The Lodge on Holly Road. Sheila RobertsЧитать онлайн книгу.
table and two wingback chairs flanked it. A baby grand piano occupied space in one corner and Missy knew from what she’d read on the website that later that evening someone would be seated at that piano, giving the guests a concert. But best of all was the antique sleigh sitting front and center in the lobby. It was decorated with red ribbon and greens and filled with presents and teddy bears. Some delicious aroma hung in the air, bringing the promise of cookies.
“Well, aren’t you two the most beautiful children ever,” the woman at the reception desk greeted them. “What are your names?”
“I’m Lalla. I’m named after a Orca princess.” Lalla pointed to her tiara.
“Moroccan princess,” Missy corrected her, and Lalla nodded vigorously.
“Of course. Anyone can see you’re a princess,” said the woman.
That was the plan, always had been, from the moment Missy learned she was having a girl. She’d picked the name, not just because of her daughter’s mixed ethnicity and skin color, but because she wanted Lalla to know she was special and to grow up confident that she could become anything she wanted. There would be no low self-esteem in her family. No, sir.
“This is Carlos,” Lalla continued. “He doesn’t believe in Santa.”
The woman put a hand to her heart. “Oh, dear. I’d better not tell Santa that. It will hurt his feelings. You know, Icicle Falls is his favorite place to visit,” she said, lowering her voice conspiratorially.
“I saw him,” Lalla said eagerly. “Who are you?”
“I’m Olivia Wallace, and this is my home. I hope you’ll enjoy staying with us. We have you and your family in 205,” she said, addressing both Missy and John, who’d been standing next to Missy, enjoying the show. She handed a little envelope with the keycards to John.
He turned red from his neck to the tips of his ears. “Um, we’re not really together. We just, uh, met on the way up.”
Olivia flushed. “Oh, excuse me.”
“John put the chains on my car,” Missy told her.
“Well, that was nice. It’s good to see that chivalry is still alive and well,” Olivia said approvingly.
“It sure is,” Missy agreed. “Okay, guys, let’s go see our room,” she said to the kids. They were off with a whoop, racing for the stairs. “And don’t run,” she called, trailing after them with their bags.
She was still within earshot, so she heard Olivia say to John, “Now, there’s a sweet young woman.”
“Yeah, she’s pretty nice,” John said.
He thought she was pretty nice. She thought he was pretty nice, too. Pity he wasn’t in the market for a woman.
Except that even if he was, a classy guy like that who drove a nice car and not an old beater wouldn’t want to hang out with a girl like her, someone who lived in a dumpy neighborhood, shopped at Goodwill and garage sales and fed her kids mac and cheese from a box. At least she didn’t smoke anymore. She’d kicked that habit and was already saving money as a result. Still, she’d never make enough to put her in his class. Men like John dated girls who worked in offices and shopped at Nordstrom and Macy’s, girls who never got their hair done at inexpensive salons.
She frowned. It shouldn’t matter what a person wore or what sort of car she drove. It was what she was like on the inside that counted. And on the inside Missy was an office-working, Nordstrom-shopping, high-end-salon kind of woman. Someday, someday soon, she’d have the life to prove it. And meanwhile, she was staying at a classy place and giving her kids a classy Christmas. So there, she concluded, lifting her chin. That chin-lifting stuff wasn’t such a good idea, made it hard to see the stairs. She tripped, and her suitcase slid down a couple of steps. Oops. She grabbed it and kept on going, her cheeks burning. Nordstrom on the inside, she told herself.
* * *
John watched out of the corner of his eye as Missy Monroe and her kids went up the stairs. He wondered if Missy was seeing someone, if there was some man hoping to step into her ready-made family. There had to be someone. She was too cute and too sweet to be totally on her own.
Although if she was seeing someone, he probably would’ve come up here with her. After all, who did Christmas alone?
None of your business, he reminded himself as Olivia gave him his keycard.
“You’re in 207,” she informed him.
Right next door to the Monroe family. For a millisecond he wondered if he wanted to be that close to Missy and company. He felt a little like an alcoholic who’d just been offered a bottle of twenty-year-old Scotch.
But then he chided himself for being stupid. Yeah, Missy was cute, but so what? He was in love with Holland, and he wasn’t some low-life scum who hit on other women when he was about to become engaged, so it was no big deal. That resolved, he went to his room.
Oh, man, Holland was going to love this. The room had it all—antique furniture but a state-of-the-art TV and DVD player, a small fridge for his champagne, a view of the mountains out the window, a snowy-white comforter on the king-size bed and an electric fireplace. Oh, yeah. This was going to be romance to the max. He could picture Holland and him in that big bed going at it and then cuddling together, watching the flames. If only Holland had come up tonight.
Well, she’d be here tomorrow, and that would come soon enough. Meanwhile, what was he going to do with himself? He went to the window and looked out. The snowy scene beckoned him. What the hey, might as well go check out the town, find something to eat.
He heard whoops coming from 205 as he walked past and for a moment wondered what Missy and her kids were going to do now.
Never mind. He wasn’t up here to hang out with Missy Monroe and her kids. He was here for a romantic getaway with his girlfriend.
Who hadn’t arrived yet. With a sigh, he walked down the hall.
Santa Baby
Brooke had experienced some doubt regarding the wisdom of her holiday kidnapping when her father first failed to get into the spirit of the thing, but only for a few minutes. Over the past year, Daddy had seemed to collapse in on himself, changing from the sociable man he’d always been to a hermit who preferred to sit at home and stare at the TV. That was not Daddy, and something had to be done.
“He’ll be okay,” Dylan kept saying whenever she’d brought up the subject of what to do about their father. “You’ve gotta give him time. Jeez, I still miss Mom.”
As if she didn’t? As if there hadn’t been a day in the past year when she hadn’t wished her mother was alive, when she hadn’t gotten blindsided by a memory and burst into tears? But she had a job and a Sunday school class to teach. And friends getting married and having babies. And that meant bridal showers and baby showers to shop for and weddings to attend (where friends tried to match her up with brothers and cousins, none of whom ever measured up to her idea of the ideal man). Life wasn’t a card game where you got to throw in your hand and say, “I fold.”
And that was exactly what her father was doing. Granted, he’d had a rough time of it, first with taking care of Mom and then with having to live without her. But Brooke was starting to get worried. In the past few months he’d hardly cleaned the house, totally neglected the yard and had constantly made excuses when any of his friends invited him out for dinner. She’d thought he’d return to his seasonal job as a department-store Santa, but he’d even pulled the plug on that, and had only filled in for the past two days when his former boss begged him to help out. He couldn’t go on like this. It wasn’t healthy. So a change of scene was what the doctor had ordered (Dr. Brooke, that is).
He’d perked up once they got to the lodge and smiled