A Conflicted Christmas - Part One by Margo Hoornstra

She peered through the snow-spattered windshield at the neon sign and hoped like hell there was room at the inn.

Mandy Nichols kept a tight grasp of the steering wheel as she pulled her older model Jeep to a stop across from the hotel entrance. Her absolute last hope here in their little resort town of Cascade Lake.

“Of course, Dean and the girls would pick this week for his before the Christmas holiday visit.” Nerves always did make her talk to herself. “The busiest tourist week all year.”

The very week of the Snowfall Festival. When every single hotel, motel and bed and breakfast room for thirty miles in any direction was booked months in advance.

Keeping her foot on the brake, she shoved the gear shift into park. Call her crazy, but no way could she contemplate the idea of spending an entire week, day and night under the same roof with her soon to be ex-husband. Especially during the Festival. What used to be an annual high-point in their once happy life together.

She flipped off the windshield wipers then brought her mitten clad hands up to smooth absently over the top of the steering wheel. “Sitting here with the engine running, brooding, sure isn’t going to change things.”

An instrumental rendition of Jingle Bell Rock played on the radio, and she absently tapped her fingers in time to the beat, momentarily lost in the cheerful song.

Momentarily. Because before she knew it, the tune ended.

“Doctor John’s Hemorrhoid Crème. We devote our bottom line to your bottom…line.” The idiotic message, delivered in a nasally monotone, boomed out of the speakers next.

“No sense sticking around to hear about that.”

Her bottom line…she was flat out of distractions.

“No more stalling.” She shut off the engine with a renewed sense of purpose. “The sooner I go inside, the sooner I’ll have this over with.”

Before she completely lost her nerve.

Dropping the keys in her purse, she cranked the door handle then stepped out to the chilling sting of fat, wet snowflakes landing on her cheeks. She ducked her head as she scurried toward the door, all the while buffeted by frigid Northern Michigan winds. A perfect match for the current condition of her heart. Ice cold and frozen solid. Even the heated blast as she pushed her way into the lobby wouldn’t affect any change in that. Nor could the piped in Christmas carols swirling in the air. Or huge blue and red balls twinkling and sparkling as they dangled from the ceiling on silver cords. A large and lush green wreath studded with vibrant red holly berries and matching velvet bow hung on the wall behind a long, marble counter. That couldn’t do it either.

“There’s just no getting away from the Ho-Ho-Ho around here.” There she went muttering to herself again.

Except for buying gifts for the girls, she was in no mood to even do Christmas this year.

“At all.”

Two customers already in line turned around, forcing her to bring out an apologetic smile. An elderly gentleman with kind eyes smiled back. The younger, pony-tailed woman—who looked about as harried as Mandy felt—didn’t.

While she couldn’t very well block out the music, she could divert her eyes from all things festive. Glancing to her right, her gaze landed on a framed poster from a previous Snowfall Festival.

Wouldn’t you just know.

Preserved behind glass, this one was from seventeen years ago. Ironically, the very event where she and Dean first met. Shortly after he’d arrived in town, a newly assigned State Police Trooper, and she was a recently hired third grade teacher. Both embarking on new phases in their lives.

Taking off her mittens, she unzipped her parka. With people ahead of her, and only one agitated clerk in evidence, she couldn’t do much more than stand there, wait…and try her very best not to remember…

“Nobody told me there’d be an actual angel on the premises this year.”

The tenor voice, deep, smooth and rich, set off a tremor of awareness in her that flowed from head to toe. In truth, she was strongly attracted to the voice before she even laid eyes on the man behind it. Once she did that, she was a definite goner. Dark brown, neatly trimmed hair framed an incredibly handsome face. Broad shoulders topped the body of a male model.

She gulped in a breath and hiked her purse higher on her shoulder.

Obviously an outdoors man, he carried the scent of snow covered evergreens etched with cinnamon candy. As he moved forward, his appealing fragrance surrounded her.

“I’m Dean.” He flashed a warm smile. One that lit up his eyes, causing them to crinkle at the corners in the most charming way.

She hadn’t recovered enough from his angel comment to respond when he reached out to capture one of her hands in both of his.

Pleasantly captivated, she didn’t mind one little bit. “Mandy Gearhart.”

“Hi, Mandy Gearhart. If we’re already into supplying last names, mine’s Nichols. Dean Nichols. Nice to meet you.”

