The Lodge on Holly Road

by Sheila Roberts

  Looking around her, Brooke felt like the girl at the dance who wasn’t getting a boy. She hadn’t felt like that since middle school. She took another sip of her drink, something the cocktail waitress had recommended called a Chocolate Kiss.

  Well, a chocolate kiss was better than no kiss, she supposed.

  Oh, who was she kidding? She was more than ready for a real kiss. Ever since she’d broken up with Mark two years ago, her life had been sadly lacking in hot, sexy kisses. Other than her dad and her brother, it had been sadly lacking in men, period. There sure weren’t any single ones at her school. The faculty was mostly populated by women, and the two token men who worked there were married and middle-aged. There wasn’t so much as one lonely divorced father in this year’s crop of parents. As for online dating? Oh, shudder. She was still recovering from her meet-up with Ralph Turner, with his garlic breath, big hairy hands and not-so-subtle hints that they go back to his place and hook up. Ugh.

  The bar had a respectable dance floor considering the size of the room, and a small stage at one end. A band consisting of two guitar players, a bass player and a drummer had set up on the small stage and were starting to bang out a fast rock song. Several people got out on the floor and began to dance.

  It had been a long time since she’d done that. “Come on,” she urged her brother. “Let’s get out there.”

  He rolled his eyes. “I’m not dancing with my sister.”

  “Oh, come on,” she begged. “You used to.”

  “I was ten. You were twelve. You made me.”

  “What if I buy you another beer?”

  He heaved a long-suffering sigh. “Okay, fine.”

  But they were barely out on the floor when she discovered the real reason for his cooperation. Three girlfriends had taken to the floor and he was smiling at the one with red hair and showing off his moves. And she was smiling right back. Well, brotherly loyalty only went so far.

  The song ended and Brooke was halfway to their table when she realized her brother hadn’t followed. Instead, he’d made his way over to chat with the three women. Now a new song was starting, and yep, there he went out onto the dance floor with the redhead.

  “Thanks, bro,” Brooke muttered. “Just what I wanted, to be stuck here all by myself.”

  “Now, that wasn’t very nice of your date to go and leave a pretty lady like you all alone,” said a voice at her elbow.

  She looked up and saw a drool-worthy man wearing jeans and a cowboy shirt smiling down at her. Lean but well muscled, ruggedly attractive. Okay, Dylan could stay away as long as he wanted. “He’s my brother. I guess one dance with his sister was about all he could handle.”

  “Hell, there’s plenty of guys here who’ll dance with you.”

  Like him? That’d work.

  “My name’s Billy Williams. Everybody calls me Bill Will.”

  “I’m Brooke Claussen.”

  “Well, hi there, Brooke. Wanna come on over and join us?” He gestured to a table on the other side of the dance floor where another man and a couple of women were sitting.

  Neither woman was sending her what she’d describe as a friendly smile. In fact, one of them, a blonde in jeans, a tight red top and a Santa hat looked as if she wouldn’t mind breaking a beer bottle over Brooke’s head.

  “You know, I think I’ll pass but thanks for the offer.”

  “Well, okay, but if you change your mind come on over.”

  Brooke watched as he sauntered off and settled in next to Santa Blonde, who scowled at him. He took a swig from his beer bottle and laid a hand on her arm and she yanked it away. Naughty or Nice? It wasn’t hard to tell which category the friendly Billy fell into, at least in Santa Blonde’s opinion.

  Brooke sipped her drink, watching the dancers and wishing she had the nerve to ask some man if he wanted to dance. But she’d spent too much time with five-year-olds. She’d lost her edge. She sat back in the chair, crossed one leg over the other and swung it back and forth. There, that should send out the signal that she wanted to dance.

  Nobody got the signal. Everyone here was too busy partying with friends.

  Okay, enough of trying to pretend she was having fun. She finished her drink and got up just as the song was ending.

  “Hey, where are you going?” Dylan called, walking up to the table with the redhead in tow.

