Yeah, Aurora definitely felt like she was fourteen again.
“I prefer to consider Andrea Mantegna, Paolo Uccello, and Paolo Veronese using the techniques I employ,” she said in an effort to remind herself she was a sophisticated, accomplished woman, not a shy teenager. And maybe to show off a little bit too.
Daniel laughed. “But Wile E. Coyote was so good at it.” He started to walk through the lobby toward the restaurant and stopped. He looked up at her again. “If you decide to paint a tunnel on that wall, warn me so I don’t try to run through it.”
“If I paint a tunnel on this wall, I’ll also paint a giant, angry bear inside of it, just in case you do try to run through it.” She picked up the flat, short-bristle shade brush and dipped it into the umber paint.
“Yikes.” He faked a shiver. “Are you someone I dated and ticked off when I didn’t call you afterward?”
“No. I assure you, I never dated you. You’re not my type.”
He looked up at her a long moment. “Are you sure we haven’t met? You look familiar.”
Aurora didn’t answer, she pretended she was so engrossed in her work that she didn’t hear him. Big mistake. It seemed to be as enticing to him as maple syrup poured on the ground was to ants.
“Are you from Cloud Hill?” he continued, slipping off his coat and dropping it on the sofa that was covered in a new, gray drop cloth.
“Not anymore.” Dear Lord, she didn’t want him to remember her. She didn’t want to revisit that time in her life.
“Ah, but you were from here.” He rocked back on his heels as he continued to look up at her, his biceps flexing as he crossed his arms over his chest. “You look like you’re in your mid-to-late twenties. You would’ve been a little kid when I was around.”
Wrong. I’m older than that. She didn’t want to correct him. Hell, she didn’t want to talk to him at all. Aurora did a mental head shake. Why was she being so silly about this? She wasn’t the child she was when she irrevocably embarrassed herself with him, and all of Cloud Hill. “Sorry. I don’t remember you.” Geez. Why didn’t he just go into the restaurant and have lunch already.
“Who are your parents?”
There it was. The question that was inevitably asked. The one people from small towns always asked when trying to figure out who a person was. Who’s your daddy? Who’s your momma? Might as well get it over with. “Feather and Perseus Morgan.” She turned to face him fully from up on her high perch, knowing he had to recognize her mother and father’s free-spirited names. “I’m Aurora Morgan.”
“Son of a…”
“Yeah, just what I thought when I saw you on the bridge.”
“That was you all covered up in that crazy patchwork coat?”
“That was me walking Franklin in my lovely patchwork coat created by Vivienne, a talented textile artist from…forget it.” She leaned over the top rail, her long, untidy ponytail slipping over her shoulder.
He smiled. “Hi, Aurora. I would’ve recognized you by your hair if it hadn’t been all covered up.”
“You mean my ghostly appearance?”
“What? Did I say that to you?”
“Pretty much.” He winced, looking genuinely surprised to hear it– she wasn’t buying it.
“I can’t imagine ever saying anything like that, because I think you’re beautiful.”
He looked at her and she had to fight herself not to say–it’s okay.
“I’m sorry.”
He unfolded his arms and spread them out, palm-up in a sign of surrender. Again, she wasn’t buying it. He was just trying to be charming. Forget it, buster.
The lobby door opened and Mrs. McLemore and Mrs. Hall walked in, stomping the snow off of their heavy boots in unison like Irish step dancers. They were both in their mid-seventies, had short gray hair, and wore matching red candy-cane sweatshirts and green jeans. They were also identical twins. “Oh, it’s really snowing now,” Mrs. Hall said, looking at Daniel, Aurora, and an inn guest who had walked through the room toward the restaurant. The man acknowledged her with a smile, but kept walking.
“I hope the cast members don’t take that as a reason not to come to rehearsals,” Mrs. McLemore added. “We only have a week and a half before the festival.”
“Festival,” Daniel said, his eyes wide. “What festival?”
