A Montana Christmas

by Roxanne Rustand

  “How did the inspection go?”

  “Great. Now I can’t wait to bring those sweet dogs home. If I could, I would cancel my trip so I could go get them now.”

  He dropped onto the loveseat. “So where are you going next week? A family holiday?”

  “To my mom’s. She doesn’t know it, but my brother and I are surprising her on her sixty-fifth birthday—the day before Thanksgiving. As far she knows, neither of us can be home.”

  “What a wonderful surprise.”

  “If we can pull it off. You just never know about snowstorms this time of year, and the long-range forecast is looking a little tricky for the Twin Cities.”

  He glanced around the room. “I like your new furniture.”

  “It’s new to me, anyhow. I’ve been in Salt Creek four whole days, and it’s nice to finally have something to sit on.”

  He leaned back and crossed one boot over the opposite knee. “So what’s next around here?”

  “Honestly, I’m not even sure right now. Everywhere I look, I see more and more things that need to be done before my mom should even consider trying to list it. Honestly, it’s overwhelming.”

  He nodded to himself, as if she’d just confirmed what he already knew. “I had a lot of help when I built my new clinic, but you’re here without anyone. So I’d like to volunteer to come into town and help out several nights a week, if that’s all right with you. Becca will come too, when she can.”

  “All right? What—I mean, why?” She stared at him in surprise. “You’ve got enough on your plate as it is.”

  He smiled. “I enjoy a challenge, I guess.”

  “A challenge.” Something told her that he wasn’t just referring to reno projects around a house. “As in...”

  He lifted an eyebrow, his eyes twinkling. “Like you, for instance.”

  “Me!” This was treading onto dangerous ground. She laughed dismissively as she rose and crossed the room to inspect the fireplace. “With all of the smoke darkening on the brick, this thing must have worked at one point. What do you think—do I dare give it a try?”

  He joined her and reached inside for the damper. A quick jiggle sent a choking cloud of ash and dust into the firebox.

  Coughing, she backed away. “Maybe not.”

  “You’d want to hire someone to come out and clean the flue, then do a full inspection. There could be bird nests inside, cracks in the bricks...who knows.”

  “One of the many surprises in Grandma’s house,” Kristen said dryly. “Every day is an adventure. I can hardly wait to check out the attic.”

  “How about right now? I think I saw a hatch for a drop-down ladder on the second floor. You probably don’t want to risk going up there unless someone else is around to catch you if the ladder fails.”

  Kristen rolled her eyes at him. “There’s a happy thought.”

  She hunted for a flashlight in the kitchen, grabbed her set of keys from the counter, then followed him up to the second floor.

  “Mom said the door has been locked since Grandma moved away, but I have no idea about what might be up there. Hopefully nothing dead.”

  “Or alive,” he said dryly.

  That made her shudder. “Thanks very much for that image. Bats, squirrels, raccoon...whatever might be up there, I don’t want to meet it face-to-face.”

  Lane tugged at the rope pull hanging from the hatch in the hallway ceiling and slowly pulled down the aluminum ladder until its feet rested on the floor. “This actually looks sturdy. I figured it would be rickety old wood.”

  Kristen eyed the steep angle of the ladder and the dark maw of the attic overhead. “Um...you first?”

  “No problem. Keys?”

  She handed him the key ring and flashlight. “I have no idea if you even need these. It looks like we can already see right into the attic.”

  He moved up to the top of the ladder and swept the beam of the flashlight through the darkness. “It’s odd that there wasn’t simply a padlock on the trapdoor, but someone build a wire cage up here with a lock...”

  He fiddled with the keys, then she heard the squeal of metal against metal as he pushed aside a makeshift gate, then disappeared through the opening.

  “You can come on up,” he called down to her. “You might find this interesting.”

  “Interesting as in...spooky?”

  “As in family history, I suppose. I thought you said there wasn’t much up here.”

