Christmas Owls in July (Ornamental Match Maker Series Book 19)

by Marlene Bierworth

  “Shall I send the troops in?” Trevor asked.

  “Yes, please do. The staff is here to help them get settled, and we will serve light refreshments in the dining hall between eight and nine o’clock. We didn’t know if you’d stopped for a decent supper.”

  “Thank you, Miss…”

  “Angie, everyone here calls me Angie.”

  “Yes, well, thank you, Angie, for the food. I was about to tell my passengers to find somewhere in town to eat. You are already making my job easier.”

  Trevor returned to the foyer entrance, opened both sides of the double oak doors, and waved them in. He stood there, directing them to the reception desk, and oohing and awing with the comments they made regarding the detailed structure of the magnificent Victorian-style Inn.

  Angie raised her eyebrows in fun toward Charles, a wide smile lighting up her face. “And so it begins.”

  With names and pertinent information written in the registrar, and rooms or cabins assigned, the exodus from the foyer began. Sammy led the group destined for the cabins on-foot, while a trailer attached to the ATV followed behind with their luggage. House workers helped those staying inside the Inn with their bags and showed them to their rooms. Meanwhile, the dining room kept busy arranging an assortment of sandwiches, finger foods and delicious squares on platters for a welcome buffet table.

  The group arrived back inside the main building famished at eight-o’clock sharp. Angie leaned against the wall, watching men, women, and a few teens exclaim their appreciation of the food with every bite. The week was off to a good start. That was important to her. She often sensed her father’s presence, bringing to mind his smile of encouragement, and warming to the recollections of his endearing pats on the back for a job well done.

  “What are you smiling about?”

  Angie jumped at the sound of the voice beside her. Trevor regarded her with amusement.

  Unsure why she felt so compelled for honesty with this stranger, Angie said, “I was thinking of my father. He loved to watch guests at the Inn enjoying the food. Said our chef was the best in the whole country.”

  “Its just sandwiches and snack foods. Not a gourmet feast.”

  “I beg to differ,” Angie said. “Are you listening to your people?”

  “They exaggerate about everything. Think it goes hand-in-hand with vacation appreciation.”

  “I notice you haven’t filled a plate yet. Are you not hungry, Mr. Dristoll?” Angie asked.

  “Famished. Waiting for the hungry lions to get their fair share, then I’ll clean up the leftovers.”

  “Glad to hear you are happy to settle with snack food. I hate sandwiches the second day,” Angie teased.

  “Touché. I’ll head over there now. And perhaps later, offer a critique on your claim to fame in securing the best chef in the world.”

  “I believe I said country – but world will do fine, Mr. Dristoll.”

  Angie chuckled as she walked from the room and headed toward her office. She had at least two more hours of paperwork to get through before her head hit the pillow tonight. Close to eleven, she locked the door behind her and headed toward her suite.

  “Excuse me,” said a voice as she passed the sitting room. Angie jumped and popped her head inside.

  “Mr. Dristoll. I thought everyone had retired by now.”

  “I tried. Grew restless and landed here,” Trevor said.

  “I hope your room is to your liking?”

  “Perfect. Thank you. Usually I get the smallest, cubbyhole space that no hotel wants to give the tour guests.”

  Angie smiled. “I’m afraid we have no such room. I consider everyone here a guest, including guides and bus drivers.”

  “You were right about the quality of snacks served tonight,” Trevor chuckled. “No simple egg or tuna salad found its way to that buffet table. And what about those fancy meaty things wrapped in pastry, not to mention the squares that melted in my mouth?”

  “That’s your idea of a critique?” Angie laughed.

  “Yeah, well, my mother is a meat and potatoes kind of cook. I never starved, but she’d be the first to admit that she wouldn’t have a clue how to whip up your kind of fancy food. Although, the woman is excellent with cookies, and would gladly fly to your doorstep for a taste of that cheesecake they served tonight.”

  “Aha. That’s probably why you’re having trouble sleeping. How many of those rich squares did you eat?”

