Her brother glared at her. “Santa never brings me what I want. There’s no such thing, anyway.”
“Is, too!” Lalla cried.
“Which cookies do you like best?” Mr. Claussen’s daughter asked Lalla.
It was a clever distraction and it worked. “Santa,” Lalla crowed, and Olivia gave her another one.
“These are great,” said the Claussen son after downing half a frosted Christmas tree in one bite.
“Have another,” Olivia urged, and he grinned and took two more off the plate.
His sister frowned in disgust. “Oink.”
That made Lalla laugh, but it didn’t faze the Claussen brother. He merely grinned again. “Hey, you’re probably dieting so I’m eating your share.”
“There’s plenty,” Olivia said, holding out the plate to his sister.
“No, thank you,” she said.
“I’ll have hers,” said Mr. Claussen, helping himself to a snowball cookie. “By the way, I’m James.”
“James,” Olivia repeated. It was a good, solid name and it fit the man.
“I figure if I’m going to be borrowing clothes, we should be on a first-name basis,” he said. “My daughter is Brooke and this is my son, Dylan.”
“I’m Lalla,” the little girl piped up. “I’m named after a princess.”
“You make a very pretty princess,” Brooke complimented her.
The princess looked as though she was outgrowing her jeans. They were at the high-water mark. She was probably having a growth spurt. “Can I have another cookie?” she asked.
“You’ve had enough for tonight,” said her mother, which made Lalla pout and flop down on the floor.
Missy pretended not to see the protest.
Olivia swallowed a smile and introduced herself properly to the Claussen family.
“We were wondering, is this a family-run B and B?” Brooke asked.
“It is,” Olivia replied. “My husband and I built it when the boys were young. He’d be thrilled to see how well it’s done.”
“Everything’s lovely,” Brooke said.
“Thank you. We’re proud of our lodge, and we couldn’t have picked a better place for it than Icicle Falls.”
“It’s so charming in town, especially with all the lights,” Brooke said.
“It is,” Olivia agreed. “Of course, it’s beautiful up here in the summer, too, when all the window boxes are filled with flowers, but I have to say Christmas is my favorite time of year in Icicle Falls.”
“Christmas was my wife’s favorite holiday,” James said, and suddenly his smile fell away.
His son set aside his second cookie and his daughter got teary-eyed.
Oh, dear. “Is this your first Christmas without her?” Olivia guessed.
“We lost her last Christmas Eve,” James said. “It had been a long time coming,” he added, as if he thought that was somehow supposed to make it easier.
Olivia had never bought the rationalization that losing someone after a long battle with illness was actually a relief to the bereaved. Loss was loss. She ached for this poor, brave man and his family, trying so hard to redeem the holidays. Horrible to lose a loved one at any time, but having to endure that loss during a season of celebration had to be even worse. The parties and laughter would feel like a mockery.
“I’m so sorry. I know how painful it is to lose a spouse,” she told James.
He nodded and sighed deeply. It was with obvious effort that he kept the conversation going, asking, “Did you lose your husband?”
She nodded. “Yes, it’s been fourteen years and I still miss him every day. But it’s a blessing to have your children. I don’t know what I would’ve done without my boys after I lost George.”
James smiled at his son and put an arm around his daughter’s shoulders. “Same here. I’ve got great kids.”
“I can see that,” Olivia said. “I hope you’ll all be able to create some new memories while you’re up here.”
“We intend to,” Brooke said in a tone of voice that dared the spirit of Christmas not to cooperate. It was easy to see that this year she was in charge.
Every parent needed a steady child to lean on in hard times. For Olivia it had been her older son, Eric. For James it would be his daughter, who obviously adored him.
Olivia was suddenly aware of John Truman at her elbow. “I heard you guys talking about Santa and, uh, I was wondering. Is there a guy here who has a Santa suit? Lalla claims she saw him.”
