Lauren and her father had put up the sparse Christmas decorations before his death. A rustic wreath hung on the front door. A noble pine circled with small white lights sat in front of the great-room window. It was all understated, a holiday by happenstance, and wouldn’t have a celebratory feeling at all if not for the Christmas music playing through the sound system. Quietly, the iconic voices of Louis Armstrong, Ella Fitzgerald, and Bing Crosby crooned the classic melodies.
Patrick and Cindy spent more and more time secreted away in the far corners of the lodge, and Ruthie stayed in the kitchen worrying more than she cooked.
Looking around the lobby, it was impossible not to remember the better times, when crowds of skiers mingled and laughed and ate and drank. She could almost smell the cocoa they used to serve, but there was no longer any need for the sweet, steamy drink when the weather peaked at nearly seventy degrees. Cold chocolate shakes were more fitting.
The big walnut front doors opened, grabbing her attention. The handsome young man who entered brought with him a humble smile, hovering just above his strong chin.
“Max,” she said. “We meet again.” She didn’t understand why he kept showing up in her life these last few days but was glad to have the distraction. Years ago, he would have made her heart pound, and her body almost feverish. Now he was just another painful regret. Another loss she’d have to live with.
He nodded as he approached, glancing around the nearly empty lobby. “Place looks good.”
“Thank you.” Her smile was becoming tiring, but it was her mask of choice. “It’s feeling spacious these days.” They shared a little chuckle. “Looking for a room?”
“No, I was thinking about you and all that’s going on. When I said I’d help in any way I could, I meant it.”
“Yeah, I know you did.” It warmed her that he was trying, but the help she needed wasn’t something she could ask him for.
After another glance around, Max continued, “I feel like everybody says that, but what can a person really do, you know? I remember when my mother died. People were eager to help, but they couldn’t bring her back. All they could do was show they cared.”
“Is that what you’re doing now? Is this you caring?”
“Yes, I care.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and looked at the floor. “I was thinking there might be something I can do. I mean, it’s a big place. Are there no fences that need mending? Burning bridges to put out?”
He smiled, but it was a challenge, and she could see that. Their pleasantries could only dance around the unspoken conflict between them, something she wished had never happened, much less continued to be a lingering problem.
“It’s good of you to be concerned.”
“Not at all, we were once friends—more than friends.” After another long stretch of silence, Max went on, “Care for lunch? As I recall, your kitchen makes the best beef stew in Colorado.”
She couldn’t help but grin. “It’s still our signature dish.”
Ruthie seemed pleased to be serving her specialty to Lauren, who’d become a surrogate daughter to the spritely old woman, but she had an unmistakable air of unhappiness feeding Max.
They sat down to a bowl of stew with thick, smoky gravy, tender meat, firm potatoes, and colorful carrots. Ruthie made her specialty lemonade recipe that she’d brought all the way from Jamaica. It was pink with a hint of mint. She was courteous and humble, but it was hard to miss her scowl.
“She doesn’t like me,” Max said as soon as Ruthie returned to the kitchen.
“No.” She shook her head. “That’s not true.”
“It is, and I don’t blame her, not really, considering what happened between our fathers.” After a moment of silent reflection, he went on, “I’m not my father, Lauren, I want you to know that.”
“I do. It was never about us.”
“No, it wasn’t, and it shouldn’t be. We were too young to fight against them—to fight for us.” He seemed to give it some thought before adding, “We’re no longer the kids we used to be.”
“That’s true. All the innocence of those days is lost.”
“Not all is lost.”
“It’s too bad it happened.”
“You’re right. My father is hard-headed and doesn’t take things lightly, especially if it threatens his family or his empire.”
“He has an expansive empire,” she said. “All those commercial properties. You should be proud.”
“I wish I could be.” After a moment, he added, “I mean, I am proud of what he’s accomplished, but not of the way he did it. It’s hard to take pride in that.”
She nodded.
Max went on, “My father’s ways are old school. In his head, and his heart, he’s still slugging it out on the streets of South Boston. He’ll never stop being a fighter.”
She tried not to smile, but she couldn’t quite help herself. “And what are you—a lover?”
His cheeks flushed. “I think there are better ways of doing things, yes. And now, three things abide; hope, faith, and love. And of these, the greatest is love.”
One brow rose on Lauren’s forehead. “A Bible-centered man?” She hadn’t spent any substantial time with him in ages. Could he have changed so much?
He shrugged. “Not really. Not that much into the Bible to tell you the truth, but I read it to my grandmother. Maybe some of it rubbed off. I figure it’s good for her—at least inspirational. I know she’s just hearing my voice, if even that, but it was the Bible or Harry Potter.” They shared a little chuckle. “To tell you the truth, I prefer the romantics.”
Her brow furrowed in question. “The rock band?”
“No, the poets; John Keats, Lord Byron.”
“Oh, right.” Lauren gently fisted her forehead. “How stupid of me. Of course, it’s not the rock band.”
Another laugh seemed to draw them closer together.
“A thing of beauty is a joy forever.” He recited from memory. “Its loveliness increases; it will never pass into nothingness.”
