The Cottage on Juniper Ridge Read online

  “Thanks.”

  They climbed out of the cab and she went to unlock the cabin door while he collected the groceries. She had it open and had turned on the lights by the time he reached the porch. It was like walking into a different place with her white leather couch replacing the old sofa. That and the matching chair and fancy coffee table made this dump seem downright stylish. She’d covered the old dining table with a red cloth and a fancy arrangement of candles and greens. The place had gone from looking like the rough-and-tumble little dump it was into something a lot classier.

  “Nice,” he observed as he set the bag on the counter.

  “Thanks,” she said. “And thanks again for rescuing me. Can I make you an eggnog latte?”

  The place looked good and so did she. Which was why he said, “I appreciate the offer, but I should get going.”

  “Okay.”

  He almost breathed a sigh of relief until she added, “Then how about if I cook you dinner? As a thank-you for helping me out.”

  Oh, no. Dinner would be a disaster. He’d get sucked right in, just like he had with Ash. “No need, really. But, uh, thanks.” Now he was edging toward the door like a gauche kid. “Well, take it easy,” he mumbled. Then he bolted down the stairs for the safety of his truck.

  * * *

  Jen watched Garrett Armstrong racing for his truck as if his pants were on fire. What was wrong with the man? Surely if he was seeing someone he would have used that as his excuse. Sorry, I’ve got to get back to my girlfriend. Or, Sorry, I’ve got to get back to my boyfriend. He hadn’t mentioned anyone. So maybe it was her? He wasn’t attracted to her, plain and simple.

  She went into the bedroom and checked herself out in the beveled mirror of the antique dresser. She had a cute enough face—oval with hazel eyes. Her nose wasn’t bad. Neither was her mouth. Okay, maybe her lips weren’t as full as Angelina Jolie’s but they were still nice. Her hair was long. Guys liked long hair, didn’t they? And so she wasn’t a 38D. She wasn’t flat-chested, either. The girls were big enough to attract a man’s attention. Well, most men’s, but obviously not Garrett Armstrong’s. What the heck was wrong with her?

  “Nothing,” she told herself firmly.

  So, that left only one alternative. Garrett Armstrong was shy. That flaw could be corrected over time, she decided as she returned to the kitchen to put away her groceries.

  That was when she discovered half the eggs in the carton had broken. Which meant scrambled eggs for dinner. Good. A nice simple meal.

  She wished she wasn’t eating it alone.

  * * *

  Pathetic. He’d run away like a ten-year-old boy.

  But it was better to run away than stick around and get sucked in by a pretty face. Garrett wanted his life simple from now on. Well, as simple as it could be considering who his ex-wife was. He suspected Jen Heath was made of stronger moral fiber than Ash, but when it came to crazy and complicated it looked as if she’d be able to give Ash a run for her money.

  The incident with the woodstove damper—well, that could have happened to anyone. Except wouldn’t someone who’d never had a stove or a fireplace ask how to use the thing before trying to light a fire? As for her skidding off the road, that, too, could happen to anyone. Inexperienced drivers often lost control in the snow.

  Only a fool would lose control in his own house, though, and if Garrett had stayed that was probably what he would’ve done. If not today, then some other day. She’d have gotten to him eventually. Sooner or later he wouldn’t be able to resist the urge to kiss her. And then he’d want more. Smarter to avoid the temptation altogether.

  He was going to stick with his plan, find a woman who wasn’t ditzy, who had her act together. Like Tilda. In fact, maybe Tilda would be interested in going out tonight, seeing a movie at the Falls Cinema. She was on days at the police station right now. She’d be off by five.

  Once back at his place he called her. “Got anything going on?”

  “Nope,” she said. “What’s up?”

  “I thought I’d go see a movie tonight. Wanna join me?”

  “Sure.”

  “Good,” he said, “’cause racquetball tomorrow isn’t gonna happen.”

  “Oh?”

  “Ashley wants me to take Timmy.”

  “So, her weekend with him is lasting one whole night.”

  “That about sums it up.”

  “The woman is a bitch.”

  Tilda never pulled her punches. “Yeah, she is,” Garrett agreed.

  “Well, let’s do a movie tonight and take Timmy out for breakfast tomorrow,” Tilda suggested. “I’ll have to wait to beat your ass at racquetball.”

  Tilda was such a good sport. No complaining that their plans had been ruined, just going with the flow. Garrett smiled. Yep, Tilda Morrison was exactly what he needed. “Like you beat me last time?” he retorted.

  “Hey, I let you win to feed your ego.”

  “Yeah, sure,” Garrett retorted. “Pick you up at seven.”

  “No need. I’ll meet you there.”

  Every woman should be as easy to be with as Tilda. Yeah, she was perfect—strong and steady. With Tilda there was never any trouble, never any drama.

  What would it be like to kiss Jen Heath?

  * * *

  Cass Wilkes from the book club was just leaving Mountain Veterinary with her Saint Bernard, Tiny, when Chita arrived, holding a shivering Hidalgo.

  “Oh, no. What’s Hidalgo eaten now?” Cass immediately asked.

