JACOB

I heard my father talking on the phone. His voice was low and I knew that he didn’t want me to hear. I tried not to listen, ignoring the words the best as I could. Grownups sometimes forget that kids are around when they’re talking about things that they want to keep secret, and it’s always best to pretend that you don’t understand what they’re saying.

Only I knew that he and the person he was talking to were discussing what should be done about my bad behavior. I try real hard to be good, but something seems to happen and everything goes all wrong. I love my dad. But I’m afraid of him, too. I’m afraid that if he sees just how bad I really am that he’ll send me away. They took my mama away from me once and I had to go live with my grandma for a while, but then my mama came back and she promised she’d never go away again. Then she died.

My dad hung up the phone and then I heard him coming down the hall to my bedroom. I was supposed to be doing my homework and I picked up my pencil; we’re learning how to handwrite like adults do and I like making the letter “L.” My mamma always signed her name with big pretty loops and I tried to make my letters like she did, but they ended up looking fat and stupid. I decided to practice making “O’s” instead, because they’re just circles, really.

“Almost done with your homework?” My dad’s voice sounded softer than usual and I nodded my head, keeping my eyes on my paper.

“As soon as you’re finished, you can watch TV for half an hour then it’s time for bed. Make sure you wear your Pull-Ups.”

I nodded again, trying to ignore him as he stood in the doorway watching me. He must think that I’m a big baby because I’ve started wetting the bed again. He doesn’t make fun of me like some of my mamma’s boyfriend’s did, but I can tell that he wishes that he had a son who didn’t need to wear special underwear. If any of the kids at school ever found out … I tried not to think about that ever happening.

“I’ll be picking you up after school on Thursday, so don’t get on the bus. We have an appointment with a family counselor.”

I nodded my head, still not wanting to look at him. I know what counselors do. My mamma used to talk to a counselor sometimes and she’d be real sad afterwards. When I asked her why, she told me it was because she was overwhelmed with all her responsibilities. Maybe my dad wants me to go to a counselor because I wet the bed and don’t like mashed potatoes. I don’t like peas or carrots either and I don’t like sleeping with my door closed at night. Maybe my dad’s trying to fix me so he won’t have to send me away?

He stood in the doorway, watching me as I finished making my “O’s” and started practicing my “W’s.” I heard him walk up behind me and I held my breath.

He reached over and ran his fingers through my hair, just like Aunt Jessie always does, and he kissed the top of my head.

“I love you, son.”

He stooped down next to my chair and gave me a hug. I dropped my pencil and hugged him back, wishing that I could be a good boy and not make him unhappy like I did with my mama.

“I love you too, Daddy.”

RILEY

Morning. Beautiful, sunny, winter mornings in Vermont are unmatched anywhere in the country. I’ve been a lot of places and I know. But maybe not as beautiful as sunny winter mornings in Alaska. Once again a marveled at John, being there with me, living life with me and going through all the crap married people go through. All the great stuff, too.

I rolled to my side and watched him sleep. John’s not a morning kinda guy. He likes to sleep a little later and since it was Tuesday, one of his usual days off from all the Inn’s drudgery, and he was still unable to go work ski patrol at the mountain, he was certainly enjoying the extra few hours of sleep.

I worried about his leg. When he was hurt in the avalanche a few years ago, he underwent a couple of operations on the same leg he just twisted into oblivion. Okay, all he did was wrench the thing, didn’t even blow it out. There were no operations in his future regarding this last little fiasco … but only inches below the knee was a metal plate. It all still scared me. But his doctor said it was A-okay; would be fine in a few weeks to ski again. I’ll just have to pray for an early spring … don’t tell any other Stowe innkeepers I was doing that.

I came out of my reverie because John stirred and sighed but went immediately back to sleep. Nathan was quietly playing in his room and I let my mind wonder to all the wonderful things to come. With Jack and Natalie moving into their own house at a farm they just purchased, it was now a go for the expansion of our apartment. Soon John and I would have the whole top floor of the right tower. More room for everything. A bigger nursery, two, count ‘em, two guest rooms, a brand new kitchen and a huge dining room. Hee ha, now I could really entertain our every growing family. And speaking of growing family, John’s warm palm had just settled on my flat belly. Not flat for long.

With hands and arms so strong and loving, John slithered me over him. His eyes were still closed but he was grinning. My husband wanted in. He wasn’t a big one for being on the bottom, but his knee had other ideas, especially stiff and achy first thing in the morning. I accommodated … willingly and with delight.

“Girl or boy,” he sighed, soothing me back to earth after reaching the stratosphere.

“Boy,” I said without a second thought. I could feel him grin against my neck. John would love having a daughter, but I know he’ll love having another son more. And … for some strange reason I had no doubt that there was another boy resting deep in my womb. When the autumn leaves turned we’d have another son. Another son. Already I was thinking about names.

“What’re ya gonna do today, baby?” he asked as we cuddled.

“I’m gonna make you some soup.” With a secret smile I wondered if Jackie, our houseguest, remembered our private thoughts about men and soup. John deserved a really flavorful, hardy soup after his sweet good morning to me, that was sure.

“Good.” And I could hear by his breathing that he was back to sleep. I could also hear that Nathan was getting restless. Another day had begun and I was reminded again just how blessed I am.

KELLY WIGAND

I’d have to say that things have been pretty darn good ever since I’ve remade my life here in Stowe. I have a successful business, a lovely home, and a husband who makes everything else pale in comparison. I’d never expected to find someone like him; I was always hopeful, but at my age, let’s face it, I was also realistic. Then I somehow managed to literally run into the man of my dreams.

