Christmas at Mistletoe Lodge: New Holiday Romances to Benefit St. Jude Hospital

by Sabrina York

Nevertheless, the flight from London to Seattle had been easy compared to the drive home. He’d read and reread the message from his parents.

  On the surface their message made sense. A sick friend needed their help. The fact that the friend lived in Canada wasn’t the issue. Because of the popularity of the lodge and Medieval

  Christmas Festival, his parents had friends from all over the world. The nagging issue was that his parents left right before the busiest week of the year. They insisted that they would be back on Christmas Eve when they planned to renew their vows. That seemed like it was cutting it a little close. Did they expect him to take care of the lodge and guests until they returned? He’d done it before, but the suddenness of it felt unusual.

  The sun disappeared over the horizon as Jake paid the driver and exited the taxi. A steady rain, with the hint of snow fell, together with the fading light, contributing to the grey pallor that drenched the parking lot in gloom.

  Frozen in place, he slung his duffle bag over his shoulder. He had expected more cars. Over the past few years his parents had claimed that the place experienced a modest slowdown. Modest my foot. The place doesn’t look as though there is a slowdown, it looks closed.

  The only vehicle in the parking lot was a restored 1970 cherry-red Ford that he recognized as belonging to a long-time resident of the faire. Jake remembered the day Owen showed up on the property looking for work. Jake had been twelve at the time and even that young, recognized his parents’ kindness for taking the man in and offering him not only a job, but a place to live. Owen did repairs, kept the forest from encroaching on the property, and tended the kitchen gardens. When Jake’s father learned that Owen was a master sword maker, he gave him his own booth in which to display his skills and sell his swords. After that, Owen was one of the faire’s main attractions.

  Jake unlatched the gate that led to the ticket booth. He pushed the gate and it creaked and groaned like someone forced to wake from a sound sleep.

  “Who’s there?” a gravelly voice shouted.

  “Jake, Jake Avon.”

  A man around the age of his parents emerged from a forest path on Jake’s right. He walked with a limp, a wool cap pulled down over his salt and pepper hair, a green plaid wool jacket over pressed jeans. “Jake. Is that really you?”

  “In the flesh.”

  Owen’s expression erupted in a smile that stretched over a wealth of wrinkles.

  “You look great. You left a boy and returned a man.” Owen crushed Jake in a bearhug and drew back. “Your parents said you were coming but you know me, don’t believe it, till I see it with my own eyes. They called and asked if I’d look in on you when you arrived. I guess they thought you being a big city fella and all, that you might have forgotten how to build a fire when the power goes out.”

  When Owen took a breath, Jake jumped in, laughing. “I’ll never forget. I lost count of the number of cords of wood you made me chop over the years.”

  Owen chuckled. “Made you? As I remember it was you who volunteered. The exercise served to let off steam. I could gauge your mood by the amount of wood you cut.”

  Jake grinned. “Splitting wood helped get me through a lot.” He paused, remembering the night Miranda had called off their relationship. That night there hadn’t been enough trees in the forest to col his frustration and confusion. He changed the subject. “I take it that you don’t live here anymore.”

  A cloud moved over Owen’s expression. “Sad day when I moved. I built a life here. But when I got married, I bought a small farm across the valley.” He glanced over his shoulder in the direction of the overgrown pathway that led to the lodge. “I’m ashamed to say that I was so wrapped up in my own life that I didn’t check in on your parents as much as I should. Don’t know how things went so bad so fast.”

  A rabbit scampered out of what remained of a one-room cottage. The roof had fallen in and the door was missing. Jake shoved his hands in his pockets. “You and me both.”

  Owen removed gloves from his jacket. “It’s freezing out here. Let’s have this conversation inside.”

  Jake followed Owen toward the lodge as the older man filled him in on how he met and fell in love with his wife. She operated a booth that specialized in bake goods and each morning she surprised him with a fruit pie or tart. The kindness caught the grizzled man by surprise and led to conversations and walks around the faire. Jake was happy for his long-time friend. When Owen’s conversation drifted into silence Jake turned his attention to his surroundings.