  Intrigued, she followed him up the ladder and peered into the gloom. “Goodness,” she whispered. “I’m surprised all of this is still here, undisturbed.”

  “There wasn’t much of a barrier, frankly. If someone had tried, they could have easily gotten in.” He moved across the attic to pull a dangling string and a single light bulb turned on, then he moved to a steeply sloped section of the roof, tugged at a thick curtain and exposed an eyebrow shaped window. A weak shaft of moonlight angled across the space.

  Stacks of old shipping trunks and boxes filled one wall, while an eclectic collection of furniture from different eras filled most of the remaining space. “This is amazing. I wonder what’s in all of those old trunks?”

  “Lots to explore on a rainy day.” He glanced around. “If you see anything you want brought downstairs, just point it out.”

  Sparks of excitement danced through her at the thought of what she might find from her family’s history. Her mother’s and grandmother’s things. And the furniture—how beautiful some of it might look downstairs in the parlor.

  “I...I think I should talk to my mom first, at least about all of the personal trunks and boxes. Much of this might be hers, and she should make those decisions, not me.” Kristen surveyed the attic once more. “But the furniture is a different story. Do you think we could manage that old fashioned rocker over there? And that little washstand, just for now?”

  “You bet.”

  Between the two of them they wrestled the furniture down the aluminum ladder to the second floor. In the brighter light of the hallway, she could now see the intricate carving on the two pieces...and the chipped and flaking paint.

  “These will be fun to refinish,” she murmured. “I hope my mom knows who they belonged to.”

  Lane hunkered down for a closer look and flecked a single loose chip of paint from the washstand. “I bet you’ll find beautiful oak underneath.” He straightened, his intense, darkened gaze locking on hers. “Looks like you could keep busy for a year with all that you just found.”

  “Or more,” she said lightly. But she knew he wasn’t really talking about refinishing projects. He was asking if she might decide to stay for good.

  But that unspoken question set off little warning bells in her head, reminding her of past mistakes and the price she’d paid. As much as she was drawn to him, did she dare to ever take those chances again?

  Sadly, she already knew the answer.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  The next week passed in a blur, while Kristen scrubbed and polished the beautiful old woodwork and cleaned windows until they sparkled. Hauled dead branches from the yard. Cleaned the garage and tackled the dark, dank, and rather spooky basement.

  Despite her cool distance, Lane often came in the evenings, sometimes with Becca, to help with bigger projects around the house. If he didn’t come, Kristen felt bereft, missing him more than she thought possible.

  When he did stop in to help, the world felt...right, somehow, with their laughter ringing throughout the house. It was easy to forget her past, she realized, as her feelings deepened for him with every inadvertent touch or shared gaze.

  Tonight, as Lane, Becca, and Kristen finished off the last of a pan of lasagna, she heard the wind suddenly come up outside, rattling branches against the house and driving icy pellets of sleet against the windows. Startled, she hurried to the front entry and flung open the door to peer outside. Already, the sidewalk and trees were encased in a thin layer of ice, and more sleet was coming down, driven sideways by the escalating wind.r />
  “Did you see this?” she called out. “You two need to hurry home or you’ll need to stay overnight.”

  Becca and Lane joined her at the door, Becca tapping her phone keypad in search of a weather report, while Lane stepped out onto the covered porch.

  “You’re right. It’s now or never,” he said, coming back inside. “The street is glare ice. But I’ve got to get back to check in on a couple of patients and Becca has her morning chores.”

  “Not good news,” Becca added morosely. “Winter storm warnings here for ice and five to six inches of snow, but the Midwest is getting hit really hard. High winds, heavy snow. They’ve already closed the Twin Cities airport through tomorrow afternoon, and traffic is badly snarled in Chicago. That airport will probably close down next.”

  Kristen’s heart sank. “But I fly out from Billings tomorrow at noon.”

  “Not anymore.” Becca gave her a quick, one-armed hug. “Watch your phone for updates, but even if you could make the drive to Billings and fly out, you wouldn’t be able to land.”

