Colorado Christmas

“Actually, it’s Yiddish. And I’m far from fluent. Bashert is the instant recognition of one’s soul mate.”

“I’m aware of what it is! It happened for me with Sally,” Matt said testily, referring to the deep and instant love he’d felt for his wife. But a drunk driver had killed Sally two years earlier. She was seven months pregnant at the time.

“And Dad with Mom,” Will said, trying to distract Matt from grieving over Sally. He wasn’t comfortable with deep emotion. “Seems like bashert’s an O’Malley tradition.”

“Not where Luke’s concerned.”

Their oldest brother’s ex-wife, Tory, had made Luke’s life a living hell. Although he’d been divorced for a couple of years now, Luke was still a grouch.

“True. But I’m positive about the judge.”

Matt raised a sardonic eyebrow. “Really? You haven’t checked out her other assets. For all you know, hidden behind that bench might be three hairy legs and a pointed tail.”

Will grinned at his brother’s rare attempt at levity. “You’ve been reading too many of those kiddie fantasy novels to young Sash.” Sasha was one of their much-adored nieces and Luke’s oldest daughter.

“Speaking of children, the judge has one of her own.”

“She’s married?” Will felt sick to his stomach.

Matt placed a hand on his shoulder. “Relax. She’s divorced. But I’m sure the thought of having to compete with another child—” Matt emphasized the word “—for the judge’s attention, should be enough to quench your fires.”

Ignoring the jibe, he said, “A kid? How d’you know?”

“Because I listen to people.”

“So you’ve had the opportunity to chat with the object of my affections?”

“I have.”

“And?”

“And what?”

“Is she as immune to your charms as she’s trying to be to mine?”

“I think you could confidently say she’s completely immune to your charms.”

“On the contrary. I think she’s intrigued.”

“Yeah. Right. Face it, buddy, Judge McBride is way too disciplined for someone as unruly as you. Still, stranger things have happened—especially in Spruce Lake.” He glanced at his watch. “I have to go back to work, but before I do, I’ve got to ask—this protest movement you’re getting together…who’s heading it up?”

Will puffed out his chest. “Me, of course. And we’ve called it Save Our Buildings or SOB, ’cause it’d be a crying shame to lose them.”

Matt shook his head. “Trust you to come up with such an absurd acronym. Can I be blunt with you?”

“Fire away.”

“There seems to be a groundswell of support for your crazy idea—”

Will threw up his hands. “It is not crazy!”

“Okay…let’s call it well-meaning but totally irrational.”

Will nodded. “That’s much better.” He enjoyed sparring with Matt.

“What I’m trying to get across to you is that this protest—if you can get enough support for it—has the potential of becoming huge, and if you walk away without following through, you’re going to disappoint a lot of people. No, more than that, you’re going to hurt them because they believe in you.”

“I told you I’m here to stay. Why do you doubt me?”

“Because I know your past record! And when it finally gets through your thick skull that the judge isn’t interested, you’ll head off to the ends of the earth on another harebrained adventure.”

Will was about to repeat that he was here to stay, but Matt was on a roll.

“You breeze into town, stopping for a few days, before you fly off to make yet another movie in some far-off location,” Matt ranted. “You’ve never shown any interest in sticking with anything worthwhile. Why change now?”

Although his tirade stung, Matt was right. Not so long ago, Will wouldn’t have been ready to hear it, or to agree with Matt. But his brush with death had changed Will’s view of the world and his place in it. The avalanche had made him realize the carefree days of his extended youth were over. Did he really want to spend his life flying around the world, engaging in increasingly more daring stunts, living out of a suitcase? The answer was a resounding no.

He’d come home—to the certain safety of Spruce Lake—determined to settle in his hometown. Unfortunately, he hadn’t figured out how he’d make a living here. The judge had underlined something he already knew: Apart from being able to ski near-vertical cliffs, he didn’t have any real skills. And therefore no alternative career prospects.

However, discovering that the old buildings were threatened with demolition had confirmed Spruce Lake was an intrinsic part of him and saving them was a cause worth fighting for. “I won’t have our town’s heritage destroyed by a bunch of shiny Tonka toys!” he declared.

“That’s what you say now. Next week might be a different story.”

Will gritted his teeth. “I said I’m here to stay.”

