She gave one last glance in the mirror and let out a snort. She looked out of place. The California sun had tanned her skin to a certain shade over the years, not so much that she looked like she’d spent all her time on the beach, but just enough to look different. In time she’d be pale like those who lived in Aspen Creek, Colorado, tucked neatly into the Rocky Mountains, yet only a mere two hours to Boulder or Denver.
Denver. She hadn’t been there since she’d returned, but a trip was certainly in store, she decided as she pushed her fingers into her gloves.
Maybe she’d see if Maggie would like to take a weekend and catch the ballet. Maybe they could even spend the night at the Brown Palace and have high tea. Had they hung the six-story chandelier in the atrium yet?
Her body warmed with the thoughts of everything they could do on their weekend in Denver, just her and Maggie.
She turned the key in the Jeep and the engine gave a weak protest and then started up. Yeah, eventually she’d have to admit she’d need a new truck. She’d had that red Jeep since high school and that had been forever ago. It was old then. But she loved it. It was always her piece of home, even when she wasn’t there.
There were only a few cars still in the parking lot when she pulled into Maggie’s. It was three o’clock and she watched as Maggie turned the sign to Closed. She waved and Malory waved back as she turned off the Jeep and stepped out. The air had grown even colder and the sun was already making its way toward the rim of the cloud-draped mountaintop. More snow was on the way.
Malory stomped the frozen snow from her boots as she entered the restaurant. There was a booth with four older men in it, arguing over a chess game two of them were playing. Each had a cup of coffee in front of him, and it looked like a ritual. Malory wondered when Maggie would kick them out. It didn’t look like they planned to leave anytime soon.
“Hey, Wil. Come sit.” She motioned to her to sit at the counter where all of the salt and pepper shakers sat lined up on trays. “Make yourself useful.”
Malory shrugged out of her coat and hung it on the high-backed stool, then she walked around the counter to the sink and washed her hands. How many times had she filled those shakers? This was where she’d had her heart-to-hearts, over salt and pepper.
She wiped off her hands and batted her eyes to keep the tears that stung from falling. Her journey home was becoming very sentimental.
She sat back on the stool and began opening each of the saltshakers and putting their lids into a pile. Then she took the canister of salt and began to top off each one.
“Hey, fellas, finish up your game,” Maggie said, and the men at the booth grumbled. Then she whispered to Malory, “They’ll be here till four.”
“Do they always stick around?”
“Yeah. But it’s good company.” She smiled. “So how is it being home?”
“Weird,” she said, still pouring salt into the containers as Maggie set down a tray of ketchup bottles and began to take off the lids. “I think I made the right decision though.”
“I’m sure your father is happy to hear that.”
“Well, we haven’t talked too much about that,” Malory admitted.
“I haven’t had the chance to say I’m sorry about your marriage.” Maggie laid her hand on Malory’s.
Malory swallowed back those tears that seemed to be intent on winning their battle to fall. Her failed marriage wasn’t what she wanted to talk about.
Maggie pulled back her hand. “Did you find a place to stay yet?”
“No.” She was happy to have a shift in the conversation. “I drove around today, but my mind wasn’t into it. I was a little distracted.”
Maggie nodded without a word.
“Why does he do that to me?” She overfilled the shaker and the salt hit the tray. She cursed. “Why does he think he can just be my friend after all these years?”
“This is where you were friends before. Is it so hard to be friends again?”
Malory looked up and saw Maggie’s soft eyes. Sometimes it was hard to remember that she was his mother and not hers.
“I guess I could give it a try. My anger toward men isn’t all his fault. But he hurt me, and I don’t want to be hurt like that again.”
“It was fifteen years ago. And you’re right, he is stubborn and stupid sometimes, but his heart is good.”
