Then, this summer when she’d asked for assess to their late mother’s diaries for the family history she was working on, the Carrigans had refused her access.
Eliza knew it wasn’t fair to blame her cousins—Sage, Callan or the other sisters, Dani and Mattie. She was pretty sure it was the father, Hawksley Carrigan, who was being so stubborn. Still, the refusal had hurt.
But lately Sage had made a few encouraging overtures, including inviting Eliza to her wedding this past October. So—she should stop being silly and go inside and buy those gifts she needed.
The chocolate shop was bustling, so packed with customers Eliza could hardly move. And no wonder—Sage was handing out small samples of her molten hot cocoa. Even with her red hair pulled back into a long braid, and wearing a simple apron with the store logo on the front, Sage looked beautiful.
She smiled at Eliza, as she handed her a paper cup of cocoa. “So nice to see you, Eliza. How is Aunt Mable?”
Earlier in the year Mable had been taken to emergency after a fall. “She’s well, thankfully.”
“Glad to hear it. Sounds like you’re going to have a full house for Christmas. I can’t believe your blog, Eliza! It’s wonderful! Dawson and I saw you on TV, too. Can you believe how much press you’re getting?”
“It’s more than I counted on,” Eliza admitted. “It’s been overwhelming. The website actually crashed at one point, we had so many hits.”
“The themed Christmas trees are brilliant. I love that you made each one reflect a different aspect of the Bramble family.”
Eliza had indulged her inner child with not just the mining-themed tree in the breakfast room, but also a literary-themed tree in the library, a Bramble tree in the sitting room, a baking tree in the kitchen and a huge thirteen foot Montana-themed tree in the foyer.
“The recipes are popular, too.” Eliza had gone through all the old cookbooks in the Bramble House kitchen. It seemed nothing had ever been thrown away. Some of the recipes dated back to the eighteen hundreds, when the Brambles first settled in Marietta. She’d selected recipes to suit a Christmas menu, tested them, then posted them on the Bramble House Blog, along with her decorating tips.
“I bet they are. Lots of them were favorites of my mother’s.” Sage’s expression grew wistful, even though it had been almost two decades since she and her sisters had lost their mother in a ranching accident.
Eliza struggled to find the right thing to say—something tactful that didn’t involve the diaries—but before she had a chance, the woman in line behind her, said politely, “Excuse me, but we’ve been waiting a long time back here for a sample of that cocoa.”
“Of course.” Sage gave Eliza an apologetic smile, then continued handing samples to her other customers.
Eliza moved on, picking out an attractive box of assorted chocolates for her sister, then waiting patiently in line to pay for her purchase. She was ready to leave, when Sage once more called out her name.
“Eliza! You can’t leave without confirming the story. Is John Urban really coming to Marietta for the Christmas holidays?”
Eliza froze.
“I mean, he’s just so hot. And that voice! This town will go crazy if he actually shows up. But he’s such a big country music star. It was just a publicity stunt, right?”
Eliza wished some more customers would show up, demanding samples of rich cocoa. But several groups had just left the store, and at that moment, there was only Sage and her two employees, all of whom were staring at her.
“H-he is booked in,” Eliza confirmed.
“Wow,” said the young woman at the cash register. “I wish he’d give us a concert. Wouldn’t it be neat if he teamed up with Landry Bell?”
“Oh, yes,” said the other employee, a very thin woman who was restocking one of the displays. “And Rayanne Grey could open for them.” To Eliza, she explained, “Rayanne is a local girl, still looking for her big break. Landry bought one of her songs a while ago.”
“That does sound like a dream concert,” Eliza agreed. “But I wouldn’t count on it ever happening.”
“I wonder what the draw for John Urban is,” Sage mulled. “I mean, why would someone like that, who isn’t married and doesn’t have children, want to leave Nashville and come to small town Marietta for Christmas?”
“I can’t imagine,” Eliza murmured. And before they could ask another question, she rushed out the door.
