The Cottage on Juniper Ridge (13 page)

And he meant business. The kid still wasn’t taking off the
jacket. “Oh, all right,” she said, and pulled out her last ten.

“Or thirty.” He slipped off the jacket and dangled it
temptingly.

“That’s all I have,” she said through clenched teeth.

The others had reached her in time to hear this last
interchange. “I think I’ve got ten,” Juliet said, catching on. She began to dig
in her purse. “Yes!” she crowed, and produced another bill.

“Dude, don’t settle for thirty,” said the robber’s pal, the
kind of clean-cut preppy kid you’d expect would offer to change your tire if you
had a flat. Looks sure were deceiving.

“I’ve got five.” Jen drew a crumpled bill from her pocket.

The skinny little robber turned to Charley and asked with a
leer, “And what have you got?”

With her long legs and shoulder-length chestnut hair, Charley
had plenty. She wasn’t as beautiful as Cecily (who was?) but she had style and
sex appeal. It probably made Mr. Business Major’s day when she sidled up close
to him, looking like a hooker about to make a deal.

“I’ll tell you what I’ve got,” she said sweetly.

He and his friend exchanged grins, but his died the moment her
hand shot out and pinched the back of his neck in what resembled a death
grip.

“I’ve got a real short fuse on my temper.”

The kid squinted in pain. “Hey!” he protested, trying to squirm
away.

His friend pointed a finger at Charley. “That’s assault.”

“And this is extortion. Take the thirty-five and give us the
jacket or I’ll grab you someplace even more painful.”

“Okay, okay,” he said, his voice surly. He handed over the
jacket, took the money and then, with a huff, stomped off, humiliated but
thirty-five dollars richer.

The women high-fived one another and chortled.

“That was impressive,” Jen said to Charley.

She grinned wickedly as she gave Stacy her prize. “Who says
chivalry is dead?”

“You guys, thank you so much,” Stacy said. “You saved my
life.”

“Or at least your marriage,” Charley teased. She eyed the coat
with a frown. “But I can see why you wanted to get rid of that thing. It’s
ugly.”

“Not to Dean,” Stacy said. “I didn’t realize this had so much
sentimental value. I sure learned my lesson. Never give away a man’s things
without asking. And never underestimate what you can find in a thrift store,”
she added with a smile.

“You know, I haven’t poked around one of these places in
years.” Charley turned to Juliet and Jen. “You guys okay with hanging out for a
few minutes before we head back?”

“I’ve got a babysitter. I’m in no hurry,” Juliet said.

“I don’t start work until next week,” Jen said. “I’ve got
time.”

Next Charley turned to Stacy and Cecily. “You guys want to stay
for a little longer?”

“I took a vacation day,” Cecily said. “I’m good.”

And now that the pressure was off, Stacy was ready to enjoy
herself, too.

“Okay, I say we check this place out. Meet back here in the
men’s section in twenty?”

Everyone agreed and they went off in various directions,
Charley and Cecily to women’s clothes, Juliet toward baby things, Jen to
housewares and Stacy to the collectibles.

By the end of the allotted time, everyone came back with
something. Stacy had found more Fitz and Floyd, Juliet had scored with a bunch
of baby clothes that were nearly new and Jen and Cecily both had coats.

But Charley had scored the biggest of all. “I now have my
wedding dress,” she announced, holding up a creamy satin gown. It was
deceptively simple in design and obviously expensive.

“That’s gorgeous,” Stacy said.

Charley smiled. “A designer wedding gown for fifty bucks.”

“But she looks like a million in it,” Cecily said.

“Who knew?” Stacy mused as they paid for their
purchases—including the jacket (another twenty bucks, this time on an old credit
card)—and left the store. One woman’s junk was another woman’s treasure. She’d
been missing out all these years. When she got back to Icicle Falls, she had
some treasure-hunting to do.

Chapter Twelve

Even the simplest treat is a feast when shared with someone.

—Muriel Sterling, author of
Simplicity

“Y
ou found it,” Dean said when Stacy presented him with his jacket. “Thanks, babe.” Grinning, he put it on and did a Mr. Universe pose. “Still looks good, eh?”

“Still looks good,” she agreed.

“Thanks for getting it back,” he said, and kissed her.

“My pleasure.” No lie there. She’d had a great time shopping once she’d accomplished her mission.

Dean had coached basketball after school so she’d beaten him home. Barely. But since she had, she decided not to tell him she’d gone all the way to Seattle to recover his coat. He’d have been horrified to hear it had actually left town. He might also, in light of her recent house-cleansing, have joked about the purchases she’d brought back. There were so many things men didn’t understand.

He sure wouldn’t understand why she returned to the Kindness Cupboard the next day. Dean wouldn’t see this little thrift shop as unexplored territory, a potential gold mine of goodies. He’d simply see it as a place for her to find more junk to clutter up their house. But Stacy wasn’t looking for junk. She was looking for the good stuff.

