The Lodge on Holly Road

He quickly called her and got an impatient hello. “Hey, chains are required.”

“Okay, thanks.”

“Uh, you okay with doing that?” This was their first time going to the mountains together. What if she couldn’t put on chains?

“I do know how to put on chains, John,” she said.

“Okay, fine. You home yet?”

“Yeah, and I’m about to take a bath.”

Oh, there was an image to make a man smile. “Get good and relaxed,” he said. “See you tomorrow.”

“Okay, bye.” And then she was gone.

He pulled up behind a Honda that had seen better days, where a woman in a black parka and jeans and tennis shoes was struggling to get chains around one of her rear tires. Unlike Holland, who was leggy and svelte, this woman filled out her pants with a well-rounded bottom. She wore glasses and had curls of blue hair escaping from a red knit hat. Two little kids, a Latino boy and a cute little girl with big brown eyes and cornrows, were hanging out the back windows, trying to catch snowflakes in their mittened hands. Meanwhile, the woman was still struggling with the chain. It wasn’t hard to see why; she wasn’t wearing gloves. Her hands had to be frozen. She stopped to blow on them and glared at the chain.

Here was a job for Super John. He got out of his car and came over. “Can I help you with that?”

She looked up at him gratefully and rubbed her hands together. “That would be great. I just can’t seem to get these stupid chains on.”

“It’s hard when your hands are cold.”

“I forgot to pack my gloves. Here we are, going to the mountains, and I forget to pack gloves. Can you believe it?”

“Looks like you were packing for more than yourself,” John said. The girl had joined the boy at his window and was now regarding John. She was cute as a button with her big brown eyes and that goofy tiara on her head. Her parka was a little frayed but clean. The boy’s coat looked too small for him but it, too, was clean and his mittens looked new.

“My mom needs help,” said the boy. “I could’ve done it.”

“I’m sure you could,” John agreed. He wondered what had happened to these kids’ dads. This woman sure wasn’t alone because she was a dog. She had a round face and blue eyes and Angelina Jolie lips. Cute, he thought. Not that he was interested, of course. It was just an observation.

He introduced himself to the mom and learned her name was Missy Monroe. Cute name, too. “Where are you guys headed?”

“To Icicle Falls,” she said. “We’re going to spend Christmas up there.”

“No way. Really? Me, too,” he said.

“All I want is to get there in one piece. I’ve never put on chains before,” she confessed.

She had them laid out properly, with the connector facedown. Unfortunately, she was putting them on the wrong tires. “Well, you made a good start,” he said, “but I’ll bet this is a front-wheel-drive car, which means you need those on the front tires.”

She took that in. “Oh. Oops.”

“Easy to fix,” he said. “Let’s move the tires off the chains and try again.”

She nodded and hopped behind the wheel. Moments later the chains were matched with the correct tires.

“Gosh, I’m glad you came along,” she said as he hooked them up. “Even if I got them on, they would’ve been useless.”

“No problem,” he said. Yeah, good thing he’d decided to come up today. Otherwise, this poor woman would’ve worked away at those chains until her hands turned as blue as her hair. “So, where are you staying in Icicle Falls?”

“We’ve got reservations at this place called the Icicle Creek Lodge.”

“No way,” John said again. “That’s where I’m staying.” That made her face light up like a Christmas tree. Uh-oh. Maybe she thought he was single. “Uh, with my girlfriend,” he added.

Her face reddened. “Oh.” She looked over to his car, where there was plainly no girlfriend.

Now he felt embarrassed. “She had to work late. She’s joining me tomorrow.”

The woman nodded slowly, taking that in. “Oh.”

“And are you, uh, meeting someone?”

“No.” For a moment she seemed a little sad, but that was replaced by a forced brightness. “Just the kids and me. We’re going to have a perfect, old-fashioned Christmas.”

He nodded approval. “Great.” He finished with the last chain and stepped away from his handiwork. “Okay, you’re good to go.”

“Thanks,” she said, and smiled at him as if he was some sort of genius.

He waved away her thanks. All in a day’s work for a holiday superhero. “If you have any problem, I’ll be right behind you.”

“Well, I guess I’ll see you there,” she said.

“Yeah, see you.”

“And thanks again for helping me with the chains.”