“Same here, Dean.”

From that moment forward, their life together evolved into something truly wonderful. A two-year courtship, fairy tale wedding and happily ever after with all the trimmings.

Until recently.

“Can I help who’s next?” The request was followed by an exaggerated throat clearing.

Brought back to the present, she blinked as the stocky clerk stared at her in expectation.

“I need a room for a week starting tonight.” Stepping forward, she didn’t even try to hide the desperation in her voice. What was the point?

“Let’s see what we have.” Pushing a pair of wire rimmed glasses further up on his nose, he tapped the keyboard with a number of sharp clicks, then squinted at the screen in front of him. “You could have made this reservation online, you know.” He flicked her a look of pure irritation before bringing his attention back to the screen.

It’s much more fun to be here in person with you. Best to keep the smart-ass comment to herself. “My computer has been acting up lately.” She had no trouble at all telling the lie. He didn’t need to know the gory details of her recent life.

A looming non-contested divorce, two beautiful girls, ages fourteen and thirteen, who couldn’t accept the fact that their once blissfully in love and happily married parents were neither anymore. Both daughters she and Dean shared caused them very few problems beyond the inevitable drama of their teen years. Until the separation threw everyone into unknown territories. Neither girl had been exactly thrilled when their mother first suggested the idea of getting their father a hotel room while he was here, and she hadn’t had the energy for another argument.

Hence this trip to make the reservation face to face.

The trill of a desk phone beside the clerk cut into her thoughts. Quitting his room search for her, he reached over to pick up.

“Front desk.” Glancing down, he grew silent to listen.

For crying out loud. As far as she was concerned, the interruption of a phone call ranked right up there with cutting in front of someone in line. Extremely rude. I’d like to get this handled, please.

Leaning on the counter, when her cell chimed, she moved slightly away then rummaged in her purse until she found it. Amanda shown back at her from the display screen.

“Hi, honey. What do you need?”

“Where are you, Mom?”

“Uh…ma’am?”

She glanced over as the desk clerk caught her eye, held up the pointer finger of his right hand, then disappeared somewhere into a back room.

For heaven’s sake.

“Mom?”

“Yes. I’m here.”

“Where?”

“Running errands.”

“Who just called you ma’am?”

She shut her mouth and blinked, waiting for an only slightly deceptive response to occur to her. None did. What was the use? She never was a very good liar, especially when her kids were involved.

“I’m at the Hamilton Inn making a reservation for your father.”

“Mo-o-m.” A heavy sigh followed. A massive eye roll no doubt came next. “I thought we talked about this.”

“We did.” She called up her most authoritative mother voice. “When I first informed you and your sister of my decision.”

“I don’t know how you could let things get this far.”

“How I…” She closed her eyes, gritted her teeth and slowly counted to ten. “That’s how you see this?”

“What I don’t see is why Daddy can’t stay with us for one measly week.”

“Because he can’t.” Her standard reply was decidedly weak. What else was new?

“But why?” Amanda was close to whining. Close but not quite.

“It will be easier for all of us.” Another equally feeble response came out of her. The only one she could share. Unlike so many others she kept locked up tight in an irreparably broken heart.

Especially the soul revealing…I have to keep your father as far away from me as I possibly can while he’s here to spend Christmas with us…rather you. Because the hurt he caused me is still way too fresh and raw. Just as she’d begun to locate the outer edges of the healing process, seeing him again, living under the same roof with him again, even temporarily, would be like having the scab ripped off a partially regenerated wound to create a whole new one. Because once he is in the house, even for a short time, I might not be able to stand the heart wrenching pain of seeing him leave again.

Another exaggerated throat clearing caught her attention. The desk clerk had reappeared. Drumming his fingers on the counter as he stared at her.

“I have to go, honey. I’ll be home soon.”

“But, Mom…”

“We’ll talk then. Bye. I love you.”

Waiting until Amanda responded in kind, she slid the phone back into her purse and again stepped toward the counter. “Did you find something?”

“I don’t have a standard room available for a full week on such short notice. Starting tonight.” The look of irritation struck again.

She totally ignored it. Customer service certainly was a lost art. “What do you have available?” And please, please, please don’t tell me nothing.

He peered intently at the screen, hit a couple of keys, and then peered again. “The only type of room I do have available for that length of time on such short notice is one of our suites—king-sized bed, two person in-room Jacuzzi tub, plus a few other amenities, which goes for one ninety-nine per night. Plus tax.”

