The Cottage on Juniper Ridge Read online

  How to Change Your Life…

  Can a book change your life? Yes, when it’s Simplicity, Muriel Sterling’s guide to plain living. In fact, it inspires Jen Heath to leave her stressful, overcommitted life in Seattle and move to Icicle Falls, where she rents a lovely little cottage on Juniper Ridge. And where she can enjoy simple pleasures—like joining the local book club—and complicated ones, like falling in love with her sexy landlord, Garrett Armstrong.

  Her sister Toni is ready for a change, too. She has a teenage daughter who’s constantly texting her friends, a husband who’s more involved with his computer than he is with her, and a son who’s consumed by video games. Toni wants her family to grow closer—to return to a simpler way of life.

  Other women in town, like Stacy Thomas, are also inspired to unload their excess stuff and some of the extra responsibilities they’ve taken on.

  But as they all discover, sometimes life simply happens. It doesn’t always happen simply!

  Praise for Sheila Roberts

  “This is an engrossing story with strong characters and arcs similar to Debbie Macomber’s Cedar Cove titles. The light romance, delicious descriptions of chocolate and recipes add to the flavor of Roberts’s promising new series.”

  —Booklist on Better than Chocolate

  “Within minutes of cracking open the book,

  my mood was lifted…the warm, glowing feeling

  it gave me lasted for days.”

  —First for Women on The Snow Globe

  “Her characters are warm and engaging,

  and their interactions are full of humor.”

  —RT Book Reviews on Bikini Season

  “An uplifting, charming, feel-good story

  from the author of Bikini Season.”

  —Booklist on Angel Lane

  “Will doubtless warm more than a few hearts.”

  —Publishers Weekly on Angel Lane

  “Love in Bloom is a wonderful story with characters so real and defined I feel like I am personally acquainted with them…. There is humor and emotion in large quantities in this fantastic book that is next to impossible to put down. Kudos and a large bouquet of flowers to Sheila Roberts for giving us one of the best books of the year.”

  —Fresh Fiction

  “A congenial cast of subsidiary characters…meet Hope at a community garden plot and share their stories there. Roberts effectively knits these troubled but kindly characters together in a story line that throws the reader a few unexpected twists.”

  —The Seattle Times on Love in Bloom

  Also by Sheila Roberts

  BETTER THAN CHOCOLATE

  MERRY EX-MAS

  WHAT SHE WANTS

  Look for Sheila Roberts’s next novel

  THE TEA SHOP ON LAVENDER LANE

  available soon from Harlequin MIRA

  SHEILA

  ROBERTS

  The Cottage on

  Juniper Ridge

  For my buddy Liz

  Dear Reader,

  I think this book has been bubbling at the back of my mind for some time. A few years ago my husband and I moved from the house we’d been in for eighteen years, and I was shocked to see how much stuff we’d accumulated! After so many runs to Goodwill that I lost count and packing enough boxes to fill a stadium, I was so done with stuff. I could drive by a garage sale and not even be tempted! Of course, that didn’t last long. Pretty soon I was, once more, braking for garage sales. Then we lost my husband’s parents and were up to our eyeballs in stuff again. What to do with it all? Where to put it? Let me tell you, it wasn’t easy. And keeping the pile of things to a reasonable level is still an ongoing process, but I think I’m getting it down to a system.

  And that wasn’t the only thing I was dealing with. I was trying to simplify my life. Between trying to keep up with work, family responsibilities, house, garden, church and friends, I was on overload. When we first moved to our little lake house, I’d envisioned myself puttering in the garden, growing my own fruit and veggies, sitting on the patio and enjoying the view, sipping cocktails with the neighbors. Ha! Who had time for that? I needed to simplify my life!

  I suspect I’m not the only one who’s been faced with this. I’ve talked to a lot of women stuck in that same cramped boat. It’s easy to get overcommitted and overloaded. It sort of sneaks up on us one bargain at a time, one “Sure, I can do that” commitment at a time. Next thing we know, life is complicated.

  The women in Icicle Falls have realized this and they’re going to do something about it. But they’ve got some challenges ahead. I hope you’ll enjoy their journey. And if it resonates with you, well, I always love hearing from my readers. Find me on Facebook or visit me at my website, www.sheilasplace.com.

  Happy reading!

  Sheila

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter One

  Sometimes we get so used to the status quo that we forget we can change it.

  —Muriel Sterling, author of Simplicity

  Jen Heath hurried along the downtown Seattle sidewalk, hunched against a freezing rain, her holiday to-do list dogging her every step, breathing down her neck. The trees that lined the street twinkled with white lights, and store windows boasted displays of Santas, presents and happy elves. A steel drum band had set up in the Westlake Mall and was playing “Jingle Bells.” Bah, humbug, she thought grumpily as she strode past them.

