3 Madness in Christmas River (4 page)

She smiled faintly.

“Aw, don’t try and make me feel sorry for you now,” I said. “When I came in here, there were at least a dozen men listening to you talk. You’ve still got it Aunt Marie, and you know it.”

“Yes,” she said, looking off into the distance. “But where are they now? Those types never stay long, and I’m too old to go chasing them around anymore.”

She pushed her ice-filled glass across the counter.

“Besides, Victor’s a hard act to follow.”

She didn’t say anything for a long moment.

Even though it felt like he’d been gone a long time, Victor really hadn’t died all that long ago. I’m sure that for Marie, his passing still felt very fresh.  

I finished the rest of my whiskey.

“C’mon,” she finally said. “It’s the holidays. I’m not going to mope around. Besides, there is one very special man in my life these days I haven’t told you about.”

“Oh?” I said.  

We started standing up. I pulled out some dollar bills and placed them under the glasses.

“Yes,” she said. “He’s a little dangerous. Some might call him a rogue. And he’s got an affinity for wearing an eye patch.”

I shook my head and started laughing.

“He wouldn’t happen to live on the side of a bottle, would he?” I said.

She grinned.  

“Why yes, yes he would,” she said, grabbing a hold of my arm. “Most people call him Captain Morgan, but he lets me call him Morg. He’s an old flame of mine, don’t you know. Me and Morg go way back.”

We threaded our way through the crowd. As we passed familiar faces, Marie was constantly stopped by old acquaintances. You would have thought Elizabeth Taylor herself had come back from the dead and made a special visit to the Pine Needle Tavern, the way people carried on. It took us 20 minutes to get out of the bar.

That was just Marie all over. She still had that spark, that bit of magic that drew people to her, some kind of electromagnetic energy that people found irresistible.

Growing up, I always wanted to be like her.

But watching her now, I knew that I never would be.

Chapter 6

I stood in line at the hot pretzel stand, glad that I’d had the whiskey earlier to help battle the cold.

The line was long and there was a blistering mountain wind running through the center of town. I’d come to the Christmas tree lighting ceremony armed with my trusty down jacket and fur lined boots, but they just didn’t stand up against the chill.

I rubbed my arms, wishing that old Mrs. Carrick would stop asking Leon Marston, the pretzel stand owner, so many questions so that I could just get Warren his annual pretzel and get back to the group before the tree was lit.

Warren took me to the festival every year when I was kid, and every year we’d share a ginger cinnamon sugar pretzel. It was our annual tradition, and nothing was going to get in the way of that. Not even subzero winds, or an old lady who liked to ask pointless questions.

I stamped my feet on the ground, trying to get the numbness out of my toes.

“Well, I’ll be,” somebody suddenly said from behind me in line.

My heart dropped. 

I knew the voice right away.

And I wished to God that I didn’t.

I thought a second about ignoring it, about adhering to the “hear-no-evil, see-no-evil” philosophy.

But I knew that that wouldn’t do.

It was a small town. The kind of place where you didn’t just ignore people. No matter how badly you wanted to.

Or how much they might deserve being ignored.

I took a deep breath and turned around.

When I saw him, I let out a disappointed grunt that I just couldn’t suppress.

The smug grin, the dishwater brown pepper-colored hair, the snowboarding jacket. The jeans and tan boots.

He still had those stupid boots.

“It’s been a while, Cin,” Evan said, his eyes crawling up and down me. “I can’t even remember the last time I saw you, girl.”

I wanted to vomit when he called me
girl
, but somehow I managed to keep it down.

“I remember,” I said, thinking back to the Gingerbread Junction two years ago, when he tried to get me back.

He smiled wryly.

I felt my stomach twinge in disgust.

I could say with certainty that Evan, my ex-husband, was a bad man.

Of course, I hadn’t figured that out until it was too late.

Until many years after I’d married him. Until he’d cheated on me with Bailey, my good friend and bakery assistant.

Just being in his presence now made my skin crawl more than a centipede.

“Well, anyway you look at it, it’s been far too long since we’ve seen each other,” he said.

