“This is fun, isn’t it?” She slipped her arm through his as they left a store that sold Northwest food specialties, with a selection of hot sauces for her dad.
He wouldn’t go so far as to say this was “fun,” but he didn’t mind it. Still, there were so many other things to do. He hoped she didn’t want to spend the whole day shopping. He checked the time on his cell phone. “Ready for lunch? Wait till you see the place where we’re eating.”
Holland was properly impressed with the dark wood paneling and fancy table settings at Schwangau, and was happy to let John order them a bottle of gewürztraminer. “This is good,” she said after her first sip. “Oh, that’s what we should do next. I want to hit that wine shop.”
He nodded. “Then after that I’ve got something else I want us to do.”
“Wine shop first,” she insisted.
And all the shops surrounding it, probably.
It wasn’t that John didn’t want her to enjoy picking up souvenirs, but spending sprees tended to bother him. Not just because of the wasted money. Sometimes it seemed that Holland focused too much on stuff.
Of course, a lot of that stuff, like clothes and jewelry, she put on herself, and he sure didn’t mind the way she looked.
After lunch they went to the wine shop, which offered a wine tasting. There went another forty minutes. As they came out, Holland pointed to a place that sold antiques. “Oh, I should check this out.”
“You’re not really interested in old stuff,” he reminded her.
“But some of the things in that window are cute.”
John sighed heavily.
She looked at him, eyebrows lowering. “What?”
“Nothing,” he said with a shrug. “It’s just that I had this surprise planned and—”
She held up a hand and in an exasperated voice said, “Okay, fine. Whatever.”
What kind of reaction was that when a guy said he had a surprise for you? He frowned. “Jeez, Holland. I went to a lot of trouble so you’d have fun.”
“I am having fun,” she assured him. “I’m sorry. We should do something you want to do now.”
“It’s not something I want to do for me. It’s something I want to do for you.” And he’d already called twice and changed the time they’d be there.
She smiled at him and kissed his cheek. “You’re sweet.”
Her words warmed his heart.
Until she added, “Sweet, but controlling.”
“I’m not being controlling,” he muttered. Planning a Christmas getaway so everything went smoothly was not controlling.
“Whatever,” she said again, linking arms with him.
“And I actually had to reserve a time for this thing I want us to do.”
“Okay, John, I get it,” she said. “I get it. I’m sure that what you’ve got planned will be impressive.”
It would be. She’d see.
They returned to the lodge to drop off their purchases and were nearly trampled by Missy’s kids running down the stairs.
“Hey, John!” Carlos shouted. “We’re going skating. Are you gonna come with us?”
Holland frowned. “That’s not what you had planned, is it?” she said under her breath.
Before he could answer, Missy had joined them. “He’s busy, Carlos,” she said. She studied the load of packages. “Looks like you guys found all kinds of stuff.”
Holland didn’t bother to confirm the obvious. Instead, she managed a tight smile and continued up the stairs.
Missy watched her go, looking a little sad. “Next time I come up here, I’m going to make sure I bring more spending money.”
“We didn’t buy anything that exciting,” John told her. Except that, dorky or not, he did like his Cat in the Hat stovepipe hat. Probably because Holland had bought it for him.
Missy shrugged and smiled. “Oh, well. These guys break everything, anyway.”
Carlos and Lalla were now both at the lobby door. “Come on, Mom,” Carlos said, already leaning against the door and pushing his way out.
“Guess I’d better get going,” she said, hurrying down the stairs. “I’ve never skated before. Hope I don’t break my butt.”
Never skated before, not even as a kid? That was sad. John suspected much of Missy’s life had been subpar.
“John,” Holland called impatiently, and he put all thoughts of Missy out of his mind and hurried up the stairs.
* * *
Missy scowled as she followed the kids down the front walk. John Truman’s girlfriend was a bitch. Self-centered, superior. Spoiled. She probably never tipped her hairstylist. It wouldn’t occur to her that the stylist might have kids to support, bills to pay. She would, of course, figure that the stylist, like the poor woman who did her nails and the cocktail waitress who brought her drinks at whatever fancy club she haunted, only existed to serve her.
You’re not being fair, she lectured herself. You don’t even know the woman.
But Missy knew her type. John’s girlfriend was the kind who, growing up, would never have been caught eating lunch in the school cafeteria with the likes of Missy Monroe. Holland What’s-Her-Name would never have been caught eating in the school cafeteria, period. She’d have gone off campus with the other too-cool-for-school kids to eat her lunch. And whatever high school she’d gone to, guaranteed it was nowhere near Missy’s neighborhood. Holland would’ve gotten her education with kids who’d come from homes with as much money as hers. And, like her, they now took the people who dressed and styled them and waited on them for granted. And looked down on those people’s kids just as Holland had done with Carlos on the stairs.