“No worries.”

She gave him a bashful smile and then hopped into her car. He could hear her instructing the kids to buckle up. The car started and the sounds of “The Little Drummer Boy” drifted out to him. The son leaned his head out the window and waved, and John waved back.

“Come on, Carlos, we’re not moving until you’re buckled in and the window is up,” said his mom.

Up went the window and the car chunk-chunked its way back onto the highway. John gave them one last wave and then got busy with his own chains. Someday that would be him, he thought as he pulled back onto the highway, taking his kids up to the mountains for Christmas. Maybe they’d even cut their own Christmas tree.

They’d have to do that without Holland. She wasn’t much into hiking, even in nice weather.

But she liked to shop and she liked good wine, and that was another reason he’d picked Icicle Falls. He’d done a search for holiday getaway spots in Washington and the town had come up at the top of his search list. It wasn’t hard to see why. In addition to its charming town center it had lots of those cute shops chicks loved, along with local wineries and good restaurants. Oh, yeah. It was a Holland kind of place. And the Icicle Creek Lodge was the frosting on the red velvet cake. They were going to have a great time.

Chapter Five

Do You See What I See?

There were oohs and aahs from the kids the moment they hit town. Driving past all those buildings with the fancy paintings on them and the cute little signs dangling above the doors, the potted Christmas trees strung with twinkle lights sitting on every corner, it was as if they’d gone to Germany for the holidays. One shop even had a life-size Nutcracker standing guard outside. Wow.

Once they’d gone through the town itself, Missy’s directions sent her down Icicle Creek Drive, a wooded road surrounded by snowy woods. “See the llama farm?” she said, pointing. “That means we’re almost there.”

Sure enough, there was Holly Road, the side road veering off the main drag. She turned onto it and followed a scenic, curved road. She could already see herself walking down it, taking the kids into town to see the sights.

Then she saw their home for the holidays. Carlos and Lalla stared in awe at the Icicle Creek Lodge as if it was the Taj Mahal. It was pretty impressive—a big stone-and-timber building that looked like something from another time with a sweeping front lawn carpeted with pristine snow. The roof was strung with icicle lights and a tree bejeweled with colored lights sat on the front porch, which ran along the front of the building. Oh, yes, just like in the picture.

“Wow!” cried Carlos, racing toward the lodge.

“Not so fast,” Missy said. “I need you to help me carry in our stuff.”

“I can help,” offered John Truman, who had just gotten out of his vehicle. He’d caught up with them quickly after chaining up his own car and, true to his word, had been behind them all the way like some sort of guardian angel.

He sure was a cute guardian angel, with hair the color of red some women would pay a fortune for and freckles strung across his nose. He wasn’t as good-looking as other men she’d fallen for but she was willing to bet he also wasn’t a sleaze bucket.

There would be no falling for this guy, she reminded herself. He was already taken. “That’s okay,” she said, handing a grocery bag of snacks to Lalla, who, like her brother, couldn’t seem to stand still.

“Mama,” Lalla gasped, “I just saw Santa Claus.”

“There’s no such thing, stupid,” Carlos told her scornfully.

“Is, too!” Lalla shot back.

“Don’t call your sister stupid,” Missy scolded. She wanted to add that there was, too, such a thing as Santa, but couldn’t quite bring herself to do it, considering that Santa had been rather a disappointment to her children, especially Carlos. “Where did you see Santa, princess?” she asked her daughter.

Lalla pointed to the lodge. “I saw him go inside.”

“Santa doesn’t stay in houses,” Carlos said impatiently. “He lives at the North Pole.”

So much for not believing in Santa, Missy thought with a smile, and gave her son the backpack with his clothes.

“Maybe he’s visiting friends,” John said. Missy had a trash bag with the kids’ presents in it and he insisted on carrying that, as well as the beat-up carry-on suitcase she’d picked up at a garage sale.

“Maybe we’ll see him,” Lalla said, and hurried up the front walk.

“Race you!” Carlos dashed ahead of her.

“I think they’re stoked,” John observed.

“They’re not the only ones,” Missy said. Oh, yes, this was going to be such a great Christmas. And she didn’t need a man to make it great. Still, as she made her way up the walk with her new friend beside her, she couldn’t help wishing he wasn’t already taken.

