Chapter 6
stumped for words
Ivar
“Mom, can we be excused?” Wyatt asked.
“Sure,” Liv said.
Wyatt elbowed his younger brother, and both boys carried their plates into the kitchen.
“Put them in the dishwasher, not on it,” Liv called after them.
“Yes, Mom,” came the chorus from the other room.
Ivar grinned. “So your sign above the dishwasher that says ‘This is not the dishwasher’ didn’t work?”
Liv sighed. “Nope. They pushed it out of the way to set their plates on top. I mean, how hard is it once you’re already standing in front of it? Gavin was the same way. I guess it’s genetic.”
Ivar chuckled, glad to hear his brother-in-law’s name spoken with warmth rather than sorrow. In the months after Gavin’s passing, Liv couldn’t even mention him without tears. Now, more often than not, the memories came with laughter instead of pain.
“You’re doing a good job with them,” he said quietly.
She smiled, soft and sure. “They keep me busy. That helps.”
He nodded, then gestured toward the window where snow was falling steadily. “How’s business? The no-vacancy sign has been glowing for weeks.”
“Oh, it’s great. The Thanksgiving crowd checks out this weekend, but I’m nearly full for next week, too.” She leaned across the table, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “Someone made a reservation last night. At first, I thought it was a prank. You’ll never guess her name.”
“Seymore Butts?”
“Not quite.” Liv’s grin widened. “It’s more seasonal: Holly Kringle.”
Ivar laughed. “You’re kidding.”
Liv placed her hand on her heart. “I swear I’m not. That was the name on the credit card she gave me. Apparently, she gets questioned about it all the time.”
“I bet. Poor woman. That’s a tough name to live with.”
“Well, whatever her name is, I’m just happy she booked for the week,” Liv said, gathering plates. “Want to know why she’s here?”
“Does it matter? You’re going to tell me anyway.”
“She’s here to look at the Hale land,” Liv said, and Ivar could feel her gauging his reaction. “Her family’s interested in purchasing it, and she’s here to assess its suitability.”
Ivar’s stomach tightened. The Hale property. Gwen had told him there’d been no serious inquiries yet. “What does she want it for?”
“She didn’t say, and I didn’t ask. But this is where it gets interesting. She’s not interested in the house, just the forest. And since she mentioned needing someone to show her around, I—”
“Oh, no.” Ivar pushed his chair back. “Don’t say it.”
“Oh yes,” Liv said, mischief glinting in her eyes. “Who knows the forest better than you?”
“I have a job.”
“Nice try. Your vacation is next week. It’s on my calendar.”
“Not anymore,” he muttered. “I’ll reschedule.”
“Ivar, come on. What’s the big deal?”
“You know how I feel about that sale,” he said. “Why should I help someone who might destroy the land I’ve spent years protecting?”
“Because it’s going to happen whether you like it or not,” Liv said evenly. “And we were raised to look for the good in people first. Maybe she’s not what you think.”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “People aren’t always what they seem, either. All it takes is the right investor and a little paperwork. Forest or not, if the money’s there, they’ll build whatever they want.”
“Cynical much?”
“Realistic.”
Liv folded her arms. “Right. One of these days, you’re going to have to stop letting the past—”
He held up a hand. “Stop right there. We’re not doing this.”
Her expression softened. “I didn’t mean—”
“I know.” He rose and began clearing the table. “Thanks for dinner. It was great.”
“Don’t you dare leave without leftovers,” she said, following him into the kitchen. “Al loves my lasagna almost as much as you do.”
They worked side by side in easy silence, the clatter of dishes filling the comfortable quiet. When the kitchen was spotless, Ivar called to Al, who was sprawled on the rug by the fireplace. Al stretched, shook, and followed him out into the cold.
“Can you at least consider showing her around?” Liv asked from the doorway, arms crossed but smiling.
Ivar sighed. “I’ll think about it.”
***
The truck door groaned as he opened it, and Al jumped inside with a thump. The dog pressed his nose to the window, tapping his paw against the door.
“I’m only opening it a bit,” Ivar said, starting the engine and then lowering Al’s window an inch.
Now Al’s nose was pressed into the gap, and he made a sad little whining sound.
“Oh, fine,” Ivar said, lowering the window so Al’s head could pop out the side.
Snow swirled into the cab as much as under the headlights as they drove toward the cabin. “I could make you ride in the truck bed, you know,” Ivar said. “You’re lucky I’m a soft touch.”
The only reply was the happy rhythm of Al’s tail against the seat.
When they reached the cabin, Ivar turned off the ignition but didn’t move right away.
“All right, counselor,” he said to the dog.
“I’ve been thinking I should go with this Holly Kringle after all.
That way I can find out what she plans for the land, and if it’s bad news, maybe I can steer her in another direction. Forewarned is forearmed, right?”
Al tilted his head, listening, or pretending to.
“Good talk,” Ivar said. “Glad we’re on the same page.”
Al gave a low, approving growl that almost sounded like agreement.
Ivar grinned and stepped out into the darkness. “It’s settled,” he told the night. “I’ll be Holly Kringle’s guide to the wilderness.”