We’re comfortable together. We both like sappy old movies and we’re generally home bodies by nature. In his younger years, Jeff did a fair amount of traveling for his work, and I think that by having seen so much of the world he finds comfort in knowing that there’s always this safe little corner where he can settle in and relax. He may have been a bit of a hell raiser in his youth, but that only tempered him to become the calm and wise loving man that he is today.

But lately I’ve been worried. Jeff likes to keep busy, and this past fall semester he started teaching introductory Japanese along with his usual curriculum of Chemistry and Organic Science, and I think the increased work load is taking a toll on his health. He’s gone from teaching three classes a day to six, and then there are the chemistry labs twice a week when he doesn’t come home until seven PM. The past several evenings when he arrived home he’s looked absolutely gray with fatigue, but brushed it off when I asked if he was feeling okay.

“I’m just a bit edgy and tired, honey. One of the students nearly blew up the chemistry lab again and then there’s the Science Fair coming up in May …”

Two of his students came in second and third place at last year’s fair, and it’s always been something he’s enjoyed taking part in. He’s a natural born teacher and his students’ high grades reflect this, but there was none of the usual excitement or joy in his voice that evening. It was then that I started to recall that he hadn’t been sleeping well for the past several weeks and he’s been hanging onto a cold for far longer than should be normal. The alarm bells started going off in my head.

“Sweetheart, when was the last time you had a complete check up?”

He looked a little irritated as he thought about the answer, setting his briefcase down on the coffee table and shooing one of the cats away. “I had the required physical before I started teaching again last year. My cholesterol was a little high, but everything else looked normal.”

“You never mentioned your cholesterol –”

“Honey, I’m fine. I put in long hours and I’ve had this dammed cold and I’m just a little under the weather. It happens to everyone.”

I wasn’t convinced. “Still, it wouldn’t hurt to have another checkup.”

He grumbled softly as he made his way past me, again sidestepping the cats as he loosened his tie. “It won’t hurt not to have one, either.”

Fine. I’m just going to have to keep at him until he sees things my way and makes an appointment with his physician. I’m giving him until next week, and if he’s still going to fight me over it, I’ll go ahead and make the appointment for him myself.

LACHLAN

I’m startin’ to get a little worried. Our deadline on Skinner’s house is March fifteenth and we’re hitting stumbling blocks at every turn. This whole project has become a regular poster child for Murphy’s Law.

Take this morning; the bloke delivering the rainwater filtration system got caught in traffic on his way in from Burlington and arrived three hours past schedule. I had an operator for the backhoe who was paid by the hour sittin’ around looking bored. I finally put him to work up in the attic with Egan. He wasn’t under any obligation to switch tasks, but I think he was the sort of bloke who liked to keep busy. When the driver finally did arrive around eleven AM, the sky was growing dark with thick swollen clouds threatening more snow.

We somehow managed to beat the weather, and less than two hours later we had the hole dug for our cistern. Then Mitchell informs me that we’d sprung a major leak in the main pipe leading to the house and guess what caused it? You guessed it … the bloke digging the hole. We shut off the main valve while Mitchell inspected the damage, but by this time the hole that was supposed to hold the cistern had filled with the leaking water. Too bad Skinner didn’t order a swimming pool. I’d reached my limit and walked away, heading inside where it at least was warm and (so far) dry.

Egan met me upstairs as I as doing my walkthrough. He’d been installing laminate flooring in the attic where Skinner planned to have his media room.

“Care to lend a hand, or just blowin’ off steam?” He was stooped down in the corner, a rubber mallet in one hand and a tape measure in the other. “This stuff installs pretty easy. Still think Skinner should’ve gone with the oak veneer, but he insists he wants maple.”

He lined up the strip of laminate and gave it a whack with the mallet. “I think I’d like to use this stuff in my own home.”

I knelt down beside him and grabbed a mallet for myself. “At least something comes together properly around here.”

“Maybe you should take Skinner up on his offer and let him help out one afternoon. He’ll see how close we are to actually being finished and maybe he’ll lighten up a bit.”

I somehow couldn’t imagine Skinner doing anything besides painting. The thought of him wielding a nail gun or electric saw was a little disturbing. But then again, the plaster had dried and set in all but the downstairs bathroom, so maybe it would be a good idea to let him have a go at it.

Egan chuckled. “And then we could all celebrate with a nice glass of wine afterwards.”

Sounded nice in theory. I had such high hopes for this old house and while I realize the delays have been mostly due to outside forces, I’m really feeling the pressure. There’s so much riding on this project. Skinner’s our first client and even though we have three others lined up, not finishing on time would set us back and we could lose those contracts. If we’re really going to make a go of this, we have to deliver the goods. On schedule, as advertised.

I fit the piece of veneer into place and gave it a whack. It felt kinda good. I picked up the next piece and kept on going. We’d just finished the row and were about to start on another when I heard Mitchell’s voice calling out downstairs.

“Hey, Lach? The building inspector’s here. Seems there’s an issue over the chimney installation …”

Shit. I pushed up from the floor and began heading towards the stairs, but Egan stopped me.

“You might wanna leave the mallet here with me. Just in case.”

KIM

“Wi-Fi.” I always liked the sound of that term.

From the other side of the cubicle, I heard Emmie’s pointed sigh.

“Wi-fucking-Fi.” I was on a roll.

Another sigh from Emmie’s cubicle, then the sound of her pen clicking in quick, staccato bursts. A moment later, I heard the squeak of her chair as she pushed away from her desk, followed by the soft scuffing of her slippered feet and the unmistakable snap of electricity as her hand touched on the rounded metal edge of my own cubicle.

“Shit! That’s the third time I’ve shocked myself in the last fifteen minutes.” Her mouth was formed in a bit of a pissy pout, accented by a smudge of chocolate over her upper lip. Shaking the pain out of her fingers, she gave me an annoyed glare. “Any luck with working that deal with the satellite provider?”