I clicked my tongue against the top of my mouth.

“Not long enough for me.”

He laughed.

“Aw, c’mon. Don’t be like that. We had some good times together, didn’t we?”

“I heard that you moved away,” I said.

“I did,” he said. “After I broke up with Talia. But I’m back now. I just don’t belong in a city. You know me—I’m just a country boy at heart.”

Mrs. Carrick finally took her pretzel from Leon and the line moved up. I quickly followed, moving away from Evan.

But he didn’t take the hint.

“So, uh, I heard that Bailey’s little shop didn’t work out too well and that she left town,” he said.

I didn’t respond at first, surprised that he’d bring that up himself.

That he’d utter her name like that, like we were talking about a distant neighbor instead of his one-time mistress.

Like that name hadn’t wrecked all my hopes and dreams once. 

He had a lot of nerve.

“What do you care?” I said.  

I had been feeling generous over the summer, and after Bailey had asked me for help with her ailing pastry shop, I had done my best to give her some tips about how to keep it running. But it ended up being a hopeless matter. People just weren’t going into
Wicked Pastry
. And nothing was going to save her shop from sinking.

She finally closed the store in October, and last I heard, she’d moved to Missoula.

When she left, I had a strong feeling that I’d probably never see Bailey Jackson again. And that was perfectly A-Okay with me.

I had hoped the same thing about seeing Evan, but it looked like not all of my wishes were coming true this holiday season.  

“Well, it didn’t surprise me to hear that her business folded,” he said. “I always knew your baking was better.”

My skin felt like it was trying to crawl to the other side of the plaza.

Marie suddenly appeared out of nowhere.

“Cin, what’s the hold-up here? Warren’s waiting on that—”

She stopped mid-sentence when she saw who I was talking to.

“Well, well, Aunt Marie,” Evan said, smiling and leaning back on his heels. “I haven’t seen you in ages. How’s life in the one percent?”

Marie narrowed her eyes at him.

“Don’t you talk to me, Evan,” she said, stepping forward aggressively. “Not after the fool you made of yourself with poor Cinnamon here…”

The line finally cleared in front of me, and I went up to Leon, quickly ordering a ginger cinnamon sugar pretzel. I pushed a few dollars across the counter, and he handed me a hot, fresh one wrapped in wax paper.

When I came back to get Marie, she was still ranting at Evan.

“C’mon, Marie,” I said, pulling at her arm with my free hand. “Warren’s waiting on this pretzel.”

“I guess you’re right,” she said, giving Evan one more dirty look. “Your fiancé’s waiting for us too.”

“Fiancé?” Evan said, lifting his eyebrows and looking at me.

I nodded, pleased that Marie had dropped that little bomb on him.

“Who?” he asked.“That sorry excuse for a cop? What’s his name… Brightman?”

His face caved into a sour, disappointed expression.

“Yes,” I said. “
Sheriff
Daniel Brightman.”

A wonderful feeling of revenge coursed through me.

Evan stared back, speechless.

Maybe I had been wrong earlier when I had told Marie that she was the devil.

Maybe I was.

But it felt oh-so-good being the devil at the moment.

“You’ve been away from Christmas River a long time, Evan,” I said. “You’ve missed out on a lot.”

He struggled to speak, but he didn’t get a chance to say whatever he was going to say.

I was already walking away.

Chapter 7

Warren tore off a piece of the steaming pretzel, dipped the soft dough into the small container of melted butter, and chowed down.  

He licked his fingers.

“It just gets better every year,” he said. “I don’t know how Leon does it.”

We stood by the railing that circled the large Christmas tree, which was still shrouded in darkness.

Each year, Christmas River’s Christmas tree seemed to get bigger and bigger. The city must have seen the size of the tree as an investment in tourism.

When I was just a kid and Warren would take me, the tree was only a meager 15 feet tall or so. A working man’s tree, Warren used to call it. And while the tree-lighting event had always been big for the locals who lived here, it had really exploded into an all-out tourist attraction over the past few years.