Her mouth dropped open, she reared slightly back and blinked. Sooo out of her price range. Totally ridiculous to even consider. She’d have to teach an additional class all summer to pay for it. Get a waitress job on the side or something as well. Maybe this was a mistake after all.

I’ll be home for Christmas

You can count on me.

The taunting lyrics of a new Christmas melody suddenly flowed out of invisible speakers as if meant for her alone. Crooned in a deep, smooth, tenor voice, of all things.

Please have snow, and mistletoe

“I’ll take it.” Slapping her credit card on the counter, she made sure to shove it his way before she had a chance to change her mind. Which, considering the alternative, she definitely would not do,

…find me where the love light gleams

Resisting the urge to cover her ears, she confirmed the reservation with her signature, collected her card, then nodded her thanks to the clerk who was on the phone again.

I’ll be home for Christmas…if only

As she hurried away, she made sure to shut the door tight behind her blocking out the rest. Greeted by another blast of brisk, cold wind, she dodged a sudden deluge of heavier snowflakes as she rushed back to her car.

No way could she handle Home for Christmas ever again, not with one Dean Nichols.

It has to be hard, living like Mandy does, with an irreparably broken heart. My guess is Dean isn't faring much better. Come back tomorrow to find out for A Conflicted Christmas - Part Two. Plus, I have more short stories, available for free, on my WEBSITE

No Room at the Inn, Chapter 3, By Barbara Edwards

Chapter Three

The next seconds passed in a blur. Shorty dropped his cup, sending porcelain shards everywhere. All three men jumped up, knocking over their chairs in their haste to reach the door. Charley picked up the closest weapon she could find—a broom—and chased them down the slippery steps as they raced toward the truck, yelling all the way.

As they neared the truck, Joe cranked the engine and slammed it into Reverse. The men jumped back, and Charley plowed into Shorty, knocking them both to the ground. Tires squealing, the truck shot backward about twenty feet then lurched to a stop as a hulking black Escalade blocked its path. When Joe tried to pull forward, Big Sammy’s men boxed him in.

Charley halted, broom in hand. She needed to call the sheriff, but her phone was still in the cottage. What were the chances she could slip away unnoticed? She took one step backward, then another. Just when she was about to make a run for it, the doors of the Escalade flew open and two men jumped out. The driver was short, stout, and middle aged, and his passenger was the exact opposite. The gangly young man sprinted to the truck and yanked open the passenger side door. 

Vinnie ran to meet the driver. “Boss, what are you doing here?”

“What I should have done last week, instead of sending you three jokers.”

“But we found the girl, just like you told us. We were bringing her back.” Vinnie’s voice held a pleading note.

Charley clenched her teeth and tightened her grip on the broom. There was no time for the sheriff. She would have to handle the situation herself. This was her inn, and she was not going to have a mob hit in her back yard on Christmas morning. End of story.

She shoved Shorty aside and marched toward Big Sammy. “You there, what are you doing here?”

Big Sammy furrowed his brow. “Who are you?”

“I own this inn, and you and your associates are not welcome. I’ll thank you to leave immediately.”

“Look, lady. We got no beef with you. We’ll leave as soon as we have what we came for.”

Joe had climbed from the truck and approached the group with a small sledge hammer clutched in one fist.

Big Sammy jerked his chin in his direction. “Tell the big guy to drop the hammer. We don’t want to make trouble. We’re just here to pick up—”

Just then the tall, skinny young man appeared from the other side of the truck with one arm wrapped around Maria’s shoulders and a worried look on his face. Tears leaked from her non-mascara’ed eyes. “Pop, I told you not to send Vinnie and the boys. They’ve scared her half to death.”

Big Sammy strode over to the young couple and reached for Maria’s hand. She hesitated then proffered it reluctantly before snuggling back into the safety of Little Sammy’s embrace. 

He leaned toward her. “Young lady, you are one slippery customer. The boys have been looking for you for three days.”

“I know,” she acknowledged in a small voice. “That’s why I ran.”

“I bet you don’t know I sent them to bring you to the house to spend Christmas with the family.”

“B-but you hate me.”

“Nah. At first, maybe I wasn’t too pleased when Little Sammy told me he was gonna be father. But eventually, the missus, she. . .uh. . .helped me see the error of my ways.”