I cocked an eyebrow and pulled a tight grin. “I think I just aced a bonzer of a deal.”

With the completion of the Inn’s basement conference room, the race was on to make sure we had all the amenities needed to attract corporate customers. Our major competition was the Trapp Family Lodge, and while they had the ambience of the Do-rei-me factor, we had to be just one step ahead in the technology department. Wi-fi was just the start. Problem was finding a dependable provider with budget-friendly rates.

The fax machine began to hum. “There’s the proposal now.”

I got up from my desk and went over to retrieve the incoming document, taking a moment to cop a feel of Emmie’s arse. “You got chocolate on your lip, love.” I hovered over her just long enough to tease a return smile.

“The ad on Craig’s List seems to be working; my e-mail was jammed with resumes this morning.”

We’d placed a Help Wanted ad for a Network Administrator just yesterday afternoon. “How long you gonna run the ad?”

“Depends on the quality of what I’ve already received. Dino said he’d do a thorough background check of the serious contenders.”

I felt a bit curious about Emmie’s growing friendship with Dino. I told myself that I was probably over-reacting; they’ve gone to lunch a couple of times since he’s been in town and they exchange e-mails. She insists that it’s mostly work related, but there’s just something about the guy that works its way with some women. Emmie says it’s because he makes them feel protected, and yeah, I can see where that would be a draw. He and Thorne are dripping with it.

I squared my shoulders and shook it off. No need to create a problem where there probably wasn’t one to begin with, right? 

Deciding to play it safe I changed the subject. “You gonna let me make dinner for you tonight?”

“That depends. Your place or mine?”

“Well, I have the bigger kitchen, and the automatic dishwasher. And I have the cappuccino maker …” Emmie loves her gourmet coffee first thing in the morning. I reached for the completed fax and gave it a quick read. “Fair dinkim, this deal we’re being offered is even better than I thought.”

The satellite provider’s main office was located just outside of Burlington. And I didn’t even have to offer their sales bloke a free weekend at the Inn. I handed the contract to Emmie. “Looks like I’ve still got it.”

She made a doubtful snorting sound as she took it, shocking me with yet another spark of static electricity as our fingers touched.

“Ouch! Hey, this is a fantastic deal. Good job, babe. This’ll really be a strong selling point. Less than half the Inns in town have Wi-Fi capability, and we may be the only ones with a full time on site techie.” She took the contract back to her desk to go over the fine print.

I trailed after her like a lost puppy. “You still didn’t answer my question.”     

She slipped on her glasses and looked over her nose at me. “What were you planning to make?”

Of course I’d planned on making her favorite. “Spring rolls and peanut sauce.”

Her eyes grew soft and she smiled sweetly. “Can we swing by my place first on the way home? I’ll need a change of clothes. Would you mind if I also brought along a load of laundry?”

Mind? Bloody hell; if I kept this up, all her clothes would eventually make her way into my closet, then there’d be no need for her to ever go back to her apartment. Look like my plan was working. Almost time to make way for stage two.

WADE

Seemed it was a big, important kinda meeting, but it was all pretty cut and dry to me. I needed one more officer; I had four applicants to choose from. Three qualified men from big cities … and Samantha De La Croix.

Truth of the matter was … according to all the information, I probably could do just fine without adding anyone. When the season ended, life would get real easy. But at this point all I was looking at in my station was two women dispatchers and two officers; Greg Steeples, who was fatter than some doorways, getting real grey and slated to retire next year; and Mike Gripple, who weighted about ninety pounds wet and was just outta the police academy.

Lookin’ at that, I decided I needed more strength in my crew and the applicants were starting to look damn good.

I considered Sam Vitanno, a New York cop who came highly recommended by Thorne. Don’t really like Vitanno, makes me think of some of the carpetbaggers I ran across after the war … the Civil War. Kinda slimy and kinda dirty. Not that me and Vitanno might not hit it off real fine … he just might not stick around. I was thinking Stowe, off season, might be kinda boring for a guy like him.

Then there was the Chicago police officer, Jim Dugan. Jimmy was a good man, had a family that kinda fell in love with Stowe. Coupl’a kids who like to ski and a pretty wife who likes my wife’s hair styling. The only thing making me think twice about Dugan is something Tracy told me. Turns out, Dugan wasn’t such a good cop back in Chicago. He had big ideas about becoming a detective but never passed the test. Cynthia Dugan confessed that if the same opportunity didn’t present itself in Stowe, Jim Dugan was ready, willing and able to just move on. I ain’t needed no detective and I ain’t interested in goin’ through this process again. Dugan was out.

After that, there was Officer Daniel Baker from Phoenix. Baker didn’t pass the physical. In fact, he was sitting in a Burlington hospital getting more tests. Made me cringe to wonder what was wrong with him. I’d rather die with a rope around my neck than stuck full of needles in a hospital.

And that left Samantha De La Croix, repeat seasonal officer, comes to town every year, even owns a house on Crown Street. She’s got a good head on her pretty shoulders but damn … she’s a woman. One tough woman. She’s been beside me in tight spots and good on her own, even though I sure don’t like it none when she is. Against everything inside me, I had to admit she was the best option I had.

“We hire De La Croix,” I announced to the men at the conference table and some of them groaned a sigh of relief. “What?”

“Well, Ben,” spouted the old mayor. “You really had no choice. I’ve got here about thirty letters of request from local businesses for Samantha … and the law to uphold. We needed at least one full time female officer to comply.”

“Well,” I snorted and stood, collected all those neatly typed applications and tucked them into the folder. “My decision got nothin’ to do with compliance or popularity. Sam’s a damn good cop and I want her at my side. No, someone send her into my office so I can tell her not to pack her bags.”

SAMANTHA

I got the job!