  “I’m going back to the lodge to check on Daddy.”

  “He’s fine,” Dylan said. “Anyway, what about that beer you were gonna buy me?”

  “I’ll buy you a beer,” the redhead volunteered, smiling up at him.

  Dylan grinned at her. “How about I buy you a drink instead?”

  “Okay,” she said happily.

  Well, someone was going to get kissed under the mistletoe tonight. Actually, the way Dylan’s new pal was looking at him, Brooke suspected they wouldn’t waste time searching for mistletoe.

  “See you at the lodge,” she said.

  “Don’t wait up,” he responded, still grinning.

  The band started another song and more people poured onto the dance floor now, the magic of booze convincing them all that they could be on Dancing with the Stars. Brooke left with the strains of “Love Shack” ringing in her ears.

  Outside the restaurant the music became muted, and once she’d gone a block it was only a memory. Now quiet conversations floated past her like snowflakes as fellow visitors to town gazed in shop windows or strolled along enjoying the frosty air and the Christmas lights. The rooftops of the Bavarian-style buildings were frosted with snow and the multicolored lights made her think of gumdrops. Hansel and Gretel houses.

  Passing by the town square she paused to admire the gigantic fir tree dressed up in colored lights for the holidays. Nearby was a gazebo strung with golden twinkle lights, and farther off was the skating rink, also ringed with lights. A few people were still skating on it. She could see a cart set up on one side and the smell of roasting nuts wafted over toward her. She stood for a moment, watching the skaters, wishing she was out there gliding along the ice, holding hands with someone. Maybe she should go back on the internet. Every man out there couldn’t be a Ralph Turner. She wanted to find the kind of true love her father and mother had. There was still time. After all, her parents hadn’t met until they were in their thirties. She was only twenty-nine. Yeah, she had time.

  Meanwhile, she’d be there for her father, help him get through this difficult Christmas. She picked up her pace and hurried back to the lodge. She’d brought some homemade caramel corn, his favorite, which was waiting in her room. If he was still awake, they could enjoy a bedtime snack.

  The inn was quiet as she went up the sweeping front steps. Most of the guests were probably out enjoying the town’s nightlife or getting in one final whirl around the skating rink before it closed. She walked in the front door and was greeted by the sound of a woman’s laughter. And under it, like a bass counterpart, came a man’s chuckle. In the lobby, two pairs of legs stretched out from the wingback chairs in front of the fireplace. Two faces smiled in profile. Her father was awake, all right, and he wasn’t alone. Brooke stopped, wide-eyed with shock. This picture was wrong! Why was Olivia Wallace here? What was she doing with him?

  Whatever it was, she shouldn’t be doing it. It had only been a year since her mother had died. Daddy was not available. Brooke’s jaw clenched tightly and she narrowed her eyes. Somebody needed to set this woman straight, and that somebody was going to be her.

  Chapter Nine

  Frosty the Snowman

  “Daddy, why are you still up?”

  James turned his head to see his daughter approaching, smiling at him as if he were a naughty child. Or some doddering old coot who needed watching every minute. And he was neither.

  “I just brought your father a list of the people stayi
ng here. For your shopping tomorrow,” Olivia explained. “This is awfully sweet of you,” she said, giving Brooke a warm smile.

  The one his daughter gave Olivia in return was decidedly lukewarm. “Well, we should probably get to bed,” she said to James. “We’ve got a busy day tomorrow.”

  “You run ahead, angel,” he told her. “I’ll come on up in a little bit.”

  Brooke didn’t run anywhere. Instead, she shrugged and fell into a chair on the other side of the coffee table. “Come to think of it, I’m not that sleepy.”

  “Would you care for some peppermint schnapps?” Olivia offered. “I can fetch another glass.”

  “Oh, no, thanks,” Brooke said. “I had a drink at Zelda’s.”

  Olivia nodded. “Some of those can pack a wallop.”