  Anyone peering inside her head would think she hated the holidays. She didn’t. She loved them. What she didn’t love was being so darned busy.

  How had she gotten stuck in charge of planning the office Christmas party? Oh, yeah, Patty Unger, her supervisor, had volunteered her. Thanks, Patty. Not that Jen minded planning a party. But having to plan one this year wasn’t fun. It was just one more thing to add to a very long to-do list.

  In addition to her full-time job as office slave at Emerald City Promotions, she sold Soft Glow Candles on the party plan—all so she could whittle down what she owed on her credit cards, keep up her car payments and make the mortgage on her First Hill condo, which she could barely afford. The car she’d needed, but the condo? What had she been thinking when she bought it? Oh, yeah. She hadn’t been thinking. She’d taken one look at the granite countertops, the hardwood floors and the view of the Seattle skyline, and condo lust had come over her like a fever. By the time the fever broke she was a homeowner. (Thanks to the bank and her parents.) And her credit cards were max
ed out. (Because, of course, she had to furnish the new condo.) Now she was a stressed homeowner.

  Who was never home. She had three candle parties booked this week and two more on the weekend. The following weekend she had another candle party on Saturday, and then on Sunday a cookie exchange at her sister’s, followed by the church choir concert. Oh, she’d be home later that evening, right along with the eighteen other people she’d invited to her place for the postconcert party. (This was the symptom of yet another fever—new-owner pride. She’d been dying to show off the condo, and hosting a party had seemed like the perfect way.) The day before, she’d gone to see the gingerbread house display at the Sheraton Hotel with her mother, her sister and her niece, Jordan. She’d been pooped, but when she tried to wiggle out of going, Toni had reminded her that this was a tradition, and anyway, she needed to spend time with her family. Guilt, the gift that kept on giving. After that, she’d visited her grandma, who was complaining that she’d almost forgotten what her granddaughter looked like. It seemed everyone in her family was giving guilt for Christmas this year.

  Tonight she absolutely had to do laundry. But what she really wanted was to flop on the couch and watch It’s a Wonderful Life. None of her friends understood what she saw in that old movie, but she’d been watching it with her family every Christmas since she was a kid. Well, except for the past couple of years. Between having her marriage fall apart and getting a divorce, she’d been too busy for a wonderful life.

  Those days were over now. No more fights about money. No more fights about how she mismanaged her time or how impetuous and irresponsible she was. No more fights about...well, you name it.

  When they were first married, Serge had loved her spontaneity, her joie de vivre. After a year he developed a vision problem and saw only her flaws. They fought about everything from money to the amount of time she spent with her friends. “I don’t know what we’re doing together.” Serge had finally stormed one night, throwing up his hands.

  Neither did she. So Serge had moved out and moved on. She’d run into him at the Last Supper Club six months after the divorce was final, when she was trying to enjoy a night out with the girls. He’d been with a skinny tattoo queen sporting maroon hair and ear gauges. And he’d complained about how impulsive Jen was?

  She’d wanted to hit him and his new woman, too. Instead, she’d buried herself in the crowd and danced until her feet and her heart were numb. Good riddance, she’d told herself, but later that night she’d cried herself to sleep.

  Now it had been a year since the big D and she was so over him and so moving on.

  Now she was in charge of her own destiny, her own life, and that was fine with her.

  Except so far this new life wasn’t exactly playing out as she’d envisioned. When a girl hardly had time to wash her bra, she was in trouble. When was she supposed to squeeze in things like dating? And if she didn’t even have time to date, well, what was that going to do to her sex life?

  She scowled. Many of her friends were now having babies and she’d love to have one of her own. She sure didn’t see a bassinet on her horizon, though. At thirty-two, were her eggs giving up all hope of ever meeting a sperm?

  Well, girls, I don’t know what to tell you. You’ll just have to hang in there because right now I don’t have time to find a new man. There was a depressing thought.

  Jen caught her bus on Marion Street. It was crowded as usual with tired workers, students, street people and shoppers carrying bags crammed with merchandise. Standing room only. That made her grumpier.

  Oh, heck, everything made her grumpy these days. Maybe it was living in the city, crammed in with so many other people. What would it be like to have a cute little house in a small town or a cottage in a mountain meadow? What would it be like to hark back to a simpler time, a simpler lifestyle?

  She thought of the book her sister had given her for her birthday the month before—Simplicity. She’d been trying to read a little of it every night before she went to bed, but she couldn’t seem to get past page one. She’d wake up halfway through the night with the book on her face.

  She’d managed to get through the blurb on the back of the book, though, and it sounded impressive. The author insisted that anyone, no matter how busy, could simplify her life. It was a matter of prioritizing and letting your days slow down and fall into a natural rhythm in sync with nature.