* * *

James wished he was in jeans and a shirt instead of this red Santa suit. If he were, he’d be more inclined to linger and talk to Olivia Wallace, the friendly owner of this B and B who was checking them in, supervised by a big orange cat sitting on top of the check-in desk. There was something pleasant about this woman, something that said, “Take a deep breath, relax, everything will be all right.”

She was plump and round-faced. Her hair was as gray as his, a pretty silver-white, softly curled and very feminine-looking. Put her in a red skirt and a lacy blouse and some granny glasses, and she could pass for Mrs. Claus. She’d moved her wedding ring to her right hand, which told him she was widowed. It would be comforting to talk with someone who’d been where he was.

Olivia smiled. “I swear, you’re the most realistic Santa I’ve ever seen.”

Realistic or not, who went out in public dressed like Santa? He felt like an idiot. “I don’t normally parade around in this outfit,” he said.

“I kidnapped him from work,” Brooke explained. She petted the cat and it purred and leaned into her hand for more. “He’s a professional Santa.”

“Oh, that must be fun!” said Olivia.

It had been. Once upon a time. James shrugged.

“He’s been Santa for as long as I can remember,” Brooke continued, warming to the subject. “At family gatherings, for church events, orphanages, fund-raisers. He always goes to Children’s Hospital and visits the kids.”

Okay, this was becoming embarrassing. And now voices outside announced that more guests were arriving.

“I think I hear children,” he said. “Let’s get out of here before they see me and wonder what Santa’s doing wandering around the lodge two days before Christmas.”

“They’d probably love to meet you,” Brooke said.

Well, he didn’t want to meet them. “Honey, I really want to change out of this outfit.”

“Of course,” Olivia said, handing over the keycards for their adjoining rooms. “We serve breakfast from eight to ten. If you have any special dietary needs that weren’t addressed when you registered, please let us know. Christmas Eve we’ll be offering a special dinner at six and on Christmas Day we’ll serve dinner at five.”

“Fabulous,” Brooke said.

“The elevator’s right around the corner if you prefer to use it. I hope you’ll enjoy your stay.” Olivia smiled at both of them again, but her smile seemed to linger on James.

“I hope we’ll see you around,” he said, and then felt instantly guilty. That had been...too friendly. His wife had been gone only a year. He had no right to be smiling at a woman, taking in her generous curves. Her breasts.

His thoughts traveled back to Faith’s mastectomy. A double. She’d mourned the loss of her breasts, but he’d just been glad to have her alive, still with him. Who cared about the breasts? Of course, she’d talked about reconstructive surgery and that had made him nervous. Even though it was a common procedure, what if something happened?

Something had happened. She’d barely gotten her new breasts when the damned cancer came back, this time in her spine. He’d nursed her the best he could, tried to learn to cook. But his specialty had remained heating soup. Thank God they’d had friends who brought over hot dishes. Thank God for his daughter. He wished he was thanking God that his wife was still alive.

Now the voices were getting nearer. Santa was in no mood to see anybody. He grabbed Brooke’s suitcase and marched for the elevator.

She hurried after him, catching up with him just as the doors opened. As they stepped off the elevator and walked under the archway toward the hall where their rooms were, she said, “Oh, look. Mistletoe.”

That made him even grumpier. But it wouldn’t do to be grumpy when he was with his daughter and she’d gone to so much trouble to make their Christmas good. “Well, then, I’d better kiss my angel,” he said, and gave her a hug and a kiss on the cheek.

She hugged him back. “We’re going to have fun.”

“Yes, we are,” he lied.

“Look!” came a childish voice from the lobby. “There he is.”

Crap. “Okay, let’s go,” he said, and picked up his pace.

* * *

“I saw him!” Lalla cried, pointing to the third landing. “He was right there and he was kissing a lady.”

If he was on the third-story landing, he was gone now. The kids would love it if there was somebody here playing Santa Claus. Missy hadn’t taken them to the mall to see Santa yet and she’d love to get their pictures taken with him.

Of course, they’d written letters to Santa. She’d helped Lalla write hers and it had read, “Dear Santa, I love you. Please bring me a grandma. My grandma is in heaven with the angels and can’t bake me cookies or read me stories. Merry Christmas. We will try to make you some cookies if Mommy can buy some cookie mix.” They hadn’t gotten around to the cookies, but Missy had assured Lalla that Santa would bring her something, anyway.