  “The leftovers. Said I’d clean up the plates and I am a man of my word,” Trevor said.

  “Glad to hear that, sir.” Angie started to move closer to the door that led to her suite of rooms, the only home she’d ever known. Trevor jumped to his feet and followed.

  “Are you too tired to join me for a night-cap?” Trevor asked.

  Angie raised her eyebrows. No man had asked to share drinks with her in ages. “I don’t drink alcohol, but I have it on good authority there is homemade eggnog in the refrigerator chilling for tomorrow’s festivities.”

  “Eggnog? Part of the Christmas in July theme I read about in the advertisement, right?”

  Angie could not hold back her enthusiasm. “Yes! This is my favorite time of year, except for the real event in December.”

  “You and my mother would get along great.”

  Angie interpreted that piece of insight as a compliment directed toward his mother and hopefully, a high regard for the family. She found herself attracted to the trait he revealed in one short conversation. But she sensed that Christmas conversation tipped the balance of his mood downward in one easy word. Not any of it was her business. She scolded herself. Stick to sharing eggnog with the man.

  “But if homemade eggnog means a drink recipe at the hand of your famous chef, I can’t wait to try,” said Trevor.

  Angie grinned and pointed toward the kitchen. “This way, then.”

  That night Angie lay in her bed a long time before she finally nodded off. Her mind refused to shut down. It was most likely the eggnog – probably not her best idea this late in the evening.

  It was customary at the Inn for a member of the Parkinson family to dine with the guests whenever possible. Since she was the only one left, the duty fell to her. Angie enjoyed meeting people from the many countries that vacationed in her historic town of Pineville. Today was no exception.

  Trevor arrived late, apologizing before he sat down. Dressed in khaki pants and a turquoise t-shirt he gave the outward appearance that he was ready to relax, but under the façade appeared distracted, still in work mode. The man needed to unwind worse than she did. Between the town of Pineville and the activities planned at the resort, his clients would have no problem finding their happy place. She wondered if he would find his.

  After the kitchen staff served the cinnamon rolls and topped up the coffee cups, Angie stood and brought the discussion around the tables to a halt.

  “Excuse me, folks. We trust you all feel refreshed after a good night’s sleep and are ready for a full day of fun, or just a lazy day in the sun – your choice.” Angie pointed to a man who made his way to stand beside her. “This is Travis, the entertainment director. He will outline the many choices you have for your day. Whatever you decide, we hope you will enjoy yourself.” Angie moved to the side.

  “Good morning, vacationers. I have a full program planned for you.” Travis waved a printed page in the air. “If you forget something I say, don’t worry. Written on this sunny yellow paper, that you will find at the registration desk every day, is everything you need to know. Please help yourself.”

  Travis began his spiel and Angie slipped quietly from the room. Her guests were in good hands now. Travis had worked for the Parkinson’s two years and she appreciated his creative mind and sense of humor that kept him smiling even with the most difficult visitor.

  In her office, Angie started a new file for this tour group and printed the date, Trevor Dristoll’s name, and his contact number. Her family had recorded every guest that had ever stay
ed at the Inn. Her old-fashioned father had not totally relied on computers to keep the list safe. She honored his memory and would continue the same practise. Inside the folder, she placed all the pages she’d worked on last night, then closed it and stored it alphabetically in the antiquated filing cabinet. Every twelve months after taxes, she piled the binders into labeled boxes and transferred them into a storage trailer parked beside the barn. These names were part of her history, and for but a moment in time had passed through her family’s circle of influence.

  Angie turned when she heard the musical rat-a-tat-tat at the door. “Angie, I hope I’m not interrupting,” said Trevor.

  “Not at all. Come in,” Angie said as she stood and walked toward him. “What can I do for you?”

  “My question exactly,” Trevor said. “Can’t get my head around all the events Travis recited this morning. My people, as you call them, totally ignored me as they sped away from the dining room. Whatever will I do with myself if I don’t have them to entertain?”

