The Cottage on Juniper Ridge

by Sheila Roberts

  Tree trimming wasn’t quite as much fun as it had been when the kids were living at home. In fact, none of the decorating was. And taking everything down after the holidays was really not fun. But Ethan and Autumn would be back home in Icicle Falls for Christmas. They’d expect holiday razzle-dazzle.

  “One of these days I’m going to keel over with a heart attack after lugging all this stuff around,” Dean grumbled.

  “Oh, you’re much too strong for that,” Stacy assured him as he started to unpack the fake fir. “Really, Deano, I don’t know why you’re complaining. All you have to do is help me trim the tree and set up the train around it.”

  “Don’t forget hauling down all these boxes.”

  “The exercise is good for you,” she informed him, looking pointedly at his growing belly.

  He tried unsuccessfully to suck it in. “I’m not that fat.”

  That was exactly the same thing she told herself every time she looked in the mirror, but her hips had definitely spread. And at forty-six, those gray hairs were popping up among the blond ones like dandelions in a neglected yard. If not for Rory at Sleeping Lady Salon, she’d be in big trouble.

  “We could both stand to lose a few pounds.” She sighed. “We should go on a diet.”

  “Well, let’s not start now,” Dean said in horror. “It’s Christmas cookie season. And speaking of food, I’m hungry. Were we planning to fit dinner in somewhere between now and your book club?”

  Dinner. She’d been so busy decorating she’d forgotten about that minor detail. “Let’s order a pizza from Italian Alps.”

  “Good idea,” he said, pulling his cell phone out of his pants pocket.

  “Make it quick, Deano. We need to get this tree done.” The thought of how lovely it would be with the little electric train running around it and presents spilling everywhere made her smile.

  He shook his head. “With all the ornaments you’ve collected, that should take a millennium. I’m married to the pack rat of Icicle Falls,” he muttered as he searched for the number in his phone.

  “Ha-ha,” she said irritably.

  He came and put an arm around her. “I’m sorry, hon, but really, look at all the stuff you’ve collected. And you keep adding more. Pretty soon there isn’t going to be room in the house for us.”

  “I don’t have that many Christmas decorations,” she protested.

  “You’re kidding, right? And it’s not just Christmas stuff. Have you seen the attic lately?”

  “Some of the things up there belong to the kids. And you.” Well, okay, most of them were things she’d acquired. She hurried on before he could point that out. “Anyway, when you’ve been married for twenty-five years you’re bound to end up with a lot.”

  “Stace, you could load up a landfill with all the stuff you’ve got. My God, between the closet full of presents—”

  “We have to have presents for the kids, and for Ethan’s new girlfriend. Anyway, I bought everything on sale,” Stacy said righteously.

  “The material in Autumn’s old room.”

  “I’m a quilter. I have to buy fabric.”

  “The dishes. How many sets do you need, anyway?”

  “One for every day, good china for special occasions. And we use those Christmas dishes every year.”

  “And shoes.”

  “A woman can never have too many shoes.”

  “And purses.”

  “A purse is an important accessory.”

  “Clothes. You know there’s barely room in the closet for my clothes. And I don’t have that many. And don’t tell me I can put them in Ethan’s old room. I opened that closet the other day and a shopping bag full of bubble bath fell on me.”

  That bubble bath had been a steal. Honestly, sometimes her husband had no idea how much money she saved him. “Maybe it was a cosmic hint to clean up your act, Mr. Scrooge,” Stacy said. “Anyway, it isn’t all for me. Most of that bubble bath is for Christmas presents.”

  “How many people have you added to your Christmas list? You’ve got enough bubble bath to clean everyone in Icicle Falls. And their dogs.” He flopped on the couch, put in his call to Italian Alps and ordered a large pizza supreme.

  “There. Feel better?” she taunted.

  “I’d feel better if I could take all this junk to the dump.”

  She opened the box with her collection of Santa figurines and took one out. “Someone’s being very naughty,” she told the ceramic Santa. “I think you need to bring him a lump of coal for Christmas.”