Chapter Two
‡
When she’d first been invited to do an interview on the morning show of a National TV show, Eliza had been excited. She’d been thinking about Bramble House, and what the exposure could do—it would really put them on the map. She’d flown to New York for the taping, not realizing the interview would be live, and certainly never guessing that John Urban would phone in and book a room for Christmas on the spot.
The audience had gone wild, the TV hosts looked smug. Eliza realized the whole thing had been planned. But how? No one knew about her—did they? By the time John became famous, she’d been out of his life for months. All that was left of their affair was his break-out song, which he’d written in bed with her, after they’d made love.
She got her answers later, when she was back in Marietta. John had called her and explained that he’d seen her blog after it went viral. It was he who had arranged the spot on the morning show, he who had the brilliant idea of booking a room with her over Christmas.
“Because I haven’t been able to forget you, Eliza. You’re the one woman I don’t think I’ll ever forget.”
She didn’t believe him. But her heart melted at his words anyway. Despite firsthand knowledge of his cheating ways and his smooth skill at lying, it seemed she was still vulnerable to his undeniable charm.
Back at Bramble House, Eliza found everything in perfect order. Jo and Ella had just finished turning out all the guest rooms, and cleaning the main floor, preparing for the first of the Christmas guests, due tomorrow. Eliza thanked them, then handed them the cards and gifts she’d purchased for them. “Thanks so much for agreeing to work extra hours over the holidays. I’ll be back on Boxing Day and I’ll make sure you both get a good break then.”
“I need all the hours I can get,” Jo said frankly. Her husband was a trucker who’d injured his back and had been unable to drive the past few months.
“I’ll take the work when I can get it, too.” Ella was a single mother who appreciated the flexible hours Eliza was able to offer. “Besides, I’m looking forward to meeting John Urban.”
“We did the Big Sky Room up real nice,” Jo added. “The Chamber of Commerce sent a gift basket with samples from a bunch of the local businesses. We had a delivery from SweetPea Floral, too. The suite is going to be perfect when he shows up.”
Eliza’s mouth went dry. She swallowed, then said, “I don’t want you to be too disappointed if he’s a no-show. He could easily change his mind. Especially if the weather turns colder.”
So far, their winter had been somewhat mild. They’d had snow, but only an inch here, an inch there.
“He’ll come,” Ella insisted. “I follow him on Twitter and it’s all he’s talking about, how much he’s looking forward to a real Montana Christmas this year.”
“I can’t believe you’re not going to stick around to meet him,” Jo said. “After all your work decorating this place, and doing all that Christmas baking. It seems a shame you won’t be here to enjoy any of it.”
“My sister and her husband will more than make up for my absence,” Eliza promised, hoping it was true.
Once Jo and Ella had left for the day, Eliza checked on her aunt, who was napping in the library, book open on her lap. Gently, Eliza placed a wool wrap around her aunt’s shoulders, then went to her room to pack. When she and her aunt had converted the home to a bed and breakfast, they’d allocated a main floor bedroom and bath for her aunt, who had difficulty with stairs. Eliza’s own living quarters were on the third floor—across the landing from the Big Sky Su
ite, which had been booked by John Urban.
The second floor contained four other suites, all spacious with their own bathrooms, but none as large as the two on the third floor. Over Christmas, Caro and Frank would be staying in Eliza’s room, the proximity to John Urban, she was certain, a big part of the reason they’d agreed to help her.
Eliza packed for her trip quickly, loading her bag, skis and poles into her car, so she could make a quick exit in the morning. By the time she’d finished, Caro and Frank had arrived. They seemed excited about the holidays and even Aunt Mable appeared perkier than usual during dinner. Once the meal was finished Eliza went over the schedules, reviewing the menus she’d planned and showing Caro all the baking she’d frozen ahead of time.
“I’ve been trying to work out why you’re so desperate to leave Marietta for Christmas,” Caro said to her, once they’d finished inspecting all the guest rooms. Frank was still in the kitchen, looking through the recipes Eliza had selected for Christmas morning.
