The Mountain Between Us (25 page)

“I don't like that he's still here in town,” Reggie said. “And I'm not crazy about you admitting we scammed him.”

“There's nothing he can do about it. And the look on his face when I told him was worth any trouble he might try to make. But he won't. He's too proud to admit in court that he was had.” She pinched a bite off the wedge of fruitcake in front of her and popped it into her mouth. The rich, butter and brandy-soaked confection melted on her tongue with a burst of heat and flavor. “And right now he's busy trying to find some other woman to succumb to his charms. The last thing a man like him wants is to be alone at Christmas. Since I'm refusing to have anything to do with him, he's pursuing Cassie.”

“How's that working out for him?” Reggie asked.

“Hard to say, but she's definitely taking advantage of his macho ego. Last I saw, she had him putting up decorations at her house, balancing on a ladder in the snow while she directed from the ground.”

“Let's hope the old buzzard doesn't have a heart attack.”

“If he does, we'll put the body on ice until after we cash the check.”

Reggie looked shocked. “I did not hear that,” he said.

Maggie stopped beside their table. “Can I join you?” she asked.

“Of course.” Reggie slid over to make room for her. She peeled off her parka to reveal jeans, boots, and a red sweater that showed the slightest hint of a baby bump. She looked exhausted.

“Not sleeping well?” Lucille asked sympathetically.

She shook her head. “I'm worried about Jameso and Barb.”

“They'll be okay,” Reggie said. “Want some fruitcake?” He slid the plate toward her.

She wrinkled her nose. “I wouldn't dare. That's got to be at least ninety proof.”

“It'll make you forget your troubles.” Reg slid the plate back. “But I suppose it wouldn't be good for the baby.”

“Other than not sleeping, how are you holding up?” Lucille asked.

“I don't know what to do with myself. With no computers and phones, we've closed up the newspaper office. Half the stores in town have signs on the doors that say the owner is over at the Last Dollar or the Dirty Sally, not that I have any more shopping to do anyway.”

Lucille had a similar sign on the door of Lacy's. “Something like this tends to heighten the sense of community,” she said. “We want to gather together and eat and drink and wait out the storm.”

“The snow looks like it's getting a little lighter.” Maggie squinted out the window at the curtain of flakes that continued to fall, as steady as ever. “I wish I knew what was happening on the other side of those walls of snow up on the pass.”

“You went up there?” Reggie asked.

“No, but Rick did and he showed me pictures. How is anyone ever going to get through that?”

“They'll have to get heavy equipment to clear snow and move trees; then the rotary plows can clear a path,” Reggie said. “It'll take a while.”

“Yeah, and who wants to be doing that kind of work at Christmas?” Maggie rested her chin in her hand, looking more glum than ever.

“You should come to my house for Christmas,” Lucille said. “I usually go to the candlelight service at the Presbyterian church. Come with me . . . even if you aren't particularly religious, it's a beautiful way to welcome in the holiday. Afterward, we'll go back to my place and you can spend the night. Olivia will join us after she and D. J. finish their deliveries.”

“She told me she got roped into playing Mrs. Claus.”

“I'm hoping working with D. J. to help other people will open a way for them to settle their differences,” Lucille said. “I've invited D. J. to Christmas dinner, just in case.”

“What are you doing for Christmas?” Maggie asked Reggie.

“Katya and I have a tradition. We go skiing in the morning; then we go out to Living Waters for a soak. It's not exactly a Scandinavian sauna, but close enough.”

The door to the café opened and Cassie sailed in, followed by Gerald, who was stooped over, a pained expression on his face.

“My goodness, Mr. Pershing, is something wrong?” Janelle asked.

“I believe I hurt my back moving boxes of decorations out of Miss Wynock's attic.” He flashed a pained smile. “So kind of you to ask, dear.”

“Oh, don't whine, Gerald. It's unbecoming. You'll be fine once we've had lunch.” Cassie didn't even glance back at him. “Janelle, do you have any good steaks?”

“We just got in an order of grass-fed New York strips,” Janelle said.

“That sounds perfect.”