“Fine.” Matt’s curled lip told Will he doubted his convictions. “If you’re as determined as you claim to be, I’ll do whatever I can. And if you’re so hell-bent on dating the judge, then let me talk to her on your behalf. I’ll tell her you’re a generally well-behaved citizen who’s temporarily taken leave of his senses. She’d believe it coming from me. She might even let you date her, then.”

She probably would, but that’d be cheating. His big brother couldn’t help sticking up for him. Protecting him—protecting anyone—came naturally to Matt.

“Thanks for the offer, but I want to win her over myself. She’s already intrigued. Soon, she won’t be able to resist me, you’ll see.”

“And you figured this out in your brief yet humiliating encounter this morning?” Matt shook his head. “Your overconfidence astounds me, Will. And the protest, what about that? And your job? The one you pretended you don’t have? What was that about, saying you’re ‘between jobs’? And speaking of your job, you’ve been here nearly two weeks. It’s winter in case you hadn’t noticed. Prime ski-movie shooting season.”

Will disregarded Matt’s sarcasm. “Like I said in court, I quit the movies.” He held up his hands to allay Matt’s questions as to why. “SOB will keep me busy.” When he saw Matt about to argue, he said, “I’m not going to suddenly take off, okay?”

Matt leaned against his vehicle. “Do you have a plan—apart from continuing to vandalize the development company’s property?”

“I do.”

“And?”

Pleased by Matt’s interest, he said, “I’m holding a fundraising barbecue.”

Matt’s raised eyebrows told Will what he thought of that. “And plan B would be?”

“There is no plan B! What’s wrong with plan A?”

Matt indicated the snow-covered street. “It’s winter. No one has barbecues in the middle of winter.”

“All the more reason to have one. People hankering for barbecue will come from all over.”

“And where do you plan to hold this event? Close off Main Street like they do during the summer barbecue festival? You’ll need a permit and we both know how much you hate dealing with bureaucracy.”

“Don’t need one if we hold it at the ranch.”

Matt rolled his eyes. “Yeah, right. Running it by Luke will be harder than getting a permit from the town. Good luck with that.” He pushed away from his vehicle. “Do you want a ride somewhere?”

“Thanks, but I need to stretch my legs and get some fresh air. Then I’ll walk over to the Twilight Years and start my community service.”

Matt clapped him on the shoulder. “Good idea. I can’t fault your work ethic, buddy, but I wish you were a bit more conventional.”

Will raised his hands in jest. “Then I’d be like you.”

Matt let the mild insult go as he shook Will’s hand, then climbed into his vehicle and lowered the window. “I just had a thought.”

“You, Matt O’Malley, had a spontaneous moment?”

Matt started his car. “Okay, if you’re going to be insulting, I’ll go.”

Will reached in and switched off the ignition. “Sorry, couldn’t stop myself.” He leaned on the door frame and said, “Shoot.”

“You know that ranch land you bought ten years back?”

“Yup.”

“I think you’ll find it’s appreciated considerably in value.”

Will was lost. “Meaning?”

“Meaning that if you’re serious about saving those buildings, then get the land valued. You might be able to sell it and raise enough to buy the buildings from the development company yourself.”

“You’re joking.”

“Have you ever known me to joke?”

Good point. “But this is crazy. I paid peanuts for it.”

“Times have changed. You might be surprised by what it’s worth.”

“Nice idea. But I’m keeping the land as a wildlife corridor. Where would the elk graze and the bears collect berries to get them through the winter and the lynx hunt if I sold it? I couldn’t have some rancher fencing it off, grazing cows and horses and shooting anything that eats the grass—or the livestock.”

“You know as well as I do it’s too small to be a viable ranch, but in the past couple of years they’ve started developing ranchettes for people who want to be near a town but also want the luxury of extra land. That valley is the prettiest around and people would pay a premium to live there.”

Ranchettes? Will shuddered. “Even if I could raise the money to buy the buildings—provided the development company would consider selling them—I’d have the problem of a bunch of disgruntled elk and bears.” He ignored Matt’s sardonic look and explained, “I couldn’t live with myself if I sold it to someone to carve up into tiny plots. Sorry, Matt, but it doesn’t work for me.”

“Five- to ten-acre lots aren’t tiny. You’re never going to graze that land. You’re allergic to horses, remember?”