  To say the place was run down was an understatement. The forest and its inhabitants had moved in and the relentless rain and wind were merciless. Roofs needed repair, paths were filled with potholes and pools of water. Banners that advertised the fair’s featured activities were either trampled into the mud or ripped to shreds.

  When they reached the entrance to the lodge, Owen leaned heavily on the railing as he climbed the half-dozen stone stairs and unlocked the door.

  Jake hesitated, almost afraid to enter, but when Owen disappeared into the dark entry, Jake stepped over the threshold.

  Owen’s limp was worse as he switched on the overhead lights in the entry, but only one came on. He shuffled into the adjoining room that housed the restaurant and a floor to ceiling river rock stone fireplace and lit an oil lamp.

  Although the murals that covered the wall like tapestries were dull and faded, the lodge was clean. He shrugged off his duffle bag. He knew his parents still lived here and couldn’t image how lonely it must be for them out here all alone.

  “I’ll chop more wood to get you through the night if the storm knocks out the power,” Owen said.

  “Don’t worry about the wood,” Jake said as he guided Owen to the rocking chair by the fire. “I’ll take care of it. I’m looking forward to the exercise after my long flight from London.”

  Owen let out a breath. “I’ll not object. I’m not as young as I used to be. My Mary packed a beef roast and homemade bread and a berry pie for us. You haven’t gone vegetarian on me, have you?”

  Jake forced a smile. The lines around Owen’s eyes deepened. His friend was trying to lighten the mood. “No, still a carnivore.” He patted Owen’s shoulder. “Sit tight, I’ll build us a fire.”

  Owen squeezed Jake’s hand. “Don’t worry. Now that you’re back, we’ll get this place back in shape. Just you wait and see. All it needs is a good scrub and a bit of paint.”

  Jake nodded, not trusting to answer. The somber atmosphere of the lodge crept into his bones and wouldn’t let go. It would take more than soap and paint to make things right. It would take a miracle.

  5

  Miranda sat in the backseat of her aunt’s orange limo as it sped toward the Mistletoe Lodge. She hadn’t slept last night. How had she allowed herself to get talked into planning a party where Jake’s parents renewed their vows? She must have lost her mind.

  She leaned against the car window with her aunt on the other side of the bench seat, while Woofy lounged on the seat facing her. She’d taken her aunt up on her offer that it was okay to bring Woofy along. Miranda believed Woofy would help her calm down, but he was as restless as she was. If he wasn’t drooling on the windows, he was jumping from the floor to the seat and back again. The only reason he hadn’t jumped in the front was because a tinted glass barrier was raised.

  Her aunt didn’t seem to mind Woofy’s erratic behavior. She’d brought homemade doggie biscuits shaped like candy canes and Christmas trees. He gobbled them up as though Miranda hadn’t fed him in weeks. Traitor.

  Miranda peered out the window. Everything looked familiar in the small town they passed on their way to the Mistletoe Lodge. There was the restaurant Jake had taken her for apple pie when they were sophomores in high school. That was the day they realized that their friendship had blossomed into something more. The bridge over a snow-fed stream where Jake kissed her for the first time. The meadow filled with wildflowers where they’d rescued a rabbit from a trap, and he’d told her
he loved her, and she’d confessed she felt the same.

  Last night and into the wee hours of the morning the flood gate of memories opened with no sign of letting up. And the guilt…

  She leaned back against the car seat. She thought she’d vanquished the memories by building a business from the ground floor. She’d even dated a few times to prove she was over Jake.

  The limo took the curve in the rood too fast for her comfort. She gripped the door handle and pressed both feet on the floor as though she could slow down the speed. “Why are we driving so fast?”

  “We can’t be late. Timing is everything.”

  Miranda gripped the door handle tighter. ‘You’re not making any sense.”

  “Don’t worry. My driver, Fenkel, is very good. He’ll get us there safe and sound.”

  Miranda tensed, not convinced. “Uh huh.”