“I just need a break after all the fuss about the blog. That’s all.”
“I don’t think so. I think you’re running away from John Urban.”
“That’s crazy.”
“Is it? I remember you moving to Nashville with a guy you were crazy about. That was about two years ago, right? You never told me his name, but you did say he was a musician.”
“A musician, yes. Not a country music superstar.”
“But John Urban wasn’t a star back then, was he?”
Caro was older than her by eight years, the gap large enough that they had never been particularly close. Still, her guesses were frighteningly on target. For a moment, Eliza considered confessing all.
But in the end, she couldn’t risk it. What if Caro, in her bossy, I-know-best, older-sister way, decided Eliza needed to stay in Marietta, confront John and hold him accountable for the way he’d used her, and discarded her, two years ago? Caro might insist it was the only way for Eliza to achieve resolution and heal the heart that still felt so terribly broken.
Of course, she’d be wrong. Eliza couldn’t risk spending even one minute with John. Because she knew how susceptible she was. John had it all. A gorgeous face. Sexy body. And charisma you could feel in the tone of his voice, the glint of his eye…the touch of his hand. She still went mushy inside when she heard the song he’d written for her.
She had to save herself from him, the only way she knew how.
By running away.
*
On the morning of the twenty-second, Marshall was at work early, to take care of final preparations for the trip. Fifteen minutes before eight, the guests began to arrive, and he boarded the bus so he could check them off.
At precisely eight, Eliza arrived, wearing the toque she’d purchased at the store, yesterday. It looked extremely cute on her. He said, “Good morning,” as she stepped up onto the bus, wearing jeans, fur-lined boots and a red ski jacket. She carried a travel mug in one hand and a backpack in the other.
“Morning Marshall.” She gave him a small smile, as she passed by.
He’d been hoping she would sit up front with him. The seat across the aisle was vacant. But she moved to the very back, where she pulled out her phone, as well as a set of ear buds.
Marshall focused back on his clipboard, and his task of checking off the guests as they were loaded onto the bus. They had an eclectic group, but this often happened at Christmas. The two families—the Bracketts with their twin daughters, and the Ritchies who had a fourteen-year-old daughter and a younger son—were seated in rows across from each other. He could see right away that the teenaged girls were going to make friends. They were leaning into the aisle, comparing the music on their i-Phones. Soon, he guessed, they’d be switching seats so they could all be together.
He felt a little sorry for the boy, seven-year-old Kevin. He was in the window seat next to his sister, Anna, already squirming with boredom, despite the i-Pad his mother had given him. Marshall hoped the parents would at least pay him some attention. But given the way they were pouring over their book of New York Time’s Crossword Puzzles, he kind of doubted it.
The two couples on the trip were seated nearer the front, just behind him. Mary and Ted Arbuckle, in their late fifties, sat in the silent, companionable way of people who’d been together a long time. Typically, he found couples to be the least work in a group, since they tended to be self-contained units. He wasn’t so sure about the Kellys though—Jason and Sydney, attractive, athletic looking, thirty-somethings. Jason had his arm over the back of the bus seat, leaning in toward his wife, while Sydney was perched on the far edge of her seat, as if trying to maximize the distance between them.
He could sense the tension between them. Not a good thing.
With the last name ticked off on his sheet, they were ready to go. “All set, Stan,” he told the driver, before settling back, prepared to enjoy what would hopefully be an uneventful three-hour trip into the backcountry of Montana.
But of course, he couldn’t relax. He was a little worried about the weather forecast, which promised snow—and lots of it. Hopefully, the storm would hit after they arrived, and wouldn’t last too long. Fresh snow was good. Blizzards were not.