  “Good. Something I can burn and get rid of,” he retorted.

  Okay, enough was enough. “You know, you’re ruining my holiday spirit here. I’m trying to make our house look nice and you’re being a Grinch.”

  He patted the couch cushion. “Come here and give your Grinch a kiss.”

  “Will it help?”

  He smiled, and she joined him on the couch for a kiss and another hug. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’ll try to un-Grinch myself. I love you,” he added, and kissed her again.

  “And I love you, too.” But his attitude stank.

  Besides, he didn’t have a clue about how important holiday decorating was. Or decorating in general. Those pretty things set the mood for fun. They were the backdrop for surprises and family togetherness. Without them it would be like watching a play take place on a barren stage. And that crack about the dishes? Come on. Using those Christmas dishes was part of what made everything so festive.

  She glanced at the herd of boxes scattered around her living room. Okay, there was a lot of festivity here. Was she a pack rat?

  Chapter Two

  The first step toward positive change is acknowledging the need for that change.

  —Muriel Sterling, author of Simplicity

  By seven-thirty the Thomas residence looked like Christmas central. Most of the decorations were up and the rest had been stuffed in their daughter’s old bedroom, squeezed in with the piles of material and the quilt in progress. Dean was now ensconced in the TV room, grading tests for his eighth-grade English class, and Stacy was ready for her book club to arrive.

  She set her artichoke dip and crackers on the dining room table next to the plate of brownies and the punch bowl full of eggnog, then stepped back to admire her handiwork. The table looked lovely if she did say so herself. Her centerpiece was simple—an elegant Fitz and Floyd pitcher shaped like Saint Nicholas and filled with red carnations she’d purchased at Lupine Floral and surrounded with holly taken from the bush in their backyard. Very festive, she thought with a smile. Every woman should own something by Fitz and Floyd.

  The doorbell rang and she hurried to welcome the first arrival. There on the porch stood Cass Wilkes, bearing her signature contribution, a plate of gingerbread boys and girls. She and Stacy were close in age and, as with Stacy, Father Time and Mother Nature were conspiring to put extra pounds on Cass’s hips. Of course, owning a bakery probably contributed to the problem.

  “You seem tired,” Stacy observed, stepping aside to let her in.

  “Tired doesn’t begin to describe it,” Cass said, handing over the plate. “Every year I say I’m not going to be so busy, but every year I get busier. I’m up to my ears in orders for gingerbread houses. Both Amber and Willie want to have Christmas parties, which they expect me to bake for.” She shook her head. “I’ve got to get those two more at home in the kitchen. Dani was always my right-hand woman and I’m afraid I let it slide with the other two.”

  Cass’s oldest daughter, Dani, had worked in the bakery with her for years. But when Dani married she’d moved away. It looked as if Cass was still trying to pick up the slack, both at work and at home. A business to run, two teenagers and a dog—no wonder she was tired.

  “Speaking of Dani, how’s she doing?” Stacy
asked.

  Cass’s face lit up. “Great. She loves culinary school. And she and Mike are coming home for Christmas.” Cass sighed. “I hope I can manage to get my Christmas shopping done before they get here.”

  “At least you don’t have a wedding to plan this year.”

  “No, but my ex and his family had such a good time last year they’re all coming up for Christmas again.”

  “Tell me they’re not staying with you.” Cass had wound up turning her house into a B and B for her ex-husband and his new wife when they came to town for her daughter’s wedding. Somehow, before she knew it, all her former in-laws had descended on her. They wound up having so much fun, they’d decided to stay on and celebrate the holiday at her place. Apparently they were making that a tradition now. Poor Cass.

  “No,” Cass said. “This year I was smart enough to book ahead. They’re all staying at Icicle Creek Lodge. But the whole mob’s going to be at my place for Christmas Eve and Christmas Day.”

