The Cottage on Juniper Ridge. Sheila Roberts

he was paying big-time for his hormone-induced insanity.

      He’d learned his lesson, though. At thirty-two he was older and wiser. He was never getting involved with a flake again. His kid needed stability, and the next woman he picked was going to be someone stable, someone who had her act together.

      Like Tilda Morrison. They’d gone out a couple of times and he liked her. She was buff and tough and she wouldn’t take any shit from a kid who was misbehaving. She probably wouldn’t take any shit from a misbehaving ex-wife, either. He enjoyed playing racquetball at Bruisers with her and he appreciated her no-nonsense approach to life.

      But it wasn’t Tilda he kept thinking about as he drove to his mom’s. What was the story with Jen Heath?

       Chapter Five

      The to-dos on our list aren’t always what we need to do.

      —Muriel Sterling, author of Simplicity

      Chita Arness only wanted one thing from Santa— some time to herself. She had no idea how she was going to simplify her life if she didn’t even have a couple of hours to finish reading a book on simplifying it. She’d said as much to Cass when they ran into each other in Johnson’s Drugs.

      “I hear you,” Cass had said. “Being a single parent isn’t for sissies.”

      Especially being a single parent this time of year, Chita thought as she’d left the drugstore. Christmas was right around the corner, waiting to pounce on her. Her shopping wasn’t done, the house was a mess and her washing machine was dying. Her work week at Sweet Dreams Chocolates was over, but the work at home was just beginning.

      “When are we going to make pasteles?” Anna greeted her when she walked in the door.

      “Oh, baby, give me time to get my coat off,” she pleaded. She thanked Cass’s daughter, Amber, who’d been her after-school babysitter for the past few months, and sent her on her way.

      “We didn’t make them last year and you promised we would this year,” Anna persisted.

      “Maybe Abuelita will make them with you.” She always hated to ask her mother for favors, though. Not that her mother wasn’t happy to come over from Yakima and spend a day helping out, but her assistance carried a price. Whenever Chita put out an SOS, Consuela Medina couldn’t seem to stop herself from observing how much easier Chita’s life would’ve been if only she’d married Danny Rodriguez instead of that gringo.

      “Danny would never have broken your heart,” her mother liked to say.

      “Yeah, well, Danny’s been on unemployment for the past eighteen months. I’d still be working just as hard,” Chita liked to retort.

      That usually ended the conversation.

      Anyway, work was part of life. What Chita had to do was figure out how to balance it with the demands of two children and a dachshund who had a penchant for eating things he shouldn’t, like bottle caps, crayons, Lego bricks and shoelaces (the reason for their last visit to the vet).

      “I want you to make them with me,” Anna said, bringing Chita back into the moment. “You never do anything with me.”

      Guilt and manipulation, a girl’s best friend. Anna must have learned that from her grandmother. Consuela was an expert. “You have to go to your sister’s cookie exchange. She’ll be hurt if you don’t. Family is important.”

      Chita thought of the pile of laundry, the cleaning that needed to be done, the shopping she had to finish and the packages she had to wrap before the big Christmas Eve celebration at her parents’ house.

      “You know, you’re right,” she said to her daughter. “We’ll make them tomorrow.”

      The way Anna’s face lit up put their Christmas tree to shame. And put her to shame, too. Having a clean house shouldn’t be the most important thing in her life. At the age of ten, the days Anna would want to hang out with her were numbered.

      Eight-year-old Enrico came racing into the front hall with Hidalgo chasing him, yapping at the top of his doggy lungs. “Can Bradley spend the night? His mom says it’s okay.”

      What the heck? “Sure.”

      “Can we have tostadas?”

      She’d planned on heating up leftovers. “Sure.”

      “And fried ice cream?”

      Life was one big party when you were a kid. Sometimes Chita wished she was still a kid. “We’ll see,” she said.

      Ten minutes later, she was making a run to the store for ice cream and cornflakes. And on the way home, she picked up Enrico’s friend Bradley and Anna’s BFF, Emma. What the heck? What was one more kid at this point?

      She knew dinner was a success when Bradley announced, “I like coming here.” Obviously, not everyone cared if a woman’s house was clean. After they were done eating, she put the kids to work clearing the table while she cleaned up the stove. After that she could get started on the laundry.

      Then she caught sight of her book selection sitting on the kitchen counter. Forget the laundry. She put on a Disney movie for the gang, got her blanket and stretched out on the couch to read, barely aware of the TV blasting.

      Sometimes it’s more important to get some rest than to get things done. I learned early on that when we go, go, go, we never give our bodies a chance to recharge. Schedule time in your life to relax and recharge and you’ll find you have more energy and more enthusiasm for the things you need to...

      Chita bolted awake when the book fell on her face. Come the new year, she was going to build in more time to keep her batteries charged...before they died for good.

      * * *

      Alma Tuttle opened her front door on Saturday afternoon and greeted Jen. “It’s about time you arrived. Half my friends are already here.”

      “I’m so sorry,” Jen said, lugging her case full of candles through the door. “Like I said when I called, I had a flat tire.”

      Alma clasped her hands in front of her. With her tacky Christmas sweater, her tightly permed white hair and her glasses, she looked a little like Mrs. Claus. But the minute the old bat opened her mouth she ruined that illusion. “You should plan for that.”

      Plan for flat tires? Was she serious? Jen shoved down her irritation. “I guess I should.”

      “Well, you’re here now,” Alma said irritably. “You’d better hurry and get set up.”

      This had been a mistake. Alma was the grandmother of the hostess at her last party, and she’d pretended she was booking a party to help her granddaughter earn the special candle set that could only be obtained when two guests booked a party, but Jen suspected she’d been motivated more by avarice than sacrifice.

      “She’s finally here,” Alma announced, preceding Jen into the living room where three other senior ladies sat, holding plates filled with store-bought Christmas cookies.

      Two of them looked as if they’d been sucking on the same lemon as Alma. The third woman, however, gave Jen a friendly smile. “I love candles,” she said.

      Well, that was encouraging. “We have some beautiful ones. And I’m selling all my Christmas stock for fifty percent off today,” Jen told her as she started to unpack her case.

      “It’s almost Christmas,” Alma said. “They should be seventy-five percent off.”

      What the heck? Profit was highly overrated. “Well, let me know if you see something you really like.” All she wanted at this point was to get rid of these candles and this job.

      And the financial burden of the condo. The stupid thing hadn’t sold yet and she’d wanted to