At the reminder of his allergy, Will sneezed, then scratched his shoulder. “Speaking of allergies, can I stay with you for a while?” Will suspected Luke had put him in the apartment above the stables on purpose, hoping he’d move on—preferably to another country. The smell of hay and horses had him sneezing for at least an hour every morning, and Luke kept hinting that if Will wasn’t doing any useful work around the ranch, he should leave.

“I’d rather have my teeth pulled without benefit of anesthetic than share living quarters with you ever again,” Matt said.

“There’s no need to get personal. I’ve grown up since the last time we lived together.”

“Not enough to let you move in,” he muttered.

True, he’d pulled a few shots in his past, and Matt had a very long memory. Unfortunately, there was a shortage of rental accommodation in town—especially with the holidays just around the corner. His land had a burned-out farmhouse that wasn’t habitable. Pitching a tent and living in it during winter wasn’t feasible. Come spring, he intended to start work on a cabin, but until then he was pretty much homeless. And car-less. He’d have to do something about that, too. Building the cabin would prove to his family and the town that Will O’Malley had grown up and was going to stick around and become a contributing member of the community. “Selling my land isn’t an option.”

Matt shrugged. “Suit yourself.” He started up the car. “Take care, Will. If you need anything, you know where to find me. In the meantime, keep out of trouble, okay?”

After waving Matt off, Will headed down the street, his mind filled with plans: saving the buildings, getting Matt elected sheriff, designing a log cabin, locating happy homes for old Miss P.’s dogs, finding a job that didn’t involve going anywhere near the mountain—or horses, buying a car, completing his community service without burning down the old folks’ home, talking Luke into holding the fundraiser at the ranch, and most importantly, getting the judge to have dinner with him.

Chapter Three

Two days later, and no closer to a solution regarding either his career future or how he could save the buildings, Will was strolling along Main Street, admiring the Christmas displays, when a car pulled up beside him. Louella’s piggy snout hung out the window, sniffing the chilled air.

Frank Farquar plucked an enormous cigar from his mouth and asked, “Off to help out at the old folks’ home again?”

Frank’s Aztec Red 1959 Cadillac Series 62 complete with tail fins of extraordinary proportions was a legend of a car. From the front of its shiny chrome double grille to the rear rocket-inspired, double bullet-head taillights, the Caddy was Frank’s pride and joy. Frank owned the rock quarry ten miles past the south end of town but, miraculously, not a speck of dust ever marred the Caddy’s paintwork. Will hadn’t yet got around to buying himself a vehicle. A car like Frank’s was one to be proud of—impractical but impressive.

He ducked to look in the front window and got a wet kiss from Louella. “Yup. Going that way, Mr. F.?”

“For you, boy, I’d drive all the way to Denver. Hop in.”

Respecting Louella’s pride of place up front, Will got into the backseat. “Nice outfit, Lou,” he remarked, referring to her snappy tartan vest and scarf, and got a snort of appreciation in return. He figured Frank’s dressing up Louella had something to do with the fact that he was a bachelor who’d never had the chance to raise kids of his own. Given how eccentric Frank was, Will wasn’t surprised he’d never married, in spite of his reported wealth.

“I see you cleaned up them demolition vehicles,” Frank said around the cigar he chewed but never lit.

“With a lot of help from the local Boy Scout troop.” Will was grateful to them. Cleaning off the water-based paint in the subfreezing temperature hadn’t been easy. The kids were selling Christmas trees in their lot across the street and came over to offer their services in exchange for his autograph and some photos with him.

“Has the judge come to her senses about dating you, boy?”

“Not yet, Mr. F., but I’m optimistic.”

“That you are. Never met anyone more optimistic than you. Even Lou—” he slapped his pig’s back with affection “—can get a bit down in the mouth at times, but I don’t think I ever seen you not smilin’.”

Will would be celebrating his thirty-second birthday next month, yet people still saw him as a boy. It had never bothered him before, but now it didn’t sit so well. His old school buddies were all married; most had kids. That guaranteed weekends spent mowing lawns and taking kids to Little League, neighborhood barbecues and friendly softball matches stretching into the summer evenings. And nights curled up beside a woman who loved you. In truth, most of his old friends had found a contentment that had always eluded Will.