“Steak for lunch?” Gerald asked. “I was thinking some nice soup, maybe a salad.”

“You promised me a nice lunch and I want steak. Oh, hello, Lucille.” Cassie paused beside their booth and favored Lucille with a smug smile. “Gerald and I have been having such a wonderful time together.”

Grimacing, Gerald straightened and slipped his arm around Cassie. “Yes, we have. Cassie has been showing me some of the family heirlooms. Such a distinguished family.”

“Yes, I was telling Gerald how much my antiques are worth,” Cassie said. “Some of the items are positively priceless.”

Many of the items had been purchased in Lucille's own junk shop. “Oh, yes,” Lucille said. “Cassie has quite the collection.”

“Gerald's persuaded me to consider selling some of the more valuable items,” Cassie continued. “After all, I really don't need so many old things sitting around. He feels he can get a very good price for them in Dallas.”

“How thoughtful of him.” Lucille managed to keep a straight face. What a shock Gerald was going to get when he showed up in Dallas with a truckload of cheap junk.

“He's been so wonderful.” Cassie clung to his arm. “This afternoon he's promised to split firewood for me. There's nothing like a cozy fire on a snowy Christmas Eve, is there?”

“No, nothing like it.” Though Cassie was doing a good job of playing the gloating new girlfriend, Lucille detected a glint of diabolical amusement in the librarian's gray eyes.

“Why don't we sit down now?” Gerald said. “Do you think Janelle and Danielle have any Scotch? Strictly for medicinal purposes.”

“I have a feeling he won't be able to leave town fast enough,” Maggie said softly as they watched Gerald shuffle across the restaurant in Cassie's wake.

“Yes, and Cassie will have a freshly stacked woodpile and a cleaned-out basement in the bargain,” Reg said. “You have to admire her ingenuity.”

“If it were anyone but Gerald, I might feel sorry for him,” Lucille said. “But enough of that unpleasant topic. Please say you'll spend Christmas with us, Maggie.”

“All right. And thanks. Hanging out with you and Olivia will definitely be better than sitting at my place by myself, worrying about Barb and her husband.”

“They'll be fine.” Lucille patted her hand. “And Jameso will be fine.”

Maggie looked unconvinced. “This was going to be our first Christmas together.”

“There will be others.” Clearly, she needed to do something to keep the poor girl from sliding into depression. She stood. “Come on. I've got something that will make you feel better.”

“What's that?”

“Let's head over to the school gym. They need people to help get the gifts together for Santa. If a couple of hours of wrapping gifts for children, not to mention eating Christmas cookies and singing carols, don't put you in the Christmas spirit, I don't know what will.”

 

Olivia thought any child would have been forgiven for believing that Santa's workshop had somehow been relocated to Eureka, Colorado. Even though she knew local businesses, churches, and civic groups had been collecting presents, food, and even decorations for weeks, she blinked and fought the urge to rub her eyes when she stepped into the school gymnasium the afternoon of Christmas Eve. Every surface was covered with piles of wrapped gifts, boxes, and baskets of food, beribboned wreaths, strings of lights, and even stacks of freshly cut evergreens wrapped in twine. Volunteers swarmed around the piles like industrious elves, and half a dozen Santas in red velvet and white fur strode among them.

“There you are!” One of the Santas stopped Olivia as she squeezed between a pyramid of canned hams and a mound of oranges in net bags. “You'd better hurry and change into your costume.”

Olivia stared into the brown eyes of “Santa” and felt a jolt of recognition. “D. J.?”

“Just call me Santa.” He grinned. “Pretty good costume, huh?”

The red velvet coat and pants, black boots, and white wig and beard, and the addition of some padding had transformed the burly plow driver into an imposing Santa Claus. “Yeah,” Olivia said, still stunned. “I mean, the kids will love it.”

“It's already starting to get dark out,” he said. “I'd like to get going before too much longer.”

