The Lodge on Holly Road. Sheila Roberts

than a dog. It had just been Missy and her mom when she was growing up. So there was no grandma by marriage. And Missy’s mom was no longer on the scene. After wrapping her car around a tree while under the influence, Mom had gone to climb inside that great whiskey bottle in the sky.

      Still, in spite of the no-dog-no-grandma thing, Missy was going to give her kids a wonderful Christmas this year. They were going to Icicle Falls to stay at the Icicle Creek Lodge, a big, beautiful place with a fireplace in the lobby and rooms that had fireplaces, too. At Christmas, the B and B not only provided its usual breakfast but dinner on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. One of her clients had told her about the place, and she’d been saving for it all year. This was going to be a Christmas her kids would never forget.

      She could hardly wait to get up there and show them the real, live vintage sleigh in the lobby, decorated with greenery and ribbons and filled with presents and teddy bears. There’d be no dog and no grandma in there, but staying in such a cool place should make up for the fact that Carlos was getting a stuffed dog and Lalla was getting a princess doll.

      The kids were literally bouncing with excitement when she picked them up. Or maybe it was a sugar buzz, since her girlfriend Miranda’s three kids were also bouncing. And yelling. And jumping on Miranda’s tired couch. Miranda was very fond of Oreos and thought them an excellent afternoon snack, usually ignoring the carrot and celery sticks Missy gave her to dole out. (“Hey, the kids like Oreos better.”) Carlos’s pants were muddy and ripped, a sure sign he’d been playing in the run-down playground half a block away, hopefully not unsupervised, and Lalla’s dress had a chocolate stain on the bodice while her ever-present tiara sat crookedly on top of her cornrows. Obviously, they had enjoyed themselves.

      “Are you guys ready for fun?” she asked, hugging them both.

      “As if they don’t have fun here,” snorted Miranda.

      Of course they had fun at the babysitter’s. She gave them junk food and they could watch cartoons all afternoon. Miranda had a good heart, but was she a good influence? If only Missy could afford to put the kids in some fancy day care with planned activities and...carrot sticks.

      Well, down the road. She wouldn’t always be at Style Savings. Oh, no. She was already looking at employment sites online. She’d done makeovers for a couple of her friends and was putting their before-and-after pictures in a notebook so she could show just how expert she was when she finally went to interview at that high-end salon. Unlike her mother, who never got beyond waiting tables at the nearby breakfast place, she was going to make something of herself. She was going to make her children proud.

      And, meanwhile, this Christmas, they’d be making a memory worthy of the Hallmark Channel (which she’d be able to afford someday). She thanked Miranda, then said, “Okay, guys, let’s go,” and with a squeal they bolted for her beater Honda.

      “Have a great time,” Miranda said, giving her a hug. “And don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” Which pretty much left the field wide-open.

      The kids were already buckled in when she got to the car. She put on her own seat belt and then turned on the radio, choosing a local station that was playing Christmas carols. All right. Now they were ready. They pulled away from the curb, singing “Jingle Bells.”

      They’d only just entered the freeway when Lalla yelled from the backseat. “Stop it, Carlos!” This was followed by, “Mommy, he’s poking me.”

      “Carlos, cut it out,” Missy said in her firm mommy voice.

      “I’m bored,” Carlos complained.

      “Well, look for Priuses,” she suggested. Dumb suggestion because this game called for the first person who saw a Prius to say “Beep-beep” and slug the other Prius hunter in the arm. “Never mind,” she amended. “Just...” She fumbled around in the paper bag on the seat next to her and found what she was looking for. She tossed the plastic bag of munchies into the back. “Have a carrot.”

      “Yuck,” said Carlos.

      “Yuck,” parroted Lalla.

      “Well, you guys sure aren’t getting any more sugar,” she informed them.

      “Are we there yet?” Lalla demanded.

      Hmm. Maybe she should’ve picked someplace closer for their perfect Christmas.

Chapter Three

      It’s Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas

      Olivia Wallace’s Icicle Creek Lodge was decked out for the holidays. Her oldest son, Eric, and his burly friend Bubba Swank had hauled in her antique sleigh from the lodge’s storage garage and it was now set up in the lobby, brimming with brightly wrapped faux presents. The staircase banister was dressed in greenery, and mistletoe had been hung in various key spots around the lodge and in the private family quarters. The big tree on the front porch was decorated with lights. Red poinsettias filled in any gaps.

      Olivia Wallace smiled as she surveyed her domain. George would have been so proud.

      That thought always comforted her. And made her a little wistful. How she wished her husband was here to help her run this place. Not because Eric wasn’t doing a wonderful job. He loved the lodge as much as Olivia did, and would probably take it over someday. No, it was more because she knew how happy she and George would have been. They’d shared the vision for this place and he’d never lived to see what a huge success it had become. They’d grown, added on, developed a reputation. Oh, yes, George would have loved this.

      Well, most of it. Olivia hid a frown as one of her more difficult guests came down the stairs with his wife, his rolling suitcase thump-thumping behind him. He missed the last step and went tottering off sideways.

      Oh, no! Please don’t fall. This descendant of Ebenezer Scrooge would sue her by New Year’s Day if that happened.

      He righted himself, thank God, and she could hear him muttering all the way across the lobby to where she was manning the reception desk. “Those stairs are uneven.”

      At times like this Olivia really didn’t like being an innkeeper. She braced herself for the barrage of complaints.

      Sure enough, Mr. Braxton marched to the reception desk, his wife walking behind him like a reluctant shadow, and slammed down his keycard. “We didn’t sleep a wink last night.”

      “I’m sorry to hear that,” Olivia said.

      “The people down the hall were up partying all night.”

      There had been two younger couples who’d been en route to Seattle to spend Christmas with family and had decided to stay the night. Olivia had suggested they try Zelda’s for dinner and they’d gone merrily off, full of good cheer. They’d probably overindulged in huckleberry martinis or the other house specialty, a Chocolate Kiss. She imagined they’d been a bit noisy on the way back to their rooms. Still, that wasn’t her fault.

      “Making a racket in the hall at all hours,” Mr. Braxton continued.

      “I’m terribly sorry,” Olivia said. “I do wish you’d come down and said something to me. I’d have been happy to talk to them.”

      “Ha! Come down in my bathrobe and pajamas? I think not. And breakfast this morning.”

      Olivia stiffened. “What about breakfast?”

      “All those carbs.”

      No one made crepes like Olivia. She served them stuffed with wild huckleberries and berry-flavored whipped cream. And she always served some sort of protein along with them. “If I remember correctly, breakfast also included sausages,” she said, some of the sweetness seeping out of her voice. “And fruit.”

      “I thought it was very good,” said Mrs. Braxton, her voice barely above a whisper.

      Her husband ignored her. Now he produced his printed bill. “I want