I don’t know how much of it had to do with Maggie Arnold’s phone call urging the mayor to show a little more diversity on the police force (taxpayers have a way of getting the attention of their elected officials), or maybe my tenacity simply wore Sheriff Wade down. Seems I’ve been a thorn in his side since I’ve arrived here in Stowe, but I have to admit, I’m starting to find it a little easier to tolerate the guy. I had no idea if Egan Walsh had put in a good word for me like he promised, and part of me really didn’t want to know. It was nice of him to offer, but I wanted to believe that I won the position based on my own capabilities.

But I’d allow myself to worry about it later. I smiled at the Sheriff as he gave me the good news and I held out my hand to him right afterwards. He gave me a funny look before he accepted it, as if he wasn’t comfortable shaking hands with a woman, but then he made a fast recovery. Gave me the usual speech about my representing the department, yada, yada, yada. I’m thinking that I’ve gotten under his skin and that he’s maybe not such a bad guy underneath it all.

I got the news at the end of my shift, and after everyone at the precinct gave me their congratulations (I shared a high five with the dispatch ladies), I hurried home to make some important arrangements. I’d had to call my mom and let her know that I was staying on in Vermont (I dreaded that conversation, but I couldn’t put it off any longer), and then I’d have to call my uncle and have him help me with transporting my horse here to Stowe.

I have a ten year old dapple gray mare by the name of Ooljee, which is the Navajo word for moon. I’ve had her since she was a foal and for the past five years I’d been dreaming about somehow finding myself in a place where I could have her with me all the time. Before I became a police officer, I rode or visited her almost every day, even when I was working my way through college with long hours waitressing at the casino. I’d have to see about making arrangements to board her at one of the local stables, and in the back of my mind I was already thinking of a way to invite Egan Walsh to come riding with me. If things went well, then maybe I could then ask him to bring his son Jacob along for the next outing. I wanted to make my move and let him know that I was interested in getting to know him better, without coming across like I was a little too eager.

I had to laugh at myself when I thought about that; here I was, thirty-two years old and still worried about the right way to attract a man’s attention. Well, not just any man. This one was special. But I wanted him to know that I had depth and personality and could cook up a really mean macaroni and cheese. I wanted him to see me as competent, strong, caring, and most of all, as a woman who longed to find a place in his heart as surely as he’d found a place in mine. Did he ever think about me aside from just a passing pleasant thought? I know I wasn’t imagining the look in his eyes the other day when we ran into one another at Maggie’s coffee shop. There was something there that suggested so much more than simple casual flirtation and I can’t wipe the memory of that look from my mind.

After breaking the news to my mother (who took it a lot better than I thought she would), I got a hold of my uncle and he agreed to get Ooljee to me safely. It would be another month before he could pack her up and drive her out to Vermont, but that gave me a little extra time to prepare. See, I haven’t bought much in the way of civilian clothing since that little black dress number I wore at Thanksgiving; I think it’s time that I took a drive to the shopping mall in Burlington and visited Victoria’s Secret. Hey, nothing wrong with a bit of wishful thinking and advanced planning. I mean, just in case.

COLIN

I wasn’t sure how Hando was gonna take the news.

I was braced and ready for the explosion, knowin’ that he’d likely try to talk me out of my decision to step down as the team’s driver. He’d try to point out that I was having a knee jerk reaction to Carrie’s leaving and tell me to man up and roll with it. The season starts over the next two weeks in Daytona, and yet I’ve got the balls to spring this on him now.

It’s simple; I’m tired. I’d wanted to step down from drivin’ several months back, but that was before we had some solid wins under our belts and we weren’t ready to take the chance of an unseasoned driver crashin’ and bustin’ up our investment. But the team’s earned a good deal of clout since then. We can find another driver.

“Oi! You gone fuckin’ mental?”

Just as I’d thought, Hando was gonna need a bit of persuading. It was two-thirty in the afternoon and we sat in his den, surrounded by the trophies we’d earned over our years together. Photos of us in the winner’s circle hung on the walls, many the same ones that I’d had in my own office, with nicely framed photos of Mere and Ruthie mixed in here and there.

“Maybe. But I reckon it has more to do with realizing that I’m getting’ too old for this shit.”

Hando scowled. It was an expression that often scared the hell out of those who didn’t know him, but it just confirmed my original suspicion. All things considered, he was takin’ it much better than I’d first imagined. 

“Can’t believe you’re doing this. Where the bloody hell are we gonna get another driver this late in the game? The corporate sponsors are expecting the champion Colin O’Brien.  We’ve put our blood and guts into this business and now you’re shittin’ all over everything we’ve worked for.” He jumped up from his chair and started to pace. “Damn you!”

I felt my own blood startin’ to boil. Did he really think that I was just gonna bloody up and leave the team? I had my own time and money invested in this business too.

“H, I’m still your partner. If you remember, when we first started out, I wasn’t supposed to be the driver. I jumped behind the wheel to save the team, but somewhere along the way we forgot to get our hands on a suitable replacement. I’m just sayin’ that it’s time we started lookin’.”

“Colin, we’re at the top of our game. What’ll you do if you quit drivin?”

“What I was doin’ before it all turned to gold. Mate, there are a lot of blokes who have just as much background and still have that hunger. We can afford to take a chance.”

“Like hell we can.”

“What if I find my own replacement?”

“By February ninth? You are bloody insane.”

“I’ll keep drivin’ for now. We shoulda been scoutin’ the talent before this, but what if I might already have an idea for my replacement?”

Hando seemed to calm down and consider my offer, at least enough to sit and quit pacing the room. “Better bloody well not be Ricky Olson.”