  “Perhaps you could use some downtime at the beach,” Angie suggested. “If you enjoy rowing, feel free to take a canoe out on the lake, or if speed is your game, there are water sports on the Heritage Queen motor boat after lunch.”

  “Like I said, so many choices. I’m scratching my head and wondering if I should dock my paycheck.”

  “That would be up to you,” Angie laughed. “I promise, that my staff will send any disgruntled guests we can’t handle your way.” He still didn’t look convinced. “Mr. Dristoll, put on your beach wear and enjoy your day. I will hunt you down if any problems arise.”

  Trevor appeared hesitant to leave. “Travis said there was a kick-off Christmas dance in town. Will the owner of Heritage Inn be attending?”

  “I never miss it. My family has the honor of crowning the next Claus couple who will reign in Pineville for the month of July.”

  Trevor puckered his brow. “Really, the town allows kids to run the place for an entire month?”

  “The kids – as you so label them – consider it a great privilege to help the officials run our town. All the teens participating take responsibility seriously and have competed since the beginning of the senior high school year for the position. Their points are tallied and we choose the winners at the dance.”

  “So it’s not the real Claus family? Magic, and all that stuff.”

  Angie broke out in laughter. “You’re a believer! I’m pleased to hear that. Rest easy. These are only runner-ups – helpers for the aging duo in the off season.”

  Trevor shook his head. “Maybe I’ll skip the dance.”

  “No, come. You will have fun. Trust me,” said Angie with her most persuasive voice.

  Trevor gazed at her and the lines on his face relaxed. “Okay, I’ll go, just to see you crown the two rascals.”

  “You don’t like teens?” Angie asked.

  “Not particularly.” He guarded the shadow that threatened to distort his face. He appeared to sense her analyzing his reaction, and backed off toward the door. “Until tonight, then. I’m off for a walk on the beach, should you need me.”

  “Enjoy your day, Mr. Dristoll.”

  CHRISTMAS IN JULY

  At noon, Angie walked into the reception area. The place was empty. “Where is everyone?” Angie asked Charles, who clicked away on a computer behind the desk.

  “I believe it was a toss-up between exploring Pineville and the lure of escaping the sweltering hot afternoon sun.” He pointed out the window where bodies littered the sand. “The shoreline appears to be gaining the most popularity.”

  “Has Drake fired up the barbeque at the beach? Tummies will soon grumble for his delicious burgers, sweet potato fries and whatever else he’s included on the menu. Something healthy, I hope. Do you know?” asked Angie.

  “A Mediterranean, Asian, and creamy potato salad; even saw a new nutty-fruit combination carried from the kitchen. It should satisfy those hoping for a meatless lunch.” Charles scrunched his nose in protest. He loved his red meat.

  “Some will eat it all, you know?” said Angie.

  “No doubt. The chef left us plates in the kitchen. When you’re ready, we can take a break,” Charles said.

  “I am ready.”

  On the way passed the ceiling to floor windows in the dining room, Angie noticed the food-hut filled with hungry patrons. They continued into the kitchen and found it deserted. This was a working lunch at the beach for the kitchen staff, and thankfully, the weather was cooperating. Angie grabbed a beef patty from the warming oven and scooped a spoonful of everything else onto a plate.

  “Look, I tried it all. I will be as big as a horse if I don’t watch it.”

  “You are slim and trim and wear off every pound you consume,” said Charles. “Now my wife could use…”

  “Charles! Never voice that out loud. It would crush her to think she didn’t meet your image of perfection.”

  “Oh, but she does. I prefer to snuggle up beside a woman with meat on her bones.”

  Angie laughed. “Someone for everyone, my mother always used to say.”

  “And what about you, Angie? Your folks would not want to see you dying an old maid in this place that inspires lovers and dreamers every week of the year.”

  Angie frowned. “I am twenty-six, Charles. Far from an old maid.”

  “I’m watching out for you. Matter of fact, what do you think of our Mr. Dristoll? Handsome chap, and I don’t see a ring on his finger,” said Charles, sending a wink her way.

