The Lodge on Holly Road

by Sheila Roberts

  “Dogs are so messy,” Mrs. Entwhistle would add, strengthening her argument.

  So were children. Missy never pointed that out. The last thing she wanted was Mrs. E. deciding she didn’t want children living next door, either. So, no dog for Carlos. They couldn’t really afford a dog, anyway. But how did you explain that to a seven-year-old?

  And then there was Lalla. Oh, how she wanted a grandma. This was even more impossible to produce than a dog. It had just been Missy and her mom when she was growing up. So there was no grandma by marriage. And Missy’s mom was no longer on the scene. After wrapping her car around a tree while under the influence, Mom had gone to climb inside that great whiskey bottle in the sky.

  Still, in spite of the no-dog-no-grandma thing, Missy was going to give her kids a wonderful Christmas this year. They were going to Icicle Falls to stay at the Icicle Creek Lodge, a big, beautiful place with a fireplace in the lobby and rooms that had fireplaces, too. At Christmas, the B and B not only provided its usual breakfast but dinner on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. One of her clients had told her about the place, and she’d been saving for it all year. This was going to be a Christmas her kids would never forget.

  She could hardly wait to get up there and show them the real, live vintage sleigh in the lobby, decorated with greenery and ribbons and filled with presents and teddy bears. There’d be no dog and no grandma in there, but staying in such a cool place should make up for the fact that Carlos was getting a stuffed dog and Lalla was getting a princess doll.

  The kids were literally bouncing with excitement when she picked them up. Or maybe it was a sugar buzz, since her girlfriend Miranda’s three kids were also bouncing. And yelling. And jumping on Miranda’s tired couch. Miranda was very fond of Oreos and thought them an excellent afternoon snack, usually ignoring the carrot and celery sticks Missy gave her to dole out. (“Hey, the kids like Oreos better.”) Carlos’s pants were muddy and ripped, a sure sign he’d been playing in the run-down playground half a block away, hopefully not unsupervised, and Lalla’s dress had a chocolate stain on the bodice while her ever-present tiara sat crookedly on top of her cornrows. Obviously, they had enjoyed themselves.

  “Are you guys ready for fun?” she asked, hugging them both.

  “As if they don’t have fun here,” snorted Miranda.

  Of course they had fun at the babysitter’s. She gave them junk food and they could watch cartoons all afternoon. Miranda had a good heart, but was she a good influence? If only Missy could afford to put the kids in some fancy day care with planned activities and...carrot sticks.

  Well, down the road. She wouldn’t always be at Style Savings. Oh, no. She was already looking at employment sites online. She’d done makeovers for a couple of her friends and was putting their before-and-after pictures in a notebook so she could show just how expert she was when she finally went to interview at that high-end salon. Unlike her mother, who never got beyond waiting tables at the nearby breakfast place, she was going to make something of herself. She was going to make her children proud.

  And, meanwhile, this Christmas, they’d be making a memory worthy of the Hallmark Channel (which she’d be able to afford someday). She thanked Miranda, then said, “Okay, guys, let’s go,” and with a squeal they bolted for her beater Honda.

  “Have a great time,” Miranda said, giving her a hug. “And don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” Which pretty much left the field wide-open.

  The kids were already buckled in when she got to the car. She put on her own seat belt and then turned on the radio, choosing a local station that was playing Christmas carols. All right. Now they were ready. They pulled away from the curb, singing “Jingle Bells.”

  They’d only just entered the freeway when Lalla yelled from the backseat. “Stop it, Carlos!” This was followed by, “Mommy, he’s poking me.”

  “Carlos, cut it out,” Missy said in her firm mommy voice.

  “I’m bored,” Carlos complained.

  “Well, look for Priuses,” she suggested. Dumb suggestion because this game called for the first person who saw a Prius to say “Beep-beep” and slug the other Prius hunter in the arm. “Never mind,” she amended. “Just...” She fumbled around in the paper bag on the seat next to her and found what she was looking for. She tossed the plastic bag of munchies into the back. “Have a carrot.”