Ricky Olson had been the driver for one of our rivals, Lightning Motors. He was young and talented, clocking an impressive number of wins in his first year. Problem was, the team’s owner caught Ricky shagging his wife. It was one of the more entertaining dramas on the circuit over this past year … aside from my own, of course. Currently out of a job, Ricky was desperate for work.

“Never even crossed my mind. I think I might’ve found someone better.”

Hando looked unconvinced. “Yeah?”

I smiled. “Remember old Oscar Fuentes of Victory Motors?”

Hando nodded and continued to scowl. Oscar was a bit of a legend to those who’d been on the circuit for any number of years. He’d started out in the late 1960’s with the demolition derby and worked his was up to NASCAR. He was well known as a driver but later put together his own crew and started building Formula Ones that had a habit of winnin’.

“’Course I remember him. Might as well ask if I remember Al Unser.”

“Well, he’s damn sick and I got an e-mail from his attorney a couple months ago. I didn’t get around to readin’ it until this past week, but he’s lookin’ to sell the business to someone who’ll keep the team together.”

Hando’s face paled. “Are you tryin’ to tell me that you’re backin’ out of our partnership and startin’ up your own team?”

He was halfway out of his seat again but I motioned for him to sit down. “Hando, Oscar Fuentes has a son; Richard.”

“Yeah, I know. He’s a driver. Skinny kid, lotsa red hair. So?” The light of discovery shone in Hando’s eyes.

“I’m meeting with their attorney next week. It’s a solid team. Whaddya say we make Victory Motors a subsidiary?”

“What else comes with the package? We sure as fuck don’t need someone else’s bloody problems.”

“Let me worry about that part of it. Right now they have three top notch mechanics, a seasoned pit crew, and I’m sure they’d all like to keep gettin’ a paycheck. The kid just got married and I have a feelin’ he’ll be happy to keep pulling a salary too.”

Hando nodded and I could tell he was mulling over the logistics. He even smiled. “Tell me, why’d Oscar’s attorney contact you?”

I shrugged. “I met him a few years back, when we were first putting the business together. We got to talkin’ one night over a pint and I told him about how I started out in the Demolition Derby and we just clicked. He was an interesting old bloke. We’d get together sometimes after a race and just talk shop. I think he had a feelin’ I’d help him look after his team.”

Hando scowled again, his eyes starin’ at the wall directly above my head. Then he started to laugh. “You’re responsible for the kid. You foot the bill for the medical insurance and salary of the others.”

“Sounds fair enough.”  I got up to leave. “I may just like playin’ the boss for a change.”

Hando rolled his eyes and shook his head. I caught myself laughing. I was about to discover just what I’d gotten myself into …

JACKIE

I have never in my life met so many lovely people in such a short period of time. Riley has a whole squad of girlfriends here at Stowe and the Inn, and they’re all great. I met them on the day I arrived, after I’d slept off the top end of a screaming jet lag, and even though I was groggy as hell, I felt right at home among them. They actually made me feel like I lived there, like I was part of their crowd and always had been. We sat around a huge cake that disappeared really quickly (oh the calories!) and drank tea and chatted about practically everything. They were the most welcoming bunch ever.

My family, Riles calls them, although she isn’t really related to any of them. Or… is she? She was a bit vague about all that; apparently the related thing has something to do with the various husbands and boyfriends, but she did mention perhaps John should explain it to me some point if he felt up to it.

Poor John, he’s had a rough time of it with his knee, limping around. He is a lovely guy though, and he and Riley are so in love you’d think they are newlyweds. They cuddle and kiss and whisper sweet things to each other all the time; I’m so happy for her. Especially after what she went through with her ex, bloody hell. And you know what? I’ve got a hunch she’s preggers again. I think John knows, and I think that’s why they had a doctor’s appointment. Well, finger crossed is what I say!

I hope I’ll find a guy like John Biebe one day. Well not exactly like John, but a guy who will be to me what John is to Riles. And if I see them together like that, I’m thinking… I wouldn’t mind having a child either, if it could be a healthy little nipper like Nathan. He’s such a wonderfully lively, rambunctious kid; it’s hilariously obvious that he takes after his dad. Sturdy, and he’s got a pretty unique way of looking at the world that I find dead funny. He’s inherited some of Riley’s thoughtfulness though, if he can sit still long enough. And he’s got the most beautiful eyes. I’m happy he seems to like me. Granted, I have to work for his approval; yesterday afternoon he had me read to him for over an hour. I did my best too, put on funny voices and everything.

I briefly met Eva’s fiancé, guy named Terry, when he came by to pick her up after Riles’ girls-get together on the afternoon of my arrival. Eva’s a flamenco dancer from Spain (well, from Euskadi, I should say if I were being PC). But how cool is that, eh? A flamenco dancer, now that’s what I call a great job. On top of that, and on top of the fact that Eva was as funny as she is beautiful, it’s somehow nice (however inexplicable) to have another Euro around; I could tell that she liked it too.

Now Terry, he’s got an interesting job as well; he’s into kidnap prevention. We had a super quick chat about identity security and the IOM department that deals with human trafficking (I know some guys there), and he said he’d give me a bell some point soon to talk some more. I know I came here to get away from work, but he was such a nice bloke, I don’t mind talking about it with him. It’s actually sort of fun to find someone genuinely interested in what I might know and have to offer in that particular field, without him expecting me to go get the coffee or take the minutes of the meeting.

I met Jessie’s husband as well. Jessie and he, they have such a beautiful little baby girl. Amanda, only a few weeks old, all wispy hair and tiny little fingers. Jessie let me hold her while she wolfed down an enormous slice of cake, haha, I’m sure she was happy to have her hands free for a sec. Lachlan, her guy is called. How I will ever remember who’s who, I don’t know; I’m such a nightmare when it comes to remembering people’s names. Nice guy though, Lachlan; apparently he restores old houses for a living. He came up to the flat to see John, shared a quick cold one with him and asked him something about the house he was working on for Maxi.