Olivia shot a look at James Claussen, who subtly shook his head. “Well, if there is, I think he’s probably off duty now.”
Disappointed, John nodded and went to sit by the fire, but James smiled gratefully at her. She smiled back.
She would’ve liked to linger and talk more with James and his children, but a new family had just come down and she needed to speak with them. Anyway, Charlie Dicks was there now, shedding his overcoat, which meant the concert would soon begin.
Charlie was the high school music teacher. He’d been divorced for several years and to fill his time he gave piano lessons on the side and, during the holidays, offered nightly concerts on the baby grand piano here in the lodge. The piano had been her parents’ and they’d given it to her when Eric started taking piano lessons in third grade. He’d quit by fourth grade, more interested in fishing with his father than practicing scales. She didn’t play very well herself, but she hated to see it sit neglected in the corner. Charlie didn’t charge much and the concerts added a festive touch.
It was difficult to visit with her guests when the piano was being played, though. Darn. Because she found herself wanting to drift back to the Claussens and visit with them some more. Well, mostly with James.
With the new arrivals welcomed and seated, she moved on, offering cookies to the Spikes, the well-dressed older couple. She couldn’t resist asking how they liked their room.
“It’s lovely,” said Mrs. Spike.
The expression on the woman’s face when they’d checked in had telegraphed her thoughts. Small town, hokey little lodge. Where’s the nearest Hilton? But Olivia had known Mrs. Spike would be won over. This was a special place that could delight even the most jaded traveler.
“The view out our window is breathtaking,” Mrs. Spike continued. She smiled at her husband. “I’m glad Frank suggested coming here. It makes a nice change.”
Olivia’s gaze strayed to the Claussen family. A nice change. She hoped the Claussens would experience that.
Her final family was the Williamses, a forty-something pair with two teenage daughters in tow, and once she’d served them she was done. The cookies were distributed and the guests welcomed. Time to fade into the background and let everyone enjoy the concert.
Anyway, she had company coming. Her friends would be here in a few minutes for eggnog and cookies and a gift exchange.
Her longtime friends Muriel Sterling-Wittman and Pat Wilder were the first to arrive. The three had known one another since they were girls, had all grown up in Icicle Falls. The town had changed a lot since then, and so had their lives. Even when they’d all become busy raising their families and starting businesses, they’d still managed to stay connected.
Olivia had withdrawn into herself when her husband died, but Pat had eventually rescued her, organizing a widows’ group for herself, Olivia and Dot Morrison, who’d lost her second husband. It hadn’t been something they’d advertised. She hadn’t even told Muriel about it. There’d been no point, really. Muriel had gone from happily married to widowed to happily married again faster than the speed of light.
But when Muriel lost her second husband, they’d pulled her in, too, and now they all shared a bond nothing could break, the bond of hard times survived together. These women were her closest friends, and she knew she co
uld count on them to be there for her no matter what, just as she would be for them. They’d seen one another’s businesses thrive and one another’s children grow up. Olivia had helped launch Muriel’s daughter Bailey in her new business, the tea shop on Lavender Lane.
Now the women entered Olivia’s private living quarters, carrying presents and surrounded by the scents of fresh mountain air and Gloria Vanderbilt perfume. “I smell something good,” Pat said.
“Rum cake,” Olivia told her.
“Yum,” said Pat. “Nobody bakes like you. Well, except for Bailey,” she added, smiling at Muriel.
“She learned from the best,” Muriel said, hugging Olivia. As always, she looked beautiful and perfectly put together in a black wool coat with black gloves and a faux-fur black hat on her head. Shedding the coat revealed a tasteful black cashmere sweater and fitted jeans, accented with a simple gold bracelet, earrings and tiny gold chain with a gold M dangling from the end of it.
Pat was equally glamorous in her slacks and expensive boots and the dark green sweater that set off her auburn hair and fair skin so well. She’d accented her outfit with a scarf and simple gold hoop earrings.