Little Sammy grinned. “Mom chased him around the kitchen with a rolling pin, yelling at the top of her lungs that nobody was gonna deprive her of her first grandbaby.”

His father grimaced. “So, Maria, are you willing to let bygones be bygones and become a member of the Spitelli family?”

She glanced up at Little Sammy’s adoring face. “Sammy’s gotta ask me himself.”

The young man promptly dropped to one knee on the crunchy grass and took both her hands. “Maria Bartoli, will you marry me?”

She smiled and nodded. “I guess.”

Big Sammy smiled and rubbed his hands together. “Good. That’s settled. Let’s get going. Mama’s got Christmas dinner in the oven, and if we’re late she’ll make minestrone out of me.”

Joe stepped forward. “Maria, are you sure you want to go with them? You don’t have to, you know.” He slapped the hammer against his palm.

The girl pulled away from her fiancé’s arms and went to Joe. Standing on tiptoe, she planted a swift kiss on his cheek. “I want to. Don’t worry. And thanks for taking care of me.”

Two minutes later, Charley stood in the yard staring at receding taillights. “What just happened here? I feel like I’ve been part of some ridiculous reality TV show.”

“That makes two of us.”

“It was kind of sweet, though.”

Joe nodded. 

Out of habit she glanced at her watch. Eight o’clock had come and gone. 

Yikes! 

She tamped down the rising panic and turned to face him. “I’m sorry to run, but I’ve got to serve breakfast for twelve in half an hour.”  She stuck out her hand. “It was nice to meet you, even under such bizarre circumstances. Have a safe trip home, and Merry Christmas.”

Instead of the quick, friendly shake she’d intended, he took her hand and didn’t release it. “I just had a thought,” he said. “How would you like to come home with me for New Year’s?”

Her mouth fell open. Had she heard him correctly? She liked Joe and he was certainly attractive, but they hadn’t even known each other twenty-four hours. 

His dark eyes sparkled with seductive mischief. “When I called home I didn’t give my mom any specifics about Maria—I didn’t want to worry her—but when I told her I was bringing a girl home for the holidays she was pleased. . .and more than a little relieved, I think.  She’s been after me for years about the state of my social life. I’m sure she’d be happier to see you than a pregnant, Goth teenager.”

Hearing the love in his voice when he talked about his mother brought an ache to her heart and a lump to her throat. “It’s not that I don’t want to make your mom happy, but—”

His expression sobered. “It would make me happy. I could stay and help out here until your guests leave. Then we could drive to Roanoke together. A few days of R & R would do you good. You look tired.”

Ouch. Not exactly what a girl wants to hear from a good-looking guy. “Gee, thanks.”

“Tired, but beautiful. I’m just saying you could use a little spoiling.”

Was he trying to melt her like last week’s snowman? Nobody had spoiled her, or even suggested it, in years, and if they had she would have rebuffed them. She’d made her own way and forged her own life since her parents’ deaths. She had the inn. She had Henry for help. She was in control. It was a safe, if lonely, way to live.

“You’d love it,” he continued. “One of my sisters and her husband host the annual family New Year’s Eve party, and my mom makes killer black eyed peas the next day.”

Family, a party, and the opportunity to eat someone else’s cooking. Her walls began to crumble. He seemed to know just how to hit her soft spots.

“Come on,” he urged, tugging her toward him. “Take a chance.”

Should she? Could she?

She allowed him to pull her closer until only a breath separated them. She hadn’t had a reason to celebrate the beginning of a new year in ages. Maybe it was time. 

“I think I’d like that,” she murmured.

“Good.” 

His arms tightened around her back, and his lips settled on hers in a kiss filled with the promise of good things to come.

Check out my full-length story, By Reservation Only

By Reservation Only (Deerbourne Inn) 

by Barbara Edwards 

Link: http://a.co/d/atQwzPx

It's the grand opening of The Deerbourne Inn! Award-winning Chef Nathan Harte has worked long and hard to restore this historic property in Willow Spring, Vermont. He’s ready to greet his guests with fine cuisine, comfortable rooms, and maybe even a ghost or two. 

He's escaping the rat-race of the city for a slower more rewarding life, but is he ready to deal with a broken arm, a quirky arsonist, and a long-ago mystery? And what might he find up in the three hundred year old attics? 

Victoria Harte, his sister, has claimed the two cottages for her patients: wounded military suffering from PTSD who need the peace and quiet of the Vermont countryside. 