  Miranda glanced out the window. They’d climbed in elevation and the pine trees were frosted with a dusting of last night’s snowfall. The trees blurred past the car window so fast it made her dizzy. She kept her eyes focused on Woofy and patted the space between her and her aunt.

  Woofy leapt from his seat to settle where she’d indicated and rested his head on her lap.

  Miranda petted Woofy’s soft fur, grateful for the company. She knew by the terrain that they were close. She needed a distraction. “Do you still have a booth at Jake’s parents’ Christmas Faire?”

  Her aunt held out a doggie biscuit to Woofy. “I haven’t been there in years. Children liked the fairy wands and garlands I made for them, but it’s much easier for their parents to purchase those items online these days.”

  Woofy sniffed her aunt’s hand and begged for another biscuit, which she provided from her seemingly bottomless tote bag.

  Miranda took another look at her aunt. Children and their families lined up to see her and for good reason. She was kind and generous. She hadn’t been there when her mother got sick, but she was there when Miranda was alone and grieving. Her aunt always reminded her every day, in every way, that she was loved.

  “I still have one of the wands you helped me make.”

  Her aunt glanced out the window and smiled. “Well, isn’t that a coincidence. Oh, look. We’ve arrived.”

  6

  Aunty Bell’s limo drove into a gravel parking lot that was overrun with weeds. Miranda edged closer to the window to get a better view. She almost didn’t recognize the place. A faded red and green banner over the entrance read, Welcome to a Medieval Christmas Faire. There was a gate that swung free on only one hinge, and only one vehicle in the parking lot which seemed odd. The whole month of December was the lodge’s busiest time of the year.

  The parking lot was always crowded with cars and laughing children and their families. The Mistletoe Lodge was the heart of the faire and all cobblestone paths led like a gentle moving stream around thatch, and hand-split shake roof cottages and booths. There had always been a spirit of child-like wonder. The place looked sad and neglected.

  Fenkel opened the limo door with a nod and a stiff smile. He wore a green uniform with brass buttons and was as tall and lean as her aunt was soft and curvy. Woofy jumped out first, followed by her aunt. Miranda wrapped a red scarf around her neck and eased out slowly with a heavy dose of dread. She was having difficulty processing what she saw.

  During the height of the festival season the faire had overflowed with cheerful people, dressed in period costumes who greeted each customer as though they were family and friends. The place resembled a ghost town more than the site of a lively faire.

  A short distance away she heard the crack of someone splitting wood. Signs of life. A ray of hope. Maybe she’d overreacted. Christmas was still a week away. Perhaps Jake’s parents started the festival season later this year. People’s lives were busier these days with more pulls on their time. Miranda knew that all too well. It was one of the reasons she was so booked this time of year. But a late start didn’t explain the condition of the grounds.

  “Would you mind getting the suitcase,” her aunt said to Miranda. “Fenkel must stay with the limo. It keeps running off.”

  “Excuse me? What did you say?” But her aunt had turned away and was headed toward the entrance.

  Miranda nodded and prepared to fetch the suitcase from the limo, but Fenkel had anticipated her aunt’s request and rolled it toward Miranda.

  The sky-blue suitcase, the exact shade of her aunt’s eyes and hair, was the size of an airline carry-on. Miranda gave it a yank. It was surprisingly heavy.

  Miranda followed her aunt and Woofy through the gate and turned the bend in a path that led past the abandoned ticket booth. She’d spent so much of her childhood here and all of her best Christmas memories revolved around the Mistletoe Lodge and the faire. She had been here when the village was still vibrant and alive, with evenings her favorite time of the day. Twinkling lights had covered the trees and outlined the cottages. Holly bushes, plump with red berries, had lined the pathways to the lodge and holiday music drifted on the breeze and promised to deliver a white Christmas.

  She remembered that this was a happy place and that Jake was everywhere at the same time. He helped out at all the booths, and was one of the entertainers. He juggled everything from multi-colored balls to flaming torches, sang Shakespearian ballads, played music, and participated in archery or mock sword battles. One year they’d joined forces. Jake built a small stage and Miranda painted the sets and background for Shakespeare’s play, A Midsummer Night’s Dream. That seemed like a lifetime ago.