It took about two and a half hours to drive north to Livingston, then west to Whitehall, and finally south again to Dillon, which was the nearest town to the Baker Creek Lodge. A few flakes started falling during the last part of the trip, but nothing major. The lodge itself was tucked into the Tobacco Root Mountains—not the most poetic of names, but the beauty of the land made up for that, in Marshall’s opinion.
As the bus made the final turn onto the five-mile access road to the lodge, he turned around, making sure everyone was seated. The roads on this last stretch were narrow and windy. He didn’t want anyone causing any distractions to the driver.
Everything looked good. A few people had fallen asleep. The Ritchies were still hard at their crossword puzzle. Poor Kevin was staring out the window, looking bored. From the back, Marshall thought he caught Eliza glancing his way, but a second later her eyes were closed, as if she, too, had fallen asleep. He must have imagined that look.
So much for the extra effort he’d made to include her on the trip. Looked like she intended on keeping as much distance between them as possible.
*
Eliza regretted her decision to sit at the back of the bus. She had a tendency to get motion-sick, and this last stretch of the trip had been the worst. But she’d seen what she’d thought was a hopeful look in Marshall McKenzie’s eyes when she’d stepped onto the bus, and so she hadn’t taken one of the seats in the front near him. She’d come on this trip to escape romantic troubles. Not seek out new ones.
As the roads narrowed, and became more twisty, she found herself looking toward Marshall, trying to judge from his behavior, whether she should be worried. Because frankly, right now, the bus seemed a lot wider than these roads they were travelling.
As she glanced toward him, their eyes met and she quickly looked away, reassured by his calm countenance, but also not wanting to send any false signals of interest or overt friendliness.
Shortly after driving through the small town of Dillon, the bus pulled off the main road onto an access road that seemed to go on forever. Super-narrow and twisty. She could hear the trees brush against the bus at times, they were that close.
Finally, they arrived at a wooden lodge snuggled up against a back drop of ponderosa pine.
Marshall stood to make a few announcements. “Welcome to Baker Creek Lodge. Betsy will have homemade soup and sandwiches waiting for you in the dining room. Don’t worry about your suitcases. They’ve been tagged and will be waiting for you in your rooms after lunch.”
“What about our kids?” one of the fathers called out. “Are you tagging them, too, or do we need to bring them with us?”
“Oh, dad,” groaned two girls, simultaneously, twins from the look of them.
“You take the kids, Buck
. We like to treat them as if they were people here at Baker Creek,” Marshall replied, taking the joke in good stride. “After lunch, I’ll take whoever is interested on an eight-mile intermediate loop that will give you a good idea of the kind of scenery you can expect during your five-day adventure. For those who want to spend the afternoon more quietly, Griff keeps a fire going in the common room, or you could try out the easy three-mile, ski loop that circles that lodge, goes down to the creek, then back up the far side of the ice-skating pond.”
It all sounded heavenly, Eliza thought with pleasure. And the reality was better than the promise.
The lodge itself, was simplicity and comfort all rolled into one. A nod had been given to Christmas—there was a tree, and a wreath on the large pine door. But the effort had been modest. And Eliza found herself ready to embrace that. The food, like the décor, focused on good ingredients, without too much ornamentation.
After her meal, she went to her room, determined to change into her ski-wear and tackle that eight-mile loop. And though she suspected—no she knew—she’d been assigned one of the smaller rooms, the one quite possibly originally slated for Marshall McKenzie, she wasn’t disappointed. The pine bed, with its flannel-covered feather duvet, could not have looked more inviting. She even had a small balcony, with a view overlooking the skating pond.
Snow was falling steadily once she made her way outside. She was glad of the extra layer she’d worn under her jacket, and for her new toque, as well, which had a fuzzy lining. The loud father, Buck Brackett, and the young couple, Jason and Sydney Kelly, were the only other guests interested in the longer ski.
In his skin tight ski pants and jacket, Marshall looked simultaneously taller, thinner and more muscular that he’d seemed in regular clothing. He zipped around on his skis with the dexterity of a skater. How in the world did he do that without tripping over his skis?
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