  “Nothing. At least, nothing I know about,” Chita amended. “I think he’s got an ear infection.”

  “Oh, poor guy.”

  “What’s wrong with Tiny?”

  “Skin infection. But you’ll be better in no time, won’t you, boy?” Cass patted Tiny on the head and he drooled appreciatively. “I’m just glad Dr. Wolfe was able to fit us in.”

  “Same here,” Chita said. Ken Wolfe was always available for any emergency, and he’d come out after hours more than once to help Hidalgo. “I swear that man is the patron saint of dogs.”

  “He’s a great guy,” Cass agreed. “I don’t know why nobody’s snapped him up. She’d save a fortune in vet bills.”

  Why had no one put her brand on the man? It sure wasn’t because he was bad-looking.

  Hidalgo whimpered, reminding Chita that she wasn’t here to yak with her friend.

  “I should let you guys get inside before Hidalgo freezes,” Cass said.

  “Or has a nervous breakdown,” Chita added, and hurried in.

  The clinic’s waiting room was cheery, with yellow walls sporting framed pictures of dogs and cats and horses, all patients of Dr. Wolfe’s. Many of them were signed. One of a fat, black-and-white cat had “To Dr. Wolfe, love, Spike” written across it in silver ink. Another of a Palomino and its proud owner holding a blue ribbon thanked the doc for keeping Goldie healthy.

  Plastic chairs were scattered around the room and a small table held copies of Cat Fancy and Modern Dog. The waiting room smelled like wet dog.

  Hidalgo whimpered.

  “It’s okay,” Chita cooed. “You’re going to be fine.”

  “Hidalgo,” the receptionist greeted him. “You’re not feeling so good?” To Chita she said, “Dr. Wolfe will have him better in no time.”

  Chita thanked her and took a seat. She and the unhappy Hidalgo had barely settled in when Dr. Wolfe’s assistant appeared to usher them into an exam room.

 
; A moment later they were joined by Ken Wolfe himself. “Well, Hidalgo and Mommy,” he said in his gentle voice. “How are we doing?”

  “Not good,” Chita said.

  “Well, let’s see. Bring him over to the exam table.”

  He actually didn’t have to tell her. After all the times they’d been here, Chita knew the drill. “Thanks for fitting us in,” she said. On such a cold snowy night, surely even a dedicated vet would be anxious to get home.

  But Dr. Wolfe didn’t seem to be in any hurry. He ran a calming hand along the dachshund’s back. “No problem, Chita. We don’t want this little guy down for the count.”

  Chita nodded. She’d already brought Hidalgo in twice during the past month, and she and the doc were now on a first-name basis.

  With a man as friendly as Ken Wolfe, that probably would’ve happened, anyway. Last time she’d been in she’d teased him about his name. “That’s why I became a vet,” he’d said. “I figured with a name like Wolfe it had to be a sign.”

  Sometimes Chita wished she’d looked for a few signs on her own life path. She’d been too busy stumbling around. She hadn’t worried much about grades in high school, preferring to focus on her social life. Her mother had tried her best to improve Chita’s grades by alternately nagging and cajoling, but in the end she’d finally given up and moved on to pushing her other three children, who were more driven to succeed. By the time Chita graduated she didn’t have any big-league schools knocking on her door. She had no idea what she wanted to be when she grew up so she’d gotten a job as a waitress at Dot Morrison’s Breakfast Haus. There she’d met the man her mother referred to as “that gringo,” a truck driver with muscles and a sexy smile. And that had been that.

  The marriage had lasted long enough to produce two children and then “that gringo” was out of there. Now he was nothing more than a child support check...and even then, only when she could find him.

  She had no regrets when it came to her kids. They were great. But the rest of her life? Was that going to amount to working on an assembly line? Not that she had any complaints about how the people at Sweet Dreams treated her. They were kind and responsible employers. Still, her job wasn’t exactly the height of accomplishment.

  Were there signs in her life she’d missed along the way? She’d enjoyed crafts and drawing. Could she have become a graphic designer? She’d loved animals. Could she have been a Dr. Wolfe?

  Now she studied him as he examined Hidalgo. He was a tall man, fortysomething, with light brown hair and a matching mustache. She was always impressed by how gentle he was with those large hands of his.

  A crazy thought flashed into her mind, probably inspired by her conversation with Cass. Those hands would feel nice on you.

  She pushed it away. Just because she was standing next to a nice, good-looking man was no reason to go into heat.

  “You say he’s been shaking his head, scratching his ears?” Ken asked.

  “Yes,” Chita confirmed.

  He lifted Hidalgo’s ear and the dog yelped. “It’s okay, buddy,” he said. “We’ll get you fixed up, okay?” Another minute and he turned to Chita. “You were right. He’s got an ear infection. We’ll start him on some oral antibiotics as well as a topical. Then he won’t be so irritable,” he finished with a grin.

  Ear...irritable. Get it? It was hard to be amused while seeing a vision of her budget stretching like a big rubber band until it finally broke. She shook her head at him. “While you’re at it, can you prescribe something for me so I won’t be irritable?”

  “A glass of white wine when you get home. How’s that?”