Missy ground her teeth. Holland could hook up with a movie star, a rock star, Spider-Man, whoever, but she’d never produce a kid as great as Carlos.
They were almost at the skating rink when they ran into Mr. Claussen and his son and daughter. All three were heavily laden with shopping bags, and for one jealous moment Missy wished she could afford to spend money like all the other tourists. She didn’t dare even go into the shops. If she did she’d be tempted to blow her money on something dumb like an Icicle Falls sweatshirt or some fancy bubble bath. She had enough money to buy the kids a treat at the ice rink and some gingerbread cookies and a couple of cheap souvenirs, and that was about it. Next year, she promised herself.
And the thought of how next Christmas was going to be so much better made it easy to smile and wave.
“We’re going skating,” Lalla told Brooke Claussen.
“I haven’t been skating in ages,” Brooke said.
“You could come with us,” Lalla offered.
Brooke thanked her. “I’d love to, but Santa still has some work for me to do.”
“Santa’s coming tonight!” Lalla cried, jumping up and down, making her cornrows bob.
“He sure is,” Brooke said, giving Missy a smile that seemed almost conspiratorial.
Missy smiled back, unsure what sort of nonverbal message she’d just been sent.
“Missy, could I talk to you for a minute?” Brooke asked, moving them away from the kids.
Missy nodded as Lalla began to tell the men all about their upcoming skating adventure and Carlos picked up a handful of slush.
“I wanted to give you a heads-up that Santa is going to show up at dinner tonight,” Brooke began, “and—”
She was drowned out by a howl of pain from Lalla.
Missy whirled around to see her daughter in tears and holding her head, Mr. Claussen and Dylan bending over her while Carlos stood with his hands in his coat pocket, looking sullen.
“He hit me with a snowball,” Lalla wailed. “Right here.” She pointed to the side of her head.
Missy took her son by the arm and turned him to face her. He preferred to study his toes.
She gave his arm a shake. “What did I say about not aiming for people’s heads?”
“Sorry,” he said defensively.
They were blocking the sidewalk, people moving around them, some frowning, probably in disapproval of her children’s behavior. And there were the Claussens standing nearby, looking awkward.
“I think my son has a snowball fixation,” she said, trying to make light of Carlos’s naughty behavior and her own embarrassment. She picked up the crying Lalla and commanded her son to follow her. When they got to the skating rink they were going to have a serious conversation about the dangers of hard-packed snowballs. “We’ll see you back at the lodge,” she called to the Claussens, and led her children away, Lalla still milking her injury for all it was worth and crying at the top of her lungs. “Okay, enough,” Missy said as she trudged down the street. “You’re not hurt that bad.”
“Carlos is mean,” Lalla cried. “Santa’s not going to bring him anything.”
“I wasn’t trying to hit her in the head.”
“There, see?” Missy told her daughter. “Santa knows what’s in every child’s heart.”
“Will he find us?” Lalla asked.
Missy thought of what Brooke had said. “Oh, yes.”
“Will he bring me a grandma?”
“No.” Carlos scowled, staring at the ground. “And he won’t bring me a dog, either.”
“But I bet he’ll have something for you,” Missy said. “And whatever he brings or doesn’t bring, it doesn’t matter because we’re having fun. We’re together and that’s the most important thing. Don’t you guys ever forget that.”
“We won’t,” Lalla promised solemnly, and wrapped her arms around Missy’s neck.
A moment later a small hand slipped inside hers, and she looked down to see her son looking up at her, tears in his eyes. “I didn’t mean to hurt her.”
“I know you didn’t,” she said. She gave his hand a squeeze and felt her own heart tighten. He deserved so much more than he was getting for Christmas.
* * *
“Did you get a chance to tell her?” Dylan asked Brooke as they watched Missy march her children off down the street.
Brooke shook her head. “If Lalla’s brother could have held off his assassination attempt for about ten more seconds we’d have been good to go.”
“Don’t worry,” her father said. “One of us is bound to see her later this afternoon. Or you can tell her at dinner.”
“I can hardly wait to see the look on her face.” Brooke smiled, excited about their plan. “She’s going to be so surprised.”
“That’s part of the fun of Christmas,” Daddy said, his eyes twinkling.
Oh, yes, getting her father in touch with his inner Santa had been a good idea. This was going to be a wonderful Christmas Eve...as long as they could steer clear of Olivia Wallace, man-eater.
* * *
“Surprise!” John said as he and Holland drove through the entrance to Currier’s Tree Farm.
She took in the farmhouse decorated for the holidays and the Christmas tree in the front yard, the big barn, the rustic split-rail fence. Then she studied the horses, all decked out with jingle bells, attached to a sleigh festooned with greens and ribbons and—oh, yeah, success!—smiled. “A sleigh ride?”
“Yep.” The minute he’d visited the website, he’d known they absolutely had to do this. Currier’s land stretched way beyond the tree farm, which displayed every imaginable kind of Christmas tree. John could just picture the two of them swooshing along under snowy boughs and past frozen streams.