“Welcome back,” Janice Lind greeted her.

“You’re still here?” Stacy teased.

“I’m here a lot.”

Janice was an attractive older woman and had been one of the town’s movers and shakers for years. Her husband, Swede, owned the garage. Officially he was retired, leaving the running of the business in younger hands, but he still went to work every day. And while he was busy with the garage, his wife was busy with her volunteer work. Her biggest claim to fame was the fact that her cakes always won the annual bake-off that raised funds to maintain historic town buildings.

“We can certainly use more volunteers,” Janice added.

“Yeah?”

“One morning or afternoon a week. We especially need people to sort through the donations and arrange the merchandise. And help with boxing up the clothes to send on.”

“So you ship the clothes over to Seattle.”

“Yes, but we keep everything else. It’s fun working here. We get to sift through all kinds of interesting things,”

Stacy could imagine. “I’ll think about it,” she said, and wandered over to a corner display of Christmas decorations, which were marked seventy-five percent off. Wow. This was better than a department store sale.

Within twenty minutes Stacy had amassed a collection of candle holders, swags and figurines (including a new Santa to join her collection).

“Volunteers get twenty percent off,” Janice said as she rang up the sale.

Stacy went home with a bag full of goodies and a volunteer application.

* * *

Mother Nature decided to decorate Icicle Falls with fresh snow. Jen looked out her window and groaned as the snow continued to fall. Tomorrow was her first day working at Gingerbread Haus. How was she going to get to work if she couldn’t get out of her driveway?

You’ll just have to wake up early and use your shovel,
she told herself. Or...

Garrett Armstrong had promised to come and dig out her driveway when it snowed. This was as good an excuse as any to talk to her woman-shy landlord. She checked the wall clock she’d acquired in Seattle the day before. (Vintage and funky, shaped like a rooster.) Eight o’clock. Was he at work? There was only one way to find out.

“I’m finishing my shift at the station so I can come over later,” he said when she called. “There’s not much sense in digging you out until this stops.”

When would that be? She looked out the window again. Unlike her vintage clock, what she saw there didn’t make her smile. The snow seemed to be coming down in buckets.

“It’s supposed to ease up this afternoon,” he said. “I’ll see you then.”

“Thanks. I really appreciate it.” This time when he came over she’d make sure he gave her a chance to show him just how much.

Meanwhile, she could write. She sat down with her laptop and opened up the document she’d simply labeled “Book.” She sat staring at the blank screen, tapping the keyboard, hoping inspiration would come. Her sister made this look so easy. How did she do it?

Jen decided to call her and ask. “I have writer’s block,” she declared when Toni answered the phone.

“There’s no such thing,” Toni scoffed.

“Yes, there is ’cause I’ve got it.”

“You haven’t figured out what you want to say yet.”

“Is that my problem?”

“One of them,” Toni joked. “You know, a book’s a pretty big project to tackle, Jen-Jen. Why don’t you start with something a little more manageable, like a blog?”

A blog? Somehow, that sounded even more challenging than a book. A book you could work on when you felt like it. A blog had to be done on a regular basis. She wasn’t sure she could come up with enough material. “What would I blog about?”

“Maybe your new, simple life in Icicle Falls. You might build a following and eventually get a book deal. At least it’ll get you started.”

“I guess,” Jen said dubiously. “This morning all I can think to write is ‘I hate snow’ about a million times.”

Toni chuckled. “I can tell you’re loving your new home.”

“Actually, I am,” Jen said. “I’ve just got to learn to drive in this stuff. Maybe I should get an SUV.”

“Well, don’t run out and buy one today,” Toni cautioned.

The way it was snowing,
that
wouldn’t be happening.

“You can’t afford it.”

“I bet I could if I traded in my Toyota.”

“At least wait until Wayne and I can get up there. Wayne can help you.”

Her brother-in-law was a computer geek, not a car mechanic. “Wayne doesn’t know anything about cars.”

“No, but he’s a man, and if you bring a man with you when you’re looking for a car, you’re not as likely to get taken advantage of.”

“Nobody does that anymore,” Jen scoffed. Her sister was such a cynic.

“Oh, sure. And I still believe in Santa. If you don’t want to wait for Wayne, you could get your landlord to go with you. How is Mr. Hottie, by the way? Have you seen him since he rescued you from the ditch?”

“He’s coming over later today to get the snow off my driveway.”

“Mmm, interesting,” Toni said. “How are you going to thank him?”

“Not the way I’d like to,” Jen said, only half-kidding. “I don’t think he’s into me. Do you think he’s gay?”

“No, I’ve got great gaydar, and I didn’t pick up any vibes like that. In fact, just the opposite. I caught him looking at you once and it was very hetero.”

“Well, something’s off. Why else would he run away when I invited him in?”

“Past his curfew?” Toni cracked. “I don’t know. Maybe he’s got someone.”