He and Frank were a lot alike—lonely bachelors—although Will hadn’t yet resorted to driving around with a farm animal in his front seat for company. The town’s population numbered over two thousand, but the pool of eligible men the judge might date—if she ever dated—was small. Provided his brother Adam didn’t move back anytime soon. The career-oriented judge was sure to be impressed by a dedicated, overmuscled firefighter.

Will put that unwelcome thought out of his mind and concentrated on Frank. He and Mrs. Carmichael, the florist, had been high school sweethearts. She’d gone off to college in Denver and eventually married and settled there. Widowed many years later, she’d come home to Spruce Lake and opened a florist shop. But the former sweethearts had barely spoken to each other since her return.

“Here we are, boy.” Frank jolted Will from his musings as they pulled up outside the Twilight Years.

Frank turned in his seat and held out a wad of money.

“What’s this for?”

“The Save Our Buildings fund,” Frank said. “I had this in my mattress. I was figurin’ maybe we could raise money for the town to buy back the old buildings. Like the judge suggested.”

Will was touched. “Thanks, Mr. F., but I doubt there’s enough money in the whole town to do that.” His hastily devised plan during the protest was simply to raise funds to fight the development company in court and convince them to rethink their demolition of the buildings.

“You’d be surprised how much money there is in this town,” Frank was saying. “Folks just don’t have nothin’ worthwhile to spend it on.” He proffered the wad of cash again.

Will held up his hands. “Ah, I appreciate the offer, but I don’t feel comfortable walking around with all that money. Let’s open an account down at the bank, okay?”

Frank considered his words, then nodded. “Good idea.”

A thought occurred to Will. “Mrs. C. has a donation tin on her shop counter, but this is way too much to leave in there. As SOB treasurer, I know she’d be over the moon with a donation like this. You should be a cosignatory on the account with her.”

“I doubt Edna would want to sign anything with me. We don’t exactly get along. In fact, you could say she hates me.”

Poor Frank, he had it bad, Will surmised, observing his trembling lip. “I’m sure if you worked together on the campaign, she’d see a side of you that will please her beyond measure.”

“You think?”

Will climbed out of the Caddy. “I’m sure she’ll appreciate your generous donation to our cause,” he said, giving Louella’s head a scratch.

He was positive that Mrs. C. would appreciate the donation. He wasn’t so certain she’d forgive Frank for whatever wrong he’d committed forty years earlier.

LATER THAT AFTERNOON, Will was walking old Miss Patterson’s five dogs, who were a real handful. Planning moves on the development company, how to sweet-talk Luke into holding a barbecue at the ranch and walking a pack of dogs didn’t mix.

Miss Patterson had never married, nor had children of her own, but she was well-loved around town. The dogs were her life and Will always enjoyed visiting with the cheerful octogenarian and her “boys” whenever he was home. She not only made the world’s best chocolate chip cookies and was an accomplished watercolor artist, but possessed a vast knowledge of the Spruce Lake area and its history.

During the protest, as she’d bravely faced the demolition vehicles charging toward her, she’d asked Will if he could help her find good homes for the dogs. At the time, he feared it was because Miss Patterson thought she was going to be run down and killed. But she’d explained that the dogs were getting to be too much for her and wanted them adopted into loving homes.

“Whoa there, boys,” he warned as the dogs dragged him along Main Street. Dermott the Irish setter, Dugald the Scottish terrier and Henri the toy poodle were attached by their leashes to his left hand. Edward, the Old English sheepdog and Charles the bull terrier’s leashes were clasped firmly in his right. No wonder Miss P. needed a hip replacement, Will mused. The dogs were nearly tearing his arms out of their sockets and his feet were planted so firmly in the snow he was practically skiing behind them.

The toot of a car’s horn had all of them pricking up their ears. When they spotted Louella sailing past with her snout stuck out the window of Frank Farquar’s Caddy, they took off after her. Five dogs and a man became a blur in the shop windows as they shot along Main Street in pursuit of Louella, squealing her approval out the window.

“Shut up, Louella, you idiot pig!” Will yelled as he yanked on the leashes with all his might, while pedestrians scattered like snowflakes before them. His command had little or no effect on Charles who continued racing down the street, dragging Edward and Will.