  “It’s barely seven months since my parents died. No man wants to hang out with a grieving soul.”

  “As your father would say – time to put it behind you, girl. You’re missing out on minutes you will never get back.” Charles rhymed it off in the same matter-of-fact tone her father had on multiple occasions.

  Angie smiled at the memories that flashed through her mind. “That was his favorite pet-peeve, wasn’t it? Preached it to anyone who’d listen. Live for today. You can’t count on another tomorrow.”

  Samuel and Fran Parkinson had crammed every day with active, good-works, and would not be experiencing any regrets in the afterlife. Time had not cheated them. It didn’t matter that the last day on this earth had arrived long before the couple had officially become senior citizens, for they had squeezed a dozen lifetimes into one. Angie wanted more than anything to grasp the quality of that heritage, and have people say the same of her when the Lord brought her home to heaven.

  “Think I’ll stretch my legs and walk on the beach,” Angie said, standing to her feet. She brought her dirty plate to the sink, grabbed her floppy hat and sunglasses from the office, and left the Inn.

  Noticing the crowds, Angie opted to move up the shoreline in the other direction. She removed her sandals and felt the hard, cool sand under her feet. Pine Lake dipped and dived through parts of the town, but Heritage Inn bordered on the biggest inlet, where the water stayed warm all year. Her family managed the best vacation beach in the area, and even locals rented a room just to relax and enjoy the facilities.

  The Inn offered membership to those in town who wanted to take part in the special activities not specified for groups only. Cooking sessions from the chef, spa treatments, public pool swims and lessons, reservations at the dining hall were all extras that Angie had persuaded her stuck-in-the-past father to branch into. The ideas, filtering through Angie’s mind, were endless. When placed in the hands of her skilled employees – who loved their jobs and the opportunity to flaunt expertize to a paying crowd – most ventures became an instant success.

  This month, they would not see too many locals hanging around – since Pineville was hosting Christmas in July with enough events to fill anyone’s social calendar. The Inn had postponed regularly scheduled programs designed for the townsfolk to allow for the festivities, but business, as usual, would resume again in August. Trevor Dristoll’s group of passengers would enjoy the luxury of undivided attention at the resort during their stay.r />
  Angie heard a voice behind her. “Hey, wait up.” She turned around and noticed the tour guide closing in.

  When Trevor caught up, she asked, “Is there a problem?”

  He shook his head. “No! Quite the contrary. Coming here was my best idea yet. Remind me to sign up other groups before I leave. I plan to make this a sought after location for my clientele.”

  “I’m glad you’re enjoying it,” Angie said.

  “Yeah, well…” he appeared to be scrambling for the right words. “People are asking about the dress code for this Christmas dance tonight?” The tension in his face suggested that no one, except himself, was doing the asking.

  “I believe that today’s schedule sheet covered that detail. But, to set your mind at ease, either casual or Christmassy is fine. The Inn has some Santa hats and odds and ends we can loan your group should they wish to dress festive,” said Angie.

  “No need! Half of them have shopped already and are in full costume to suit the theme.”

  Amusingly enough, that statement nullified his earlier question. Perhaps the man felt on edge about how to start up a conversation with her. That was absurd. He was a great catch and she felt certain that women followed him like lost puppies. She chose not to dwell on the latter scenario.

  “Perhaps you would like to borrow a hat and come as Santa Claus, or at least his helper?” Angie asked.

  “Are you dressing up?”

  “I have a western outfit I usually drag out, then doctor it up with a few Christmas touches.”

  “Maybe I’ll borrow the hat then, so I don’t stick out like a city-slicker.”

  “Are you from the city, Mr. Dristoll?” Angie asked.

  “Downtown Nashville, Tennessee. So, you see, I am used to cowboy attire and dancing with my boots on.” He grinned. “But please, call me Trevor. The Mr. doesn’t suit me nearly as well as my father.” Angie noticed a shadow cross his face, but he redirected his gaze to the water and asked. “Mind if I walk with you?”