Olivia was only wearing a plain red sweater that didn’t do much to hide her extra pounds, and a pair of slacks with an elastic waistband (a girl’s best friend). Not for the first time she vowed to go on a diet come the new year so she could look more like her friends. Although even if she lost thirty pounds, she’d never look as glamorous as Muriel and Pat. But then, she’d never been as glamorous as they were and she’d certainly never been as slender. Still, a woman could hope. If she lost weight she’d get them to take her shopping.
They’d just put their presents under her little tree when the last member of their group arrived. “Remind me again why I live here,” Dot Morrison said in her husky voice as she walked in.
Unlike Muriel and Pat, Dot didn’t smell like fresh air and perfume. She smelled like an ashtray. Dot didn’t have to worry about losing weight. Dying of cancer, yes, but not losing weight. She had her own unique style. Tonight she wore a stocking cap over her gray bob and a big white parka over jeans. She took off the parka and Olivia saw that she’d found a new holiday sweatshirt. This one was white and bore a picture of the cartoon character Maxine, Dot’s alter ego. Underneath it, red lettering said Dear Santa, Define Good.
Olivia thought Dot’s sweatshirts were tacky and refused to encourage her by commenting.
Pat, however, couldn’t resist. “I see you’re making a new fashion statement.”
Dot smoothed down the sweatshirt and smiled. “Tilda got this for me.”
“Well, it’s you,” said Pat.
“As if anyone should brag about being bad,” Olivia muttered.
“Hey, we all have to be good at something,” Dot retorted.
Actually, Dot was good at a lot of things. She was a sharp businesswoman and her restaurant, Pancake Haus, was always packed. She also beat Olivia at Scrabble on a regular basis.
“You probably had to bribe Santa to bring you anything when you were a kid,” Olivia joked.
Dot’s snarky smile faded just a little. “Well, let me tell you, I don’t remember ever getting much from Santa.” Olivia felt guilty that what had been intended as a joke had fallen flat. A moment of sad silence fell on the group until Dot perked up, saying, “Except the year I got pregnant with Tilda. Now, that was some Christmas.”
Pat raised the goblet Olivia had just filled with eggnog. “That’s the kind of Christmas we like to drink to.” She took a sip and then removed the glove from her left hand. “I got a nice present this year myself.”
“Well, well,” Dot said with a grin. “About time Ed made an honest woman out of you.”
“It’s absolutely beautiful,” Muriel said, bending over her friend’s hand to inspect the diamond ring glittering on her third finger.
“Congratulations,” Olivia said, ignoring the green-eyed demon at the back of her mind chanting, Unfair, unfair.
There was nothing unfair about Pat finding love once more after spending so many years on her own. She was a kind and beautiful woman.
Who was getting to have sex again.
Sex, sex, I want sex, protested the demon.
“Have you set a date?” Muriel asked.
“We’re thinking May. The pass will be clear and his kids can all come up for Maifest.”
“That sounds wonderful,” Muriel said. “Do any of them know yet?”
Pat shook her head. “We’re going to make the rounds and tell the kids living in Seattle on Christmas Day. Although my Isabel knows.”
“You can’t keep things like that from your daughter,” Muriel said.
“Well, good on ya,” said Dot. “I’m ready to be a bridesmaid.” She struck a dramatic pose.
Pat chuckled. “You’ll have to fight his daughter and mine for that privilege.”
How much fun would it be, getting married to some wonderful man? Olivia thought. Maybe she should look into online dating.
“Olivia?”
Muriel’s gentle voice yanked Olivia back to the present. “Where were you just now?” she asked.
“I was thinking how nice it would be to have someone,” Olivia said wistfully. “I miss sex.”
“Oh, brother,” Dot groaned. “Get a vibrator, for crying out loud. It’s a lot less hassle than breaking in a husband.”