A chilling silence followed, Max cracking a wry smile as if he didn’t even comprehend his own seductive powers. “I suppose a person has to focus on something or someone. As for me ... I like poetry.”
She wasn’t sure how to react as a hot bolt pulsed through her body. She sat there, trying to ignore their past and the misery which had separated them. Their youthful infatuation had made their tale resemble an Ancient Greek tragedy. Those feelings were hard to ignore while impassioned eyes stared right into her, finding the hidden secrets of her soul.
Max was the one man who could bring light to her shadowy world, but that prospect frightened her even more than the complications of her future, which were already beyond her ability to imagine, much less manage.
Next to her father, Max was the only other man she’d loved.
Chapter Seven
Max
Max wanted to fight off the memories that came flooding back to him, but they arrived with such clarity; it was hard to win that battle. He’d harbored a crush on her since their earliest years when their fathers were still good friends and occasional business partners. Their friendship had been fabulous, their falling out a fiasco, and its biggest impact was on what would have been one of the greatest romances in all of human history.
That was what Max had always imagined, and he’d grown up knowing that imagination was all he’d ever have of their love, their lives together, the family they would have created.
He’d dated over the years, but his one true love was and would always be Lauren Matthews. That first time they made love tucked into the hayloft was the turning point of his life. She was the only woman he’d let into his heart.
Yet, looking at her sitting across that table, he couldn’t believe she hadn’t fallen in love and married someone else—that some handsome and wealthy man hadn’t won her heart. Still, that frail finger had no ring.
This wasn’t the time to broach the subject of what they had been or what
they could be. Their past was one of so many things he found impossible to talk about.
Instead, something else caught his eye. A handsome young man with black hair and blue eyes led a blonde out from behind the stables.
“Love blossoms here at the Sunshine Lodge,” he said with a jut of his head.
She glanced over, nodding before taking a sip of lemonade. “They’ve been at it a few months now.” Her face took on a forlorn look, eyes turning away from Max’s. “I’m afraid they’ll be the next to go.” He lifted a brow, and she rolled her eyes. “Not that way, but they’ll want to get married and start their lives.” She hung her head. “Honestly, I don’t know how much longer I’ll be able to keep them on.”
Tuned into the details, he heard an opportunity she hadn’t put in plain words but implied. He was reluctant to bring up her financial crisis, and he told himself it was a strategic decision to avoid any mention of business.
Looking at her, so sweet and beautiful, even in her misery, made his heart ache. He talked himself into using caution and moving forward to offer strength, and in the process, create a union where fate and family had made it impossible before.
He mentally warned himself to drop all thoughts of a relationship with Lauren because his father wouldn’t have it, but just looking at her made his doubts fade, and he reminded himself of the words he’d just told her. We’re no longer the kids we used to be. He wasn’t about to be told who to love, not by his father, or anyone else.
Maybe he could force his father to see the situation differently and help Lauren, especially if he thought it was his idea.
Turning his focus back to her, he asked himself, Would she? Could she? Is it even possible that after all this time, she could still love me?
Piano music drifted into the dining room from the nearby lobby, a delicate trickle of notes, and an instantly familiar harmony. When the old woman’s voice came floating in above it, Max knew the words.
“Silent night, holy night ...”
He rose, taking Lauren’s hand to lead her to the piano where an old woman sat singing. They stood together to watch her performance. Max felt strangely comfortable next to Lauren as if this was how it should have always been. The two of them focused on something other than each other, their families, or themselves. Swaying back and forth to the song, they allowed the music to take them away. When it finished, they clapped, as did a few others standing nearby.
Max extended his hand to the woman, who took it with an appreciative smile. “Thank you,” he said, “that was lovely.”
“Thank you, young man.” Glancing at the piano, she offered a hopeful smile. “Do you play?”
“I know a few songs, but I couldn’t—”
“No, Max,” Lauren said, “please play.” She pressed her hands together as if in prayer. “Please?”
He grimaced. “It’s been a while.” He stretched out his hands and cracked his knuckles before he took a seat on the bench. “This could be painful for everyone within hearing distance.”
Although he stalled, he could hardly resist those green eyes, shimmering from that pretty, pale face. He’d never been able to, and he suspected he never would. He replaced the frail older woman, tapping out a few arpeggios with a bluesy twang.
“Here’s one I wrote myself a few years back.” He pumped out an infectious rhythm, the unmistakable rock-and-roll, boogie-woogie style that was part Little Richard and part Elton John.
“Santa said to Mrs. Clause, let’s get the gifting done. The sleigh is fully loaded, we have to beat the sun. The kids are at home waiting, we can’t let one child down. We always beat the clocks, because Santa Claus rocks!” The piano chords came to a crashing close.
“Santa Claus rocks,” Lauren and the others answered back without coaxing as he banged on the piano keys…
“Santa Claus rocks!”
“Santa Claus rocks!”
The chords rolled into the bridge, and the crowd clapped along as Max sang, “The Easter Bunny’s cool, and Tooth Fairy’s okay. Cupid comes around and makes it Valentine’s Day. But none of them can compete, with the man in the big red sleigh.”