  What would her life be like if she lived it at a slower pace? What if she took a few minutes to sit by her condo window and watch the snow fall (not that much snow ever fell in Seattle), instead of running around like a gerbil on a wheel, dashing from event to event, working at a feverish pace so she could live the good life? When it came right down to it, was her life that good? She was racing through it so fast, she had no time to savor any of it. It would be nice to learn how to bake bread, grow a garden, knit. Date! Heck, it would be nice to have time to breathe.

  The bus lurched to a stop and a fortysomething woman got on, balancing a huge armful of purchases, shopping bags dangling from her fingers. She squeezed in between Jen and an older man in an overcoat that smelled of damp wool. The newcomer smelled like perfume overload and Jen sneezed.

  “Bless you,” said an older woman who was occupying a seat behind where Jen stood.

  “Thank you,” Jen murmured.

  The newcomer grabbed for a hand rail and bumped Jen with one of her bags. That, plus the sudden forward motion of the bus, nearly sent Jen toppling into the lap of the older woman. “Sorry,” she muttered.

  Meanwhile, Suzy Shopper was still wrestling with her bags. One got away and landed on Jen’s foot, nearly crushing her toes and making her yelp. What did she have in there, weights?

  “Oh, I’m so sorry,” the woman said, picking it up and whacking Jen with another bag in the process. “My daughter’s Christmas present.”

  Jen’s eyes were watering. Was her foot broken? She caught her breath and managed a polite smile. “Looks like you got a lot done.” Which was more than she could say. She hadn’t started her shopping yet.

  “This is the last of it,” the woman said. “I found these dumbbells on sale at Penney’s.”

  “Dumbbells.” Jen nodded. “You had weights in that bag.”

  The woman blushed. “Mmm-hmm.”

  May the next toes you drop them on be yours.

  The bus driver called Jen’s street and she hobbled toward the back exit, trying to make her way through the crowd. “S’cuse me, s’cuse me. Sorry.”

  One passenger was too engrossed in what was on her ereader to even know she was on a bus. She stood in the path of the exit like a boulder in a red coat. An inconsiderate boulder.

  “Excuse me,” Jen said, trying to slip past. The boulder didn’t budge.

  The bus doors heaved open.

  Jen tried again. “Excuse me,” she said a little louder. Still nothing. She said it a third time and gave the boulder a nudge. It was just a nudge, really.

  The red boulder lost her balance and grabbed for the nearest source of stability—a tall, skinny woman in sweats and a Santa hat bearing a pink bakery box. The tall, skinny woman lost her hold on the box and down it went, spilling cupcakes with green frosting everywhere. She gasped and the woman next to her, who now had green frosting skidding down her sleeve, let out a groan.

  A nearby man wearing a dirty peacoat and a scruffy beard picked up a cupcake that had landed on the floor, frosting side first, and began to eat it.

  All three women glared at Jen. The skinny one with the Santa hat bent to pick up her ruined goods. “You should watch what you’re doing.”

  “Sorry,” Jen said. Willing the bus doors not to close, she fumbled in her purse and pulled out her wallet. “Let me pay you for those.” The minute she opened her wallet and found nothing there she remembered that she’d impulsively put her last three dollars in a Salvati
on Army bucket the day before. “I guess I don’t have any cash on me.”

  The skinny woman scowled at her.

  “If you’re gonna get off the bus, get off,” the driver called. “We have other stops to make.”

  “I’m really sorry,” Jen said again. “Um, merry Christmas,” she added as she hobbled down the steps onto the curb.

  Neither woman wished her a merry Christmas in return. In fact, the skinny one wished her something about as far from it as a girl could get. The doors shut and the bus lumbered off, shooting up a rooster tail of icy water and splashing her.

  Bah, humbug.

  * * *

  It was the first week of December, and at Stacy Thomas’s house the stockings were hung by the chimney with care. They were lucky to find any place to hang because the mantel was already packed with greens and ribbons and candles, as well as brass letters spelling Peace.

  And that was only the beginning of the holiday decorations. There was no room on the coffee table for coffee cups, due to the presence of Stacy’s nativity set, and her lighted Victorian village took up every inch of space on the buffet in the dining room. She still had to unpack the box with all the other candles, the candy dishes and the gingerbread man cookie jar, as well as the one with her holiday centerpiece. Then there was the bag with the Christmas quilt, the tub with all the wall hangings and the box containing her collection of Santa figurines. And then there were the two storage boxes of ornaments waiting to go on the tree....

  “This is the last of it,” her husband, Dean, said as he set down the long box containing their artificial tree. “Thank God.” He wiped his damp brow and looked around him. “Do we really need all of this?”

  “Of course we do!”

  Stacy surveyed the pile of boxes in front of her. How was she going to get everything put up before her book club arrived? She wished they’d gotten the decorating done the day before. But the day before had been consumed with putting up all the outside lights and the yard art. It had been an exhausting team effort, and by the time she’d finished helping Dean she’d been too tired to even think about the inside of the house.