“Absolutely,” Brooke said and rubbed her lower back.
“Are you getting tired, dear?” Olivia asked her.
“A little,” Brooke admitted.
“Go ahead and sit down. I can help Olivia finish,” Meadow told her.
“Meadow’s right. Why don’t you make yourself a cup of tea and take a break?” Olivia suggested.
“Okay, if you’re sure.”
“Yes. We can handle it,” Olivia said.
“This is nice,” Meadow observed after Brooke had brewed her tea and gone out to the dining room with a cookie.
“Baking cookies?”
“Baking cookies with you.”
The comment surprised Olivia. “Me? What’s so special about me?”
“You do stuff with people,” Meadow said with a shrug. “You care.” She didn’t look Olivia in the eye. Instead, she focused on swirling green frosting on a tree.
Olivia suddenly found she had to keep her eyes on the Santa she was frosting. Were her cheeks as pink as the frosting on Santa’s cap? She didn’t deserve that praise, not with the attitude she’d had.
“My mom never did stuff like this with us.”
“That’s too bad.” Olivia loved her sons, but she’d always wanted a daughter. She’d envisioned them shopping for special dresses for Christmas and Easter together, having little tea parties, had longed to be able to pass on favorite family recipes.
Not that she hadn’t taught her sons to cook—they both could manage in the kitchen. But neither of them really enjoyed it. Anyway, there was something both time-honored and bonding about a mother and daughter working together, whether it was in the kitchen or enjoying a shared hobby.
Olivia and her mother had been close and had spent many enjoyable hours together in the kitchen. It didn’t sound like Meadow’s mother had spent much time doing anything special with her, in the kitchen or otherwise. Daughters were wasted on some women.
Meadow topped her tree with green sprinkles, then carefully set a dragée on its top. “I wish I’d had...someone like you for a mom.”
It was a painful tug on the heartstrings. What had happened between this girl and her mother? Where had things gone wrong between them?
She longed to ask, but really, she and Meadow still barely knew each other and it didn’t seem appropriate. Besides, every story had two sides. If Meadow’s mother were here, perhaps she’d paint a very different picture of their life together, maybe one of a rebellious daughter who didn’t want to spend time with her mother.
“Brandon says you were the best mom ever.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that.” She’d loved her boys with all her heart and hardly ever yelled at them. She’d probably spoiled them too much, but what little boy didn’t benefit from some spoiling, especially one who had lost his father?
“He says you read them bedtime stories every night.”
“I did. Brandon’s favorites were the Little Bear stories.” Olivia could still feel the weight of her little boy curled up against her, hanging on to every word as she read to him about the bear cub’s adventures. He was so proud of himself when he got old enough to sound out the words for himself. It was a cherished memory, but not extraordinary. “Of course, all mothers do that.”
“Not mine.”
No bedtime stories? Didn’t women tell their children bedtime stories anymore?
“What was he like as a kid?” Meadow asked.
“He was the sweetest little boy—always happy, always laughing, even as a baby. I’d go to get him up from his nap when he was a baby and there he’d be, walking along the crib railing with a smile on his face, ready for the next adventure. He was a mischief, though.”
“Did he pull a lot of crap?”
“Well, he got into his share of trouble.”
Olivia went on to tell tales of her son, recounting the time he’d broken one of her figurines and tried to hide the evidence by gluing it back together. “Then there was the year he and his brother played barbershop, cutting each other’s hair. Right before it was time for school pictures, mind you,” Olivia said. “One year he tried to match me up with one of our guests. His brother was furious with him because by then Eric considered himself the man of the house and he didn’t want any competition.” Not that anyone could have competed with George. The memory of her first husband brought a wistful smile.
“They were pretty young when your husband died, weren’t they?” Meadow prompted. “That had to be hard.”
“It was, but we got through it somehow. Even though I wouldn’t want to relive those years, I think they made the three of us closer.”
And was that a big part of why she was having so much trouble letting Meadow into her heart? Was the real problem that she didn’t want to share her baby boy?
Surely not. She’d had no trouble sharing Eric. But then, the girl Eric had married had been a match made in heaven.
A mini-me.
Dot’s words came back to taunt her. Surely she wasn’t so selfish that she’d resent Meadow for simply not being like her?
No, it went deeper than that. She’d been upset because Brandon had rushed into marriage so quickly without confiding in her. And to top it off, he’d chosen someone she’d been sure wouldn’t make him happy.
But so far he seemed perfectly happy. So was Meadow. So was the rest of the family. The only one not happy was Olivia, and what did that say about her?
“And life’s good now, right?” Meadow asked. “With James?”
“Oh, yes.”
She’d never thought she’d find someone she could love as much as she had her first husband. She’d been wrong. Now she was beginning to wonder if she’d been wrong about this second daughter-in-law who’d come into her life.
“I guess stuff has a way of working out,” Meadow said. “It did for me.”
It had, indeed. Being at the lodge was obviously filling a void in Meadow’s life. She was like a fairy-tale heroine who’d married the prince and wound up living at the castle. So, if Brandon was the prince and the lodge was the castle, did that make Olivia the queen? And was she a good queen or an evil one, who’d as soon give the newcomer a poisoned apple?