Carlos hadn’t been quite so loving in his letter. He’d written it himself and it was short and to the point. “Dear Santa, if you kant bring me a dog furgit it. Merry Kristmas, Carlos.” Well, okay, so Santa wouldn’t come through. They’d still have fun.

How could they not? She looked around the huge, beautifully decorated lobby. The carpet was dated but in pristine condition with a muted floral pattern. Sturdy ornate furniture gathered around a big fireplace on the back wall, impressive with its style and the carving on the mantelpiece. The fireplace was laid with wood, ready to be lit, and Missy could envision herself standing in front of it. A grouping of three large potted poinsettias sat on the coffee table and two wingback chairs flanked it. A baby grand piano occupied space in one corner and Missy knew from what she’d read on the website that later that evening someone would be seated at that piano, giving the guests a concert. But best of all was the antique sleigh sitting front and center in the lobby. It was decorated with red ribbon and greens and filled with presents and teddy bears. Some delicious aroma hung in the air, bringing the promise of cookies.

“Well, aren’t you two the most beautiful children ever,” the woman at the reception desk greeted them. “What are your names?”

“I’m Lalla. I’m named after a Orca princess.” Lalla pointed to her tiara.

“Moroccan princess,” Missy corrected her, and Lalla nodded vigorously.

“Of course. Anyone can see you’re a princess,” said the woman.

That was the plan, always had been, from the moment Missy learned she was having a girl. She’d picked the name, not just because of her daughter’s mixed ethnicity and skin color, but because she wanted Lalla to know she was special and to grow up confident that she could become anything she wanted. There would be no low self-esteem in her family. No, sir.

“This is Carlos,” Lalla continued. “He doesn’t believe in Santa.”

The woman put a hand to her heart. “Oh, dear. I’d better not tell Santa that. It will hurt his feelings. You know, Icicle Falls is his favorite place to visit,” she said, lowering her voice conspiratorially.

“I saw him,” Lalla said eagerly. “Who are you?”

“I’m Olivia Wallace, and this is my home. I hope you’ll enjoy staying with us. We have you and your family in 205,” she said, addressing both Missy and John, who’d been standing next to Missy, enjoying the show. She handed a little envelope with the keycards to John.

He turned red from his neck to the tips of his ears. “Um, we’re not really together. We just, uh, met on the way up.”

Olivia flushed. “Oh, excuse me.”

“John put the chains on my car,” Missy told her.

“Well, that was nice. It’s good to see that chivalry is still alive and well,” Olivia said approvingly.

“It sure is,” Missy agreed. “Okay, guys, let’s go see our room,” she said to the kids. They were off with a whoop, racing for the stairs. “And don’t run,” she called, trailing after them with their bags.

She was still within earshot, so she heard Olivia say to John, “Now, there’s a sweet young woman.”

“Yeah, she’s pretty nice,” John said.

He thought she was pretty nice. She thought he was pretty nice, too. Pity he wasn’t in the market for a woman.

Except that even if he was, a classy guy like that who drove a nice car and not an old beater wouldn’t want to hang out with a girl like her, someone who lived in a dumpy neighborhood, shopped at Goodwill and garage sales and fed her kids mac and cheese from a box. At least she didn’t smoke anymore. She’d kicked that habit and was already saving money as a result. Still, she’d never make enough to put her in his class. Men like John dated girls who worked in offices and shopped at Nordstrom and Macy’s, girls who never got their hair done at inexpensive salons.

She frowned. It shouldn’t matter what a person wore or what sort of car she drove. It was what she was like on the inside that counted. And on the inside Missy was an office-working, Nordstrom-shopping, high-end-salon kind of woman. Someday, someday soon, she’d have the life to prove it. And meanwhile, she was staying at a classy place and giving her kids a classy Christmas. So there, she concluded, lifting her chin. That chin-lifting stuff wasn’t such a good idea, made it hard to see the stairs. She tripped, and her suitcase slid down a couple of steps. Oops. She grabbed it and kept on going, her cheeks burning. Nordstrom on the inside, she told herself.

