A Bramble House Christmas (Carrigans of the Circle C Book 6) (2 page)

Finn suspected his mother enabled Berneen’s lack of focus because she didn’t want her youngest moving out and leaving her alone.

He glanced at his phone again. Fifteen minutes had passed. That ought to be enough. He grabbed his duffel bag from the passenger seat, then the bag containing his laptop, camera and sketch pad.

Not for the first time since he’d booked his ticket and accommodation, he wondered if he was making a mistake. Any plan hatched by his mother and Berneen was bound to be suspect. But then he thought about his father, and knew he had to have answers. Shaking his head, he braced for the cold.

Wind slashed snow pellets at his face and he had to shield his eyes in order to see as he dashed along the shoveled walkway to the front entry. Outdoor carpet ran up the stairs, all the way to the massive wood door. A small sign in the window invited him to come inside.

He was greeted with a waft of warm, gingerbread-scented air. Another sign, this one on a table next to an umbrella stand, asked him to remove his boots and leave them on the rack by the door.

The foyer was large, with dark wooden floors and papered walls in a tastefully muted floral pattern. Straight ahead was a gracious, curved staircase, and next to that a Christmas tree that looked about fourteen or fifteen feet tall. Not the red, green and gold lit tree he’d seen from the street, this one had blue and gold lights. A closer look revealed ornaments that all had something to do with cowboys, ranching or mountains.

As he reached out to examine a beautiful wooden carving of a black quarter horse, a man in a hunter green parka, hands encased in thick gloves, emerged from the back of the house.

“Hi, there. That’s our Montana tree. Eliza has a tree in every room, each one decorated in a unique theme.”

“Impressive.”

“Hell of a night, isn’t it? I’m Marshall McKenzie. My wife, Eliza, and I manage this place, along with her great-aunt Mable.”

Finn had never stayed in a bed and breakfast before, but it seemed the staff was a lot more informal and friendly than at a hotel. He shook the man’s proffered hand. “Finn—” he paused only slightly before adding, “Knightly.”

“You’re the book illustrator from Colorado?”

Finn nodded. This Marshall guy was tall, and even with his big coat, he had the look of being trim and in good shape. From his tanned skin, Finn guessed he was into outdoor sports. Given the location, he probably liked to ski.

“Well, this blizzard will be nothing new for you,” Marshall said. “We just had a woman and her son check in from Phoenix. Poor lady was pretty frazzled after her drive from the Bozeman airport.”

I know.
“The roads weren’t that bad. No ice, at least. And the fresh snow will be good for the ski hills.”

The answering gleam in Marshall’s eyes told Finn he’d guessed correctly. “You ski?”

“Sure do. Eliza and I enjoy snowshoeing too. Wish I didn’t have to work tomorrow. Did you bring your equipment with you?” Marshall glanced at Finn’s bags, which he’d left next to the shoe rack.

“No, my skis are in rough shape. I’ve been meaning to buy new ones, boots, too. Anyway, I plan to spend most of my time taking photos and sketching for my next book.”

“Working through Christmas?”

Finn shrugged. “Tight deadline. But I’ve got three weeks so I hope to do a little skiing eventually.”

“Cool. I also work at Montana Wilds Adventure Company. We’ve got a sweet pre-Christmas sale going on at our store on Main Street. Pop in sometime and I’ll show you your options. You can rent or buy. Whatever you prefer.”

“I might just do that.”

“Okay. Well, I should get out there and do some more shoveling. Eliza will be here shortly to show you to your room.”

He no sooner said that, than a tall blonde wearing skinny jeans and a baggy red sweater decorated with a Santa face, emerged carrying a tray of cookies, clearly the source of the delicious aroma that filled this house.

“Hi! Finn Knightly?” She didn’t wait for him to reply. “I’m Eliza McKenzie. Here, try a cookie. Santa’s been experimenting with his recipe and I think he’s finally got it exactly right.”

