Cupid's Cabin

Cupid’s Cabin

by

Debi Rogers

 

“Toddye Connors! It’s been too long!” The SweetHart Lodge’s bartender’s bright smile of recognition warmed her heart. He winked and scanned the crowd, looking for her husband. “Darryl keeping you waiting?”

A tiny band squeezed her heart. “No, Sam. We––we divorced three years ago.” 

“Oh, God, I’m sorry. Raw subject.” The bartender busied himself with placing a bowl of chocolates in front of her. Regaining his aplomb, he asked “What can I get you to drink?”

Her next words trailed off as a spray of water shot straight up into the air behind the bar. Toddye squealed, jumping nimbly off the sturdy leather stool.

“Whoa, sorry,” came a muffled voice from under the counter. The water slowly fizzled from a geyser to a light spray of water.

Toddye giggled as she shook her hands and fingers to fling off the tiny, wet beads that had splashed onto her. Not much but as if by magic, the front desk clerk appeared with a fluffy, blue towel.

More clanging and sloshing sounded from beneath the beautifully wrought stone bar. “Just a messy plumber trying to stop this leak. I apologize––ugghhhh. Must. Tighten. This. Joint.” His voice strained with each word. A beautiful bass voice, so low-pitched its resonance reverberated up and down Toddye’s spine. She shivered.

“Have a drink on the house.” 

The words came from under the counter, not the bartender.

She tried to hoist herself far enough over the bar to see the man, but it was too wide. The tinkering and clanging of tools hitting the floor told her he wasn’t finished.

“What will you have?” Sam brought her attention back to him. “On the house.”

She raised her brows. “A hot toddy?” A devilish sparkle lit her eyes.

“For a hot Toddye,” a rumble of laughter echoed from under the bartender’s feet. So she made him laugh. Score. The Josh Turner voice melted her insides.

Even in the low light, Sam’s blush burnished his brown cheeks. “Whatever the lady wants.” Mischief played in his eyes as he comically kicked at the man beneath his feet.

A slight whoosh of air sounded, as if the kick connected and then came a chuckle. “Couldn’t help it,” the voice said.

Toddye took her drink, wrapping her hands indulgently around the thick mug. “Thanks, Sam.” She gazed past the tables of lovers and friends intimately engaged in conversation or staring into each others’ eyes.

She wanted a cozy spot near the fire where she could watch the snow fall and not be disturbed. Finding an overstuffed, double-wide chair in a corner, she curled up against one side, pulling a crocheted afgan over her legs. One similar chair backed up to hers.

She’d shoved her phone deep in her pocket, trying to ignore the outside world. But one caller was persistent. This was the third time she’d heard Elvis and Kentucky Rain. She snorted and sighed before answering.  

“Hello, Mom.” She sipped the hot drink and let the fire of the rum spread through her anxious bones. “I’m okay. You were right. This is soothing, and a great place for a celebration.”

“Of course, it is. Screw that asshole and mingle. Take ski lessons. Shop. Go cross country. You’re in great shape. Hell, try snowboarding. Anything.” She could hear the worry in her mother’s voice.

“I will. I promise. Anything special you’d like me to pick up for you while I’m here in snow country?”

“A man the opposite of him would please me immensely.” Her mother believed if she refrained from using Darryl’s name, her daughter would move on easier. Not working so far.

“Mom, how long did it take you to get over losing Dad?”

Silence. “Well. Ours is a totally different story than yours. You might never get over it completely, dear, but life must go on.” Pragmatic to a fault, her psychiatrist mother had moved on three times in twenty years. Toddye wanted to avoid that at all costs.

In fact, she’d decided men were a bother. But she couldn’t tell her dear mother that. “Right. Ok, blocking all thoughts of the past, I’m going to carve out a new tradition all my own.”

“Atta girl, take your pick of the gorgeous, sweatered men swarming the slopes.”

Toddye couldn’t contain a laugh. “Yes, Doctor. Now let me go and enjoy.”

She gazed around the immense room. The Lodge bustled with energy during Valentine’s week. Every table boasted vases overflowing with red roses. Bowls of candied hearts and wrapped chocolate sparkled in Waterford dishes.

Toddye sighed and basked in contentment. She felt a small tug from Cupid’s arrow, but she diverted the winged angel to the back of her mind, focusing instead on the massive fireplace and the movie of twinkling snowflakes falling heavily.

The hot toddy was doing its job. A blaze of relaxation cascaded smoothly down her throat. The fire and the snow enveloped Toddye in a much-needed cocoon of anonymity. She might never leave. This could be heaven.

*

Thirty minutes later, Brian Benjamin shouted, “All done! No more drip,” as he jumped to his feet. Wiping his hands on a towel, he searched the bar, the lobby, scanned the subdued great room. Where had that woman gone?           “My turn for a hot toddy, Sam,” Brian said, thoroughly distracted by his quest. He’d recognized her voice and his blood was roaring in his ears. He’d waited three long years to see her again. She’d been another man’s wife at the time, but he hadn’t been able to get her out of his mind.