“Over here, Mrs. Claus, and I'll show you your costume.” A woman with a mass of blond curls and glasses on a chain around her neck took Olivia's elbow and steered her toward the restrooms just outside the gym. The stalls had been converted to dressing rooms, where Olivia changed into a white blouse, full red velvet skirt with a wide black belt, a gray curly wig with a mob cap, and rectangular granny glasses with clear lenses. “You can wear your own boots,” the blonde said as she dotted Olivia's cheeks with rouge and whitened her eyebrows.

When Olivia turned to the mirror, she laughed out loud. She wouldn't have recognized herself. “You make a wonderful Mrs. Claus.” The blonde patted her shoulder. “Now, go help Santa.”

D. J. was waiting for her outside the restroom, pacing back and forth. “I'm ready,” she announced. At least, she was dressed for her part. She wasn't sure anything could have prepared her for hours spent in the close confines of his truck cab. She didn't know what to say to him after so many months of nurturing her anger at him. Since Jameso had convinced her it was unlikely D. J. had known she was pregnant when he left for Iraq, she'd battled confusion and guilt. If she told him about the baby, would he be furious she'd kept the secret so long? Would he ever be able to forgive her for the way she'd treated him, or was there too much pain and misunderstanding between them to ever make things right again?

He studied her, then nodded. “Very sexy.”

She laughed. “Yeah, as sexy as that Santa suit.” Though all the fake beards and padding in the world couldn't tamp down the quiver in her stomach she felt at the prospect of hours spent alone with him.

“The truck's out here.” He gestured toward a back entrance. “Already loaded.”

She pulled on her coat and gloves—no need for a hat with the wig—and followed him outside. “Lucas still sick?” he asked as he held the door for her.

“He's not running a fever, but he has a cough and he says he feels awful.”

“Bad luck to be sick at Christmas,” D. J. said.

“I'm sure presents tomorrow will cheer him up.” She halfway suspected her son of faking it, intent on more matchmaking, but she hadn't wanted to accuse him.

The back of D. J.'s old truck was piled high with boxes and bags, but it wasn't the gifts that made Olivia do a double take. The old beater was decked out from bumper to bumper with garland, tinsel, and ribbon. A wreath adorned the grill, and twinkling colored lights outlined the cab. “You decorated your truck?”

“It's Santa's sleigh tonight,” he said, and held the passenger door open for her.

She climbed in and groped for the seat belt. “You're really into this, aren't you?” she asked.

“I want this to be a Christmas those kids will always remember.” He slid into the driver's seat and cranked the engine. “Plowing the roads around the county, I've seen the way some of these families live. It's pretty rugged, especially on the old mining claims where we're headed. They don't have a lot of luxury in their lives. I want to make tonight special.”

“That . . . that's really sweet of you,” she said. She'd forgotten about this side of D. J.—the sensitive side that cared about other people. When they'd lived in Hartford, he wouldn't just give a buck to a guy on a street corner; he'd stop and escort him to the nearest coffee shop and buy him a muffin and hot cocoa.

She stared out the truck window, at the lighted, decorated businesses along Eureka's main street. Snow dusted the evergreen wreaths and garlands and frosted the red ribbons. Everything looked clean and orderly and prosperous. “I guess I don't think about there being poor people in Eureka,” she said. “Everything seems so perfect here.”

“There are poor people everywhere,” he said. “Things are maybe cleaner and prettier and safer here, but you can't eat scenery.”

“I guess not.” But the scenery was one reason people lived here—the mountains and valleys drew them, despite the difficulty of making a living in such a remote location. She knew plenty of people who worked multiple jobs, and driving old cars and wearing secondhand clothes was almost a point of pride. People bragged about living on their own terms, even if it meant doing without some things.

“Even the poor people here look rich compared to some of what I saw in Iraq,” he said. “There, whole families live in one-or two-room mud huts with dirt floors, dressed in rags, living on rice and tea. The Americans tried to help, but sometimes there wasn't a lot we could do.”

“You've never talked about Iraq before,” she said.

“You've never asked.”

She hadn't wanted to know about the country that had pulled him away from her. She hadn't wanted to think about what he'd been doing while she mourned alone back in the States. “Was it very dangerous?” she asked.