Speechless, Finn stared from her pretty, bright-eyed face, to the over-the-top tacky sweater, to the plate of sugar-dusted, ginger-scented cookies.

He took a cookie. Bit into it. Wow. Flavors exploded, then melted into his mouth. Brown sugar, molasses, cinnamon, cloves, butter...lots of creamy butter. And ginger.

He glanced behind himself, expecting Marshall to reach for a cookie, too, but the other man had gone outside, presumably to deal with the still-falling snow.

“Did you say Santa baked these?”

Eliza laughed. “Yes. He’s staying with us over the holidays. Aren’t we lucky?”

Finn decided to roll with it. “What about Mrs. Claus?”

“Unfortunately her flight out of the North Pole was cancelled.”

Of course it was. Finn smiled. “Is my room ready?”

“It is. Let me give you a quick tour and then I’ll take you up.”

She led him through open French doors to a large room with comfortable-looking brown leather furniture arranged around a massive fireplace where several logs burned merrily.

“This is the sitting room. You’ll usually find refreshments here, as well as a bit of company, if you’re in the mood for a visit, though it’s quiet now.” She set the tray of cookies next to a bowl of apples on the sideboard.

On the opposite wall, by the window, was a tree decorated with gold, green and red lights. It was the tree he’d spotted from the street. What he hadn’t been able to see from a distance were the dozens of tiny, silver picture frames hanging from the branches.

He touched one of them. It was a black and white photograph of a woman in her twenties or thirties, taken around the turn of the century. On the back was engraved,
Elizabeth Bramble
 
– 1877 to 1954.

“I’m the Bramble family historian,” Eliza explained. “I’ve got miniature portraits here dating back to Henry and May Bell—who were the first Brambles to settle in Marietta.”

“So they built this house?”

“They did.” She indicated that he should follow her for the rest of the tour.

On the other side of the foyer was the library with a literary-themed Christmas tree. “This is the perfect place to read or play games in the afternoon. My great-aunt, Mable, likes to sit here in the morning and early evening, so it’s restricted to family at those times.”

Finn wondered what this great-aunt thought about her home being opened to guests and other strangers. “Has this house been operated as a bed and breakfast for long?”

“Just a few years.” Eliza’s pale skin colored and abruptly she turned and led the way to the room at the back corner of the house, behind the sitting room.

“This is where we serve our breakfast, from seven to nine. In between times, if you’re hungry, we usually have a pot of soup on the stove in the kitchen.”

He peeked into the darkened room, where a large wooden table was already set with linens, old-fashioned china and gleaming silver. The tree here was somewhat smaller than the others. “Does it have a theme?”

“It’s our copper tree, celebrating Marietta’s mining history.”

“So a total of four trees. Cool.”

“Actually, there are five. We have a tree decorated with a baking theme in the kitchen, but unfortunately, due to health code restrictions, that room is off limits to our guests.”

“Except for Santa.”

“But even he has to wear a hair net and wash his hands.”

She pointed out the restrooms next, then her great-aunt’s suite on the other side of the kitchen, which was another off-limits area. Finally Finn grabbed his bags and they headed up the grand staircase to the second level, where Finn knew from the website were four large guest suites.

“You’re in the Brown room.” Eliza opened the door to a room with a four poster bed. A cozy armchair with a footstool sat in one corner. A desk in the other.

“This looks perfect.”

Just as he was about to step inside, the door to the room opposite his opened, and out stepped Willa Fairchild, wearing a thick, cream-colored robe, her long, chestnut-colored hair piled high on her head.

This was the closest he’d been to her, and he was surprised by how young she looked. She had very pale skin, generous lips, and an off-center small mole on her chin. Her dark-lashed, brown eyes had a vulnerable quality that also caught him off guard.

He supposed he’d expected them to have a calculating, if not mercenary, gleam.

But she was, in fact, perfectly lovely.

“Hi Willa,” Eliza said. “Is everything okay?”