This last question was not a comfortable one to ponder, and she was relieved when the cookie baking was over and she could return to her throne, er, apartment.
* * *
Sienna didn’t sleep well Sunday night. She’d gotten into the Sweet Dreams chocolate truffles she’d purchased at the grocery store—impulse buying, one of her weaknesses—and while the sugar and chocolate had made her taste buds merry, they hadn’t done much to help her sleep when she’d finally trundled off to bed.
The next morning she inspected her reflection in the mirror. “You look old,” she said in disgust. She felt old, too.
But she’d feel better once she got to work. Her love affair with her job was still going strong, and being at the bookstore made her happy.
“You look tired,” Pat greeted her.
“I am. It took me a while to get to sleep last night.”
“Too much to do?”
“More like too much to eat. I got into the chocolate.”
Pat chuckled. “Did the chocolate happen to come from our local chocolatier?”
“It did.”
“Then I bet it was worth every lost wink.”
“It was,” Sienna admitted. “But I need to stop. I’ve gained six pounds since I moved here.”
“Where?” Pat scoffed.
“Everywhere.”
“Well, you look great, so maybe you needed to gain a couple of pounds.”
“Not really, and I sure don’t need to gain any more.”
“Good luck with that. It’s hard to keep up the willpower when you live in a town that has
its very own chocolate factory.”
“It’s a curse,” Sienna said, deadpan.
Their conversation was interrupted by a shriek, and one of Pat’s regular customers, who’d asked to use the employee restroom, burst out of the back room. “Pat, your toilet’s overflowing!”
Pat, who was normally calm and cheerful, looked ready to commit murder. She rushed to the back room and Sienna could hear her apologizing. The woman, who was mortified, didn’t linger to buy any books.
“Dick!” Pat called, and her lazy part-timer, Dick Belcher, popped his head around the corner of a bookcase. “The toilet’s overflowed. Can you get in there and deal with it?”
Dick looked far from eager to oblige. “Kind of busy here,” he called back.
Pat went over to where he was trying to look busy. “Kind of need you there. Now.”
“Okay, okay.”
Dick was in his sixties. He was overweight and undermotivated, not a lover of books. A former football player, his tastes ran more toward ESPN than PBS, but Pat had hired him a couple of months back as a favor to his wife, who was desperate to get him out of the house a couple of days a week. At the rate he was going, his wife was probably going to have him home again come the New Year.
“I don’t know why Sienna couldn’t take care of it,” he muttered as he slouched past his boss.
“Because I have other things for her to do,” Pat snapped. “Anyway, I’m sexist. You’re the man here, so man up.”
“Sexual discrimination,” he grumbled.
“That’s for sure,” Pat said as he disappeared into the back room. “I discriminated against several hardworking women when I hired you.”
She grabbed the phone and called the landlord. “Harvey, you need to get over here and replace that toilet now. No more stalling. We just had another incident.”
Sienna was sure she could see Pat’s blood pressure rising as she listened to whatever Harvey’s latest excuse was.
“I don’t care if you’ve got pneumonia. I don’t care if you’re dying. I want this taken care of before lunch or I’m not paying my rent.”
“Maybe he does have pneumonia,” Sienna said after Pat had ended the call.
“And maybe I’m Mrs. Claus.” Pat shook her head. “Some ugly trees just can’t be fixed.”
She took a deep, restorative breath. “Okay, onward and upward. We got in more copies of Susan Wiggs’s latest that need to be shelved and a ton of signed copies of Muriel’s book that have to get mailed out today. The post office will be a zoo.”
Pat had been right. The post office was, indeed, a zoo. It seemed as if half the residents of Icicle Falls had come to mail off their presents, and a few were grumbling about government inefficiency, but for the most part, everyone was genial. It probably had something to do with the woman manning the window.
“Don’t worry, folks,” called Marge Johnson, everyone’s favorite postal worker. “We’ll get to you. And I have candy canes up here to keep you all sweet.”
Only in a small town, Sienna thought as the line inched forward.
She was just reading a text from the ex: Money on the way—yay!—when someone called her name.
“Sienna, hi!” She turned to see Bailey Black heading toward the line, carrying two boxes. “I haven’t seen you since Mom’s party. How are you doing?”
“Great.” For the most part she was. Yes, she still got upset every time Leo came home in a funk because he’d been teased. And she wished she’d see Tim Richmond again. And she wasn’t happy about that extra six pounds. Other than that, what did she have to complain about?
“How are things going with your neighbor?” Bailey asked, stopping beside Sienna.
Oh, yeah. There was that.
“The line ends back here,” said an irritated middle-aged woman.
“I know. Don’t worry,” Bailey said sweetly. “So, are you making any progress?” she asked Sienna.
“Define progress.”
Bailey nodded. “Uh-huh. That about says it all. Hey, come on over to the tea shop one day on your lunch break. You can try the new bread pudding we’re serving.”
“I’m already getting fat on your family’s chocolate, thank you very much.”