  “Yuck,” said Carlos.

  “Yuck,” parroted Lalla.

  “Well, you guys sure aren’t getting any more sugar,” she informed them.

  “Are we there yet?” Lalla demanded.

  Hmm. Maybe she should’ve picked someplace closer for their perfect Christmas.

  Chapter Three

  It’s Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas

  Olivia Wallace’s Icicle Creek Lodge was decked out for the holidays. Her oldest son, Eric, and his burly friend Bubba Swank had hauled in her antique sleigh from the lodge’s storage garage and it was now set up in the lobby, brimming with brightly wrapped faux presents. The staircase banister was dressed in greenery, and mistletoe had been hung in various key spots around the lodge and in the private family quarters. The big tree on the front porch was decorated with lights. Red poinsettias filled in any gaps.

  Olivia Wallace smiled as she surveyed her domain. George would have been so proud.

  That thought always comforted her. And made her a little wistful. How she wished her husband was here to help her run this place. Not because Eric wasn’t doing a wonderful job. He loved the lodge as much as Olivia did, and would probably take it over someday. No, it was more because she knew how happy she and George would have been. They’d shared the vision for this place and he’d never lived to see what a huge success it had become. They’d grown, added on, developed a reputation. Oh, yes, George would have loved this.

  Well, most of it. Olivia hid a frown as one of her more difficult guests came down the stairs with his wife, his rolling suitcase thump-thumping behind him. He missed the last step and went tottering off sideways.

  Oh, no! Please don’t fall. This descendant of Ebenezer Scrooge would sue her by New Year’s Day if that happened.

  He righted himself, thank God, and she could hear him muttering all the way across the lobby to where she was manning the reception desk. “Those stairs are uneven.”

  At times like this Olivia really didn’t like being an innkeeper. She braced herself for the barrage of complaints.

  Sure enough, Mr. Braxton marched to the reception desk, his wife walking behind him like a reluctant shadow, and slammed down his keycard. “We didn’t sleep a wink last night.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” Olivia said.

  “The people down the hall were up partying all night.”

  There had been two younger couples who’d been en route to Seattle to spend Christmas with family and had decided to stay the night. Olivia had suggested they try Zelda’s for dinner and they’d gone merrily off, full of good cheer. They’d probably overindulged in huckleberry martinis or the other house specialty, a Chocolate Kiss. She imagined they’d been a bit noisy on the way back to their rooms. Still, that wasn’t her fault.

  “Making a racket in the hall at all hours,” Mr. Braxton continued.

  “I’m terribly sorry,” Olivia said. “I do wish you’d come down and said something to me. I’d have been happy to talk to them.”

  “Ha! Come down in my bathrobe and pajamas? I think not. And breakfast this morning.”

  Olivia stiffened. “What about breakfast?”

  “All those carbs.”

  No one made crepes like Olivia. She served them stuffed with wild huckleberries and berry-flavored whipped cream. And she always served some sort of protein along with them. “If I remember correctly, breakfast also included sausages,” she said, some of the sweetness seeping out of her voice. “And fruit.”<
br />
  “I thought it was very good,” said Mrs. Braxton, her voice barely above a whisper.

  Her husband ignored her. Now he produced his printed bill. “I want a refund.” Behind him, his wife studied her feet.

  Ooh, of all the cheap, contemptible... Olivia would have liked nothing better than to tell this man exactly what she thought of him.

  But men like this rarely saw their shriveled souls for what they were. So, instead of saying, “You win the bad-boy lump of coal award for the day,” she said, “I’m sorry your stay wasn’t to your satisfaction. We try hard to give all our guests a pleasant experience.”

  “Well, you failed with me!”

  “I can refund fifty percent of your room price.” Sometimes, when guests had a complaint (and that was rare), Olivia gave them a gift certificate for a free night. Not Mr. Edward Braxton. She had no intention of encouraging him to return.

  “I want a full refund,” he insisted.