“The room is so comfy. Thanks so much for setting up the extra rollaway bed, but my son is hungry. I thought I’d grab him an apple...?” Her gaze slipped from Eliza to Finn.

He thought her eyes widened slightly. Did she recognize him from the airport? But he’d been so careful to keep his distance. He proffered his hand.

“Hi, I’m Finn Knightly, from Colorado. Just got in myself. Quite a storm out there.”

“I’ll say. I’m Willa Fairchild from Phoenix. The worst I have to deal with at home is a heavy downpour.”

“And I’m Scout.” Willa’s son came to the door, already dressed in pajamas. He, too, had pale skin and his very short hair was the same color as his mother.

“Hey, Scout. How do you like Montana so far?” Finn asked.

“I’ve never seen snow before. I took some up to my room but it’s melted already. Tomorrow we’re going to make a snowman, right Mom?”

She put a hand on his head and smiled. “You bet. But first, we need to sleep. You pick out a book and I’ll be right back with that apple.”

“Okay.” Obediently he slipped back into the room.

“Good kid,” Finn commented. He couldn’t remember his own niece or nephew ever saying “okay” to anything Molly requested them to do. At least not the first time she asked.

“Grab a few cookies while you’re down there,” Eliza suggested to Willa. “Fresh from the oven about fifteen minutes ago.”

“Santa’s secret recipe,” Finn added, earning a smile from Eliza and a puzzled, over-the-shoulder glance from Willa.

“I hope you like the room,” Eliza said, opening the door wider. “There’s a full bathroom, including a jetted spa tub, through that door.”

“I’m sure it will be great.” Finn was still watching Willa, though, who’d just disappeared around the curve in the stairwell.

She wasn’t anything like he’d imagined.

At least now Finn understood why his father had fallen under her spell.

F
inn was tired. For the past month—ever since his father died—he’d been having bad dreams and restless nights.

His father’s death had been an unexpected blow, since no one in the family even knew he’d been diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. It was so typical of his father that he hadn’t wanted to worry anyone. Instead, his dad had hired private care and lived out his last weeks in his Phoenix condo with only his golfing buddies to keep him company.

It was some comfort to know that at least his father had been truly happy these past few years, enjoying his biggest passions in life, golfing and woodworking.

Still, it had hurt to have his last communication from his father come in the form of a letter. “I love you, son and I know you love me, too. I hope you’re not angry with me for handling things this way. I’ve always hated having people fuss over me, and that’s exactly what your sisters would have done. And I could hardly have told you about my illness without telling them. I had a good life—especially these last years—and I wish you the best with yours. You know I’ve always been proud of your talent and your career. I hope you find more than that one day. Love and companionship can be wonderful things—I’m only sorry your mother and I didn’t set a better example for you children on that score...”

The letter had gone on for another two pages. Tears had been running down Finn’s face by the time he was done with it.

Shortly after that Molly had called. Then Berneen. And finally his mother.

Three nurses had helped his father through his illness. In his will he’d left two of them five thousand dollars. The third nurse he’d left fifty thousand.

Fifty!

Something fishy must have been going on. As the only son and the eldest child, he was expected to get to the bottom of it.

So here he was. In Marietta, Montana, hoping to find answers that would satisfy his sisters as well as himself.

At six-thirty in the morning Finn got out of the bed, which had been extremely comfortable. From the window, in the murky pre-dawn light, he could see it was still snowing. At least the wind had calmed. The house was eerily quiet, in fact.

Finn dragged himself into the shower, and after that, he shaved and dressed in warm layers, suspecting most of his day would be spent out of doors. It was just shy of seven when he left his room.

All was quiet on the second floor. He paused to glance up toward the third floor. Again from the website he knew there were two big suites up there. One was living quarters for family members—he presumed this was for Eliza and Marshall. The other, the Big Sky Suite, had been rented out by country music star John Urban last year.