  “Just what the doctor ordered,” she said.

  But when she finally got home, she had to give Hidalgo his medicine and make dinner. (And clean up the mess when Enrico dropped a jar of sweet pickles on the kitchen floor.) Then both kids needed help with their homework. After they were finally bathed and tucked in for the night, she tried to read but found she was far too tired.

  She gave up and went to bed. As she slipped under the covers she realized she’d never gotten that glass of wine. Ah, well. Just another day in paradise.

  * * *

  “How are you coming with the wedding plans?” Charley’s mom asked.

  She knew she shouldn’t have answered her cell. “Okay,” she lied. Actually, she hadn’t done much of anything. Between running the restaurant and doing things every other weekend with Dan’s kids from his first marriage, her life was busier than it had ever been.

  “Have you picked a church?”

  “We’re not going to have it in a church,” Charley explained. “We’re getting married at the restaurant.”

  “I thought you were going to have a simple church wedding.”

  “I said we were going to have a simple wedding,” Charley corrected her. “I did the big church wedding the first time around. Remember?”

  “How could I not? It was beautiful. You were beautiful.”

  “I promise I’ll still be beautiful,” Charley teased. “Anyway, it’s too late to change venues. I already got the invitations printed and they say the wedding’s at Zelda’s.”

  “All right, fine,” her mother said, annoyed but resigned. “Where are you going to put everyone up? You know you have to find someplace that’s wheelchair accessible for Great-aunt Millie.”

  “I wasn’t planning on inviting Great-aunt Millie. We’re keeping the guest list small.” How many times had she said this?

  “I understand, dear, but you can’t not invite Great-aunt Millie.”

  Maybe that was true. She didn’t want to hurt her aunt’s feelings. Who else was going to be ticked off if they weren’t invited? Charley had a vision of her guest list going from one page to a big, long scroll that dropped clear to her feet.

  “Oh, and we’ve got to book someplace affordable for Gerald and Mishmish. He still hasn’t found a job and they’re on a tight budget. And don’t forget your little cousins Josephine and Inga want to be flower girls. By the way, Josephine is allergic to lilies. You did remember that, didn’t you?”

  “No, I’d forgotten,” Charley said as she grabbed her purse.

  “Have you picked out your flowers? Valentine’s Day will be here before you know it.”

  “Look, Mom. I’ve got to get to the restaurant. Can we talk about this later?”

  “Of course. But remember, the clock is ticking. And we still have a lot to do.”

  What was this we stuff? She didn’t remember asking for help. Not that she didn’t appreciate her mother wanting to help, but so far all Mom had done was put together a giant to-do list and then nag her about checking things off. Party favors, bridesmaids dresses (she hadn’t even chosen her bridesmaids yet—and didn’t even know if she wanted to bother with bridesmaids), flowers, cake (that one would be easy enough—she’d have Cass make it), the gown, the minister, the photographer, wheelchair access, flower girls with allergies... She suddenly wanted to run away. She was marrying a great guy who came with two great kids. Why wasn’t she having fun? Oh, yeah, because her simple wedding got less simple every time she talked to her mother.

  Mom had a point, though. A wedding was a big deal, a day to remember. And now that she’d found such a wonderful man, she wanted to make the day memorable for both of them.

  But why was making a memory so darned stressful?

  “I’m going to have a nervous breakdown,” she announced to Dan when he stopped by the restaurant later that night to join
her in a nightcap.

  “Don’t tell me, let me guess,” he said. “The wedding.”

  She sighed heavily. “You guessed it.”

  “You know, this was supposed to be a party. As in fun.”

  “I know. I thought it would be so perfect to get married on Valentine’s Day. But I’m not sure I can pull it off.”

  He shrugged. “Then we’ll get married on a different day. Or we’ll elope.”

  “And deprive my mother of the chance to be at my wedding? I’d never hear the end of that.”

  “We’ll record it and put it on YouTube.”

  “Eeew.”

  He smiled and reached across the table to take her hand. “I don’t care when we get married or how. I just want you to be happy. If you’re feeling stressed, let’s make some changes.”

  “June weddings are nice,” she said.

  “They are,” he agreed.

  “And it’s probably stupid to get married on Valentine’s Day.”

  “Probably.”

  “So we’ll do June instead.”

  “Works for me.”

  That settled it. Problem solved. The wedding invitations would go in the recycling bin. What the heck—it was only money. Or maybe she could sell them on eBay to some other Daniel and Charlene who actually had time to get married on Valentine’s Day.

  Oh, yeah. Funny, Charley.

  “You okay?” Dan asked.

  “Sure. Why?”

  “You don’t look that happy.”

  She squeezed his hand. “I’m marrying a great guy. Trust me. I’m happy.” Everyone loved a June wedding. June weddings were classic. And she could certainly plan a simple wedding by June.

  As long as her mother stopped helping her.

  Chapter Nine

  There’s no better time to make changes in your life than right now.

  —Muriel Sterling, author of Simplicity

  “Guess what,” Juliet said to Stacy. “I talked to Muriel Sterling about meeting with our book club and she’s up for it.”