No Room at the Inn, chapter 2, by Barbara Edwards

Chapter Two

Joe Matthews breathed an internal sigh of relief as a look of determination settled across Charley’s features. Maybe she wouldn’t send them back out into the storm after all. He hated being at someone else’s mercy, even someone as pretty as Charlene Holloway, but he couldn’t make the kid spend the night in his freezing truck. She was about to pass out from fatigue as it was. He glanced at Maria’s drooping, dark head as she shoveled the last spoonful of soup into her mouth and noted with surprise that his own bowl was empty, too. He’d never been a big fan of split pea, but Charley’s soup was a nice surprise—rich and flavorful, with plenty of ham. 

When she began to stack the empty bowls, he rose. “Here, let me take those.”  

She smiled and relinquished them. “Thanks. If you’ll put these in the sink, I’ll fix dessert. Do you like pecan pie?”

Pecan pie. At least one thing was going his way today. He nodded. “It’s my favorite.”

A pair of charming dimples bracketed Charley’s smile. “Great. What about you, Maria?”

The girl shrugged. “Never had it.”

Charley opened the refrigerator and removed a whole pie. “Then you’re in for a treat. My pecan pie won a blue ribbon at the Virginia State Fair last year.” She cut two slices and set them on the table, along with a pair of forks. 

Joe slid the first bite into his mouth and closed his eyes in satisfaction. No wonder she’d won a blue ribbon—the pie was perfect, with a tender, flaky crust and firm, yet silky, filling. It might even be better than his mother’s, although he’d never admit that out loud. He cast an appreciative glance her way. Besides having hair the color of rich molasses and all the right curves under her long, loose sweater, Charley Holloway was one fine cook. 

“I’ve figured out how to solve our accommodation problem,” Charley said, interrupting his bliss. “As soon as you’re finished, I’ll take you to my cottage out back. You can stay there.”

He frowned. “But what about you? I don’t want to put you out of your home.”

“It won’t be a problem. I’ve got two bedrooms.”

His frown deepened as he glanced at Maria, who had nearly finished her pie. Surely Charley didn’t think they were. . .

Then she flashed him a teasing grin. “You can have the living room sofa.”

He relaxed and picked up his fork. “That would be great. Thanks.”

Ten minutes later, after retrieving their bags from the truck, he and Maria picked their way across the yard, following Charley to a white clapboard cottage trimmed with dark green shutters. He kept a firm grip on Maria’s elbow while he helped her up the ice-covered steps. The last thing he needed was for her to fall and go into labor. He’d only known her a couple of hours, but her defensive vulnerability stirred his protective instincts.

Charley’s living room was small and cozy—emphasis on the small. Joe eyed the plump sofa and wondered how much of his length would fit on it. If he wanted to be able to stand the next day he might be better off on the floor. While Charley settled Maria in the guest room and pointed out the hall bath, he took stock of the situation. He’d expected to be home with his folks in Roanoke by nightfall, not camped out on a stranger’s sofa with a pregnant teenager in tow. All he wanted now was to get Maria home to his mom. She would know what to do. She always did.

When Charley walked into the room with an armful of bedding topped by a big, fluffy pillow, he reached to take it from her. “Thanks. I really appreciate this.” 

She glanced at the sofa with a rueful smile. “I know it’s small. You might be better off in my room, and I could sleep out here.”

“I’ll be fine. Trust me. Your couch will be much more comfortable than my truck.”

She flipped the hood on her coat back over her head. “Well, I need to get back to the inn. I can’t leave Henry to take care of a dozen guests on his own. Make yourself at home, and I’ll be back in a couple of hours. You can start a fire if you want.” She tipped her chin toward the neat stack of logs by the fireplace then slipped out the door.

Joe glanced at his watch. Only seven-thirty. Now what? He didn’t see a television, although a well-stocked bookcase stood against one wall. He unbuttoned his coat and hung it over the back of a chair in the compact kitchen. Maybe he should check on Maria. He knocked softly on her door. Hearing no response, he turned the old glass knob and pushed the door open a few inches. The girl was fast asleep, tucked under a thick down comforter. She’d obviously washed her face and looked about five-years-old without all the mascara. He closed the door without a sound.