I was at the dining table, at my Macbook, looking up some song lyrics for the upcoming gig at Gerry Kennedy’s pub. Ah, yes, Gerry Kennedy, who has rung me three times this week to discuss details of the gig; a) what type of backline he should get; b) how long the sets should be; oh, and c) what I’d like to drink while playing? Yes indeed. That Gerry Kennedy. I’m beginning to think he… likes me.

I of course answered his questions as follows; a) if at all possible a Dynacord speaker set, an eight channel table with a separate group for monitoring and perhaps one or two medium sized monitor speakers, an Aer amp (yeah, I know it’s a German brand but hey, he asked. I’ll settle for a Twin Reverb when all else fails) and a Shure sm58 beta mike;
b) forty minutes max per set or audience (if anyone will show up at all) will get bored listening to girl with guitar. Two sets but I’ll prepare some more material in case of amazing success; and c) apple juice.

So I was at the dining table, browsing the internet, quietly doing my thing while John and Lachlan were doing their thing on the sofa by the telly (no, no, don’t get me wrong, they were not doing anything untoward, they were just doing the guy thing. Beer, remote, sports on, that kind of stuff) when I heard Lachlan say Maxi’s name and I couldn’t help but prick up my ears and listen. I think John spotted me doing it, and I felt a little embarrassed for eavesdropping. But there had been something about that guy, Maxi I mean, that made me think about him from time to time. How stuffy he had seemed, and yet … how lost, in a way. It intrigued me enormously. I wanted to … I don’t know what I wanted to do. I guess at the end of the day it all boils down to the fact that Maxi seems to have soup factor (oh, haha, boils down to soup factor … Christ, no pun intended, honest).

Riley actually invented soup factor way back when, which is understandable, what with her being a chef and all. Here’s how it works. When a guy projects a certain air of helplessness (it could be a purely physical thing, like limping along on crutches, but it could also be something in his general attitude) and a girl feels the irrepressible urge to respond by taking care of him, what will she do? Her instinct will be to feed him. What will she feed him, most likely? Chicken soup. Now, some guys intuitively know this inherent weakness of women, and they prey upon it. And tadaa, we have determined the essence of soup factor.

I quickly found out John is a veritable master of soup factor manipulation; he can put on the most helpless of faces sitting on the sofa with his leg propped up. Makes him completely irresistible, and if he puts those sad eyes on you and asks for a beer, there’s nothing a girl can do but jump up, dash into the kitchen, dive into the fridge and get him one. I’d say on a scale from one to ten John’s a soup factor eight if not more. I wonder if Riles remembers she ever coined the phrase, and I wonder if she knows how masterful he plays her with it. Love is blind, or what?

I’m probably imagining things though, where Maxi is concerned. I bet he’s not lost at all. And he probably doesn’t even like chicken soup. He’s probably just going for that specific British, Hugh Grant type of charm. You know? Floppy hair, big innocent blinky-blink eyes, posh accent with charming stammer, constantly bumping into the furniture, constantly apologizing. That sort of thing. Be that as it may, it was very interesting to learn that Maxi currently lives with his business partner Pullo, that they are working on getting a vineyard off the ground, that he is desperate (and according to Lachlan, unbearably impatient) to move into his new home, and that Lachlan is renovating said new home.

I saw him again, this afternoon. Maxi. It sort of confused me. I went downstairs because John needed his computer and the only way I could go online was if I pulled the cable out of his machine. I’m sure that wouldn’t have increased his affection for his wife’s old mate, and since I am after all the pinnacle of politeness, I snuck out of the flat in search of alternatives.

I still needed to do some work on my set list for Saturday, so I thought I’d quickly pop into the office downstairs, see if I could cadge an online hook-up there. Amazingly enough, there is no wifi in the whole of the Inn. Something needs to be done about that pretty quickly, I mean come on; we are nine years into the new millennium already.

As it was, the office was empty but the desks weren’t. I was the tiniest bit scared to disturb anything there (before you know it, the pile of scraps on the corner of that desk over there turns out to be a unique and for normal people completely unintelligible reservations system, and I’d have shoved the lot into the bin-shaped archive without giving it a second thought. Disaster!) and so I unclipped from one of the computers what looked like a wonderfully long cable, and I spooled it out down the corridor until I could make my way into the dining room and sit at a table close to the door. It was very quiet at the Inn, apparently everyone was on the slopes, so no one could possibly come traipsing down the corridor with a couple of skis under their arm, hook a foot in my cable and break their neck. First sign of any guests though and I’d be out of there in a flash, just to be sure.

So there I was, busily clicking away, looking for the chord progression of My Old Man by Joni Mitchell when Maxi sauntered into the dining room, a Financial Times tucked under his arm.

I had to look twice.

He was wearing scuffed workman’s boots, a rather dirty pair of dark blue heavy duty trousers and a flannel shirt, which he had managed to button up wrong (soup factor! I’m telling you!). There seemed to be white paint in his hair. He paused for just a sec, blinked then came over to my table.

“Good afternoon; may I join you?” he asked, the formality a little out of place with what he was wearing.

I nodded and he sat, crossing his legs then unfolding his newspaper. Out of his breast pocket came a pair of glasses that looked oddly elegant in comparison to his blue-collar clothes. He slapped them on and perused at his leisure, and after a sec or so of silent observation on my part (he managed to look posh in a chequered flannie with the buttons done up wrong, can you believe it?) and the inevitable conclusion that he must have already forgotten that I was there in the first place, I continued with my search for Saturday’s entertainment.