“The Cloud Hill Christmas and Ice Sculpture Festival,” Mrs. Hall said, walking up to him. “Have you forgotten it? You used to attend it with your family…”
“During the holidays you spent here,” Mrs. McLemore said, finishing the sentence for her twin sister. The two women were always finishing each other’s sentences. Aurora thought it was odd, humorous and charming. “It’s December 22rd, 23th, and 24th. There’s been a Christmas festival here for the last one hundred and twenty-seven years.”
“I thought only about the peace and relaxation of Cloud Hill for so long, I forgot about that,” he admitted.
Aurora would’ve sworn his olive complexion turned the color of the antique white paint she had on her palette board. So, he didn’t like a festival–more likely, he didn’t like the crowds a festival would bring. Why was that? Was he in Cloud Hill to hide from his fans?
“Oh, don’t you just love a festival, with the excitement of the hustle and bustle of the thousands of revelers who attend?” she said to test Daniel, but immediately felt mean-spirited for doing so.
“Yeah, I just love it,” he grumbled, picking up his coat and starting to walk to the restaurant when Mrs. Hall stopped him.
“I’m so glad to hear you both love festivals. We can sure use your help…”
“Both of you. Especially with the entertainment,” Mrs. McLemore piped in, her tone full of the excitement that matched the large sweep of her hands as she spoke. “When our dear late husbands were alive, we always had wonderful performances of something or another. They were quite accomplished musicians. We’ve managed well enough over the last four years…”
“Because we have insisted on maintaining their high standards.”
“This year, we went with a classic,” Mrs. McLemore continued, seamlessly for her sister. “It’s the theme for the festival ice sculpture garden too…”
“It’s The Nutcracker Suite,” Mrs. Hall added with a smile and nod. “Since Mr. Nelson is the only one in town with formal dance experience…”
“He was a ballroom dance instructor before he became an accountant,” Mrs. McLemore added.
“Yes, he became an account because he was very good at counting.”
Mrs. McLemore smiled. “He’s very good at counting both his steps and numbers. . .”
“Well, since he’s a very good dancer,” her sister continued, “he’s choreographing three, maybe four numbers for a group of us to perform. Mr. Walker, who was once a radio broadcaster, will do some of the dramatic readings and Dawn, the waitress at the Crystal Café and Grill will sing a few songs…”
“Sister and I will sing backup.” Mrs. Hall looked at her sister and both women nodded in unison.
“It’s going to be the Nutcracker Variety Show,” her twin said, her tone filled with delight. “It’ll be wonderful. We have most everything in place or in the works.” She bit her lower lip as she approached Daniel. “Your uncle has been building the sets for us…”
“And making beautiful nutcracker soldier statues to guard the door into the ballroom here at the inn…”
“That’s where we will put on the show,” Mrs. McLemore continued. “He also plans on making souvenir toy wooden nutcrackers for the children who attend the ballet. He’s a regular Mr. Drosselmeyer.”
“He is that indeed. And the others from the Cloud Hill historical society have been lending a hand when not in rehearsals for the dance. They’re going to be the Spanish and Russian dancers. Mrs. McLemore and I will be the Sugar Plum Fairies.” She looked at Aurora. “We can use another Sugar Plum Fairy if you’d like to join us.”
“Thank you for the offer, but I must decline.”
Aurora said, grateful they didn’t push back on her refusal.
“There is so much to do to get ready,” Mrs. Hall continued. “The members of the historical society are doing their best, but they simply don’t have the expertise that Big does. Although they try.” She frowned. “Well, not all of them. Mr. Madison just sits on his red plaid inflated pillow and complains. A lot.”
“It’s not a complaint, really, Sister,” Mrs. McLemore corrected, shaking her head. Although their tone was very sweet and polite, the disapproving undertones could be deciphered if you paid attention. “He simply thinks we should be doing A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens and he should play Scrooge because Mr. Dickens is a distant relative of his. I think on his mother’s side.”
“Oh, forgive me for misstating it.” She smiled, but it didn’t meet her eyes. “I admit, if we were doing A Christmas Carol, I do believe he would be an exceptionally perfect Scrooge. No one would be better. He indeed is a Scrooge…”
“Now Annie, that’s not very Christian of you to say such a thing,” Mrs. McLemore said. Daniel looked at Aurora and raised a brow. He clearly was enjoying the not-so-heated conversation between the sisters.