“I know what you mean, Liv,” Muriel said, paying no attention to Dot. Muffin the cat had made an appearance and was now rubbing against Muriel’s legs. “It’s not just the sex,” she said as she picked up the cat and draped Muffin over her shoulder. “It’s the closeness that comes with it. It’s those little hugs in the kitchen, and cuddling in front of the fire on a cold evening. The companionship. That’s what I miss most.”
“You could have all the companionship you wanted, Muriel,” Dot pointed out. “You always have a string of men following you around.”
“But not the right one,” Muriel said. “I had two wonderful men. That’s more than most women ever get.”
“You can say that again,” Dot responded, serious now.
“What about Henry Figg?” Muriel asked Olivia.
Henry had been hanging around the lodge the past few months, but Olivia knew why. “He’s only looking for a live-in cook.” If he’d wanted anything else he’d have done more than show up for Sunday brunch. He spent his Friday and Saturday nights lounging around the Man Cave, drinking beer with his buddies.
“Ugh,” said Dot in disgust. “She can do better than that. Even I could do better than that.”
“Well, Olivia, maybe we need to take you to see Santa,” Pat said lightly.
“Maybe,” Olivia agreed. She could think of a certain Santa with a lap that was just the right size...
Chapter Eight
Cold December Night
The pianist finished his concert with “Jingle Bells,” encouraging the guests to sing along. Singing a Christmas song together obviously created some kind of bond because people lingered even after the pianist had packed up and left. James watched as his fellow guests visited with each other. Everyone was friendly and open to mingling with everyone else. All except the two young Williams girls, who were busy texting.
Missy Monroe, who’d been seated nearby, introduced herself to James and his family while her son wandered over to duck under the piano and check out the view from beneath.
“Is the cookie grandma coming back?” Lalla asked.
“I don’t think so, but we’ll probably see her tomorrow,” Missy said.
Lalla heaved a sigh, then went to join her brother under the piano.
“She wants a grandma in the worst way,” Missy said. “Wouldn’t you know? Something I can’t possibly give her.”
“It sounds like y
our son wants a dog. That should be easier,” James said. Every kid should have a dog.
Missy frowned. “I’d love to give him one, and I’d love a dog myself, but there’s the Entwhistle factor.”
“The Entwhistle factor?” Brooke repeated.
“My landlady in Seattle. She has a no-dog policy.” Missy frowned. “Too noisy, too messy. I wish I could find a way to convince her that we’d clean up after it. But she’s old and kind of frail. I think maybe she’s afraid of dogs, too.”
“That sucks,” Dylan said. “Every kid should have a dog,” he added, echoing James’s thought.
“You’re right.” Missy nodded. “I had one when I was a kid. Well, until my mom decided we couldn’t afford him and gave him away.”
“That really sucks,” Dylan said, shocked.
Missy shrugged. “Yeah. The truth is, I want a dog as much as Carlos. And once I get a better job and we can afford to move, we’ll get one,” she said with determination.
Meanwhile, though, her kid had given up on Santa. It was always kind of sad when kids stopped believing. It was especially sad when disappointment fueled that unbelief.
“Oh, boy,” Missy said, looking over to where her kids were now crawling in circles under and around the piano, the giggles getting louder. “I think I’d better pull the plug on the fun and games and get them up to our room before anybody says anything.”
James glanced at the two older women. The plump one was smiling fondly but the skinny, gray-haired one was scowling in disapproval. Leaving the gathering was probably a good plan.
“Nice talking with you,” Missy said politely, and hurried to collect her children.
“No dog,” Dylan said with a shake of his head. “That’s just wrong.”
James agreed. He watched as Missy’s children scampered up the stairs, with her running after them. There was something about that young woman that made him want to champion her. He didn’t know her story but she was obviously a single mom. Probably working hard to give her kids everything she could. Too bad she didn’t have a place that allowed pets. But sometimes life wasn’t fair and there were some things even Santa couldn’t fix.
The Lodge on Holly Road Page 9