  “So there goes the surprise birthday party plans for Mom on Wednesday, and the chance to see my brother.”

  “And Thanksgiving?” Becca gave her a curious look.

  “That, too.”

  “So what’s your holiday like?” Becca asked. “Your celebration, I mean.”

  “Quiet,” Kristen admitted. “Not a sprawling, bustling Norman Rockwell scene. We always have to watch the Macy’s parade on television, then we go out for a long dinner at a favorite restaurant right on Lake Minnetonka. Afterwards, we go back to Mom’s to watch football and make Christmas cookies. Nothing special. How about you?”

  “That sounds wonderful.” Becca’s expression turned wistful. “Dad was already gone, and our mom passed when we were in college. We used to go to our grandparents or an aunt’s, but now they’ve passed as well. If would be different if either of us were married and had kids, but now the two of us usually end up at a restaurant in town.”

  “Let’s make dinner here. What do you say?” Kristen took a last look outside, then shut the door. “If I can fly out, I will, but otherwise we could just do potluck style—doesn’t have to be traditional.”

  Lane looked between Becca and Kristen. “It doesn’t?”

  At his crestfallen expression, Kristen grinned. “How about this. I owe both of you so much for all of your help with this house. So I’ll do the pies, rolls, turkey, potatoes and gravy, and you two figure out the kinds of side dishes you like best. How’s that, Lane. Deal?”

  His comical expression cleared instantly into one of pure joy. “Best deal I’ve had this year, bar none.”

  THE THREE OF THEM LINGERED over second pieces of Kristen’s pumpkin and pecan pies long after Thanksgiving dinner was over. A triple berry and a coconut cream were still untouched, but Lane was pretty sure he needed to try both before this incredible day was over.

  “Where in the world did you learn to bake like this?” Becca murmured. “This beats anything I’ve ever had from the bakery in town.”

  “I’ve loved to bake since grade school, when I used to help my mom.” Kristen shrugged. “I collect cookbooks and also like to experiment.”

  Becca closed her eyes, savoring her last bite. “You should open a bakery. Right here in Salt Creek, of course. You’d be famous far and wide.”

  “And always sold out by noon,” Lane added. “There would be riots in the street when that happened.”

  Kristen ducked her head at the compliments. “I’ve actually given a bakery some thought. I’m ready for a career change.”

  “Here?”

  “Maybe. Or back in the Twin Cities. I was on the verge of leasing a small building before coming out here, but now I don’t know where I want to be.”

  Becca cocked her head. “I guess I never did ask about what you did before.”

  “Photographer.” From her closed expression, Lane guessed that she really didn’t want to discuss it, but Becca blundered on anyway.

  “Like, was it the dangerous assignments? Or nasty clients? I hear Facebook comments and online reviews can be devastating—people can be so cruel.”

  “Weddings and babies, mostly. Happy people during joyous times.” Kristen rose to start cleaning the table. “I had lovely clients for the most part, but of course they usually are, during. the happiest times of their lives.”

  “So wasn’t that fun?” Becca persisted. “Being a part of all that joy?”

  “Yeah...well...then some things changed in my own life, and after a while, it became too painful to bear dealing with such happiness. But I know that sounds terribly shallow and I’d rather not talk about it. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going out to the kitchen to make more coffee.” She summoned up a smile. “And afterwards, will you try a different pie?”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Still embarrassed over what she’d said about the end of her photography career yesterday, Kristen drove alone to the animal shelter on Friday to pick up Sandy and Ralph.

  The house was silent and dark when she returned home by late afternoon.

  Just as she liked things to be—quiet and alone. Wasn’t that her world right now?

  It didn’t last for long.

  She carefully lifted each dog from the back seat of her pickup and led them into the back yard, unsnapped their leashes, and watched them tentatively explore, noses to the ground and tails wagging. There’d been a light snow last night, frosting the grass and trees in sparkling white, and soon Ralph and Sandy were running, then stopping to roll on the ground, clearly ecstatic over their perceived freedom in the fenced yard.