  This man was a bully. And there was only one way to treat bullies. “Mr. Braxton,” she said firmly, “you stayed in a lovely room with a beautiful view. We even left Sweet Dreams chocolates on your pillow.”

  “My wife ate mine,” he muttered.

  “And we gave you a lovely breakfast this morning, featuring my very own gourmet crepes. Which you ate. You made no complaint at breakfast, nor did you inform me of any special dietary needs when you registered. And there was a place on your registration form to do so. Now, you are a businessman, correct?”

  He looked at her suspiciously. “Yes.”

  “Then I ask you, would you give yourself a full refund?”

  His brows formed an angry V. “Now, see here.”

  “It’s Christmas, and in the spirit of the season, I’m offering you a fifty-percent discount. Would you like it?” she finished in a tone of voice that plainly said, “Take it or leave it.”

  “Fine. I’ll take it.”

  “An excellent decision,” she said.

  “But I don’t like it,” he growled after they’d finished the appropriate paperwork.

  “I’m sure you don’t,” she agreed.

  “Come on, Thelma,” he snapped at his wife, and made for the front door.

  “Bah, humbug,” Olivia muttered as she walked through the door marked Private into her family’s living quarters.

  Right now the only family living there was Eric and her and Muffin the cat. They could easily make room for a wife. And children. Or remodel.

  Three bedrooms were at the back. The rest of the family quarters was like any other small home, entered through a front door with a window of etched glass. Once inside, visitors found a great-room-style layout with a small but state-of-the-art kitchen, a dining area and a cozy living room, complete with an electric fireplace, where she could hang Christmas stockings.

  Three stockings hung there now. One was marked Olivia, and her boys usually slipped in a couple of stocking-stuffer-size boxes of Sweet Dreams chocolates. The next stocking in line had Eric’s name on it. That she would fill with nuts and candy bars and his favorite hot sauces and jellies from Local Yokels, which specialized in Northwest products. The last stocking belonged to her younger son, Brandon, who was currently in Wyoming but who managed to get home for Christmas every year. Brandon was her wandering boy, trying to find himself. But his internal compass always brought him home for important holidays. His stocking would get filled with Snickers bars and Corn Nuts, his all-time favorite snack.

  Normally the sight of her decorations cheered her. The ceramic nativity set on the mantel had been a gift from her mother-in-law years ago, and she cherished it. Her little tree was loaded with ornaments she’d collected over the years. And she’d hung mistletoe in the archway between the kitchen and dining room. She frowned at it. Why did she put that up every year?

  Her frown deepened. All right. This was a very bad attitude she had brewing. She’d been perfectly happy until her encounter with her grumpy guest.

  “Mr. Braxton, I am not going to let you ruin my day.” She picked up her knitting (a scarf she was finishing for her friend Muriel Sterling-Wittman for Christmas) and got to work. Knitting always made her feel good. She imagined herself poking Mr. Braxton in the bottom with one of her knitting needles, and that made her feel even better.

  She’d barely gotten started when the doorbell rang. Oh, she knew who that was, and the mere thought of what she’d find when she opened the door was enough to drive the memory of Ebenezer Braxton from her mind. Yup, there stood Kevin from Lupine Floral, looking like a fashion model in his trendy jeans and gray wool coat. And he was wearing the red scarf she’d knit for him the Christmas before.

  “I have something for my favorite innkeeper,” he sang, holding out a huge holiday floral arrangement.

  “You’d better not let Ann Marie or Gerhardt Geissel hear you say that,” Olivia cautioned with a smile. Although, knowing Kevin, he said the same thing when he delivered floral arrangements to them.

  He grinned and winked. “I can see you’re all ready for Christmas here at the lodge.”

  “Of course we are. It’s my favorite time of year.”

  “This place could be a movie set,” he said with a dramatic sigh. “Olivia, you are the queen of Christmas.”

  “Well, if I’m the queen, then you and Heinrich are my princes. I look forward to your lovely arrangements every year. Please tell him that.”