As Elvis began to croon Only Fools Rush In, he spotted her in the great room, sitting alone. He wanted to whistle at his good luck. Her head lay languidly against one chair arm, legs tucked underneath a deep purple and yellow afghan. In the crackling light, waves of red hair, streaming nearly to the floor, reflected the colors of the fire. Hypnotized, he merely sipped his drink and marveled at his good fortune. He needed to get home, but she was here, right in front of him. Too good to be true.

An aura of magic reached out to him and he sat in the seat behind her. He hesitated to break the spell, but he had to talk to her.        

“I don’t usually lose control like that,” he said.

She neither jumped nor answered. Maybe she’d fallen asleep. Sitting straighter in the chair he looked down on her. When she raised an eyebrow, he smiled unapologetically.

“I’m certainly glad to hear you don’t make a habit of dousing guests with water. They might get the idea you were trying to run them off,” she remarked cryptically.  

“Ahh, just the reverse. I believe this is a little piece of heaven. Everyone should live in a storybook land like this.” He spread his arms out to include the outdoors as well as the luxurious surroundings of the SweetHart Lodge. “Don’t you think?”

His phone began to play softly then louder. He slipped it out of his pocket and answered.

“Yep. All done. I’ll be home shortly.” He popped the phone back in his pocket.

*

The man was gorgeous. More masculine and buff than his voice had indicated. His dark hair touched his shoulders and those dimples. She’d always been a sucker for dimples. No. She wasn’t going to be sucked in to a complete stranger’s spell.

Besides, he had a family waiting on him. What was he doing flirting with her? Deflated, Toddye sipped her drink, to the last drop.

“Here, let me get you a refill.”

“Oh, but I––”

“I insist. To repay you for the splashing.”

He disappeared before she could say another word. Drat. Married and attentive. Her life had been filled with unattainable men since Darryl’s defection, and somehow they all had the same affliction. Wives. Children.    

Oh, well. Such was life. She nuzzled against the soft animal skin that covered her chair. She could sleep here watching the snow fall.

“Hot toddy delivered to one hot––ahem, to Toddye.” He smiled sheepishly and had the decency to blush. Hard to see behind his dark snow tan.

“You’ll be sledding your way home through this.” Her cold voice dismissive, he ignored it like water off a duck.

His eyes grew huge and excited, a child’s excitement. She found it contagious. But she tamped the feeling down. Married. Remember. Unattainable.

“This is the perfect snow for the slopes. Will you be skiing tomorrow?” He turned exuberance onto her which shot arrows of anticipation bolting down her spine.

“Such passion. You love skiing that much?”

“Yeah, it’s definitely a passion. You? What are your passions, Toddye?”

Should she lead a married man on? Nothing in it for her and he should be ashamed––

Then he jumped, grabbed a jacket and started for the door. “Ok, gotta fly. I’ll be on the slopes tomorrow. Hope you come out. Anything can happen here, anything at all. G‘night.”

Vanishing into the blizzard, he left a chill in her heart.

Anything. Anything is possible.

Finishing that second toddy, she floated to her room. She’d forgotten the luxury of the soft carpet, the dark, inviting colors of the furniture on the second floor. Her door had a red heart with Cupid and his arrow dangling that possibility at her again. His knowing smile kind of creeped her out. Slipping into her room, #222, she performed the most rudimentary ablutions for bed––she’d declared a moratorium on make up for the entire trip, only lotion. Lots of lotion with plenty of SPF.

As she slid under the down-filled blankets, she thought of the plumber’s sun-bronzed face, dark curls in total disarray framing huge green eyes, eyes the color of the pine trees covering the mountains, full of expectation, full of joy, full of contentment.

She had to quit thinking about him. He was off limits. Have your own fun, Toddye. Tomorrow she would take ski lessons. Start from scratch as if she’d never been here. Life could be new. It could be washed clean in powdery-white snow. Then the next day she would ski all day before she tackled cross country.

*

Through the heavy snow, the ski instructor demonstrated snowplowing and then progressed to hockey stops, swirling walls of snow over the heads of his class as he came down the bunny slope right at them. Toddye chuckled at the screams and flying arms of the novices. Only a small number, like herself, stood perfectly still knowing he’d stop in time. Gracefully.

She itched to get on the slopes. Taking the class had been silly, but she had two weeks, so why not indulge? Good way to meet ski instructors. This one impressed her particularly with his strong legs and fluid movements. 

He’d introduced himself as Benjamin, but squinting through her goggles something familiar about his stance tugged at her. He wore jeans. Nice, tight jeans.  A parka, goggles and a colorful ski cap. Hard to see much of anything except his form through all the snow. If nothing else, observing his muscled derriere and eye-popping thighs made the lessons worthwhile

After two hours and several trips down the bunny slope, he directed them to take off on their own. Most of the class trekked back to the bunny slope, but a few skimmed across the powdery field toward more advanced trails.