We sat in silence, each seemingly completely engrossed in what we were doing, only I was completely and utterly, distractingly and quite inexplicably, and not to mention very secretly, aware of his every movement. I’m sure he on the other hand was just engrossed in what he was doing.

Then, someone popped his head around the kitchen door. The head said, “Oi, Maxi! Fancy a go at my new creation?”

“Hello Andy,” said Maxi, “this is Riley’s friend Jackie.”

“G’day, Jackie,” said Andy. “Hungry?”

“A little,” I said, and before we knew it he came out with two steaming bowls of… soup.

Soup factor, I’m telling you.

MAXI

Andy’s new creation was a masterpiece, although I didn’t see why Jackie should be grinning incessantly.

“Lovely soup,” I hazarded, and she responded with a nod and another wide grin. Private joke no doubt. I could only hope it wasn’t at my expense. She shoveled another spoonful in and I watched the tip of her tongue come out and lick some off her top lip. Pink. Kittenish. Bloody hell, I sat there rooted to the spot as if I’d never seen a woman before in my entire life.

“I noticed the poster,” I ventured, nodding vaguely in the direction of the front entrance. Gerry Kennedy had been by to deliver a stack of small posters that said Jackie was going to perform at his establishment on Saturday, singing and playing the guitar. No doubt it would be the same guitar I rescued so deftly at the airport. Riley had hung one of the posters in the reception area and left the rest at the desk. I had one folded in my breast pocket, but no one knew that. “Saturday, eh?” I said nonchalantly.

She nodded again. “Will you be there?” she asked, right before she looked away a little shyly. Her eyes are green. Remarkable.

“Hmm … I might,” said I, feigning a mild disinterest, stirring my soup. “If I can. If I’m not too busy.”

Can anyone please tell me why all my conversational skills seem to go by the board the moment this bird turns her eyes on me? I might as well be a transparent, pimply boy in a school uniform, ruled by nothing but an unrealistically large dose of raging hormones.

“I hope you can make it,” she softly said, “I’m sort of scared to death no one will come.”

“Oh I’m sure there will be … I’m sure it won’t … tell you what.” Skinner, get a grip, you’re babbling. “I need to see a man about a soil sample on Saturday; well, normally he would be off on a Saturday but I put the pressure on a little, said I would take the chap out to dinner if he’d have my analysis ready by Saturday, so now I cannot possibly renege, you see,” Skinner, you’re still babbling. Got her attention though, didn’t you? “But I tell you what. I’ll skip dessert and come straight over to Kennedy’s after dinner. You’ll start at what, half eight?”

“Or thereabouts,” she said. She seemed genuinely happy that I’d said I’d come in for a listen, and between you, me and the tea kettle, I was rather curious at hearing her perform. If her singing voice were anything as lovely as the rest of her, I’d happily forego my pudding.

***

As it turned out, the Saturday dinner went on for bloody ages and I had to fight the urge to squirm in my chair at every minute that ticked away as Evans, the soil chap, rattled on about all sorts of things. I knew I should be paying attention; he was telling me about the local situation and I could no doubt use all this information well for our plans for the vineyard, but my attention kept wavering. I knew Pullo would be over at Kennedy’s already, and I was just itching to go. It was practically directly across from where Evans and I were sitting, so eventually I simply dragged the unsuspecting lad out of his chair and across the road, into Kennedy’s Corner Pub. Why he named it that still baffles me; it isn’t even on a corner. Pullo was there indeed, and so was his new lady-friend Christina. Even young Valerie was there, glowering just a little, but she brightened up considerably when she saw Mr. Evans and myself come in. Quick round of introductions, couple of chairs that magically appeared around the already cramped table, and Pullo was on Evans’ case, making him give another verbal account of his analysis of our soil. Apparently we have excellent soil. There is hope, after all.

It was a good turn out for an evening, I noticed with a quick look round. I was lucky Pullo had managed to hold on to this table. It’s never really quiet on a Saturday night, especially not in skiing season, but this was a whole different kettle of fish. A lot of the family had come in and I nodded a greeting here and there, but what I didn’t see was Jackie on stage. There was a stage; there was a guitar and a microphone, but no performer. Was I too late, then, after all? Bollocks, I hoped not.

“Maxi, why do you look so upset?” Valerie asked from across the table. Damn, the girl is by far too observant for her own good.

“I’m afraid I missed the show,” I confided in her. “And I was so looking forward to hearing Riley’s friend sing, too.”

“Oh, no, she’s only taking a break, look, there she is! She said she’d do more songs in a minute.”

“Don’t point, Valerie, it’s not very polite,” I said, but I turned in my chair nonetheless to see her standing at the bar, talking to Gerry. Gerry seemed very enthusiastic, the bloody bugger. I don’t think she’d noticed me coming in at all.

“Maxi, pleeez?” Valerie whined, making me feel ancient all of a sudden. “Don’t talk to me as if I’m five, okay? She’s really good you know. And don’t you think she’s pretty? I wish I had hair like that. She looks like she’s nice as well, you know how singers sometimes look really nice but in real life they’re not nice at all? Have you talked to her yet? Is she nice?”

“Yes, she’s very nice.”

“When? Where have you talked to her?” Valerie seemed to have Jackie ranked right up there with Britney Spears and Christina Aguilera just from the one performance tonight. I couldn’t help but smile.

“Oh, I met her at the airport, and then we ran into each other at the Inn a few days ago. We tasted some of Andy’s new soup.”

“Oh.” Valerie seemed to think on that for a bit. Suddenly she brightened up. “Look, she’s coming our way!”

“Hi Maxi,” I heard Jackie’s voice over the general din. “You made it after all! Well, lucky for me it’s quite busy tonight, eh? As usual, I worried for nothing!”