Maybe he should take Charley’s suggestion and light a fire. Ten minutes later, with a cheery fire crackling in the fireplace, he stretched out on the sofa as best he could. It had been a long day, and it wouldn’t hurt to rest his eyes for a few minutes.

He awoke suddenly to a hand shaking his shoulder. A soft, feminine voice said, “Wake up.”

“Huh?” He blinked and focused on Charley Holloway’s face leaning over his. Almost close enough to kiss. He bolted upright, barely avoiding a collision with her chin. “What time is it?”

She laughed. “A little after nine. You’re welcome to turn in, but you’ll be much more comfortable if you take your boots off first.”

He glanced at his feet and immediately swung them to the floor. He’d fallen asleep on a strange woman’s sofa with his boots on. His mother would have his hide if she found out. Heat rose in his face. “Sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it.” She set a foil-wrapped plate on the kitchen counter. “I brought the last two pieces of pie. Would you like one?”

There was never a bad time for pie, especially Charley’s pecan pie. “That sounds great.”

She took two plates from the cupboard. “How about a brandy? It’s the perfect thing for a cold night.”

He’d never drunk brandy, but a little warmth couldn’t hurt. The cottage was chilly in spite of the fire. “Sure.” 

“It helps me unwind, although I’m not sure you need much help with that.” She glanced at the sofa, and her dimples re-appeared. 

Joe’s face warmed again, and he breathed a tiny sigh of thanks for the dim firelight. He hadn’t blushed like this since high school. What is it about her? You’d think I’d never been alone with a woman before. 

He rose and joined her as she slid the second slice of pie onto a plate and added forks. “Let me take those.”

Setting the plates on the coffee table, he waited until she joined him with two juice glasses half-full of reddish-brown liquid that sparkled in the firelight.

She handed him a glass. “I hope you don’t mind. The proper snifters are in the dining room at the inn.”

“These are perfect. I wouldn’t know a ‘proper snifter’ if it bit me on the nose.”

They sat side by side on the short sofa, watching the dancing flames and eating pecan pie in companionable silence. After a few minutes, he took a tentative sip from his juice glass. Yow! The stuff burned all the way down his throat. His eyes teared and he choked. 

Her dark eyes widened in alarm. “Let me get you some water.”

He waved her down. “No…I’m okay…it’s just that…I’ve never…Wow.”

“It’s an acquired taste. Just go slow.”

He took her advice and was surprised by the warm glow that spread through his body in a matter of minutes.

She tilted her head, and her lips curved. “Better?”

He nodded. “Yeah.” Blood was definitely flowing—everywhere. He shifted on the sofa. Time to re-direct his attention unless he wanted to embarrass himself further. “So, how long have you owned the Foxborough Inn?”

Her expression sobered and she stared into the fire. “I bought it ten years ago, after my parents died. I’d been working in D.C., but their accident made me re-think my priorities. Washington’s political scene lost its appeal.”

Joe couldn’t imagine politics ever having any appeal. “What about siblings?”

She shook her head. “I’m an only child.” Her voice sounded small and lonely. 

An image popped into his head of Christmas mornings with his parents, grandparents, and five siblings. Charley had likely never known that kind of cheerful pandemonium. “What do you do for holidays?”

She shrugged. “Rest. Relax.”

“Alone?”

She took a sip of her brandy then nodded. “I usually close the inn right before Christmas until the middle of January. That way Henry can spend the holidays with his daughter and grandchildren.”

“But not this year.”

“We’ll close the day after tomorrow, when the wedding party departs.” She finished her drink with one final swallow and stood. “I’d better get to bed. I’ve got a busy day tomorrow—Eggs Benedict for twelve at nine o’clock.”

Joe rose too. “Thanks again for taking us in. I hate to add to your work.”

“I don’t mind. Busy is good.” Her smile seemed tinged with sadness, and he wondered if it was his imagination or a trick of the shadows.

****

At six-thirty the next morning, Charley poked her nose out from under the comforter. No sound greeted her ears. Good. If she was lucky, she could grab a quick shower before her visitors awoke. Fifteen minutes later, dried and dressed, she tiptoed into the living room, where Joe Matthews’ lanky form draped over her sofa in an awkward jumble of limbs and joints. She knew she shouldn’t laugh, but a giggle slipped out anyway. 

Joe rolled over and groaned. He scrubbed his prickly face with one hand then ran it through his hair. When he shoved the blanket aside and pushed to his feet Charley giggled again.