Sliding close beside Toddye, the instructor motioned toward the bunny slope and she shook her head.

She pointed toward a blue trail sign, mouthed thanks and took off in the direction of the more difficult run.

When it was her turn to get on the doubles chair lift, Toddye moved onto her side, turned and saw her instructor get on beside her. She smiled and took an invigoratingly deep breath of the chilled air, turning her face into the brilliant snow still falling.

At the top of the run, she jumped onto the snow and for the first time in years, let herself go. Though the slope challenged, she’d spent plenty of time on these very trails, slightly different now, but not so much.

At the bottom she raced back to the lift. So did her instructor. They spent the day racing, laughing and challenging each other.

Heavy, beautiful snow continued to fall. Toward mid afternoon, he pointed toward the lodge entry. Toddye’s stomach growled in appreciation as they glided in.

Propping skis on the racks, they faced each other and removed ski caps and goggles.

Toddye stared in wide-eyed amazement. “You. I––what? How could you?”

“How could I what?” Brian asked.      

“First of all, you called yourself Benjamin this morning at class.”

“My last name. It’s how I’m known around here.”

“What are you doing? You follow me all morning, flirt, play, entice. But––but...you’re not free.”

“What makes you think that?”

They made it to the cafe counter and ordered sandwiches. He followed her to a table, but didn’t sit.

Their eyes locked, held and she bristled. “I heard you on the phone last night.”

At first, a frown wrinkled his forehead as he looked up and to his left. That was a good sign. Toddye’s mother would interpret that as merely retrieving memory, not making up stories.

Then his face lit up with understanding.“My call was from home, you’re right about that. Came to vacation one winter and fell in love with the beauty of this mountain. My––”

“And so now you make a practice of preying on single females to––to––lead on?” She felt heat fill her cheeks. What a conniving lowlife.

“No, you’ve got it all wrong.” He raised his hands in surrender. Then he did sit. “Come over for dinner tonight. I’m an amateur chef. I’ll cook for you.” He lay a warmed hand on hers.

She yanked it away. “No. Did you not hear what I said?”

“I heard you. I’ve got nothing to hide. I swear. I don’t invite just anyone home.”

Leery, she studied his body language. Even though her writing was for travel magazines, she liked to observe peoples’ reactions, body language, see if they jibed with their words. His body was alight with excitement. She knew what her mother would tell her to do. She sighed in defeat. Her warring conscious was getting beat up. She wanted to see him again. But did she dare?

So earnest. So honest. Such an exhilarating day with him, she couldn’t say no.

*

That evening, not far from the Valentine Lodge, Toddye knocked on the  rough-hewn door of the cedar log cabin. When it opened, she was greeted by a young boy with a devastating smile just like his father’s. Dimples and bright eyes.

“Hi. I’m Jason. My father’s in the kitchen. Come on, I’ll show you.”

She let out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding. A son. He had a son.

He took her by the hand and pulled her through the opulent home. Bear rugs, sturdy, hand-crafted furniture, a large wagon-wheel chandelier captured her attention. Then the aroma of grilling steak wafted around her head. The young boy offered her a seat at the bar. He disappeared, while she watched Brian fork and flip two thick steaks.   

“He’s gone to his room to pack. Spending the night with his best friend,” Brian told her with his back to her. “I took the liberty of pouring us wine.”

Alone. They would be alone.Why did that jangle her nerves? She needed the glass of cabernet at her fingertips. She brought the thin crystal to her lips and sipped. Delightful. “Uuummm, fantastic.”

“I’m hoping to get you drunk, you know.”

Her nervous laughter filled the kitchen and echoed off the rafters. “I’m an easy drunk, I’m afraid.” She sucked in her lower lip. “I––I haven’t done this in a long time.”

A devilishly dangerous smile laced his lips. “Good.” His eyes twinkled with desire and yearning. “You don’t remember me, do you?”

A frown creased her brow. “Should I?”

“I’ve been a ski instructor here for seven years. I noticed you and your skiing adventures before today.”

Pouring them more wine, he sat beside her, their shoulders touching.

“I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage.” She clinked their glasses in a toast. “To memories.”

“You’re a hard woman to forget.” He ran fingers lightly over her knuckles. “My wife left us when Jason was two, before we found Valentine and skiing. Plumbing is my profession, but skiing is my passion.”   

Her cheeks heated as she thought of what she’d accused him of. “Jason’s had no mother all these years?”

“Tina’s taken him under her wing, but yeah, I’ve been mother and father to him.”

Jason skidded into the kitchen with a back pack slung haphazardly over a shoulder.

“Whoa, Buddy, come here.” Jason dropped the bag, hugged his dad tight, then grabbed his hand.

“The Olsens are waiting, Dad,” he said, tugging Brian’s arm, effectively making his point.

“Okay, okay. Say good bye to our guest.”

“Bye, it was nice meeting you.”

Brian followed his boisterous son out the door.

When he returned, he chuckled. “So much energy.”

