The Cottage on Juniper Ridge

by Sheila Roberts

  Speaking of fruit... “What kind of tree is that in the front yard?” she asked.

  “Apple.”

  “Home-canned applesauce,” she said dreamily.

  He seemed impressed. “You know how to can?”

  “I’m going to learn.”

  Toni was standing by the window now. “Is it my imagination or is the floor slanting over here?”

  “The foundation settled,” Garrett explained.

  “I’ll bet that’s what they said about the leaning tower of Pisa,” Toni muttered.

  Jen started down the hall. “So, two bedrooms, right?”

  “That’s right,” he said.

  “One for me and one for guests. You and Wayne and the kids can come visit,” she said to Toni, who was falling in behind them.

  “It might get a little crowded with four of us in one bed.”

  “The sofa’s a sleeper,” said Jen’s would-be landlord.

  “Mmm,” Toni responded diplomatically.

  Jen knew what she was thinking. The ratty, old brown couch would have to be fumigated before she’d let her children sleep on it.

  They stopped at the first bedroom, furnished with twin beds covered in ancient brown bedspreads with big orange flowers that must’ve been hanging out in there since the seventies. “I suppose this is the guest room,” Toni said, her tone of voice speaking volumes.

  “It’s not bad,” Jen insisted.

  “The other bedroom is here,” Garrett said, leading the way to the next room. He was beautiful to follow, broad-shouldered and tall with a stare-worthy butt.

  He opened the door and Jen peeked into the room and got a pleasant surprise. Lace curtains hung at the windows. Yes, they needed washing, but they were pretty, nonetheless. There, in the middle of the room, sat a double bed with a carved headboard and a beautiful quilt, done in shades of pink. Matching oak nightstands flanked it. Against another wall stood an antique oak dresser complete with beveled mirror.

  “This is so sweet,” she said.

  “The bedroom set was my grandmother’s,” Garrett told her.

  “Did she make the quilt?”

  “As a matter of fact, she did.”

  “Is she still alive?”

  He shook his head. “No. But my other grandmother is. She lives here in Icicle Falls.”

  “It’s important to be close to family.” Toni gave Jen a meaningful look.

  “This isn’t that far from Seattle,” Jen said.

  “But it’ll feel like it is if you get snowed in,” Toni retorted.

  “Most of us manage to get around okay in the snow,” Garrett said.

  Jen thought about how poorly she drove in the stuff. Only the year before she’d slid backward down Eleventh Avenue in Seattle’s Queen Anne Hill neighborhood after a rare snowfall. She’d been afraid to venture out in her car ever since. But it was all level around here. Surely she could handle that. Anyway, they seemed to keep the roads clear.

  “This is charming,” she said, glancing around the room, which was paneled with cedar. Two pictures of flowers hung on the wall. Everything about the room said family and love. If she moved into this cottage, she was sure she’d be embraced by the warm memories haunting it. “In fact, this whole place has potential. I’ll take it.”

  Her sister stared at her as if she’d lost her mind. “What she means,” Toni began.

  “Is that I’ll take it,” Jen said firmly, pulling out her checkbook.

  He nodded. “I’ll have to do a routine credit check.”

  “No problem. My credit’s good,” Jen told him.

  “Which is more than I can say for your brain,” Toni hissed as they preceded him out of the room. “What are you thinking?”

  “That this place is perfect for living the simple life.”

  Toni groaned.

  “If you need time to decide...” Garrett said from behind them.

  “Yes, she does,” Toni said even as Jen said, “No, I don’t.” They glared at each other.

  Jen wrote him a check for a deposit and gave him her contact information, and he said he’d be in touch.

  Then there was nothing left to do but say goodbye and go back to the car. With her disapproving sister.

  “You have lost your mind,” Toni said the moment Garrett and his gorgeous behind were back inside his truck.

  “That’s probably what they told the Wright brothers when they invented the airplane. Or Walt Disney when he came up with the idea for Disneyland.”

  “You’re not inventing anything. And this idea isn’t practical. What if your condo doesn’t sell?”

  That was an unpleasant thought. Jen pushed it resolutely away. “Then I’ll lose my deposit.”

  Toni’s angry expression softened. “Jen-Jen, I’m not trying to rain on your parade. You’ve got to know that. I just don’t want to see you jump from the frying pan into the fire. I worry about you.”

  That made Jen smile. Yes, her sister could be a bossy pain in the patootie. But she cared. Jen reached across the car and hugged Toni. “And I love you for it.” She drew back so they were face-to-face. “I realize this seems crazy to you, but I’ve got a feeling that it’s going to be good for me, that it’s exactly what I need. Maybe I’m wrong but I’m willing to take a chance. I can’t keep going on like I’m doing. I hate my life.”

  Toni sighed. “I know. I’m worried you’re going to wind up hating it even more.”

  “If this doesn’t work out, I can always move back to Seattle. And if it does work out, you can come up for the chocolate festival and stay with me,” Jen added with a grin.

  “After you get those beds fumigated,” Toni said with a shudder.