“Yeah,” she agreed, and didn’t that make it worse? She knew Christopher was a decent man. He’d been a good teenager too, just momentarily stupid. But that alone had ruined years of dreams for her and made her trust in him plummet. And as she let go of one failed relationship, she hadn’t planned on having to face an old one. She had hoped to dissolve into the mundane routine of small-town life. Though she sat at Maggie’s filling shakers, the feelings that stirred in her certainly were not mundane.
She continued with her job as she heard the men behind her gather their game and coats. They said their good-byes to Maggie, who walked them out the door and locked it behind them, then returned with their four used coffee mugs. She set them in the sink and went back to marrying the tops of the ketchup bottles so that one would drain into the other.
They worked quietly as they had years ago. Malory wiped down the tops of the saltshakers, dried them, and screwed them back on. Then she started the same procedure with the pepper shakers.
She was aware of Maggie’s eyes on her. It was a process, she knew. Maggie would wait her out, and when she was ready to talk, she’d listen. Perhaps it was why she’d never mourned her mother too much. She’d always had Maggie Douglas.
“Did Dad tell you I sold my bakery a few months back? Made some decent money too.” It caught in her chest and she wondered if Maggie saw her lie surface on her face.
“That’s pretty lucky, if you ask me. Things don’t move too well in this economy.”
Malory nodded as she continued to fill the shakers with pepper and fought off the urge to sneeze. “I had a buyer who was in place and eager. It was enough to get me moved, and I can get myself a place here. I was thinking I’d rent for a year and then maybe I’d buy a little house.”
“I think that sounds wonderful.”
“That kinda leads to what I wanted to talk to you about. I need to get back to work. I need a job, but the only thing I know how to do is make bread and decorate cakes.” She chuckled to herself. How sad was it to have a college degree and only be able to bake? But she was good at what she did. She had to give herself some credit.
Maggie smiled as she wiped down the tops of the ketchup bottles and recapped them. “You know, we have a bakery in Aspen Creek.”
“I know. That’s part of the dilemma. I don’t know what to do.”
Maggie nodded. A sliver of a smile crossed her lips. “Esther Madison owns the bakery. She is seventy-three years old and itching for retirement. She’s been trying to dump that bakery for six years now, especially since Molly opened the coffee shop. But even she buys most of her goods from Esther. Her grandson thought he could turn it around, but he fled town within six months.”
“I didn’t mean I should buy a bakery.”
“Why not? You’re good at what you do and an opportunity is available.” Maggie narrowed her eyes. “I thought you liked owning the bakery.”
“I do. I did,” she corrected and huffed out a breath. “I hadn’t thought of buying another bakery.”
“You’ve lived in this town long enough to know the only way you make it here is to own your own business and work hard. If you’re looking for just a paycheck, you’d better be comfortable living in your daddy’s house.”
Malory knew she was right, but owning her own bakery again was a big step. She’d taken too many risks with her business in California and that bothered her. She looked up from her tray of shakers, and when Maggie’s eyes settled into hers, she sighed. “I’ll go talk to her.”
Maggie patted her hand. “I’ll tell you what.” She moved around the counter and sat down on the stool next to Malory. She took her ha
nds in hers and smiled. “She closes shop at one in the afternoon. She comes over here by one-thirty every day for lunch before she goes back to clean up. Why don’t you plan to be here tomorrow, and I’ll introduce you.”
“I think I remember her.”
“Yes, I’m sure you do. And she’ll remember you as an eighteen year-old-girl who once spilled coffee down her when you waited her table.”
“Oh, that was her?”
“Yes.”
“Well, forget it then. I might as well go get a job at the truck stop.”
“And . . .” Maggie took her fingers to Malory’s chin and looked her in the eye as if she were a little girl. “I want in.”
“Excuse me?”
“I want in. I have money to invest, and I want to be partners with you. You could use some financial backing, no matter what you say.” She held a finger up as Malory took a breath to interject. “I own four houses, a duplex, part of the Laundromat, and this restaurant. I know business.” She smiled, obviously pleased with herself. “Now I want to own part of the bakery that will no doubt put this town on its ear.”
