Montana Christmas Magic

by Casey Dawes

  “Cup of coffee?” Sue Anne asked. Sitting down meant she had something serious to discuss.

  She wouldn’t fire her for taking too much time off, would she? No, Sue Anne wasn’t that petty.

  “I received a few resumes in response to the Craigslist ad.” Sue Anne had a sheaf of papers in her hand when she sat down. “I thought we’d look them over and find a good fit.”

  Even though it was what she wanted, the process was like being replaced.

  She pushed her angst aside, and they quickly settled on two young women to interview. Both seemed enthusiastic, had retail experience in a specialty food store, and had been in the shop and loved it.

  “A treasure trove!” Sue Anne exclaimed. “I’ll set up interviews for next week.”

  “How’s the wedding coming?” Julie asked as they lingered over their coffee.

  “My mother will drive me crazy,” her friend replied.

  “I thought you guys were getting along better.”

  “That worked well until I decided to get married. Mother has definite ideas about what a wedding entails. She’s even started bringing up the subject of grandchildren!”

  “What does Zach have to say about that?”

  “We’ve agreed we want two or three kids eventually, but we want to wait a few years to see if Zach can get another promotion. I’ll also need to find or develop a general manager to handle things when I’m busy with the kids. Of course, when they’re old enough, they’ll be handed a wooden spoon and their marching orders.” Sue Anne grinned.

  Julie didn’t doubt it for a moment.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I know you were counting on me to fill that role.”

  “A little. Okay, a lot. But I’d always hoped you’d find your way back to your art. It’s where you belong.”

  “You really don’t mind?”

  “Nope. My only concern is, how you are going to make a living? I mean, I’m not paying you much, but if you cut your hours way back, you’ll barely cover rent. I had a small nest egg—what will you do?”

  Julie managed her money carefully, so she did have a little saved up, but she could see how that would go quickly.

  “I had this harebrained idea, but I have no clue if it would work, and I doubt I can talk Logan into it. He seems hell-bent on selling out as soon as the six months is up in October.”

  “Good, he’ll still be here for the wedding.”

  “Why is that good?”

  “You need a plus one. You seem to be friends with him; why don’t you invite him?”

  “I couldn’t do that. Not in a thousand years. I don’t want to lead him on.”

  “How can you lead him on? He’s the one leaving.”

  Julie set her lips and didn’t say anything.

  “Okay. I see that’s a nonstarter. I’ll have to look for someone else for you.”

  I don’t want anyone else.

  “So what’s your master plan for your life?” Sue Anne leaned forward.

  Julie sipped her coffee as she tried to align the thoughts in her mind. “You know how I have to wait for the girls to be out before I can paint in the living room? Then, as soon as they get home, they complain about the smell, and I need to put it all away.”

  “I remember those days. I was really grateful to get my own place. Four of us were too crowded.”

  “I’m probably not the only one in that situation. What if I could offer an artists’ retreat? A week in the country, breakfast included; maybe I’d even provide a sack lunch. If I could convince Logan it’s a good idea, the small cabins on the property would be ideal for a combination bedroom-studio. They’d have privacy and people who share their interests to talk to. We could provide wine and beer and a few snacks before dinner.”

  “You’d have to use the house to do that, wouldn’t you?”

  “I’d figure it out. Maybe we could remodel the barn to include a cooking and sitting spot. I could pay Logan for the use of the property while he was out doing his tennis thing.” Inspiration peppered her mind. “I’d get teachers to come in for a day or two. You know, teach a different style or technique, and then the attendees could practice during the week. The same thing could work for writers! All I’d need to do is a little cooking and socializing, and I could spend the rest of the time painting.”

  She leaned forward.

  “Sounds ambitious,” Sue Anne said. “Do you think you could make any money? Enough to do everything you need to do, like eat and buy supplies?”

  “If Logan let me stay there year round, I could probably do it. Remember, I do hope to sell some of my paintings.”

  “You’re asking a lot of the man.”

  “Why should he care? He’s not interested in the place.”

  “Gee, that’s awfully generous of you.”

  “Oh, stop.” At least Sue Anne hadn’t spotted the obvious flaw: Julie would no longer be able to help in the chocolate shop if she lived in Phillipsburg.

  “What if you can’t convince Logan?”

  “Then I figure out something else.”

  Sue Anne picked up the mugs and started for the kitchen as Julie’s phone vibrated in her pocket.

  “Mom?” she said when she picked up. “Everything okay?”

  “Oh, yes, yes, yes. It’s just Grace is having her first, you know, and they may have miscalculated. It sounds like it’s arriving a month earlier than planned.”

  How did you miscalculate a birthday? Oh, well, given Grace’s will-o’-the-wisp mind, it wasn’t a surprise that she couldn’t remember when her last period ended.

  “Anyway, we have to move the shower up. Can you possibly make this weekend? As early as possible? I need another hand. Your father has declared this ‘women’s affairs’ and retreated to his workshop, so he’s no help.”

  Julie had to chuckle. Her poor dad had suffered with five women in the house, especially once their hormones synced up.

  “Let me check with Sue Anne.”