  She was still talking when Charlene Albach (Charley to her friends) arrived. Tall and slender in her stylish jeans and boots, her red wool coat and black beret, she could’ve been in a shoot for a winter edition of some magazine.

  “Hey, gang,” she said, and gave Stacy a bottle of wine. She studied Cass a moment. “You look more tired every time I see you.”

  “Nothing a week in the Caribbean wouldn’t fix,” Cass joked. “You look great as always. Love must agree with you.”

  Stacy hoped so. She hadn’t known Charley before Juliet Gerard started the book club. She did know that Charley had endured a rough couple of years. Her skunk of a husband had left her for another woman, then returned last Christmas, asking her to try again. Stacy wasn’t sure what had happened. All she knew was that things hadn’t worked out, and he beat feet back to Seattle. On top of that her restaurant had burned down and she’d had to rebuild. But now the restaurant was better than ever. So was Charley’s love life.

  Juliet came in right behind Charley.

  “Speaking of tired,” Cass said to Juliet as the women moved into the living room. “You look like you could use a month’s sleep.”

  Hardly surprising considering that Juliet had an eleven-month-old and was working part-time at Mountain Escape Books.

  “Jon has a cold. We were up half the night.” Juliet walked into the living room and fell onto the couch. “Somebody should have warned me how much work babies are.”

  Stacy and Cass exchanged smiles, two maternal warriors who had survived the early years. “I’d like to say it gets easier,” Cass said, “but my mama told me never to lie.”

  “Where’s everyone else?” Juliet asked, glancing around.

  “Cecily’s sick,” Stacy said. “And Chita called a few minutes ago to say she’s running late.”

  “What about Dot?”

  Dot was the senior member of the group. She was a chain-smoker with a smart mouth and everyone loved her. The fact that they forced themselves to eat the smoke-infested cookies she brought to their monthly meetings was proof of it.

  “Dot’s dropping out.”

  “Dropping out?” Cass echoed. “First Chelsea and now Dot.”

  Juliet let out a sigh. “I can see why Chelsea gave up. She’s exhausted. And...” She paused, building anticipation.

  Chelsea had been in the book club since the beginning and the members had been there for support when her clueless husband was driving her nuts. He’d finally figured out how to be both a good husband and a good father. So, with him helping so much at home, there could only be one reason Chelsea was too tired for book club.

  “She’s pregnant,” Stacy guessed.

  Juliet confirmed it.

  “With two kids under the age of three, I don’t blame her,” Cass said. “But what’s Dot’s excuse?”

  “She said she’s got too much on her plate.”

  Cass rolled her eyes. “Oh, brother. What’s that got to do with anything?”

  Dot was an inspiration to them all. In her sixties, she could run circles around almost everyone in the group. She owned Breakfast Haus, the town’s favorite breakfast restaurant, and was a member of the Chamber of Commerce. In addition to that, she led an active social life.

  “I think it has more to do with the books we read,” Juliet said. “They’re not racy enough for her.”

  Cass shook her head. “That’s our Dot. She probably wore her last husband out.”

  “She’s had more than one?” asked Charley, who was still a relative newcomer to Icicle Falls.

  “The first one...well, no one knows exactly what happened to him,” Cass replied.

  Over the years Stacy had heard rumors but they’d seemed too fantastical to believe. Even though Dot was a tough old girl, it was hard to picture her bumping off her first husband.

  “When I was a kid I remember Hildy Johnson telling my mom that she did him in,” Juliet said. “Hildy said she shot him but got off because it was self-defense.”

  “I heard she poisoned him,” Cass said.

  “Now, why didn’t I think of doing that?” Charley joked.

  “Good thing you didn’t. You’d have been in jail instead of divorced and then you wouldn’t have met Mr. Wonderful,” Cass told her.

  Dan Masters, who owned Masters Construction, had been the man in charge of rebuilding Charley’s restaurant after it burned down, but in the past year he’d been a major factor in the rebuilding of her life, as well. These days he hung out at the restaurant every night, and they were often seen at a corner table, sharing a piece of wild huckleberry pie. Most nights, after the restaurant was closed, his truck could be found parked in front of her house.