“Maggie, I can’t have a partner.” She choked on her words. “I don’t want your money. I can do this alone.”
Maggie straightened. “I don’t think it’s up for discussion. If you go through with this, I’m in on it. You might need me to get past Esther.” She shrugged. “You were never one to turn away a helping hand. Whatever has you spooked about it, you’d better get over it. You’re a hard worker and you’ll make your mark. But you know better than to think you can do things in this life without a helping hand.”
Malory swallowed hard. “You believe in me?”
“I’ve never not believed in you.”
“But I hate your son.”
“If you say so,” Maggie said, smiling broadly and extending her hand. “Partner?”
Malory took a moment. Partner? Partnerships seemed to be a curse to her both in life and in business. But this was Maggie Douglas. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly then lifted her hand to shake Maggie’s. “Partner.”
“Good.” Maggie stood and walked back around the counter. “She overcharges me for my rolls.”
Malory laughed and finished with the peppershakers.
“By the way, partner, you don’t happen to have any of those houses you own for rent, do you?”
Christopher drove by the restaurant on his way to the arena. He slowed to see his mother and Wil sitting at the counter.
Maggie had made it clear to him that she’d missed Wil more than she thought she could have. Each time Wil would visit and leave, a part of Maggie went with her. Like a daughter leaving, she would tell him.
He wasn’t jealous of their time together. He had that same relationship with Harvey, though obviously they didn’t hug or giggle. While Christopher was growing up, Harvey had paid a lot more attention to him than he’d ever done to Wil, but he knew that wasn’t on purpose. Harvey simply didn’t know what to do with a daughter.
Christopher thought about Wil as he pulled up in front of the arena. Malory. He almost couldn’t associate the name with her. She was a Wil. She’d been as tough as he had been growing up. Though Harvey had tried to get her into figure skating, like the other girls and her mother, she was one of the best goalies the small town ever had. She could block anything because she was so limber.
He pulled open the door and heard the music that filled the building. Sandy Stott must be training. The theme from Ice Castles blared from the speakers. Sure, it was a classic, once, but enough was enough.
She waved as he passed by the glass. He waved back. She was his mother’s age, but he wasn’t sure she knew that.
He found Harvey in his office working on the ice schedule for the following week. He nodded his head his way and then lowered it again to get back to the schedule.
“Got the Zamboni fixed. As soon as Sandy is done pretending she’s headed to the Olympics, we can clean the ice.”
Christopher laughed as he fell into the chair across from Harvey. Yeah, they were just like father and son. They thought the same way.
The stack of papers on Harvey’s desk had grown, he noticed. And in true Harvey style, the bills were in the stack to the side and the schedule for ice time was what he worked on first.
Since Christopher had been back they had threatened to turn off the power twice and he’d had to drive all the way to Grand Junction himself to get the phones turned back on. Harvey was a man of vision, but at making the ends meet he struggled.
Christopher took some pride in the fact he’d been able to help him out, though when Wil got wind of it she was sure to have a fit. The arena was going to need more than his management and his money to stay afloat. In times like these it was going to need a miracle.
“Wil’s over at Mom’s.”
“Uh-huh.” Harvey kept working.
“I thought about stopping, but they look like they’re having one of their girl talks.” Harvey nodded again without looking up. “I thought I’d see if she’d like to drive down to Denver for dinner. Has she been since she’s gotten back?”
“Don’t think so.”
“Yeah, maybe I’ll do that.” The knock on the door made them both look up. Mac Stern stood there with his enormous equipment bag over his shoulder.
“Someone want to get Dorothy Hamill off the ice so we can play some hockey?”
“Yeah. I’ll get her. I’ll have the ice cleared in ten minutes,” Christopher promised.
Mac turned back around and walked away.