  “It wasn’t that strong,” Brooke said, choosing to be argumentative. “So, how long have you owned this place?”

  “Eighteen years,” Olivia said. “It was just starting to take off when my husband died.”

  “That must have been hard,” James said. “Trying to keep the business going while you’re grieving...”

  “It was. But I had good friends who got me through. And, of course, my sons have been a big help around here, especially my older son, Eric.”

  “Well, you’ve all done a great job with the place. Mom would’ve loved it here, wouldn’t she, Daddy?” Brooke said, inviting Faith’s ghost to the party.

  Suddenly, James wasn’t having such a good time anymore. “You know, that schnapps is making me sleepy. I think I’ll turn in.”

  Olivia looked momentarily disappointed but she quickly covered it with a smile. “Of course. I enjoyed visiting with you, James.”

  “Same here,” he said. “For a minute there I almost forgot...” That my whole world ended last Christmas. He didn’t finish the sentence. There was no sense ruining another person’s holiday mood. He forced himself to stand. “Thanks for the drinks, Olivia.”

  “My pleasure,” she said. “I’ll see you both tomorrow.”

  * * *

  But not alone, not if his daughter can help it, Olivia thought as father and daughter walked up the stairs to their rooms. Brooke Claussen was her father’s self-appointed bodyguard, making sure no other woman got close enough to step into her mother’s shoes.

  Olivia’s boys had gone through a similar phase. Eric had been convinced that Manny Esposito was a fortune hunter, out to marry her so he could get his hands on the lodge. She’d had to remind Eric that she was a grown-up, in charge of her own life, especially her love life, and twenty-year-old sons didn’t get to have a say in who their mother went to dinner with.

  Manny hadn’t lasted long, anyway. Eric had been too obnoxious to him and Brandon had been a lippy little pain. Manny had moved on. He’d found a rich widow with a ranch in Ellensburg and moved away from Icicle Falls. So maybe Eric had been right. Still, that mistake had been hers to make. And Ms. Brooke would have to learn the same thing about her papa.

  But James had been a widower only for a year, and the loss was still a raw wound. For both him and his children. Olivia knew she needed to respect that.

  But, oh, how she’d liked talking with him. And how she wished Brooke hadn’t shown up when she had. If she hadn’t come along, they’d probably still be in the lobby talking.

  “You already have two wonderful men in your life,” she lectured herself. However, the day would come when they’d fall in love, and then they’d be gone, too. Well, Brandon for sure. He would never return to Icicle Falls to live. Maybe Eric would stay, though. He’d been so involved with running the lodge that the place had seeped into his blood. Hopefully, he’d find a woman who wanted to share the life of an innkeeper, one who’d always wanted a mother as much as Olivia had wanted a daughter. If he didn’t, if he married someone who wanted to live in the city...

  She decided not to think about that. Anyway, it was time to go to the kitchen and put together her French toast casserole for morning. And maybe have a cookie. Life was generally better with a cookie.

  * * *

  John’s nose woke him up in the morning and urged him to get to the dining room ASAP. He could smell something really delicious.

  He arrived to find several people already at their tables. He saw a new couple who hadn’t been in the lobby the night before, holding hands across the table. They looked about his age and the wife had a growing baby bump. John smiled. That would be him and Holland someday. The Williamses and their teen girls were seated at a far table, the mom sipping coffee and admiring the view of the mountains out the window, the dad reading the morning paper and the two girls texting, ignoring the vases of flowers on the tables, the pine paneling and the paintings of various German castles hanging on the walls. The Spikes were done with their breakfasts and down to finishing their coffee, while the two old women, Jane and Vera, were eating some sort of bread casserole and bacon. Missy Monroe and her kids were sitting at a table over by the window and she was waving at him.

  He waved back. It would be rude not to go sit with them.

  “Is that what I’m smelling,” he greeted her, pointing to her plate.

  She nodded. “French toast casserole. Olivia promised me the recipe if I keep it a secret.”