It was depressing to hear someone else voice what she’d thought. She said goodbye to her sister and went back to staring at her laptop screen.

A blog, huh? Well, why not? She found a free blog site and played around with the format. Picking a name for her blog kept her occupied for nearly an hour. What to call it?
This Is What I’m Doing Until I Can Come Up with a Book.
Lame-o.

She finally decided on
A Mountain View,
hoping people would get the double meaning of beautiful scenery coupled with her new outlook on life. Then she added a picture she’d taken of the mountains the first time she and Toni visited Icicle Falls. Perfect. Now all she needed was an entry.

She glanced out the window at the blanket of white in her yard. Thank God the snow had finally stopped, and the blanket wasn’t getting any thicker. She tapped the keyboard thoughtfully, then began typing....

It all started with a book my sister gave me on how to simplify your life. I hated the fact that I didn’t have time for anything, so I made some major changes. I left the city and moved to a small town in the mountains. For the first time in months I could breathe.

So true. The stress had melted away since she’d arrived in Icicle Falls and she was loving it up here, in spite of her scary snow adventures. Hmm. Maybe she should write about that. She typed on.

But sometimes simplifying your life isn’t all that simple. Take the “simple” fact of snow, for example...

She wished somebody
would
take it. She set aside the laptop and went to the window to look out again. She had to admit it was beautiful. But she was way too social to like the idea of being snowed in by herself. She wouldn’t mind being snowed in with a certain sexy fireman, though. A fire in the woodstove, some hot, buttered rum...

How did you make hot buttered rum, anyway? Finding a recipe for that sounded like a lot more fun than writing, especially since she wasn’t very excited about what she’d written so far.

She found a recipe for the basic batter and smiled. She had all the ingredients and she had rum in the cupboard. She had wood for the stove. Everything she needed for a cozy late-afternoon tête-à-tête. She grinned. Feeling a little like a spider working on a web, she built a fire in the stove (making sure to pull out the damper), then took out butter, brown sugar and spices and got to work. Mixing up a recipe in the kitchen on a wintry afternoon—one of life’s simple pleasures. What was better than that?
Sharing it with someone, that’s what.
Hee, hee. Who needed an SUV, anyway, when you could lure a handsome man to your house? Not that she was rushing into anything, of course.

As if on cue, Garrett Armstrong’s truck made its appearance in her driveway. She threw on her coat and hurried outside, positioning herself where he was bound to see her. She knew he had because he waved. But he didn’t stop pushing snow. With his truck and its plow attachment he’d be done in no time and then he’d be gone and she’d have made her buttered rum mix for nothing. She moved closer to the truck and flapped her arms to get his attention.

He stopped the truck and lowered the window, then looked at her questioningly.

“Would you mind coming in for a minute when you’re finished?” she asked.

“Sure. What’s up?”

“I—I need an opinion on something.”

“Uh.”

This man sure knew how to make a girl feel wanted. Before he could come up with some pathetic excuse, she turned and went back into the cabin.

A few minutes later he was coming in the door, as wary as a deer entering a forest clearing. A buck. A big, handsome buck.

She was ready for him. She was holding two mugs and handed him one. “Tell me what you think of this.”

He regarded it suspiciously. “What is it?”

“Hot buttered rum. I made the mix myself.”

He took a sip and looked pleasantly surprised. “It’s good. You made this yourself, huh?”

She smiled. “I can make all kinds of things.”

He cocked his head and studied her. “I’ll bet you can.”

“I make a mean veggie wrap. Would you like to stay and try one?”

He took a hasty gulp, then set his drink on the counter. “Uh, no. Thanks. I have to get going.”

Okay, he
had
to have someone. “Got a hot date?”

“With my kid.”

“You’re married?” Maybe not. He’d said
kid,
not
wife.
She held her breath.

“Divorced.” She was about to ask if his child liked veggie wraps when he added, “I’m seeing someone.”

So he did have somebody.
That figures.
A man like Garrett Armstrong wouldn’t be unattached. She should have known. “Oh,” she said, trying not to sound disappointed.
This is where you let it go,
she told herself. Instead, she asked, “Is it serious?”

He rubbed the back of his neck, a sure sign that she’d made him uncomfortable.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “That’s none of my business. And there’s nothing in the lease that says you have to keep your renters from getting cabin fever.”

“Well, we’re... It’s...complicated.”

How was it complicated? Either he was serious about the woman he was seeing or he wasn’t.

“You should be good to go now,” he said, backing toward the door.

He was always doing that, like a man in a tiger cage, afraid to turn his back. It took all her self-control not to frown. “Thanks for helping me out,” she said.

“No problem. Have a good night.”

And then he was gone. She sat down on the couch with her hot buttered rum and took another sip, determined to enjoy it. This sip didn’t go down as well as the first one and she set it aside.

Who was Garrett Armstrong seeing, anyway?