Her heart fluttered. “Like his father.” Alone in this gorgeous cabin in the snow. With a man so handsome, so broad-shouldered, so athletic. Suddenly the air evaporated, lights dimmed. Things were going black.

Brian had her elbow, a hand on her back. “Do you need to lie down?” he asked her from far away.

She felt herself melt to the floor.

Next she knew, Brian’s concerned face was close to hers, a cool cloth rubbing her brow. “What––” her breath failed, panic suffused her veins. She tried to sit up. “W––Wh…”

Gently Brian lay a warm hand on a shoulder, pushed her back against the sofa. “Probably the air. You’re not used to it and we did ski hard today.” He grinned. “Less wine, more water.”

“You’re a decent doctor on top of ski instructor and plumber.”

Their eyes locked. His darkened to the shade of the firs plentifully populating Valentine Mountain.

He leaned toward her, his lips hovered above hers, only long enough for her to stop him. But she wanted him to kiss her. In a whisper against her mouth, he said, “I’ve wanted to do that for so long.”

“You have?” How could she not have known?

As if he could read her mind, he said, “You were married.”

Oh, there was that. She’d clearly forgotten about her cheating husband.

Brian took her hand and led her to a room, clearly an office. He’d strewn the floor with rose petals and handed her a long, white box filled with red roses.

“I know you recently published your first book. Congratulations.”

How could this be happening? She wanted to pinch herself.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Toddye. I’m so happy you came back to my mountain.”

“Kiss me again, please.”

         

 

Wild Stallions

WILD STALLIONS

By Christy Gronlund

            “Alright everyone,” Philomena Clark clapped. “Let’s place the tables four across then three across then four etc. until we fill up our space.”

            At her instructions, the room exploded into a cacophony of bumps and clatter as her staff unloaded the round tables from their carts and arranged them in the desired pattern. The polished wood floors that at first looked barren and desolate were soon crowded with rows of pressboard tables balanced by spindly steel legs. Not much of an improvement but it was a start.

            “Mena?” Veronica, her assistant, pointed to a cart filled with roses, carnations and baby’s breath. “Do you want a single flower on each table or a bouquet?”

            “Fill each vase with one red rose surrounded by three pink carnations. Frame them with a sprig of baby’s breath.”

            Veronica nodded and hurried away.

            Mena watched the rest of her staff drape the first table with a pink cloth topping it with a smaller white one then placed eight chairs around the circumference with practiced precision before moving on to the next area.

“Perfect,” Mena said.

“We were taught by the best, boss,” said Henry, a reliable if not completely reverent worker. He turned to the next table in the area.

This will look great. Mena placed a round mirror at the center of each table. Veronica, close on her heels, placed a bouquet atop.

“The last thing we need are the balloons.” Mena surveyed the area. “Why don’t we tie them to the lights that line the wall?”

“On it, boss.” Henry headed to the far corner and began the process of filling red, white and silver balloons with helium.  Fifteen minutes later the room started to look like a valentine’s card rather than the dark hollow place she had entered just moments ago.

Regardless, the change didn’t lift her spirits as she had hoped. She sighed. As luck would have it, she was here to work. It didn’t matter that she didn’t have a date. Not one bit. She chewed her bottom lip. This bash was going to be a success. Nothing could spoil this weekend.

“Hey, Mena, are you ready for me to set up the staging area for the game?” Veronica asked.

“No, I think Tina wants Angelique to have a say in that so let’s leave it be for now.”

Mena took one last glance around the room where Henry was putting up the last bunch of balloons. There wasn’t much more she could do until she met with Angelique. Maybe she should find her brother. Sean had been very cryptic about his news. He insisted it was too big to tell her over the phone but important enough to meet her at the lodge this weekend. An act so unlike him that she didn’t know whether to feel alarmed or excited.

“Phil!” A silky voice spoke behind her. Not the thin raspy voice of her brother but a rich full-bodied one. She stiffened. A deep hollow yearning spread through her, tempered by a sharp burst of irritation. Only one person she knew sounded like that and he had broken her heart nine years ago. Not that she would have admitted it to him. He only thought of her as his best friend’s younger sister.

“Don’t call me that.” She whirled around. Nate Sanders hadn’t changed much. Still had the same perfectly tousled brown hair. The kind a girl liked to run her fingers through. The same piercing, bottle green eyes. The kind that could see right through a girl even if they never could ferret out her true feelings. He stood before her, long and lean, clad in a dark blue business suit holding a drink that looked suspiciously like scotch and soda.

“Come on, don’t be that way.” He held up his arms in a half shrug, half ‘what could I have possibly done?’ gesture.

“You know I hate being called that.” Especially by him. When he said it, even the dress she’d made sure clung to every womanly curve couldn’t stave off the feeling of androgyny. Even if he could never see her as feminine, couldn’t he at least pretend? Just once she longed to be looked at as if she were a woman fully grown instead of his friend’s kid sister. Was that too much to ask? Instead his expression held the same quirky, devil-may-care look it always did when he glanced her way.