  “Whoa, pretty nice,” John said. “Don’t you normally have to pay for the chef’s special recipes at a restaurant?”

  Now Missy looked panicked. “Oh, gosh. Do you think she’s gonna charge me?”

  John plopped onto a seat. “Nah. Otherwise, she would’ve said. I just meant it was pretty generous of her. Hey, guys,” he said to the kids.

  “Hi, John!” Carlos said eagerly. “Want to help me build a snow fort today?”

  “I want to build a snow fort,” Lalla declared.

  “Snow forts are for boys,” Carlos informed her.

  “Uh-uh.” Lalla shook her head, frowning. “I want to build a snow fort with John and Carlos,” she said to her mother.

  “The three of us will build a snow fort,” Missy said, “but John has someone coming today and he’ll be busy.”

  “You will?” The face Carlos turned to John plainly begged, “Say it ain’t so.”

  “Sorry, buddy,” John said. “But I tell you what. Before my girlfriend gets here I’ll help you with the foundation. How’s that?”

  Carlos nodded. “Okay.” At his mother’s pointed glance, he added, “Thanks, John.”

  “Me, too,” Lalla piped up. “I want to help.”

  “You can go do something else,” Carlos told her, and that started the sibling battle all over again.

  Missy finally settled it by suggesting that she and Lalla make a big snowman to watch over the fort, which solved the problem.

  “Let’s go.” Carlos slid off his seat, his breakfast forgotten.

  “Let’s give John a chance to eat first,” Missy said. “And that’ll give us a chance to finish, too. Building snow forts and snowmen is hard work, so we need energy.”

  A few minutes later, a high school girl came out of the kitchen and pointed John in the direction of a side table housing pitchers of juice as well as a big bowl of fruit salad and another huge bowl holding small containers of yogurt packed in ice, then promised to be right back with the rest of his breakfast.

  Breakfast consisted of scrambled eggs and the very thing that had awakened John’s nose that morning. John didn’t waste any time digging into the breakfast casserole when it arrived. “Oh, man, that’s good,” he said, savoring the taste of cinnamon, butter and brown sugar.

  “Tell me about it,” Missy said.

  “Would you like another serving?” their waitress asked. “Mrs. Wallace always makes plenty.”

  “Oh, yeah.” Missy handed over her plate.

  John was surprised. “You’re not on a diet?” Okay, that hadn
’t come out exactly the way he’d intended. “I mean, I’ve never dated a girl who wasn’t on one.”

  Missy shrugged. “I don’t believe in diets. They’re too hard to stick to. Anyway, eating’s too much fun.”

  “You got that right,” John said, forking up another mouthful of the French toast casserole. “And anyway, you don’t look like you need to go on one.”

  She smiled. “Thanks.”

  “Holland diets a lot.” And he was sharing this because? “But she looks great. Uh, not that you don’t.” Where was he going with this? He decided that wherever it was, he needed to end the trip. He stuffed a piece of bacon in his mouth to shut himself up.

  Now their waitress was back with a second helping for Missy. “Thanks,” she told the girl. “This stuff is the best.”

  She dug in and they let the kids carry the conversation, which consisted of snowmen and snowball fights. “I can sing ‘Frosty the Snowman,’” Lalla announced, and then proceeded to serenade them.

  The kid didn’t have a bad voice, but she did have a pitch problem. John smiled politely and tried not to wince. “That was nice,” her mother said before she could launch into a second verse, “but you know what? I’m going to finish my breakfast before you finish yours.”

  Lalla went back to eating. Lalla’s mom was pretty clever.

  “So, what have you got planned for when your girlfriend gets here?” Missy asked John.

  Only the perfect day, that was all. “Well, first a sleigh ride, then I have reservations for lunch at Schwangau, that fancy restaurant in town. If there’s time, I want to take her skating at the ice rink over in the park. Then shopping. And the Christmas carol sing.”