  Slipping the phone in her pocket, she cautiously approached Sue Anne. She’d just taken time off to go to Phillipsburg. How would her boss feel about her taking a weekend off so soon?

  “When?” Sue Anne frowned and looked at the bank calendar pinned to the wall. So far, it served for keeping track of their hours, but things didn’t always make it to the paper, especially if Sue Anne had wedding planning on her mind.

  “I think it’s okay. As long as I have everything down. The worst happens, I’ll snare Zach and some of his friends to come in. Even if they mess up, they make the young women forget it quickly. Something about that uniform.”

  “Thanks. I’ll make up for it, I promise.”

  “Okay, Mom,” she said into the phone.

  “That’s such a relief. I’ll need you to pick up some things in Missoula before you come. Lewistown has a lot of what I need, but there’s some stuff Costco does better than Walmart.”

  “Sure.” Julie grabbed a piece of scrap paper from the bottom shelf and took down her mother’s list.

  Julie headed out early Saturday morning, stopping only for a bagel and schmear as she went east, her gas mileage improved by the wind from the west—a wind blowing change into her life. It was hard to bail on Sue Anne, but telling her mom she wouldn’t help was out of the question.

  A few hours later, she pulled into her parents’ driveway.

  “Thank goodness you’re here,” her father said as he helped her carry her mother’s goods into the kitchen. “Apparently your sisters are coming over later—except for Grace, of course—and your mother is making me clean like they didn’t grow up here.”

  “You can go hide out now, Dad. I’ll handle it.”

  “No wonder you’re my favorite.” He kissed her cheek and went back out the front door, to avoid her mother in the kitchen.

  An hour later, her first sister arrived, followed by the second. “I swear Grace knows something is up,” Victoria, the oldest, said.

  “No matter,” said April, the next oldest. “Sh
e’ll act surprised. She’s good that way.”

  By that time, Julie was ready to join her father. And they weren’t even all there. By the time cousins and aunts arrived tomorrow for the shower, it would be warm, noisy chaos.

  She slipped out the back kitchen door, hoping no one would notice.

  “Too much for you?” her father said when she walked into the workshop.

  “I’ll go back and do the rest of my penance like a good girl, but I need a break. Don’t forget, I’ve got them and more tomorrow.”

  “Yeah, I’ve already arranged a fishing trip with Tom and Neal.”

  The three men had been friends since they were in their teens.

  What would it be like to have friendships that went back decades like that? Did Logan have anything like that? Or had his life been one round after the other of new acquaintances and surface friends?

  Sad.

  “What’s on your mind?” her father asked. “If I didn’t know you better, I’d think you had man troubles. Your sisters always spent some time out here when they were getting serious about some guy and wanted to sort it out.”

  “No. Nothing like that.”

  Not even a possibility of something like that.

  Her father didn’t say anything, simply handed her a piece of fine sandpaper and pointed to a small child’s desk, while he went back to the rocker he was repairing.

  “Is that the same chair you were working on last time I was here?” she asked. Her father was usually faster than that.

  “Different one. It’s been a bad month for rockers.”

  She smiled. Dad’s humor had always been understated.

  “To fix something, you have to know where the weaknesses are,” he said. “Take this piece. Looks perfectly strong until you peel back the facade. Then the dry and cracked wood stands out, ready to give at any moment.”

  Her dad had always been prone to folksy announcements, but she had no idea what this one meant.

  “Kinda like people. You’ve got to peel of the facade before you can figure out how to fix the problem.” He looked over at her, his blue eyes bright with concern. “So what’s going on?”

  She kept sanding, making her movements even and deliberate. Where to begin?

  “Remember I talked about Willy Velk, from Phillipsburg?”

  Her father nodded.

  “He recently died—cancer.”

  “I’m sorry.” The sanding stopped. “I know you really liked him.”

  “Well, he has a nephew—Logan.”

  The sanding resumed.

  She concentrated on the small desk her father had fixed, smoothing out the joint where the new wood attached to the old.

  Scratch. Scratch.

  Echoes of laughter floated from the open kitchen door.

  “And?” her father prompted.

  She told him about the chocolates for Willy’s casket, getting to know Logan better, and her trip to paint at his place.

  She omitted the kiss.

  “Sounds fine. What’s bothering you?”

  “I don’t know.”

  He looked down his nose at her, an expression he’d polished on her older sisters well before she began to test him.

  “Okay. I like him,” she said.

  “How much ‘like’?”

  “A lot.”

  “I take it he’s not from Montana.”

  “New York.”

  “What’s he doing in our neck of the woods?” Her father’s curiosity won over the attention to his sanding.

  “I told you. He’s Willy’s nephew.”

  “And? Doesn’t he have a life of his own?”

  “He’s a tennis player—professional. Except he had an accident and can’t walk without a cane.”

  “Hard to play tennis that way.” The sanding resumed, but the strokes were shorter and faster.

  Her father was seriously disturbed.

  “So what’s he planning on doing with himself and the ranch?”

  “Willy stipulated he had to live there for six months, so he’s fixing it up to sell.”