  * * *

  The image of Jen Heath accompanied Garrett Armstrong as he drove to his mom’s to pick up his son who’d been staying with Grammy while Garrett worked his shift at the fire station. With her strawberry-blond hair and those freckles, Jen was about the cutest thing he’d seen in a long time. A woman who wanted to do old-fashioned stuff like make applesauce? Man, he didn’t know that kind of woman existed anymore.

  His ex sure hadn’t been interested in anything domestic. And she’d proved it by letting Garrett be the custodial parent while she settled for having their son every other weekend.

  When he’d first met Ashley, he’d found her party-girl attitude exciting. She was a huge flirt and she’d dance anywhere at the drop of a hat—the dance floor of the Red Barn, tabletops, his lap. Oh, yeah, the sex had been incredible. She was blonde, beautiful and the hottest thing he’d ever handled and he’d just had to have her. He’d rushed to marry her before anyone else could steal her away.

  His dad hadn’t told him what to do since he turned eighteen, but his mother had been a different story. “That woman’s going to break your heart,” she’d cautioned. “Don’t do it.”

  Of course he hadn’t listened, because he’d figured that by twenty-six he knew everything. So he and Ashley had the big blowout wedding and a honeymoon in the Caribbean that ate up all his savings and then came home to settle down in Icicle Falls. Only one of them had settled down, though. Ashley never quite got the concept of home, sweet home. She’d much preferred to make herself at home at a restaurant or club. And she’d never let Garrett’s work schedule keep her from going out. That was what girlfriends were for.

  They hadn’t planned on getting pregnant but once they were, she seemed to get into parenthood. She enjoyed the baby showers and all the preparation for the baby (probably because it involved spending money). But after she had Timmy, she quickly tired of staying home being a mom. She jumped from one crazy thing to another— redecorating the house (more spending), going out with her girlfriends, taking line dancing lessons at the Red Barn (and having an affair with her dance instructor). That roll
in the hay had spelled the end as far as Garrett was concerned, and that had been fine with her. According to Ashley, he was a controlling stick-in-the-mud.

  Garrett liked being stuck in the mud just fine. Anything was better than the emotional roller coaster he’d ridden with Ashley for the past few years. And because they had a son, he still had to deal with her. Whenever Timmy spent the weekend at her place, he came home a handful, testing boundaries and wondering why, when Grammy babysat him, he couldn’t have pizza for breakfast.

  And then there was the matter of money. Ashley seemed to think they were still married and she could hit him up anytime she needed a fresh infusion of cash.

  He was already paying her a hefty support check every month as part of the divorce settlement so she could go to school and train for a career. As to what kind of career, she was still vague. Hardly surprising. Ashley seemed to be permanently stalled at the age of sixteen. He was willing to bet she cut more classes than she attended. And, of course, she wasn’t working. Why work when you could get money from your stupid ex-husband?

  She always needed extra money for something. The requests ranged from books to new pans. All of Icicle Falls knew about the pans, since she’d announced in the middle of Hearth and Home that he’d left her so broke she couldn’t afford any. Right. He was the one who couldn’t afford pans. He was using some his mother had given him. The others he’d purchased at the Kindness Cupboard, the town’s thrift store.

  Her latest ploy had been new clothes for Timmy. That one he wasn’t about to let her get away with. He was the custodial parent and his mom bought Timmy’s clothes. “I want to take him shopping,” Ashley had whined. “But if you can’t come up with a few bucks, I’m sure Timmy will understand. Daddy has other things to spend his money on than his son.”

  “Don’t even try to pull that crap on me,” he’d growled.

  But she had. As usual, in the end, he’d caved.

  He was done caving now. He had to stop letting her use him as her own personal ATM. She was killing him.

  It would help his bank account if he got this renter into the cottage his great-uncle had recently left him. It would also help if Ashley found some other sucker to marry. Surely there was someone in Icicle Falls stupid enough to do that. Maybe Billy Williams, whom she’d been seen with at the Red Barn. Except he wouldn’t wish Ash on his worst enemy, let alone poor old Bill Will.

  “I wish you’d never met that woman,” his mother often complained.

  Well, that made two of them. Between the money and the 2:00 a.m. calls when she was tipsy and “just wanted to talk,” he was paying big-time for his hormone-induced insanity.

  He’d learned his lesson, though. At thirty-two he was older and wiser. He was never getting involved with a flake again. His kid needed stability, and the next woman he picked was going to be someone stable, someone who had her act together.

  Like Tilda Morrison. They’d gone out a couple of times and he liked her. She was buff and tough and she wouldn’t take any shit from a kid who was misbehaving. She probably wouldn’t take any shit from a misbehaving ex-wife, either. He enjoyed playing racquetball at Bruisers with her and he appreciated her no-nonsense approach to life.

  But it wasn’t Tilda he kept thinking about as he drove to his mom’s. What was the story with Jen Heath?

  Chapter Five

  The to-dos on our list aren’t always what we need to do.

  —Muriel Sterling, author of Simplicity

  Chita Arness only wanted one thing from Santa— some time to herself. She had no idea how she was going to simplify her life if she didn’t even have a couple of hours to finish reading a book on simplifying it. She’d said as much to Cass when they ran into each other in Johnson’s Drugs.