“Sorry,” she said.

He made a wry grimace. “I may never walk again.”

“There are fresh towels in the bathroom. You’ll feel better after a hot shower.” 

As he stumbled down the hall, she smiled and began humming a little tune under her breath. It had been ages since she’d seen a man first thing in the morning. It was kind of nice. 

When he returned, dressed in clean clothes and sporting a fresh shave, she directed him to the kitchen table. “Sit.” He gave her a quizzical look but complied. “Eat,” she said, setting a heaping plate of French toast and bacon in front of him.

“You didn’t have to do this,” he objected, picking up his fork. “It’s too much work.” The last bit came out muffled by a mouthful of food. 

She couldn’t suppress a little buzz of gratification. Apparently her cooking was good enough to make a Southern boy forget his manners. “I enjoy cooking breakfast. It’s my favorite meal.”

“Morning.” 

Charley turned to see Maria standing by the table wearing flannel pajama pants with koala bears and a long t-shirt that stretched tight across her tummy. She looked heart-breakingly young. 

“Have a seat and I’ll bring you some French toast. Do you like bacon?”

Maria gave her a classic teenage duh look. “Who doesn’t like bacon?”

Charley smiled. “Exactly.”

Joe finished his breakfast just as Maria dug in to hers. He rose and picked up his dishes. “Have you checked the weather yet this morning?”

Charley pushed back the lace-edged curtain over the sink. “The sleet stopped sometime last night.” She leaned forward on tiptoe to check the thermometer mounted to the outside of the window frame. “It’s already above freezing. The roads will thaw in an hour or two.”

Joe’s arm brushed against hers as he peered out the window. “Then we shouldn’t have any trouble making it to Roanoke in time for Christmas dinner with my folks.”

Maria’s chair scraped the floor as she jumped up with a speed that belied her belly. “We gotta go now.” Her eyes darted between Charley and Joe, and urgency vibrated in her voice.

Joe crossed the room and laid a big hand on her shoulder. “Hey, it’s okay. We’ve got plenty of time.”

Maria shook her head. “No, you don’t understand.”

“Understand what?”

“We gotta go. They’ll catch me.” She spread a protective hand across her belly.

The girl was clearly terrified of someone.

Charley hurried to Maria’s side, slid her left arm around the girl’s back, and placed her hand over Maria’s, holding her in a loose embrace. She frowned when the girl’s icy hand twitched beneath hers. “You’re freezing.” She lifted her gaze to meet Joe’s, and he nodded and strode to the fire to toss on a couple more logs. 

Charley guided Maria to the sofa. “Everything’s going to be fine. Come sit and warm up. Then you can tell us all about it.” Maria shook as Charley plucked the rumpled blanket off the sofa and wrapped it around her shoulders before sitting beside her.

Joe dragged a chair over and sat, taking her hands in his. “Maria, I won’t let anyone hurt you. Trust me.”

“You d-don’t even know me.”

“I know you need help. That’s enough.”

“Who do you think is after you?” Charley asked quietly.

Maria drew a shuddering breath. “Big Sammy, or a couple of his guys. I don’t guess he would do something like that himself.”

Joe stroked her hand with his thumb. “Something like what?”

“He wants to make me disappear.” She shivered. “Because of the baby, you know.”

Charley glanced at Maria’s belly. “Is that Big Sammy’s baby?”

Maria jerked upright and wrinkled her nose. “Eww, no. Big Sammy is, like, old. It’s Little Sammy’s.”

“His son?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m sure this man wouldn’t harm his own grandchild.”

Maria tossed her spiky, black cap of hair. “Hah! You don’t know Big Sammy Spitelli. When he wants someone disappeared, they disappear.”

Joe sat back in his chair. “Well, you’re not going to ‘disappear’.”

“Then we gotta get out of here. Big Sammy’s guys have been following me for three days in a black Cadillac with dark windows. That’s why I had to get out of Jersey.”

Joe planted his hands on his thighs and pushed up. “In that case, we should be able to safely hit the road by nine. You finish your breakfast and take a shower, and I’ll go out and start chipping the ice off the truck.”

“I’ll walk with you,” Charley said. “I’ve got to get breakfast started for the wedding party. Maria, don’t you worry. You’re going to be fine.” She pulled on her coat and followed Joe out the door.