  She barely knew them yet, their little quirks and habits, but just watching them made her feel settled somehow, part of a makeshift little family that she would treasure for years to come. They made her feel whole again; the new security system made her feel safe.

  She idly let her gaze drift over the pines in the back yard, then westward, to the view of the Rockies that always filled her with wonder. How could she ever find any place else this peaceful? This perfect? She was discovering a good future here, just as her mother had promised.

  Now she just needed to make amends and apologize to Becca for her sharp answer yesterday, and try not to destroy this chance at a new life.

  WITH CHRISTMAS EVE just a week away, Kristen hummed along with the Christmas music on the radio and finished a fifth batch of Christmas cookies, then slid them onto a cooling rack.

  The past couple weeks had sped by in a flurry of activity—working with Lane on the house, decorating for the holidays, and even some beautiful trail rides with him up into the foothills through crystalline mounds of snow. They’d alternated sharing dinners with Becca at their house or hers and sometimes went out.

  Was she falling for Lane—really?

  It had been so long since she’d allowed herself to care, she didn’t quite dare believe it. But there it was...settling deeper and deeper into her wounded heart. And did he really care for her—with so much baggage that she’d never expected such a chance of happiness to ever strike again? She hardly felt she deserved it.

  Someone knocked at the back door. Lane, probably. “Come in,” she called out. “I’m in the kitchen.”

  Heavy footsteps stomped snow from a pair of boots, then clomped up the three steps leading to the kitchen. She turned, smiling. Her smile faded.

  Eric Wright stood just inside the kitchen holding his hat and gloves, his expression grim.

  “You didn’t answer my last couple of calls.”

  She’d seen the calls on her phone screen but hadn’t picked up. She knew he was just reiterating his previous requests. “I’m sorry, but you already know my answer.”

  “Your mother called me. She’s concerned about the sale of this property before the market gets any worse, so I promised her I’d keep trying to get ahold of you.”

  Kristen had explained all of this to him. None of his words made sense.

  “I talked to her myself
this morning. We talked about Christmas, and she was elated about me staying here. That was her original plan, did you know that? She asked me to come out to get the house ready for sale, but she really hoped this would be a chance for me to start my life over and be happy. She has a revocable trust, this house is part of it, and my name is on it. This place is not for sale.”

  Eric’s hard gaze narrowed. “Your plans for a bakery here will not go through. I can promise you that.”

  “How do you know about that?”

  “Word travels.” He gave her a wolfish smile. “The city council will never approve a commercial license for this property.”

  She sighed. “That’s just so sad. Now I’m glad I have no plans to ask.”

  He advanced towards her, and suddenly the kitchen walls seemed to close in on her and the air thinned. She backed up, struggling to draw breath. “Leave now, Eric. I mean it.”

  “Not so brave now,” he taunted. “I hope you—”

  She snagged a boning knife from the magnetic knife rack under the cupboards and grabbed her cell phone from the counter. “You are threatening me, Eric, and I will gladly have you arrested. Leave, or I’ll call the sheriff’s office right now.”

  “You are making a big mistake,” he snarled. He glared at her for a long minute, conveying his roiling anger, then his gaze dropped to the two dogs that had just rounded the corner, their teeth bared.

  He spun on his heel and left.

  Kristen closed her eyes, forcing her hands to stop shaking. Then she drew in a slow, deep breath and called 911. She’d dealt with his kind before. She only had to remember her ex-husband to know how bad things could be—and she knew exactly where this would lead.

  This time, she wasn’t going to be a victim. She had power. She wouldn’t back down. And it was going to stop right now.

  LANE AND BECCA CAME for dinner on the Saturday before Christmas, bearing a pretty poinsettia plant and a foil-covered 9x13 pan of creamy parmesan potatoes.