* * *

John watched out of the corner of his eye as Missy Monroe and her kids went up the stairs. He wondered if Missy was seeing someone, if there was some man hoping to step into her ready-made family. There had to be someone. She was too cute and too sweet to be totally on her own.

Although if she was seeing someone, he probably would’ve come up here with her. After all, who did Christmas alone?

None of your business, he reminded himself as Olivia gave him his keycard.

“You’re in 207,” she informed him.

Right next door to the Monroe family. For a millisecond he wondered if he wanted to be that close to Missy and company. He felt a little like an alcoholic who’d just been offered a bottle of twenty-year-old Scotch.

But then he chided himself for being stupid. Yeah, Missy was cute, but so what? He was in love with Holland, and he wasn’t some low-life scum who hit on other women when he was about to become engaged, so it was no big deal. That resolved, he went to his room.

Oh, man, Holland was going to love this. The room had it all—antique furniture but a state-of-the-art TV and DVD player, a small fridge for his champagne, a view of the mountains out the window, a snowy-white comforter on the king-size bed and an electric fireplace. Oh, yeah. This was going to be romance to the max. He could picture Holland and him in that big bed going at it and then cuddling together, watching the flames. If only Holland had come up tonight.

Well, she’d be here tomorrow, and that would come soon enough. Meanwhile, what was he going to do with himself? He went to the window and looked out. The snowy scene beckoned him. What the hey, might as well go check out the town, find something to eat.

He heard whoops coming from 205 as he walked past and for a moment wondered what Missy and her kids were going to do now.

Never mind. He wasn’t up here to hang out with Missy Monroe and her kids. He was here for a romantic getaway with his girlfriend.

Who hadn’t arrived yet. With a sigh, he walked down the hall.

Chapter Six

Santa Baby

Brooke had experienced some doubt regarding the wisdom of her holiday kidnapping when her father first failed to get into the spirit of the thing, but only for a few minutes. Over the past year, Daddy had seemed to collapse in on himself, changing from the sociable man he’d always been to a hermit who preferred to sit at home and stare at the TV. That was not Daddy, and something had to be done.

“He’ll be okay,” Dylan kept saying whenever she’d brought up the subject of what to do about their father. “You’ve gotta give him time. Jeez, I still miss Mom.”

As if she didn’t? As if there hadn’t been a day in the past year when she hadn’t wished her mother was alive, when she hadn’t gotten blindsided by a memory and burst into tears? But she had a job and a Sunday school class to teach. And friends getting married and having babies. And that meant bridal showers and baby showers to shop for and weddings to attend (where friends tried to match her up with brothers and cousins, none of whom ever measured up to her idea of the ideal man). Life wasn’t a card game where you got to throw in your hand and say, “I fold.”

And that was exactly what her father was doing. Granted, he’d had a rough time of it, first with taking care of Mom and then with having to live without her. But Brooke was starting to get worried. In the past few months he’d hardly cleaned the house, totally neglected the yard and had constantly made excuses when any of his friends invited him out for dinner. She’d thought he’d return to his seasonal job as a department-store Santa, but he’d even pulled the plug on that, and had only filled in for the past two days when his former boss begged him to help out. He couldn’t go on like this. It wasn’t healthy. So a change of scene was what the doctor had ordered (Dr. Brooke, that is).

He’d perked up once they got to the lodge and smiled approvingly when they entered and he saw how beautifully the place was decked out for the holidays. And he’d smiled again when they were checking in. Of course, he wasn’t happy being stuck in his Santa suit but Dylan would be arriving any minute, and once Daddy had a change of clothes they could go wander around town and admire the Christmas lights. Then, later, they could enjoy the piano concert in the lobby and the home-baked Christmas cookies that had been promised on the website.

The cookies probably wouldn’t be as good as Mom’s, and Brooke found herself wishing she’d taken the time to whip up another batch of gumdrop cookies to bring along. Maybe it was just as well she hadn’t, though. That would remind them all of Mom.

She’d flipped on the switch for the fireplace, and her father was currently relaxing on his bed with his black boots and his Santa jacket off while Brooke sat at the desk, checking out the notebook filled with glossy pages about the various shops and restaurants in town.

“I’ve heard about this Christmas shop,” she said, turning the binder so her father could see. “We might want to go there tomorrow.”