“What? No love for your brother’s best bud? Come on give me a hug.”

Without giving her a chance to respond to his entreaty his arms enfolded her in a bear hug. She leaned in. How annoyingly perfect her head fit in the crook of his neck. He smelled of cinnamon and nutmeg. Like Christmas. Just as she gave in to the private luxury of his hold, he set her back with both hands, smiling. “Man, you’ve grown. How long has it been?”

“A couple of years.” Nine years and three months. But what sane person keeps track of things like that? “What are you doing here?” she demanded more sharply than she’d intended.

“I came with Sean. Thought I could get in a bit of skiing.”

“Oh.” Her eyes traveled to his ring finger. It was bare. To her annoyance, relief flooded her. How pathetic. Unaware of the awkward moment churning within her, Nate blithely continued.

“Sean said you were working this gig. He didn’t mention that you were the big bad boss lady.”

“He’s more of a ‘find out as you go’ kind of guy. By the way, have you seen him?”

Nate looked around the room. He shrugged. “He’s a little preoccupied at the moment. So I thought I’d keep his little sister company.”

His eyes met hers and her heart stopped. For one small second, it seemed she was the only one in the room. Like he wanted more from her. She shook her head. Impossible. And just as quickly, the impression fled. His ‘I don’t take life seriously’ smile returned leaving a hollow space in her chest. She cleared her throat. “Ahh, I have to get back to work.”

“Right, hope to see you later.” He patted her on the shoulder and then he was gone.

***

            Nate sat on the bar stool absently watching the television, vaguely aware that the Cornhuskers were getting a beat down by the Buffalos in basketball game that had most of the other patrons cheering heartily. His meeting with Philomena hadn’t gone well. His fault, no doubt, but old habits were hard to break. Especially where she was concerned.

            “Hey handsome, buy me a drink?” A shapely blonde, slid onto the bar stool next to him hooking her stilettos on the bottom rung.

            “Hi Sandra,” he said without enthusiasm. “Where’s Sean?”

            She placed both elbows on the bar and peered at him. He squirmed. Sandra was too intuitive for his taste. “Oh. You know Sean, always one more thing to do. He’ll be down in a minute. What’s eating you?”

            “Nothing.” He took a long swig of his drink, allowing the liquid to scorch a nasty path to his gullet. “Hey, bartender can I have another?”

            “Are you sure?” Sandra cocked her head to the side. “This isn’t like you, drinking by yourself.”

            “I’m fine.” He waved her off.

            She started to say something but the bartender plopped Nate’s drink down, then looked at Sandra. “What can I get for you, ma’am?”

            “I’ll have a chardonnay, thank you.”

            Nate returned his attention to the game determined to ignore Sandra’s inquisition. Unfortunately, she just wouldn’t leave it alone.

            “Out with it, Nate.”

            “Just because you’re Sean’s fiancée doesn’t give you the right to pry into my business.”

             “Fair enough,” she said slowly. “But I refuse to let you ruin my engagement weekend with some dark, broody drunken spree.”

            But Nate had ceased listening. His attention was on Phil as she passed the bar entrance.

“Who’s that?”

“Philomena Clark.” The object of their discussion was quickly disappearing. He almost called out but thought better of it. Not with Sandra and her prying eyes. A loud cackle drew his attention back to Sandra. Her laughter was so infectious, he couldn’t help but smile back. “What?”

            “That’s Sean’s sister?” She slapped his arm with the back of her hand. “And you like her.”

            “Come on, she’s Sean’s little sister.”

            “Right, and you were looking at her like a little sister too.” Sarcasm dripped generously from her lips. Yep, too intuitive for her own good. “So let me guess, you never made a move.”

            His first thought was to deny her notion again. But he had come here to see Philomena. Once Sandra learned the truth, he would never hear the end of it. Coming clean now would save a lot of headache later. “No.”

            “Why not?”

            “If you hadn’t noticed.” Nate fingered his drink. “She’s Sean’s sister. If I hurt her, he’d kill me.”

            She tossed her head back and chuckled. “This is rich. Our Nathan, the man who can melt an ice princess into bed with the heat of one look. I didn’t know you were so cowardly.”

            “I wouldn’t put it that way.”

            Her gaze met him straight on. “I would.” She stared at him a moment longer before a sly smile tipped her lips. “But maybe we can change that.” She grabbed his hand. “Come on big boy. Time to grow a pair.”

***

            Mena surveyed the ballroom one last time. Balloons hovered around the perimeter tied with ribbon curled at the ends. Flowers blossomed in the center of each table awaiting the patrons who would attend the big event. Eight chairs with white coverlets, lined the far end of the room ready for the Nearlywed game. She had to admit the scene was picture perfect with all the pinks, reds, silver and white. All that was needed was pixie dust and a fairy godmother to make her own wish come true. Sadly, those items were at a low premium.