“The big red sleigh.” Lauren and the others sang out.
The music and the words came faster, passion rising in the room. “Santa comes rockin’, and he doesn’t bother knockin’. Santa brings joy and a shiny new toy. Tonight, we’ll beat the clocks because Santa Claus rocks!”
After an abrupt silence, Max threw down a rollicking set of chords to bring the song to a happy close.
Lauren smiled and clapped her hands along with the guests at the Sunshine Lodge. They stood arm in arm to share the happy moment and enjoy the season.
Chapter Eight
Lauren
Lauren saw Max to the door and went back into the lodge. The place seemed elevated by his presence. He’d been light and charming, and just a few minutes after his departure, she sensed his absence.
That somber feeling returned to the lobby with guests drifting around like ghosts. The sweet memory of his visit lingered in her mind in ways and places that frightened yet thrilled her.
How is it that he isn’t married? Before all that mess with our folks, we were like a little Romeo and Juliet and tragically more so after things went south.
Thoughts, both pleasant and disturbing, filled her imagination. Without the time to sort it out, she crossed the lobby to the kitchen, where Ruthie readied the roast turkey for dinner.
“Lunch was amazing as usual, Ruthie.”
The old cook nodded and kept her focus on the tasks at hand. She lacked her normal jovial spark. Lauren gave her plenty of reasons to worry, but she couldn’t resist asking, “Everything okay, Ruthie?”
With a sigh and a turn, she shook her head, sending her dark curls bobbing. “Dat fancy man,” she said in her thick, island accent. “He come around like nothing’s wrong.”
“Max?” She watched as Ruthie’s head shook, and her usual smile turned upside down. “Ruthie, c’mon.”
“He’s no friend to you. Why does he come now?”
Lauren gave it a little thought and shrugged. “We saw each other at the funeral, and he stopped by. It’s not so strange to send condolences.”
“Bad juju,” Ruthie pointed her finger straight at her. “And you know, I always tell the truut.”
Lauren broke into a sympathetic smile. “I love that you’re concerned for me, but he came as a friend, and we need all the friends we can get. As good as your stew is, it will not save us from the trouble already knocking at our door.”
Ruthie nodded and bent down to baste the turkey; the juices bubbled in the roasting pan as sage and other spices floated through the air.
“We can do something.” Ruthie closed the oven and swung around. “There has to be something.”
“What do you suggest? I’m not a miracle worker, and I can’t pull a cure to our problems out of a hat.”
Ruthie moved to the counter where the dough was rising, and she began to tear pieces into balls for dinner rolls.
“Never give up.”
Lauren washed her hands and stood beside Ruthie, helping her make the rolls.
“I’m wondering if naming the place Sunshine Lodge wasn’t bad juju.”
Ruthie pinched salt between her fingers and tossed it over their heads in some kind of ritual Lauren would never understand but didn’t question.
“Maybe we could have a rock concert and use local talent or bring somebody in?” Lauren suggested.
Ruthie shook her head. “Loud and messy and expensive.”
“Yeah,” Lauren had to agree. “I guess you’re right. We wouldn’t have time to set it up, anyway.”
Ruthie turned with her eyes looking bright. “A Santa’s Village maybe, like I saw on the TV?”
Lauren’s hopes sunk with her shoulders. “Oh, Ruthie, not that; we don’t do Christmas like that.” Lauren had visions of carnival rides and ridiculous elf outfits.
“We can do it nice,” Ruthie said wit
h a shrug, “like a storybook.”
Lauren closed her eyes so she could imagine it. A Father Christmas character, lots of hot buttered rum for the adults, wooden toys for the kids. Christmas trees surrounded by carolers. Hayrides instead of sleigh rides. It was an intriguing notion, but it raised just as many questions and challenges as it promised solutions.
“That would cost a lot of money, and we’d have to pull it together, like, immediately.” It was right up there with a concert, a big dream, and little chance of pulling it off.
Ruthie appeared to ponder the idea, shrugging as she popped the rolls into the other oven. “There’s always a way, child.” Ruthie gave Lauren a little kiss on the cheek and turned her around to usher her out of the kitchen with a swat from a dish towel.
For the next few hours, Lauren stood behind the registration desk daydreaming about old-world Santas, gingerbread houses, and pretty iced cookies in the shapes of trees and snowmen.
Was it possible to transform the lodge into a winter wonderland minus the winter? She didn’t know, but it was the best idea yet.
Chapter Nine
Max
Max drove away from the lodge with a heavy heart. Built to be a place of joy and comfort, it had become a prison for its owner. Lauren struck him as a damsel in distress in some ivory tower, in desperate need of rescue, and of love.
He didn’t see himself as her saving grace or her knight in shining armor. If anything, he was an emissary of the fire-breathing dragon that would burn her castle to the ground.
Looking back on his visit, the place wasn’t what it used to be, and it probably never would be again. The floors needed refinishing, the furniture replaced, and there was no doubt in his mind that the guest rooms had the same green-checked curtains from a decade ago.
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