It used to bother me that the festival had become overrun by out-of-towners, but these days, it didn’t seem to matter so much. It felt more festive with so many people.

An icy breeze cut right through my down jacket, and I shivered.

“Sure is cold out here,’ I said, trying to zip it up farther than it would go. “After this, I’m going home, sitting by the fire and having a pint of that pumpkin ale of yours.”

“Doesn’t sound like such a bad plan,” Warren said. “I might just join you there.”

I clapped my gloved hands together, trying to warm them up.

“I wonder what’s taking that Marie so long,” he said, looking over his shoulder. “She’s going to miss the big moment if she doesn’t hurry back.”

After we had run into Evan, Marie had said she was going to the ladies’ room. She’d been gone a while.

I considered telling Warren about Evan showing up, but I decided to spare him from that knowledge. While I had been able to move past what Evan had done to me, Warren still held a grudge that burned as bright as the North Star on a clear winter’s night.

I knew that Evan didn’t stand a chance against Warren, but I would have rather avoided a spectacle at the annual Christmas tree lighting ceremony. Plus, Warren really needed to save his energy for his beer brewing endeavors.

I glanced over at the giant clock that counted down the minutes to when the tree would burst into lights. There was less than two minutes, and Marie wasn’t the only one I was worried about getting back in time.

I scanned the crowd, looking for that trademark cowboy hat. But I didn’t find it.

As sheriff, Daniel was working at this event. But he had promised to find us in time for the tree lighting.

I glanced again at the big clock. He had about a minute and a half left.  

It was just the tree lighting.  It didn’t matter if he made it in time or not. Not really.

But I had hoped we would have been able to see it together. It seemed like good luck to me. The right way to start the Christmas season.  

And it was important to start this season off right. More than most.

“I’m here, I’m here!”

Marie came up beside me, out of breath and flustered.

“There you are,” Warren said. “We were starting to get worried about you.”

“It’s just so unfair being a woman,” she babbled. “The line to the ladies’ room stretched all the way to Holly Street, while the men’s bathroom line was an in-and-out deal.”

“You’re just in time,” I said, nodding to the clock. “We’re down to less than a minute.”

I bit my lip, scanning the crowd once more for the cowboy hat.

“Where’s that hunky sheriff of yours?” Marie asked, noticing my worried expression.

“Beats me,” I said, trying to make light of it.

The crowd hushed as the clock wound down to the last 20 seconds. The last ten seconds, everybody counted out loud like it was New Year’s.

I let out a short sigh and tried not to let it get to me. I rested my arms on Warren and Marie, and stared up at the dark, looming tree.

“5, 4, 3, 2, 1!”

The tree exploded into bright reds, magentas, blues and greens. A round of
oohs
and
ahhs
rose up from the crowd, and everybody started clapping.

The city had really outdone itself this year: the tree was absolutely beautiful. Between the
Whoville
-esque lights and the dozens of giant glittery ornaments, I imagined it gave the Times Square Christmas tree a run for its money.

But even though I tried, I couldn’t enjoy the moment properly.

I found myself scanning the crowd again, trying to find Daniel.

But he was nowhere in sight.

I told myself that it didn’t matter.

Not really.

Chapter 8

“Sorry again that I missed it, Cin,” Daniel said, leaning down and retying the laces of his boots.

I took my eyes off the dark road for a moment and glanced over at him.

“You don’t have to apologize,” I said. “It’s not a big deal. You had a job to do.”

“I know,” he said. “But I said I would be there and I wasn’t. And I know that it meant something to you.”

I looked back at the road, so lonely and desolate at this early hour of the morning.

With a heavy heart, I was taking Daniel to the Redmond Airport, a 45-minute drive from Christmas River.

“Yeah, but it’s more important that you kept Craig Canby from driving home drunk and smashing into some poor soul,” I said.

“I’m still sorry.”

“Don’t be,” I said. “It’s okay. I know very well who I’m marrying.”

He reached over, taking my hand and squeezing it.

“I’m sorry too about leaving like this,” he said, sighing. “It’s not the way I would have wanted it.”

“You’re just full of apologies this morning,” I said.