They were greeted by a lean, gray-haired man who looked as though he’d stepped right out of some old John Wayne cowboy movie. “Hello there,” he called. “You John?”
“Yep,” John called back.
The man came over to him in big cowboy strides. He took John’s hand in his giant paw and gave it a viselike squeeze and a good shaking.
“Thanks for letting me book a later time,” John said, trying not to wince.
“You got lucky. We had a cancellation. Otherwise, you’d have been up the creek, young fella. The sleigh rides stop after this. We got family coming for Christmas Eve dinner, and I have to get out the extra table and chairs.” The man smiled at Holland and pointed to a little refreshment stand. “Got hot cider and to-go cups over there if you want something for the ride.”
Once they had their cider, the old man was back, wearing a heavy winter coat and a red muffler. They climbed into the sleigh and he handed them a thick plaid blanket for their laps. Then he jumped up on the box, took the reins and gave the horses’ rumps a gentle slap. “Walk on, girls.”
The sleigh lurched and then slid across the crusty snow and they were off. Holland snuggled next to John and took a sip of her hot cider. “This is great,” he said.
“Yeah, it is,” Holland agreed, and he felt so proud of himself it was all he could do not to puff out his chest.
Oh, yeah, this had been a super idea.
They were soon on a trail edging along the tree farm, the horses trotting and making the bells on their harnesses jingle. John had paid a pretty penny for this ride, but seeing how happy Holland was made it worth every cent.
“Where are you kids from?” asked their escort.
“Seattle,” John said.
The old man nodded. “Nice city, Seattle. If you like cities. Me, I like mountain air and small towns.”
“How much do places go for up here?” John asked, admiring a huge log house perched farther up the mountain.
“They’re not cheap. People know the value of what they’ve got,” their driver replied.
“Wouldn’t you like to have a house up here?” John said to Holland. “Maybe get a cabin, come up and go cross-country skiing.”
She wrinkled her nose. “That sounds like way too much work. And boring.”
“Seriously? Look at the scenery.”
“It’s just trees, John.”
Just trees and snow and beautiful mountains. Who wouldn’t want to live in a place like this? Well, Holland, apparently...
“What’s there to do around here?” she asked the driver.
His shoulders lifted in a shrug. “Lots of hiking, fishing, river sports.”
“How about, like, clubs?” she persisted.
“Clubs?”
“You know. Places to go at night.”
“Oh, that. Well, there’s always a good country band playing over at the Red Barn.”
John glanced over to see Holland rolling her eyes. “Any place else to dance?” she asked.
“Zelda’s has a bar. I think there’s a dance floor in there. The wife and I don’t go in for that kind of thing much, so I’m not up on all the hot spots.”
“There probably aren’t any,” Holland said with a sneer in her voice.
Okay, so it looked as if they wouldn’t be buying a cabin up here. But they could come and visit. He could already see them celebrating their first anniversary in Icicle Falls. She was obviously feeling it, too, because she snuggled closer.
“I’m getting cold,” she said.
“I’ll warm you up,” John said, and drew her closer against him. This was exactly how he’d envisioned it would be.
“Let’s go back and get a drink at that Zelda’s,” she said.
“You got twenty more minutes on the meter,” the old man said.
“Twenty more minutes?” Holland echoed. “I’ll be a Popsicle.”
And so that was the end of the sleigh ride. It had been almost as he’d envisioned.
But hey, if a woman was cold, she was cold. They’d had the experience; that was what counted. They’d stop by Zelda’s on the way back to the lodge and have a cozy drink. And then it would be time for dinner and the big surprise. Oh, yea
h. Everything was going according to plan.
Chapter Twelve
Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas
Back in town, people of all ages were enjoying themselves. Adults laden with packages paused to visit in the town square, while children chased one another with snowballs and rode plastic sleds down the hill between the downtown park and the skating rink.
“It looks like something out of an old movie,” Holland observed as they drove along Center Street past the downtown park with the gazebo and the little ice rink.
John took that as a sign. “Let’s check out the rink,” he said, pulling into a parking spot.
“I just got warm,” she protested.
“You’ll stay warm skating,” he said in a cajoling tone.
“I haven’t been ice skating since I was in Blue Birds.”
“What the heck is a Blue Bird?”
“You know, Camp Fire Girls? The ones who sell the candy,” she elaborated.
“Oh, yeah. Love those mints. I bet you were a cute Camp Fire Girl.”
“I was.”
That was Holland, no false modesty. “So, come on,” he urged. “Once around the rink. Then we’ll go have drinks at Zelda’s.”
“Oh, all right. I can tell you’re dying to do this.”
“Hey, we need the whole Icicle Falls experience, don’t we?”
She sighed. “I guess.”
The Lodge on Holly Road Page 15