  “True.” Charley casually pulled a black leather glove off her left hand and wiggled her fingers. A fat diamond winked.

  “Whoa, check this out,” Cass said, moving to the couch where Charley had settled in order to get a better look. “That’s some sparkler.” She hugged Charley. “You deserve every karat. But, you little stinker, why didn’t you call me the minute it happened?”

  “Because I knew you wouldn’t be awake at midnight last night.”

  “I’m so happy for you,” Cass said. “When’s the wedding?”

  “We’re thinking Valentine’s Day.”

  “Wow, that doesn’t give you much time,” Stacy said.

  “Tell me about it. But, hey, if Cass can throw together a great wedding in record time so can we.”

  “I wouldn’t wish that madness on anyone,” Cass said. “I almost had a nervous breakdown.”

  “We’re just going to have a small, simple wedding.”

  Cass snorted. “That’s what Dani said.”

  The doorbell rang and Stacy opened it to let in Chita Arness, their newest member. Chita was a thirtysomething single mom who looked like Jennifer Lopez. Why she hadn’t remarried was a mystery to Stacy. Chita claimed that between work and her two children she didn’t have time to date but Stacy wasn’t buying it. A woman could always find time for love.

  “Sorry I’m late.” Chita handed over a plate with a cake on it that made Stacy’s mouth water. “My tres leches cake,” she said.

  Brownies, gingerbread and cake—Stacy’s hips were going to explode. But she’d die with a smile on her face.

  In addition to the cake, Chita brought two books—the Robyn Carr holiday tale they were discussing and what was probably her suggestion for their January selection, since it was her turn to choose.

  She apologized again to the others as she entered the living room. “I had to pick up Hidalgo from the vet’s. And then, after dinner, Anna needed help with her math.”

  Juliet shuddered. “Math. Eeew. When Jon reaches the point where he needs help I’m having him call his uncle Jonathan.”

  “I wish we had an uncle to call,” Chit
a said, and sank into Stacy’s new armchair (Thanksgiving sale, forty percent off). She heaved a giant sigh. “I’m so tired. And I still have so much to do before Christmas. Enrico and his friends got into the cookies I just made and ate almost all of them. Now I have to bake some more before my sister’s cookie exchange on Saturday. Which I don’t want to go to.”

  “Why?” Juliet asked.

  “Because I don’t have time to party,” Chita replied. She ran a hand through her long, dark hair. “All I want to do this weekend is crawl into bed and stay there.”

  “Bed and a good book,” Juliet said with a sigh.

  “I wouldn’t be able to stay awake to read,” Chita said. “Even though I loved this month’s book. By the way, what gossip did I miss?”

  “Oh, not much,” Charley said, waving her left hand around.

  “Look at you!” Chita exclaimed. She grabbed Charley’s hand. “Oooh, that is some diamond.”

  “He’s some man.” Charley smiled and proceeded to fill Chita in on the wedding details.

  “Ah, I love weddings,” Chita said dreamily.

  “Maybe there’s one in your future,” Stacy suggested.

  “No time for a wedding. No time for a man,” Chita said firmly.

  “You really need to rethink your priorities,” Charley teased as the women moved to the dining room table.

  “Oooh, your homemade brownies,” Cass said. “These are the best.”

  Stacy smiled, dismissing the compliment. She was no professional like Cass and she knew Cass was just being nice. Still, she was gratified by the praise. She liked to bake.

  She also liked to entertain. She’d been happy to take over hosting the book club after Juliet had her baby. With the kids gone, the house seemed so empty. Homes should be filled with people and laughter.

  And life should be filled with meaning and purpose. Stacy had to admit that when their daughter, the baby of the family, moved to Seattle to attend the University of Washington in the fall, she’d lost her sense of purpose. Empty-nest syndrome—she never thought she’d experience it. She’d always kept busy with her home, her quilting and her volunteer activities.