            After she’d spotted Nate with that stunning blonde, Mena knew he hadn’t changed from the boy who thumped his chest declaring “Us wild stallions must roam free.” No matter how many years passed, his actions demonstrated he still wasted no time tracking down a new playmate. The last she’d seen of those two, they were racing hand in hand from the bar. Her eyes misted over blurring the festive colors into grey. She wiped away her tears. No matter what, she would enjoy this evening even with its bitter epiphany if it killed her.

            “There you are, Phil. I’ve been looking all over for you.” This time there was no mistaking her brother’s nasal voice.

            She pasted on a smile and turned to greet him, but before she could stop her momentum she threw herself in his arms. “Sean.”

             His arms tightened around her. “Hey, Phil. What is this, tears? From the tough, tomboy sister who broke her arm when she was thrown off her bicycle while charging off a ramp and never cried?” The more gently he spoke the harder she cried.

            He never let go of his hold. Finally, she sniffed and stood back, looking down at the floor. “No.”

            “Liar, come here.”

            She ran into his arms again willing herself to stop crying. This wasn’t his fault after all. There was no need to ruin his evening. “I’m just tired.”

            Over his shoulder she saw Nate walking in with his blonde bimbo in tow. He was carrying flowers. Not just flowers. Freesias. Mena’s favorite and he was probably going to give them to his new girl Du Jour. Mena’s hands curled into fists. How much worse could this night get?

            “Sean.” Great, the blonde knew her brother. That meant that Nate and this unwelcome woman came together. If it weren’t for her brother’s solid form, she would have crumpled to the floor. She pulled away slowly.

            “I have to go,” she sputtered. “I really want to hear your news but can it wait for a bit?”

            Sean frowned down at her. “It could if my news hadn’t just arrived.” He gestured to the blonde. “Sandra, I’d like you to meet my sister, Phil. I mean Mena.”

            Sandra’s face lit up into a smile and she rushed forward. “I’m so glad to finally meet you. Sean tells the greatest stories of your escapades.”

            “Pleased to meet you.” Mena hoped her voiced didn’t sound as stiff as she felt. A diamond glinted on Sandra’s left hand. If possible, her mood plummeted even further. Just let me get out of here. Better yet, kill me now. Mena steeled herself for the news that was sure to follow. Nate was engaged. Her brother’s oblivion showed in the grin that stretched from ear to ear. To her shock Sean put his arm around Sandra and drew her close.

            “Sandra and I are engaged.”

            “You’re engaged?” A cold rush of surprise surged through her.

            “I know.” He laughed. “Who would have thunk it?”

            “Not me.” Mena stood frozen in place digesting the information. She had it wrong? Joy in a slow wave gathered momentum, making her so giddy she started to collapse. But a strong arm gripped her. She pulled free from Nate’s timely rescue and tripped forward enfolding Sean and Sandra in a group hug. “Welcome to the family.”

            “Thank you.” Sandra squeaked, alerting Mena that she squeezed a bit too hard. She released them knowing she probably looked like a foolish girl. Not that she minded. That was exactly how she felt.

            Sandra turned to her partner. “Sean, might I have a moment with you out in the hall.”

            “Uh, yeah.”

            Sandra led Mena’s confused brother out the door. Nate took her arm again, but his usual aplomb seemed to have deserted him. If she didn’t know him better, she would’ve thought he was nervous. He thrust the flowers at her. “These are for you. I trust they’re still your favorite.”

            “Really?” Her voice came out somewhat breathy. With a tentative hand she reached for them awed that he would remember such a tiny detail.

            “First let me say, I’ve been a coward but Sandra set me straight.”

            “About what?”

            “I should have asked you out a long time ago.” He gulped and raked his hand through his hair. “But I’m asking you now. Will you be my Valentine?”

            Tears of a different kind blurred her vision. “Really?”

            He drew her closer, crushing the flowers, but how could she care? He lowered his mouth to hers. Her heart beat so fast she was sure it would explode out of her chest and land on the floor.  But that was okay just as long as held her like this for as long as she lived.

           

           

           

           

A Recipe for Love

A Recipe For Love

by Heidi Vanlandingham

“Wouldn’t you like a warm, soft, gooey cinnamon roll to take with you?” Holly Cavanaugh asked. She pushed the delft-blue platter closer to Jessica, the mayor’s new secretary. Holly casually waved her hands over the still steaming rolls, hoping the mouth-watering scent would help her make a much-needed sale.

“I really shouldn’t,” Jessica sighed, glancing forlornly at the decadent glazed rolls. “My boyfriend is taking me to the Nearlywed Game at the lodge tomorrow night and I have to fit into my dress.”

Holly bit back a groan and plastered a smile on her face and hoped it didn’t look as fake as it felt. “I understand,” she lied. “Tell the mayor I said hello and that I hope Martha likes her present.”

Jessica glanced down at the pretty, red-ribboned box in her hands. “She will love it. Your red-velvet heart cake is her favorite and with his present as a topper… Well, what wife wouldn’t like getting a diamond ring for Valentines?”

