Sheila Roberts - Merry Ex-Mas

“Don’t do that,” Jake said.

“We can’t leave it.” No one would want to buy a house that was falling apart.

“I know. I’ll fix it.”

Jake wasn’t the world’s best handyman. Last summer he’d gone through a pile of two-by-fours trying to fix one broken front-porch step. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Hey, any guy can fix a leaky pipe,” he said. “I’m not paying a plumber.”

She sure wasn’t going to foot the entire bill. “Okay,” she said. “But you’ll fix it first thing tomorrow, right?” Their Realtor, Axel Fuchs, had cautioned her to always have the house in tip-top shape. You never knew when a potential buyer would want to look at it.

“I’ll do it tomorrow,” Jake said. “Don’t worry.”

Don’t worry? That would be possible only if she were a Saint Bernard.

6

Richard was history. He needed to stay history, and that was exactly what Charley was going to tell him next time he popped up like the Ghost of Christmas Past. It wasn’t right to come back into a girl’s life after she’d worked through her anger (well, most of it) and gotten on with things. And she’d tell him that, she decided as she put on her makeup.

It was Monday and the restaurant was closed. She never bothered with makeup on Mondays.

She glared at her reflection. Why are you doing this?

Pride. She wanted Richard to see her at her best when she told him to set his boxers on fire and get lost.

“You liar,” she scolded herself. “You just want him to see you looking your best, period.”

Charley tossed her mascara in her makeup basket and left the bathroom.

She always stayed home on Monday mornings. She did her laundry in the morning and fooled around on Facebook. After lunch she’d read or watch the Food Network and then she’d take a run to Bruisers for a quick workout on the treadmill. Or go to the bakery for a little something—always more fun than the treadmill.

No hanging around the house this morning, she told herself. If Richard tried a surprise attack he’d find the fort deserted. She could finish her Christmas shopping. She’d hang out in Gilded Lily’s, Hearth and Home and Mountain Treasures. Oooh, and for lunch she’d indulge in a bratwurst at Big Brats. Then maybe she’d stop in at Sweet Dreams and say hi to Samantha. Or wander over to Gingerbread Haus and treat herself to a gingerbread boy.

She donned the knitted hat Ella had made for her and grabbed her winter coat.

And opened the door just in time to see Richard coming up the front steps, bundled up for winter in a parka and ski cap and carrying a thermos. She didn’t know which irritated her more, the fact that he’d ignored her command to bug off or that at the sight of him her heart lost its groove and gave a nervous skip. “What are you doing here?”

“Kidnapping you.”

“That’s against the law. Anyway, you’re not big enough to overpower me,” she added, and hoped that hurt. She shut the door after herself and started past him.

“Kidnapping you to go on a sleigh ride,” he said, ignoring her barb.

She stopped in her tracks. A sleigh ride. Other than chocolate, there was nothing more tempting. Sleigh rides were becoming a popular tourist activity in Icicle Falls. Ever since she and Richard had moved to town, Charley had wanted to take one, but somehow she’d never found time. There was something so romantic about a sleigh ride.

There would be nothing romantic about taking one with her ex. “Currier’s doesn’t offer sleigh rides on weekdays.”

“They do this week. I made special arrangements with Kirk Jones.”

Special arrangements. What strings had Richard pulled to get the owner of the Christmas tree farm to harness up his horses on a Monday?

Richard held up the thermos. “Hot chocolate with peppermint schnapps.”

“I don’t care if it’s champagne.”

“That’s for brunch. At the Firs.”

The Firs was an exclusive resort compound that extended for acres and included everything from hiking trails to outdoor hot tubs and pools surrounded by mountain rock. Cabins were outfitted with luxury furnishings and the dining hall provided feasts prepared by the kind of top chefs Charley only dreamed of hiring.

Now she was doubly tempted.

Don’t do it.

“All I’m asking for is a chance. Just give me today.”

One day, that was all he was asking.

She sighed. “Why did you have to come back?”

“Because I need you.”

“You didn’t need me a year ago when you were boinking Ariel in the bar.”

Richard grimaced. “Charley, I’ve changed. Let me prove it.”

Eating at the Firs was the equivalent of eating at Canlis in Seattle. She had no intention of getting back together with Richard, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t use him. Just deserts, she concluded. She’d use him like he’d once used her. Then he could see how it felt.

“Okay, I’ll go,” she said. “It’s not going to do you any good, but I’ll go.”

He grinned like she’d just offered to sleep with him. “It’s a beginning.”

Currier’s Tree Farm was rustic and picturesque. The snow-frosted split rail fence along the property was draped with cedar swags and red bows. The big tree in the yard was adorned with lights and huge colored balls and a shawl of snow. Behind the house, the tree farm stretched out with every imaginable kind of holiday tree. Off to the left she saw a stand where visitors could enjoy complimentary hot cider and to the right sat a big, red barn. There, in front of it, stood an old-fashioned sleigh decked out in cedar swags and ribbon. The chestnut draft horses looked equally festive, with jingle bells in their harnesses, their manes and tails braided with red ribbons. One of them stamped a foot. Another let out a soft nicker.

A lean, gray-haired man in winter garb came out of the barn and waved at them. “You’re right on time,” he called to Richard, and motioned for them to join him. “Got a perfect day for a sleigh ride,” he greeted Charley.

“It was nice of you to open for us,” Charley said.

He grinned, a big, broad smile that filled his face. “Anything for lovers.”

Lovers! Was that what Richard had told him? “Not exactly,” Charley said, frowning. “We’re exes.”

That made Kirk Jones’s bushy gray eyebrows shoot up and Richard’s mouth turn down.

“Oh, well,” Kirk said, and then cleared his throat. “It’s a great day for a sleigh ride.”

“No matter who it’s with,” Charley said, ignoring Richard’s helping hand and climbing into the sleigh.

Kirk had provided a plaid wool blanket and Richard spread it across her legs.

“Thanks. Lover,” she said with some asperity.

“You can’t blame me because people jump to conclusions,” he said.

“Did you give him a little push?”

“No. I told him the truth.”

Charley cocked an eyebrow. “Oh? And what was that?”

“That this is for a special lady. No lie.” He uncorked the thermos and pulled two disposable cups from his coat pocket.

As he poured she remembered how good he’d always been at romantic gestures—creating a dish and naming it after her, taking her over the mountains to Seattle one year to look at Christmas lights and then spending the night in a downtown hotel, hiding a bit of anniversary bling under her pillow.

What romantic things had he done for Ariel?

He handed over her hot chocolate. Then he poured himself a cup and capped the thermos. “To new beginnings,” he said, and raised his cup to her.

She said nothing in return, just took a sip and looked away.

“Or the hope of new beginnings,” Richard amended.

In your dreams, Charley thought, and downed some more.