Frank turned at the corner of Main and Jefferson, the Caddy fishtailing on the slippery street. Now the car was out of sight, Dermott forgot about Louella and slowed to a trot, while Dugald spotted a fire hydrant to relieve himself on. Henri, exhausted from the effort of keeping up with the much larger dogs, dropped to his stomach. Edward flopped down, too. His considerable weight had the effect of bringing everyone else to a standstill, although the forward motion of Will’s body took a moment to catch up.

Trying to avoid treading on tiny Henri, Will leaped into the air, twisted sideways, collected a potted Christmas tree complete with decorations, then fell backward over Edward. His head hit the snow-covered sidewalk with such force he saw stars. He lay on his back staring up at the sky through the Christmas tree branches, with Edward breathing Old English sheepdoggie breath on his face.

JUDGE BECKY MCBRIDE witnessed all this from the courthouse steps.

After a long day, exacerbated by Louella getting up to further mischief, she’d escaped the courtroom madhouse only to find more animals misbehaving outside.

Will O’Malley saw her and scrambled to his feet. “Afternoon, Your Honor,” he said and attempted to unwind himself from the mass of dogs, their leads and, she noted curiously, a bedraggled Christmas tree laced with silver tinsel. Finally free of the leashes, he gave a couple of commands to the dogs and they walked with their heads held high toward her.

Fond of Scotties, she bent to pat the Scottish terrier. They seemed to have hardy, courageous temperaments. The other dogs nuzzled her hand eagerly. Becky laughed, delighted by their antics.

“Hello! Aren’t you gorgeous?” she told the dogs and scratched behind their ears, but the Scottie was the most insistent about getting her attention.

“That’s Dugald,” Will O’Malley told her. “He’s very bossy and a good watchdog. This is Edward—” he indicated the Old English sheepdog “—he’s a lazy lump and eats too much, but he makes a nice footrest in front of the fire on cold nights. Dermott’s the setter. He’s got no brains whatsoever, but he loves children. Charles needs psychotherapy—” he pointed to the bull terrier “—because he’s in love with Louella Farquar. And Henri’s convinced he’s related to Louis XVI and doesn’t much care for walks.”

“He’s wearing fur-lined booties and a fur doggie coat,” she said. “The question is why?”

“Seriously, he thinks he’s related to royalty—hence, the fur coat. Fake fur,” he pointed out. “And the booties are to protect his dear little feet from the cold.”

Becky was charmed by his genuine affection for the animals. “Why are you walking so many dogs? Have you started a dog-walking business since we last met?” She bent to pet the dogs again.

“Nope. Although your suggestion has merit. Would you date me if I had a dog-walking business?” he asked.

Becky stood, ready to make her departure. “No.”

“I’m going to keep asking, you know that, don’t you?”

“And I’m going to keep saying no, regardless of what sort of business you have, Mr. O’Malley. Good day.” She turned to leave.

“They belong to Miss Patterson up on Lincoln Street,” he said, stalling her. “She’s getting too frail to handle them all herself.”

Becky turned back, realizing she hadn’t discovered why he was walking so many dogs.

“She could probably cope with Henri. But she’ll have to give the others away and it’s going to break her heart. These dogs are her children. Imagine how that would tear you up, having to give away a child of yours, let alone four of them.”

Becky didn’t want to consider how desolate she’d feel about losing Nicolas. In truth, she was relieved Graham had rejected their son when they’d received his diagnosis. It meant he’d never show up on her doorstep demanding custody or even visitation rights.

“We had a long talk about the boys’ futures and Miss P.’s asked me to inquire around for good homes. Would you be interested in adopting Dugald, by any chance?”

She bent to pet the Scottie again. Nicolas begged her for a puppy on a weekly basis. He’d hinted it would be the perfect Christmas present. Becky didn’t have room in her life for a dog, so that particular Christmas wish would remain unfulfilled.

She shook her head, but she was touched by Will O’Malley’s caring attitude. His brother had testified he was kind to old people and animals, and it was obviously the truth. She’d sensed in court that there was more to the man than his misconduct would indicate. And to his credit, she’d seen him scrubbing the demolition vehicles the very evening she’d handed down her punishment. A group of Boy Scouts were helping him and seemed to be enjoying themselves and his company. Thankfully, he’d been so engrossed in his task, he hadn’t noticed her passing by. Earlier, she’d seen him standing outside the supermarket entrance, dressed as Santa and ringing a bell, collecting money for a local charity. She couldn’t fault his community spirit.