Holly crossed her arms, leaned against the shiny stainless steel counter, and smiled. “I’m sure Martha will love it.”

Ten minutes later, Holly stood, still leaning against the counter, as she stared out into the empty street. Dirty snow mounded the curb in front of her store and sidewalk salt glinted like dull diamonds. She glanced up at her favorite picture of her grandmother hanging over the end of the counter. Taken before age had wrinkled her skin and grayed her near-black hair. The vibrant, relaxed smile still showed the woman who’d raised her after her parents’ death.

“What am I going to do now?” Holly whispered. “A warning would’ve been nice, you know. Although I really can’t blame you, Nana. How does one plan Alzheimer’s?”

A sharp, tangy smell wafted through the room, pulling her back to the present. “Oh, no, no, no…” Turning too fast, she slid across the floor in her socks, her shoes abandoned after the last customer, caught herself on the edge of the preparation table then swung around the edge to the stove. Smoke poured from behind the closed oven door, bitter and thick.

She grabbed her oven mitt and jerked the heavy, commercial door open.  Coughing, she waved her mitt-covered hand in front of her face a couple of times then held her breath as she quickly pulled the cookie sheet out and dropped it onto the stovetop. Instead of pretty sugar cookie hearts, she stared at shriveled black lumps.

“Well, if that isn’t art imitating life, I don’t know what is,” a male voice said, startling her out of her brooding.

A man appeared next to her. In her kitchen. Staring at her burnt cookies. “I should probably be worried. You know, scream or something…  After the day I’ve had—just don’t care. Do your worst.” She held her clenched fists out in front of her as if waiting for handcuffs.

He stared at the cookies then glanced over at her and smiled. “I’m not here to arrest you—well, not technically. But why did you have to kill the cookies?”

“Harrumph. I didn’t do it on purpose! Why would I kill them, knowing I’d have to bake more?”

“Good point. And murdering cookies isn’t a felony. Yet.”

Standing side by side in front of the dead goodies, she turned her head. And stopped breathing. The not-too-tall man standing next to her was still gorgeous. The new sheriff had been in town long enough for every single female in town to set her sights on him. Self-consciously, Holly casually ran her non-gloved hand down her dark ponytail and pushed it over her shoulder, letting it fall gracefully to the center of her back. Hopefully, she’d managed to knock off any flour.

Brett Landers watched her try to wipe the flour from her rich, chocolate hair and didn’t have the heart to tell her the ponytail wasn’t where the white flour had settled. She was still beautiful—exotic. Her kohl-lined eyes made their brown-eyed depths look like deep pools of chocolate, reminding him of the Egyptian queen, Cleopatra. Although, he seriously doubted the queen would have walked around with flour on her nose.

“Sooo, why are you here? Since you aren’t going to arrest me for felony assault on sugar cookies…”  She heard his soft sigh and just knew it had to be bad news. She held out her hand, palm up. “It’s okay. Just give me whatever it is.” She ignored his raised eyebrow, even though he looked even cuter. He made her want to smile.

Brett inwardly cursed his ever-horrible timing. The last thing he wanted to do was cause her more grief on top of what she evidently already had. She had gumption though—he liked that. Her doe-like brown eyes pulled at his soul. Shaking his head, he held out the folded foreclosure notice, now rolled into a tube in his tight grip. “I really am sorry about this.”

Holly stared at the rolled paper then shrugged. “Can’t fight the inevitable, I guess.” She pulled the paper from his hand and opened it, blinking back the tears and already knowing what it said.

“You can keep fighting.  There’s still time. After all, I’m the sheriff…”

“Hasn’t done much for me yet, now has it?” Forgetting she had left her shoes near the front counter, she kicked the large tub of shortening partially shoved under her prep table. Pain shot through her toes and up her leg. “Ow, ow, ow!” She grabbed her toes and hopped on one foot.

“Shouldn’t you be wearing shoes in a bakery? You know, health regulations and all?”

“Bite me.”

“Hmmm, that’s an idea. Where’s the chocolate frosting?” He wiggled his eyebrows.

Before she could throw out a witty retort, his two-way radio spit out a blast of static then she could hear the dispatcher’s voice clearly as it shouted the sheriff’s name. “Sheriff Landers, Val Hart needs you up at SweetHart Lodge, stat. He’s putting together a search party for a lost guest.”

Brett pulled the radio from its holster. Holding it near his mouth, he pushed the talk button. “Roger that, Connie. Tell Val I’m headed that way now.” He looked down at Holly, now seated on top of the shortening tub, the foreclosure notice limp in one hand. “I really am sorry.”

She waved his apology away with her empty hand. “Go. Be a hero and find whoever’s lost.” She watched him walk through her front door, her eyes glued to his very nice backside. “Only I could fall for my executioner.”

She threw the notice on the counter and stood up, wiping her damp palms against her jean-clad legs. “Time for some cookie resurrection.” She threw the charred remains into the nearby trashcan and began rolling out the rest of the sugar cookie dough.