Was she happy to see me? I had no idea, and to hide my confusion I quickly stood and introduced Pullo, Christina, Valerie and Evans, and I muttered an ‘…um, sorry I came in so late,’ that seemed to be wholly lost in the barrage of questions Valerie directed at Jackie. She squatted next to Valerie’s chair and chatted for a while, giving the star struck girl her full attention, but then she smiled and said she should get back to work.

Valerie was right. She’s bloody good. I sat pretty well mesmerized for the whole ten songs, and I couldn’t even bring myself to sing along with the Simon & Garfunkel and Beatles classics. I just sat there. Was my mouth hanging open? I hope not. Pullo saw fit to give me a shove, and laugh at me at some point; I daresay it was payback for my reaction to his situation with Christina and Valerie. I was too engrossed though to even take offence at his ribbing.

Well, as they say, all good things must come to an end, so eventually, after a couple of encores, Jackie climbed off the stage and she walked right into Gerry Kennedy’s waiting bear hug. He held onto her for rather a long time, and at one point it even looked like he was kissing her. All of a sudden, I felt a little under the weather. It could be the wine we had with our dinner (it was definitely not Maximus’) or the beer I had mindlessly thrown back during her performance. Maybe the heat, or the press of bodies. Maybe… I’m not sure. I just needed to get out of there post haste, so I did. Into the fresh air, into the bloody Porsche, and off I was, clenching the wheel, negotiating the mountain back to Pullo’s and my bloody room. I had some whiskey left from New Year’s Eve and I bloody well was going to need it if I was ever going to get any sleep tonight.

GERRY KENNEDY

She was a trooper! She played a lot of evergreens, everybody sang along. Place was packed to the gills and my staff was on overdrive keeping the punters in drinks. This was a good night for the Corner, and when she came off stage, I simply had to give her the biggest cuddle in the world. She hugged me right back, pretty relieved with her success no doubt, and it was the easiest thing to get a quick snog out of her. She didn’t seem to object to that either, although she let go pretty quickly when she noticed Riley and John had already left. They had to, to relieve the babysitter, as I quickly explained.

“Okay … how am I going to get back to the Inn? Will you ring me a taxi or something?”

“Oh, don’t worry about that sweetheart; I’ll drive you back soon as we’ve closed up and cleaned up here, all right? Now, what can I get you to drink?”

While I poured her another apple juice, I noticed her looking around again. Who was she looking for now? She shrugged though, and her attention seemed to shift. It shifted right back onto me, so I wasn’t complaining, I tell you that.

Slowly, the patrons dwindled, calling out greetings as they went into the wintry night. Staff started the clean-up, and I asked her if she’d be back next week Saturday. She grinned and said yes, she’d like that.

“Hey look boss, someone left their scarf,” yelled one of my crew, holding up some striped thing.

“Hey,” said Jackie, sliding off her bar stool. “I think that’s Maxi’s. He must have forgotten it. Maybe I should take it back with me to the Inn? If he comes in some time during the week, I could give it back to him, or I could, um …” She took the shawl and wrapped it around her own neck, and I may be mistaken but it looked like she actually sniffed it, and it also looked like she approved of the way it smelled.

I just knew we needed to finish up really quickly, because I needed to get her out of there and into my car as soon as possible if I was going to get another snog out of her tonight. I slipped from behind the bar, but just as I was crossing the dance floor, in comes bloody Skinner again, asking if he’s left his bleedin’ scarf here.

“Ah,” he said, the smooth bastard, walking up to Jackie with this smile on his face, “I see you found it already. Splendid. Can I offer you a ride home, or do you still have business with Mr. Kennedy?” He stepped in really close, much too close for my liking anyway, and he picked up one of the scarf’s tail ends. “Are you cold, Jackie? You wear it then, eh?” he said. Smooth bastard if ever there was one.

Don’t get me wrong, Maxi’s a decent fellow and all, but at that point in time I could have killed him.

“Oh ... thanks!” said Jackie, and she smiled back at him and snuggled into the scarf. “I’m done here, actually. I’m just waiting for Gerry to finish up; he promised he’d give me a ride home, but since you’re going in the right direction anyway … I just need to get my guitar. Hold on a sec please.” She turned to me. “Gerry, mind if I go now? Saves you the ride, too; Maxi’s practically going past the Inn anyway.”

Well the ride was the last thing I wanted saved; I’d been looking forward to this particular moment the whole week. That point where everything winds down at the pub? Where it’s just crew, taking one for the road, celebrating a successful night. I’d wanted to share that with her, then drive her home slowly. Very slowly. But hey, what could I do? She was tired, she wanted to go home, and Skinner was there.

I gave her a nod and a wave. Better luck next week.

JOHN

Monday morning and finally I stopped hobbling. No more aches and no more pain, but I still wasn’t about to get back on the slopes for another week. It was the kind of morning I sorta dread. The holidays well over and the family from out of town all heading out. Farewells for Terry and Eva, driving down to Manhattan. Maximus, Sophia and little Lucy had left at the butt crack of dawn for their flight back to sunny California. Dino and Zack were finishing breakfast before their drive to New York.

Family get togethers are the greatest but we all gotta get back to life and our work. Ahh well, they come … they go. But some stick around. Some surprises to me, God sakes. Take Gerry Kennedy. I never for a minute thought he’d settle in Stowe and there he is, established already with the bar.

Then there’s Richie Roberts. Who’d’a thunk that dude would stay in town? He’s got a nice little office and a law shingle hanging, right on Main Street. He’s hooked up with our head of housekeeping, crazy Clari. Guess they’re well suited. Richie in his blue paisley shirt and goth Clari with her fishnet stockings and Doc Martins. Soon he’ll be moving out of the Inn and into an apartment in town. At least I can stop worrying about catching my brother and my head of housekeeping coming out of a linen closet on the third floor anymore.