CHAPTER THREE
Malory loved talking to Maggie. She’d missed her so much when she’d lived in California. The few times a year she’d visited Aspen Creek and the few times Maggie visited them in California hadn’t been enough. Them. Malory shook her head. Well, there was no more them; only her.
She’d run through the store and was home with dinner almost finished when her father entered the house through the back door. The cold air slapped her, but she didn’t care. In one bound she was to him, kissing him on the cheek, and smiling at his dumbfounded reaction.
“Something smells good,” he said as he unzipped his coat and hung it on the rack.
“Meatloaf.”
“Haven’t had that in a while. What’s the occasion?”
“Thought you could use some real food.”
He nodded and bent down to untie his boots. “So you stopped to talk to Maggie?”
“Yep. We had a lovely conversation. Helped her fill shakers. It was like old times.” She carried a bowl of salad to the table in one hand and a bowl of mashed potatoes in the other. “I’m going to talk to Esther Madison tomorrow about buying her bakery.”
Harvey washed his hands at the sink and then sat down at the table. He hadn’t said anything, but Malory knew by the look on his face that he was confused.
She smiled as she passed him the potatoes and went about cutting the meatloaf. She told him about her plans and that she and Maggie were partners now.
“Well, you couldn’t have a better one.”
“I think you’re right.” She took a bite of meatloaf off her fork. “So are you going to tell me about you and Maggie?”
“What do you want me to tell you?”
“You are so stubborn.” She laid her hand on his arm. “I love you, Daddy. I want you to be happy.”
“I am.”
The rest of their dinner was silent, which was usual and comfortable for them.
“Wil, that was great. Thank you.” He carried his plate to the sink. “Please don’t think you have to do that every night.”
“Well, it was fun for me to do. I miss cooking for two,” she said, but her voice trailed off and she was sure he’d caught it. But it was just like her father not to ask many questions, and for that she was grateful.
She heard him curse and turned to see her father emptying his pockets onto the counter. He turned around with two sets of keys in his hand.
“I took the
extra set of keys to the Zamboni. I have to go back down to the arena.”
Malory looked at her father. He was tired; the circles under his eyes were dark. The last thing he needed to do was go back to the arena. She could be the bigger person and do it for him. Yes, that meant seeing Christopher and risking him trying to get his hands on her. The thought gave her a little jolt. She shook it off. She’d promised his mother she’d try to be friends with him, and for Maggie she would do just that.
“Dad, why don’t I go? You had a really early start, and if I know you, you’ll do it all over tomorrow.”
“I’m fine,” he said as he raised his hand to his mouth and yawned.
“I see that.” Malory took one set of keys from his hand. “Here’s the deal. I’ll drop these off and come back to do the dishes. But you have to wrap up the leftovers and set the dishes in the sink to soak.”
“Wil, you don’t have to . . .” She held up her hand to cut him off. “Okay. That’s a deal.”
The lights in the arena lit the parking lot from the bay of windows at the top of the rink. The parking lot was full and Chris’s truck was parked just a few spaces away. Seeing the arena full gave Malory a chest full of pride, and even Christopher living in Aspen Creek wasn’t going to take that away from her. She parked her truck. She was sure there was a hockey game or scrimmage going on by the number of cars in the lot, and a bolt of excitement ran through her. It was likely that the age of the players did not exceed twelve. Oh, she’d been one of those players once. There was nothing like being on the ice and the entire town sitting in the stands cheering for you.
She hurried out of the truck and to the arena to catch what she could of the game.
Just as the heater above the door warmed her, so did the sounds that erupted from the stands beyond the wall that hid the rink. She hurried around until she walked down the hall and quickly found a seat among the parents in the stands.
She’d been right. The players all looked under ten years old. The puck bounced from stick to stick; you really couldn’t call it passing. Players tripped over their skates and fell randomly on the ice. Some were involved with the play of the puck some were not. Parents yelled the names of each team member, thrilled with any little play that a teammate made.
On Thin Ice Page 3