The ice storm had transformed the inn and its surroundings into a glittering wonderland. Even the barn looked like something out of a fairy tale. The sound of dripping water filled the early morning stillness as tiny icicles melted on the eaves and gurgled through the gutters and downspouts.

Charley caught up to Joe in a few paces. “What do you think of her story?”

“It doesn’t matter what I think. She’s scared, so I’ll get her to Roanoke as soon as possible.”

“What will happen then?”

“I don’t know, but my mom’s a retired social worker. She knows people who can help.”

Just then the crunch of tires on the ice-covered gravel driveway drew Charley’s attention as a vintage black Cadillac drove slowly toward the inn. She and Joe stood frozen as the car disappeared around the front of the building. Then a door slammed, followed quickly by a second. 

Joe muttered an expletive and started forward, but she laid a hand on his arm. “Go back to the cottage and help Maria get ready to go. I’ll take care of this.” 

She left him and scurried up the slick back steps. This was her inn, and nothing bad was going to happen here on Christmas Day, period.

Dumping her coat in the kitchen, she took a deep breath and marched down the short hall, past her office, to the lobby. Three men in black wool overcoats stood in front of the desk, stomping their feet and rubbing their hands together.  When they saw her, they stilled.

Charley lifted her chin and pasted a smile on her face. “Merry Christmas. What can I do for you gentlemen?”

The tallest stepped forward. “We’re traveling with some friends—a man and a girl. We got separated last night because of the weather and wondered if they stopped here.”

“The girl’s knocked up,” the short, round one added helpfully. “You can’t miss ‘er.”

“I’m sorry, but I can’t help you. All our rooms are occupied by a wedding party.”

The tall one eyed her closely and twisted a chunky, gold ring on his right pinky. “You’re sure you haven’t seen them? They were headed this way. We’re in the freaking middle of nowhere here. There’s no place else to stop for miles.”

The medium-sized man tugged on the tall one’s sleeve. “Vinnie, if they’re not here, they’re not here. We better get going and find them. Big Sammy’s not gonna be happy.”

Jeez. Could these guys be for real? They looked and sounded like extras from The Sopranos. But what did she know? She’d never even been to New Jersey. 

Vinnie pursed his lips for a moment then said, “Right. Let’s go.”

Charley glanced at the grandfather clock across the lobby and chewed her lip. What if Maria was right? What if Vinnie and his pals really were some kind of hitmen? She wished she knew if Joe and Maria were still in the cottage. She didn’t want these goons to leave now and run into them outside. She needed to stall Big Sammy’s men long enough to give Joe and Maria a good head start. 

“I’m about to start breakfast for my guests. Can I fix you gentlemen something before you go? You might have a long, cold drive ahead of you. I doubt any place else will be open Christmas morning.”

 “No, thanks. We need to be going.” Vinnie started to turn toward the door, but his short associate stopped him with a tug on his sleeve.

“We got time, and we gotta eat. I’m starved, and like you said, there’s no place else around for miles.”

“I’m making Eggs Benedict,” Charley added.

The three faced her and then each other. She held her breath. 

Finally Vinnie relented. “Okay, but you guys need to eat fast.”

His cohorts readily agreed, and Charley ushered them into the kitchen and seated them at the table. On her way to the fridge, she glanced out the window and saw Joe’s truck still parked near the barn. Her stomach began to churn. What if one of the men spotted it? If they knew Joe and Maria were together, they must know the kind of vehicle he drove. 

However, they quickly became embroiled in conversation about someone named Sal who owed Big Sammy money over a failed business deal and what they were going to do about it. Charley tuned them out and concentrated on getting food in front of them as quickly as possible. They were less likely to notice to anything happening outside with her Eggs Benedict under their noses. 

Ten minutes later, she poured herself a cup of coffee and leaned one hip against the sink. The only sounds coming from the table were grunts of satisfaction as the men concentrated on their food. Something dark and a flash of movement outside caught her attention, and she shot a quick glance out the window to see Joe helping Maria across the icy yard to his truck. Her heart pounded in her throat. How far would the sound of the doors closing carry in the still morning air? She needed to create a distraction, but what? 

Music. There was a CD of holiday favorites in the player in her office and speakers throughout the first floor. Perfect. She set her cup on the counter and headed toward the door. 

As she passed, Shorty twisted in his chair, raised his cup, and looked over his shoulder—in the direction of the window. “Could I have another. . .Hey, Vinnie, isn’t that the girl?”