January 30. The festival was less than two weeks away.
Still, that was plenty of time. “D.O.T will get it cleaned up in a few days,” Samantha assured herself.
Elena looked doubtful but said nothing.
Other people had plenty to say, though. Samantha’s mailbox overflowed with panicked emails and the phone rang off the hook all morning. Finally, Ed called an emergency committee meeting at his wine shop where they could drown their sorrows in cabernet sauvignon and try to think of a way to salvage the mess. Of course, as the instigator of this, they’d all be looking to Samantha for a solution. As if she had one.
She needed…no chocolate, she told herself firmly. Except she was out of fingernails. She left her office and stopped by the shop to get a salted caramel.
Heidi didn’t say anything as she raided the display behind the glass, just looked at her sadly. Samantha took another caramel for the road.
She was just going out the door when she met Darla Stone, Del’s middle-aged sister, and Hildy Johnson.
Both women were notorious sugar addicts. By all rights, they should’ve been regular customers but Samantha knew for a fact that they both preferred a cheap high to the good stuff and always stocked up whenever candy bars were on sale at the grocery store. So what were they doing here?
Sweet Dreams on Center Street Page 20