~   ~   ~

Pushing the last sheet of cookies into the oven, she heard several raps against her glass front door. Setting the timer, she glanced up at the clock then turned to find the sheriff staring at her through the door. She twisted the silver lock sideways and swung the door open. With one hand pressed against her hip, she asked, “It’s almost eleven, what are you doing here? Did you find the missing person?”

He shook his head and walked past her into the kitchen. Unzipping his heavy, khaki-green coat, he hung it next to hers on the wall rack then faced her. “Had to call the search off until morning—don’t want to risk anyone else getting lost in the dark. Now, how can I help here?”

“What?” She frowned. “There’s noth—”

He covered her mouth with his hand. “Shut. Up. There is always something that can be done. We just have to find out what it is.” He dropped his hand and grabbed her oven mitt, pulling out the cookies while she hit the timer’s off button. He glanced down at the golden cookies and grinned. “Much better than dead ones. Do we frost these now?”

“I wish you’d get over that—and I plan on frosting them in the morning, if you must know.”

“Or now, which means we can concentrate on the showpiece.”       

The furrows between her eyes deepened. “What are you talking about? I’ve already finished the cake.”

His bright sky-blue gaze speared hers. “Val said this Valentine’s thing was a big deal for the lodge. And that it could be what saves your bakery. Serendipity is catering the entire event, right?”

Holly nodded, speechless.

“You need to make the desserts stand out. They need to be different from anything else usually served.”

Her eyes narrowed. “What do you think I’ve tried to do?” She stepped forward, toe to toe, and poked the center of his muscled chest. “I’ve done this my entire life! Don’t tell me how to do my job.”

He held up his hands in silent surrender and pressed his lips together knowing she would not appreciate his smile. Holly Cavanaugh was a striking woman. But angry, she was magnificent. Before he could stop himself, he leaned forward and held her face in the palms of his hands and kissed her.

“I have an idea,” she mumbled against his lips.

“That tearing sound you just heard? Yeah, that was the sound of my man card being revoked.” Brett chuckled. “If you’re able to think cohesively during my kiss, then maybe I need to rethink my technique.”

She glanced up at him. “Huh?”

He kissed her again and for a second, rested his forehead against hers. “What is it?”

She blinked. “What is what?”

“Your idea.”

She grinned. “Oh, that.”

“So my kiss did have some punch to it.”

“Whatever you need to believe, Sheriff Landers.” She side-stepped his hand as he playfully tried to smack her behind and practically skipped toward the bookshelf hanging above the coats and pulled down a small, spiral notebook decorated with Hershey kisses and yellow roses. Chocolate and flowers. Wonderful memories flooded into her head. Every Valentine’s Day, her grandfather gave her grandmother and her chocolate and flowers. She shoved the bittersweet memory from her mind and flipped to the last page in the notebook and smiled.

“My own creation. Nana would let me play with leftover batter—whether cake, cookie, or bread dough—to see what I could create. This was my last creation. I had almost finished when Val called to tell us Grandad was dead. I’d forgotten about it until now.”

“What is it?”

Her smile widened. “Cake Balls.”

“Excuse me?” he choked out in a strangled voice.

She rolled her eyes. “Men. Are your minds always in the gutter?”

Brett nodded. “You’re really serious? That’s your big idea?” He didn’t think he’d ever seen a smile so brilliant as he watched her face come to life.

“Yep. Just wait until you taste them.” She turned away from the strangled, choking sounds coming from behind her. “Men,” she muttered.

~   ~   ~

She placed the last confection on the silver tray as beautiful rich orange and deep red streaks lit up the morning sky. Wiping her hands on the last clean dishtowel, she turned and found herself wrapped up in Brett’s strong embrace.

“You’re amazing, Holly Cavanaugh,” With his thumb, he wiped chocolate from her cheek. But, before he could kiss her, she shoved one of the small cake balls into his mouth. A burst of tangy orange blended with the smooth, creamy chocolate. The more he chewed, the better the flavor. Swallowing, he moaned. “Oh. My. God. That was better than sex! You won’t be able to keep these on the shelf.” He pulled her into his embrace and whirled her around. “Sweetheart, the lodge and participants of the game they’ve scheduled won’t know what hit them!”

Her heart tightened into a compact, little ball. He’d called her sweetheart! Somehow during the night, she’d fallen head over heels for Brett Landers and had no idea what to do with his new knowledge.

“Holly?” Brett frowned down at her. “Are you going to give me an answer?”

“Umm, can you repeat the question?” The nervous racing of her pulse slowed to a fluid, steady beat when he gave her a sexy smile. 

“I asked if you would be my valentine.”

She nodded, teary-eyed but happier than she’d been in a long time. She wrapped her arms around his neck and whispered against his warm lips, “Yes, I will definitely be your valentine for as long as you want me.”

“How does forever sound?”

She smiled. “Forever sounds delicious.”