  “What happened here?” she said under her breath. The forest had grown thick and threatened to smother everything in its path. Cottages and booths looked abandoned and neglected. Door and windows were left ajar and moss had crept in and covered the floors.

  Her aunt and Woofy widened the distance. Miranda gave a hard yank on the suitcase and hurried to catch up with them. As she rounded the corner, she almost plowed into them. They stood focused on a man hand splitting blocks of cedar into shakes. From the quantity of wooden shakes that surrounded him, he had been at it for a long time.

  “Well, there is something you don’t see every day,” her aunt said. “Hubba. Hubba. Jake sure filled out nicely.”

  “Jake?” The name escaped from Miranda as she held her breath.

  He wore a muscle-shaping T-shirt over jeans as he placed a log on the chopping block. He looked taller, his shoulders broader and his jawline more defined. Her heart rate kicked up a few dozen notches. He was more good-looking than she remembered. A whole lot better looking. Her face flushed and she loosened her scarf.

  Muscles flexed and strained across Jake’s back as he arched the sledgehammer over his shoulder and aimed for the iron wedge and drove it down into the block of wood. The wood cracked and split, joining the growing pile.

  Miranda’s face heated as she removed her scarf. “I thought you said Jake wouldn’t be here.”

  “Did I say that? I must have been thinking of someone else. Come along. We don’t want to be late.”

  7

  The forest went silent as Jake turned toward Miranda. She was like a vision from his dreams. Wind tasseled her long hair around her face and brought into focus the firelight glow in her black hair and brown eyes. Her heart-shaped face mirrored confidence and determination. Her body was athletic and strong. Her lips parted and the thought of her mouth on his unraveled his world.

  Jake leaned the sledgehammer against a stack of cut wood and fought the impulse to take Miranda into his arms. A dog stood by her side and Jake half expected squirrels and an assortment of birds and rabbits to come out of hiding if she so much as raised her arms.

  He remembered the day he’d told her he loved her. He’d planned it for weeks and wanted it to be perfect. He’d bought her favorite flowers and made reservations at a fancy restaurant that overlooked the water. He’d even bought a jacket. In the end the perfect moment presented itself in the most unlikely place.

  He’d thoug
ht he was over her. He’d thought the songs he had written had helped. But there she stood, taking his breath away. He stripped the tone of his voice bare. “What are you doing here?” The words burst out harsher than he intended, a shield against the rise of his emotions.

  She clenched her hands at her sides as her dog growled. “Me? The only reason I’m here is that I was told,” she let the word hang in the air as she glared at the woman standing beside her in a flowered raincoat. “I was told,” Miranda repeated, “that you weren’t going to arrive until the day your parents renew their vows on Christmas Eve, and I had the crazy idea that I would help decorate. The plan was to be long-gone when you arrived.”

  Her words hit him like a freight train and knocked the wind out of his lungs. She hadn’t expected to see him again. He stood with his legs spread apart, his feet planted on the ground. and his arms crossed over his chest. A man turned to stone. His voice thundered back. “Obviously I’m here.”

  She winced. “Obviously.” She dropped her hand to her dog’s head and glanced in the direction of the skeletal remains of the fair grounds. She raised her chin. “How could you let this happen?”

  She’d cut to the heart of one of the reasons he was splitting wood like a crazy person. He raked his hands through his hair as he moved toward her. “I didn’t know.”

  “How could you not know?”

  The sky darkened. Wind stirred the leaves on the path and whistled through the branches as squirrels ran for cover.

  “Enough,” the woman shouted, moving between Jake and Miranda.

  “He started it,” Miranda said.

  Jake snatched his wool-plaid jacket from a tree stump. He’d replayed the scene where he’d see her again in his head a thousand times, two thousand times. And each time the result was the same. He couldn’t get past the hurt. People said that time heals all wounds. He was still waiting. It didn’t help that she looked better than he remembered and instead of backing down when he’d challenged her, had met him head-on.