“Maybe not, but if you weren’t sharing warm rum in front of his fire every night, you would be saying the same thing.” Mrs. Hall looked at Aurora. “I don’t know what she sees in that ornery old man.”
Mrs. McLemore blushed, waving her hand. “They aren’t interested in your opinions of Mr. Madison, Sister.” She sighed, then looked up at Aurora.
Aurora looked to her side, knowing a quick getaway from on top of a ten-foot scaffolding was not possible. She was now in the crosshairs of Mrs. McLemore and the bull’s-eye was on her forehead. Dear Lord, she was about to be roped in to something she didn’t want to do. She was sure of it.
“The fact of the matter is, my dear,” Mrs. McLemore continued, “no one in town has the expertise you have. They just aren’t bringing to life the beautiful things our talented Big has built. We surely need your artistic touch for our show.”
“Now, don’t trouble her with our problems, Sister. I’m sure she doesn’t have time to help with our failing efforts at creating a memorable evening for the sweet children and loving families of the Valley and our international visitors.”
“Of course. I’m so sorry, Aurora. The children and their families…”
“And the international visitors,” Mrs. Hall added.
“And the international visitors, will be pleased with our plain, boring efforts. They would be too kind to ever share any disappointments…”
“Except maybe on Trip Advisor,” Mrs. Hall added without missing a beat. “Oh my, that would be just awful wouldn’t it?” She looked at Aurora, who could do nothing else but nod.
Daniel started laughing. “Aurora, the fate of the sweet children’s pleasure and Trip Advisor reviews totally lies in your artistic hands.”
Jerk.
“Oh, and yours too, Daniel,” Mrs. Hall said, causing the smug country music star and once heartbreaking teenager to clamp his mouth shut. “Our music is, how shall I describe it, so very predictable…”
“And old. Really old and boring,” her sister added. “It’s not what you’d expect from the villagers of Cloud Hill, who are the most artistic, clever, well-traveled, and forward-thinking people of the world.”
“You are so right, Mrs. McLemore. Much more is expected of the uncommon citizens of Cloud Hill. Don’t you agree, Daniel?” Aurora said, smiling down at him.
“Ladies, while I appreciate the situation y’all are in, I just don’t have time to help you. I am sorry. I can make a donation toward the cause…”
The door opened and Daniel’s uncle Big walked in. At six-foot-six and three hundred pounds, he would command the attention of the room even if he wasn’t dressed in his usual green and blue plaid kilt, black tassel stockings, and nontraditional chartreuse sweater he’d knitted himself. Big, a full-blooded American mutt with absolutely no Scottish blood in him, was certainly bigger than the six-foot-two country music iconic heart-throb and the five-foot-five energetic, candy-cane wearing Cloud Hill historical society co-presidents in both size and presence, although Daniel gave him a run for his money on the latter point.
“Did she say yes?” Big asked Mrs. Hall and Mrs. McLemore.
“She didn’t say no,” Mrs. Hall responded.
“Thank you,” Big told Aurora. She nodded. She never ever could say no to anything he asked since he’d saved her life years ago. “And Daniel is helping with the music.” Big said it as if it had already been decided.
“He offered to make a donation,” Mrs. Hall said, with a disapproving lilt in her voice.
Daniel looked at his uncle, brows lifted in challenge, then turned and walked into the restaurant.
“Oh dear,” Mrs. McLemore said, tsking. “He doesn’t know, does he?” she asked her sister.
“Suppose not.”
The lobby door opened and with a flurry of snow and gust of frigid air, the rest of the Nutcracker cast arrived.
“Daniel’s in the restaurant,” Mrs. Hall said to the group removing their coats. “Let’s all talk to him and share our vision of the Nutcracker Variety with him. He needs a little persuasion.”
“Vision?” Aurora asked. Nine pairs of eyes shifted to look up at her.
“Why, yes, my dear,” Mrs. McLemore said. “Big has already begun building the sets to bring this vision to fruition. We have reimagined the Nutcracker ballet…”
Big raised his thick, beefy hand and Mrs. McLemore stopped talking. “It’s going to be a country and western Nutcracker Variety Show,” he said.