  “Seems like a sad thing—sell a fellow’s hard-earned ranch.”

  “Logan’s life is in New York.” She shrugged. “He’s working with his old coach to train to become one, too—a coach that is. They’re going to work together.”

  “So why are you messing with him?”

  “I didn’t intend to. It just sorta happened.” She ran her finger over the smooth wood. If only her life was that seamless.

  “Seems like you need to undo it.”

  “But how?”

  “Concentrate on following your dream and let him follow his. I don’t know. Maybe a miracle will occur, and he’ll decide to stay.” He stopped moving and stared at her. “Because you aren’t made for New York City. The city would eat you up and spit you out in no time flat.”

  “I know that, Dad.”

  “See that you remember it. Love can make you do funny things.”

  “I don’t love him. I just like him.” A lot.

  “Uh-huh.”

  Scratch. Scratch.

  “We’re hiring a new assistant at the shop next week.”

  “Shop must be doing well.”

  “Pretty good. But it’s also because I’m taking more time off to work on my painting.”

  “You doing okay financially?”

  “So far.”

  Scratch.

  “But listen, Dad, I have this idea ...”

  He stopped sanding and looked at her, nodding encouragement as she told him about her retreat plan.

  “So, if I approached you for a loan to get started, would you give it to me? As a banker, of course.” There was no way her father could provide a personal loan.

  “I’d have to see a business plan first. Make sure it’s a good return on investment.”

  “Okay! Great!”

  “That’s not the usual reaction I get when I tell people they have to write a business plan.”

  “Oh, but it is. Sue Anne can help me do it. She had to make one for the shop. But it means the idea isn’t total crap!”

  “I never commit to that until after I see the plan.”

  She giggled.

  “Oh, Daddy, I love you.” She gave him a hug and returned to her sanding. With each stroke, she sharpened her desire to create the life she envisioned—one that didn’t include Logan.

  Because her father was right. If she continued to be involved with him, she was going to get hurt.

  Chapter 9

  Logan busied himself around the ranch over the next few weeks, working himself to exhaustion every night so he could fall to sleep without playing that kiss over and over again in his mind. His dreams wouldn’t comply.

  Neither was his carpentry going the way he wanted. A stubborn corner of the eaves simply wouldn’t come together the way he envisioned. He wasn’t cut out to be a woodworker. Time to get back to tennis.

  Thursday morning, he picked up the phone.

  “Say, I’m coming to Missoula on Friday to get up a bunch of supplies I need,” Logan said, his insides more nervous than they’d ever been when talking to a girl. “I’d like to take you to lunch again if you don’t mind. To make up for, well, you know. Crossing a line.”

  “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

  “Please. We’ll be in public. No problem.”

  “But why?”

  It was a good question—one for which he didn’t have a good answer.

  “I have fun when we’re together. Otherwise, all I do is work.”

  “I’m sure there are some lovely girls in Phillipsburg who’d love to go out with a visiting tennis star.” Her voice was tense.

  “Ex-tennis star, remember? Let’s just have some fun. You can’t work all the time, either. Pretend you’re in high school again—we’ll have a summer fling and go back to our real lives.”

  Why couldn’t he let it go? She was right. There were other girls closer to the ranch—a few had even suggested doin
g things together, and he had the sense they wouldn’t object to a kiss ... or even more.

  But they weren’t whom he wanted.

  He held his breath.

  “Okay,” she finally said. “You’re right. We have a good time together. As long as we both commit to keeping it casual, nothing bad will happen.”

  Was this really the right thing to do? How was he going to keep it platonic when all he wanted to do was kiss her and feel her body against his?

  The following day, he met her at the sushi place, as she’d requested. While she selected the same thing, he branched out to one of the strictly sashimi offerings. California-style rolls only satisfied so far. They were the coward’s way of dealing with raw fish—some of them even eschewed fish altogether in favor of cream cheese, carrots, and avocados.

  He shuddered at the combination.

  “How is the painting coming?” he asked.

  “One is completed, but I’m a little stuck on the other one, the piece I started out at your place—I mean, your uncle’s place.” She swirled the wasabi in the soy sauce. “In fact, I’d like to go out there again to see if I can capture what I need. Would that be a problem?”

  “No, of course not. Come as often as you want.”

  “I won’t be a bother. I’ll pack my own lunch and leave before dinner so you aren’t obligated.”

  “I didn’t feel obligated. Like I said, you entertain me. I feel good around you.” Good in a way he’d never felt with anyone else.

  What would his mother think of Julie?

  “Thanks, but like I said, I don’t want to be a bother.” The underlying tone suggested the real reason—she didn’t want to be alone with him.

  He’d prove to her he could be a gentleman.

  “How good a cook are you?”

  “I make a mean spaghetti sauce.” She put her hands on her hips.

  “Good. How about I get the fixings and you make dinner? That way I’ll have someone to eat with, instead of all alone, and you won’t feel you’re imposing.”

  She studied him as if trying to discern his angle.

  He put as much innocence in his smile as he could muster. He really wanted to let her know she could trust him, no matter how badly he wanted to explore her lips again, as well as any other part of her that she would allow.