  After a few more pleasantries, Kevin was on his way to flatter more of the residents of Icicle Falls, and Olivia took the arrangement over to the kitchen counter and removed it from its box. As she’d expected, it was a feast for the eyes with red and white roses, delicate ferns and baby’s breath. Candy canes bloomed inside the big red ribbon bow wrapped around the vase. Gorgeous.

  She didn’t have to read the card to know it was from Eric but did, anyway, just so she could delight in the message. “Merry Christmas to the world’s best mom. Love, Eric.”

  She pulled a tissue from her sweater pocket and dabbed at eyes that had suddenly grown misty. She had such a wonderful son. She was so lucky that he’d opted to stay in Icicle Falls and help her run the lodge. As if that wasn’t enough, every year he sent her a Christmas bouquet. He’d been doing it for fourteen years, ever since George died. At first the arrangements were small and simple, fitting a young man’s budget, but as he’d gotten older they’d gotten more elaborate. And more expensive.

  The door from the reception area opened and he walked in.

  “Look what came,” she greeted him.

  “Well, whaddya know. I guess Santa came through again.”

  “Santa Son,” she said with a smile. “They’re lovely. I wish you wouldn’t be so extravagant, though.”

  “You’re worth it,” he said, stopping to kiss her on the cheek before going to the refrigerator to forage for lunch.

  “There’s leftover potpie,” she said. As if he didn’t know; as if that wasn’t what he was looking for. It was one of his favorite meals and she made it for him on a regular basis.

  “Got it,” he said, pulling out the casserole dish. “So, has everyone checked out?”

  “All but our last guests. I haven’t seen them yet.”

  “The couple with the baby? They just left.”

  “Well, then, that’s it until our Christmas guests start arriving. I’ll get their room and the Braxtons’ cleaned after lunch.”

  He shook his head. “Why you gave Morgan time off the day before Christmas Eve I’ll never understand.”

  “Because we don’t usually have that many rooms to clean. She can have a break and we can save some money.”

  “We don’t need to save money anymore. And it would be nice if you didn’t kill yourself right before the Christmas rush.”

  “Cleaning two rooms isn’t going to kill me. I’m not th
at old yet.”

  Her son wisely didn’t argue the point.

  She fingered a red rose. “I’m glad we’ve got so many people staying with us for the holidays.” Having other people to think about made it so much easier.

  “Yeah, we’ve got plenty this year.”

  “It’s going to be wonderful,” Olivia predicted.

  “As long as we don’t get any more Braxtons,” Eric said. “I hope you didn’t give him a refund.”

  “Did he ask you for one?”

  Eric nodded. “Ran into me in the upstairs hall. Please tell me you didn’t give in to that jerk.”

  Olivia shrugged. “Fifty percent off.”

  Eric shook his head. “You’re too soft, Mom.”

  “Well, it’s Christmas.”

  “That doesn’t mean you have to humor jerks like Braxton.”

  “I couldn’t bring myself to be as small as him, not at Christmas. Anyway, he’ll get what’s coming to him. We all do at some point.” And sometimes people got what they didn’t deserve, like losing a spouse. Olivia shooed that thought away. “Heat me up a little of that potpie, will you? Then I’m going to get those rooms cleaned and finish my shopping before the day gets away from me,” she said, forcing cheer into her voice. “Can I pick you up anything?”

  “Nah, I’m fine. And I’ll clean the rooms. I’ve done all my outside work for the day and I need something to do.”

  He was always working, but she decided to let him have his way.

  “All right, then, you’re in charge,” she said when lunch was done and she was ready to leave for the store. Actually, he was pretty much in charge even when she was at the lodge, which left Olivia free to enjoy cooking for their guests. What would she do without him?

  It was a question she asked herself a lot lately. She wanted her son to find a nice woman and settle down, but so far no one in Icicle Falls had fit the bill. What if Ms. Right lived somewhere far away and didn’t want to move to Icicle Falls? Olivia wasn’t sure she could run the lodge alone, wasn’t sure she wanted to. But she hated the idea of closing it. It had meant so much to George. And to her.