Chapter Three
Daniel slipped on his warm down coat and knit cap. He picked up his steaming cup of coffee and walked out onto the snow-covered, second-floor deck attached to his uncle’s loft apartment, Rocky at his heels. He yawned, feeling refreshed and in a good mood after two days of long, hard sleeping. Morning light painted the thick snow a rosy hue, and the crisp air stung his cheeks as he inhaled deeply of the mountain air, tinted with good Colombian coffee. This was exactly what he’d wanted. Peace, quiet, and a beautiful place to enjoy it.
Now, if only his dog understood that, all would be right with the world.
“What’s wrong, Rocky?” The loud shushing of the Crystal River nearby practically drowned Rocky’s low, warning growl. His dog walked to the stairs leading to the ground-level deck below. His body leaning forward and his head held high were definite signs he was on alert. His tail tucked between legs told him he was a bit uncertain or afraid too. “Let’s take a look.”
Daniel led the way down the snowy stairs to the bottom deck, Rocky passed him on the last two steps and ran toward the hot tub nestled behind the stairs and under the upper-deck. Great, I hope he doesn’t corner a skunk or worse.
“Not worse.” He smiled. “Good morning, Aurora.” She looked up from where she was bent over behind the hot tub. “Lost something? Stalking me?”
Rocky’s growl escalated, but it wasn’t Aurora that had him upset. It was something beyond her.
“Stalking you? Really?” She shook her head and rolled her eyes. “I lost something, sort of,” she whispered. “In plain sight. Now, stay back.” He took another step to stand closer to her. “Especially your dog. Oh, you should put him in the house. Franklin is loose and in a mood. Nothing good will come of both of them being out here at the same time.”
He looked toward the far side of the deck where Franklin stood. “You’re right.” Daniel grabbed Rocky by his collar and led him the stairs. When he was certain his dog would follow him back up to the loft, he released him and they trotted up the steps. It took seconds rather than minutes to put him in the loft, and close the door again. It was a move that emboldened Rocky, now that there was distance between him and the deer. He started barking like a maniac. As Daniel came back down the stairs he saw that Franklin’s head was up on alert and he was looking toward the loft. He didn’t flee as he would’ve
expected. He was one brave or dumb deer.
“Don’t come any farther,” Aurora said, when Daniel returned to stand beside her. She motioned for him to move back.
Daniel took a sip of his coffee and stepped back a few feet. Over the fresh scent of pine, and the revitalizing fragrance of good coffee, he could smell her shampoo—or maybe it was her soap. Whatever it was, it smelled damn good, like a mountain field of summer wildflowers.
“He’s confrontational today,” Aurora said, pointing a gloved hand at the young buck who was gently rubbing his short antlers on the edge of the snow-covered deck. He’d managed to clear away enough snow so his antlers were actually making contact with wood.
“Yeah?” Daniel smiled. “Looks like he’s challenging that deck pretty good and without so much as a worry that he’ll catch a splinter.” He leaned closer to Aurora, whose head was bared to the cold, midmorning air. Or midday. What the hell time was it, anyway? He didn’t really care when the scent of wildflowers was so much more interesting. It definitely seemed to be coming from Aurora’s long, loose waves that were being blown ever-so-slightly in the light, chilly breeze. The movement of her hair and the way it smelled made him think of slow dancing outside to “Amazed” by Lonestar. Not that he’d done that in a long time or ever with Aurora. He wondered how she would feel in his arms moving to the beat of the music.
She looked at him over her shoulder, as he was making a mental list of all of the other great slow dancing songs that had suddenly come to mind. At the top was one of the sexiest damn songs he ever heard. He’d seen Faith Hill and Tim McGraw preform it live and he’d seen the music video countless times.
“Let’s Make Love,” he said, the instant the song title popped into his head–not giving a thought to how it would sound to Aurora, who wasn’t in on his mental conversation.
“What?”
The Nutcracker Reimagined: A Collection of Christmas Tales Page 43