Bailey grinned. “That’s addicting. But hey, it’s the holidays. We suck all the calories out until January. Seriously, come on by. I’ll give you a cup of Christmas tea, our own special blend.”
The few friends Sienna had when she’d lived in the city had been so busy working it seemed like she’d never seen any of them. People were busy here, too, but somehow they still managed to make time for each other.
It had been a smart move coming up here. You couldn’t beat the scenery—trees cloaked in snow, mountains all around, watching over a town lit up for the holidays like a jewel box. And even though most of her family was still in California, she felt a sense of community in this place that she hadn’t found living in the city. She missed her family but she knew she belonged in Icicle Falls. She was meant to be an Icicle.
But by the time she and Leo made their way home at the end of the day, Sienna was a melted icicle. Her shift had gotten busier as the afternoon raced on, and the bookstore had been filled with customers, all anxious to finish their shopping, not to mention a number of crying toddlers who’d been kept out well past nap time. All she wanted to do was get home, put a couple of frozen potpies in the oven and then flop on the couch.
At least there had been no new snow since the snowplows last came through. The streets were clear.
Except for the dog darting in front of the car. Ack!
Chapter Ten
We may celebrate love on Valentine’s Day, but it blooms at Christmas.
—Muriel Sterling, A Guide to Happy Holidays
“Don’t hit Bandit!” Leo cried as Sienna swerved to avoid the dog.
Bandit bolted out of the way and ran off down the street, and Sienna pulled into her driveway with her heart racing faster than the dog would ever be able to run.
“He’s running away,” Leo reported as they got out of the car.
“He’ll come back,” Sienna assured him.
Mrs. Zuckerman didn’t look all that assured. She came hurrying down the street, bundled in a blue parka, calling after the dog. “He doesn’t know the neighborhood. He’s going to get lost,” she fretted.
“I’ll get him,” Leo said and ran off in the direction of the dog.
Sienna was sure Bandit could find his way home, but she wasn’t so sure about her son. “Leo, wait!” she commanded and took off after him.
“Wait for your mommy,” Mrs. Zuckerman added and followed Sienna.
The sun was about to retire for the day and temperatures were dropping. Sienna was still used to the warmer climates farther south, but there was nothing like chasing after a puppy and a boy on the loose to warm a woman up. Plus, she was more than a little steaming over the fact that her son appeared to have developed a hearing problem.
“Leo, you need to listen when I ask you to wait,” she scolded when she caught up to him, halting him in his tracks.
“But Bandit’s running away,” he protested, ready to take off again.
Sienna kept a firm hold on his arm. “You still need to listen. And don’t worry, we’ll get him.” The dog was now three houses down, sniffing bushes and leaving his doggy calling card.
Mrs. Zuckerman came up beside them. She was out of breath and red in the face. “Honestly, I don’t know what I’m going to do with that dog. Every time I open the door, he bolts right out. Come here, Bandit,” she called.
“Come on, Bandit!” Leo echoed.
Bandit raised his head, looked their direction and wagged his tail, then trotted off to another yard.
“All right, let’s try the pincer move,” Sienna said.
“Leo, you and I will circle around that way. Mrs. Zuckerman, you be ready to catch him from the other end. And, Leo, don’t go into the street.”
Mrs. Zuckerman got herself in position and Sienna and Leo made their way to where Bandit now had his nose to the snowy ground in yet another yard.
“Come on, Bandit,” Sienna called, slapping her thighs in the time-honored dog-calling gesture.
Bandit barked and happily bounded toward her. Then, as she reached out to grab him, he darted away. Out of reach, he stopped, barked and wagged his tail.
“Okay, we’re done playing,” she informed him. “Come here.” She lunged for him.
A big mistake, because he took off again. At least this time he was heading in the right direction.
“Oh, no,” groaned Mrs. Zuckerman after he’d dodged her and raced past.
“Don’t worry, we’ll get him,” Sienna said. “Come on, Leo.” And off they went, running back down the street, Mrs. Zuckerman following at a more sedate pace.
They were almost to Cratchett’s yard when they finally snagged him. “Gotcha,” Sienna said, picking up the wriggling pup.
Bandit was perfectly happy to have been gotten. He yapped and licked her face.
“You’re cute, but you’re a pain,” she informed the dog.
Cratchett had come out and was sprinkling rock salt on his driveway when they walked past. “So you don’t have a dog, huh?” he mocked.
Excited to see a new person, Bandit began to wriggle and lick her face. “No, I don’t. This is Mrs. Zuckerman’s dog. Leo, go inside,” she commanded her son. It was all she could do to hold on to the dog and give Leo the house key. He took it and dashed off, happy to avoid a conversation with Cratchett.
Bandit jumped out of Sienna’s arms and trotted up to Mr. Cratchett, tail wagging. Great. Cratchett would probably drop-kick him clear across the lawn. Sienna hurried up the walk to rescue the dog.
To her surprise, Cratchett bent down and petted him. “You’re a rascal. We need to talk to your owner about keeping you in your own yard, don’t we?” Bandit licked Cratchett’s hand and the man smiled. Actually smiled.
Christmas in Icicle Falls Page 14