  “I hear you,” Cass had said. “Being a single parent isn’t for sissies.”

  Especially being a single parent this time of year, Chita thought as she’d left the drugstore. Christmas was right around the corner, waiting to pounce on her. Her shopping wasn’t done, the house was a mess and her washing machine was dying. Her work week at Sweet Dreams Chocolates was over, but the work at home was just beginning.

  “When are we going to make pasteles?” Anna greeted her when she walked in the door.

  “Oh, baby, give me time to get my coat off,” she pleaded. She thanked Cass’s daughter, Amber, who’d been her after-school babysitter for the past few months, and sent her on her way.

  “We didn’t make them last year and you promised we would this year,” Anna persisted.

  “Maybe Abuelita will make them with you.” She always hated to ask her mother for favors, though. Not that her mother wasn’t happy to come over from Yakima and spend a day helping out, but her assistance carried a price. Whenever Chita put out an SOS, Consuela Medina couldn’t seem to stop herself from observing how much easier Chita’s life would’ve been if only she’d married Danny Rodriguez instead of that gringo.

  “Danny would never have broken your heart,” her mother liked to say.

  “Yeah, well, Danny’s been on unemployment for the past eighteen months. I’d still be working just as hard,” Chita liked to retort.

  That usually ended the conversation.

  Anyway, work was part of life. What Chita had to do was figure out how to balance it with the demands of two children and a dachshund who had a penchant for eating things he shouldn’t, like bottle caps, crayons, Lego bricks and shoelaces (the reason for their last visit to the vet).

  “I want you to make them with me,” Anna said, bringing Chita back into the moment. “You never do anything with me.”

  Guilt and manipulation, a girl’s best friend. Anna must have learned that from her grandmother. Consuela was an expert. “You have to go to your sister’s cookie exchange. She’ll be hurt if you don’t. Family is important.”

  Chita thought of the pile of laundry, the cleaning that needed to be done, the shopping she had to finish and the packages she had to wrap before the big Christmas Eve celebration at her parents’ house.

  “You know, you’re right,” she said to her daughter. “We’ll make them tomorrow.”

  The way Anna’s face lit up put their Christmas tree to shame. And put her to shame, too. Having a clean house shouldn’t be the most important thing in her life. At the age of ten, the days Anna would want to hang out with her were numbered.

  Eight-year-old Enrico came racing into the front hall with Hidalgo chasing him, yapping at the top of his doggy lungs. “Can Bradley spend the night? His mom says it’s okay.”

  What the heck? “Sure.”

  “Can we have tostadas?”

  She’d planned on heating up leftovers. “Sure.”

  “And fried ice cream?”

  Life was one big party when you were a kid. Sometimes Chita wished she was still a kid. “We’ll see,” she said.

  Ten minutes later, she was making a run to the store for ice cream and cornflakes. And on the way home, she picked up Enrico’s friend Bradley and Anna’s BFF, Emma. What the heck? What was one more kid at this point?

  She knew dinner was a success when Bradley announced, “I like coming here.” Obviously, not everyone cared if a woman’s house was clean. After they were done eating, she put the kids to work clearing the table while she cleaned up the stove. After that she could get started on the laundry.

  Then she caught sight of her book selection sitting on the kitchen counter. Forget the laundry. She put on a Disney movie for the gang, got her blanket and stretched out on the couch to read, barely aware of the TV blasting.

  Sometimes it’s more important to get some rest than to get things
done. I learned early on that when we go, go, go, we never give our bodies a chance to recharge. Schedule time in your life to relax and recharge and you’ll find you have more energy and more enthusiasm for the things you need to...

  Chita bolted awake when the book fell on her face. Come the new year, she was going to build in more time to keep her batteries charged...before they died for good.

  * * *

  Alma Tuttle opened her front door on Saturday afternoon and greeted Jen. “It’s about time you arrived. Half my friends are already here.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Jen said, lugging her case full of candles through the door. “Like I said when I called, I had a flat tire.”

  Alma clasped her hands in front of her. With her tacky Christmas sweater, her tightly permed white hair and her glasses, she looked a little like Mrs. Claus. But the minute the old bat opened her mouth she ruined that illusion. “You should plan for that.”

  Plan for flat tires? Was she serious? Jen shoved down her irritation. “I guess I should.”

  “Well, you’re here now,” Alma said irritably. “You’d better hurry and get set up.”

  This had been a mistake. Alma was the grandmother of the hostess at her last party, and she’d pretended she was booking a party to help her granddaughter earn the special candle set that could only be obtained when two guests booked a party, but Jen suspected she’d been motivated more by avarice than sacrifice.

  “She’s finally here,” Alma announced, preceding Jen into the living room where three other senior ladies sat, holding plates filled with store-bought Christmas cookies.

  Two of them looked as if they’d been sucking on the same lemon as Alma. The third woman, however, gave Jen a friendly smile. “I love candles,” she said.

  Well, that was encouraging. “We have some beautiful ones. And I’m selling all my Christmas stock for fifty percent off today,” Jen told her as she started to unpack her case.