Chapter 2 MJ
By the time the Christmas sky had gone dark and the outside tree lights blinked on one by one, MJ McBride settled into her quiet kitchen to relish the simple joy of preparing for tomorrow’s breakfast. With no vacancies in Snowberry Lodge, her tasks were many, but she certainly wouldn’t complain.
Instead, she whispered the words to her favorite Christmas song—not that she’d admit that to anyone but George McBride. She smiled at the thought of her late husband, gone from her life for five years, but never far from her heart.
He loved to tease her and call her “Mariah” when she’d happily hum “All I Want for Christmas is You.” Remembering how he’d laugh and point to himself and say, “Me?” when she sang it, she rolled her shoulders and hummed to nobody but her still-vivid memories.
Long ago, when she was a much younger woman, they’d dance right here when no one was around, and if George had his one glass of Christmas bourbon, he’d croon the high notes into a wooden spoon. She’d roll her eyes and give him a hug, loving him more than life itself.
“Oh, George,” she sighed. “I’m not going to get what I want for Christmas, which would be one more dance. But I wouldn’t mind if you’d help us get through the next year without my sister threatening to sell this place.”
Yes, that was a good Christmas wish. Cindy had mellowed slightly, since their December was such a success and the tax bill was covered. But MJ knew her younger sister was already thinking about next year and the renovations they needed to do. She was the brains of Snowberry, but MJ was the heart.
And if they ended up selling because they got too deep in the hole, that heart would break.
She whisked eggs and milk and cream with vanilla—the base for tomorrow’s Boxing Day French toast—and poured the sunshine-yellow mixture in two buttered pans.
She tucked a foil cover over the pans and slid them onto the rack in the giant fridge, her mind ticking through all the things this lodge full of guests might need tomorrow.
A few people had gathered in the living room earlier and had cocktails and snacks, but being Christmas, the schedule was a little different.
She’d liked that change from the routine.
Also—if she were honest with herself—something had her a touch giddier than usual, and it wasn’t just the holidays, although they helped.
Something made the song lodge in her throat when she sang it, she had to admit. It wasn’t only that Red’s Grumpy Santa had “made December” and paid the tax bill, or that she’d caught a glimpse of her sister looking at Jack the way she had when they first met thirty-some years ago.
It was…well. She had a very hard time even thinking about it, or saying it in her head.
She wiped her hands on a towel and told herself she shouldn’t think about—
The back door creaked, and a swirl of cold air came in with a man who had taken to slipping through this space like he was family.
She shouldn’t think about him.
“Knock-knock.” Matt Walker’s chestnut hair was dusted with snowflakes and streaked with silver threads which she, a woman of sixty-two with some silver threads of her own, found very attractive.
Around a golden mustache, his cheeks were ruddy, the color deepened by his Florida tan that hadn’t yet disappeared during his weeks in Utah.
As he slipped out of a down jacket and hung it on a hook, MJ couldn’t help noticing that for all his expensive clothes and good manners, he moved like a man who’d used his body for something other than sitting.
Like someone once rough around the edges who’d worked to smooth them out.
Matt had never said exactly what he did for a living other than he’d “owned a business,” but he didn’t act like a lofty executive. He was easy on his feet, and capable, with hands that showed an honest trade in their knuckles and palms.
Not that she’d spent that much time studying his hands.
“Hey, there,” MJ said, her voice a little too cheerful even for her. “You’re either hungry or lost.”
“Not after a long day of grazing,” he answered. “Although…” He took a sniff. “Does this kitchen ever not smell like cinnamon and calories?”
She chuckled. “It’s Christmas, so there’s plenty of both.”
She leaned back and crossed her arms, smiling at the man who’d been at Snowberry Lodge for a month now, and spent plenty of time in here casually visiting her. She never minded, though.
“Actually,” he said, “I came to deliver a Christmas present for the lodge.”
Her brows lifted. “Really? You didn’t have to do that.”
“Well, I’ve become a fixture here and I know you’ve turned down some would-be guests who would like my very nice mountain-view cabin.”
“You’re not staying here for free,” she reminded him on a laugh, knowing he was paying top Park City dollar for that cabin.
He lifted a shoulder, the smallest flicker of mischief crossing his face. “But I have a gift. For you. And Cindy. And…the lodge.”
“Okay.” She wiped her hands on her apron. “Cindy and Jack are in the living room—”
“No, I’m right here,” Cindy called, coming down the hall. “We need more cocoa and Jack’s stoking the fire—” She slowed and smiled at their guest. “Hello, Matt.”
“He has a present for us,” MJ blurted, oddly excited at the idea, even though it was probably a vase or a picture or some token for the lodge.
“For us?” Cindy brushed some of her pale blond hair over her shoulder, a glint in her blue eyes that MJ hadn’t seen since…well, since before the divorce that never should have happened. “That was so kind of you, Matt.”
“Then let’s step outside,” he said. “Grab a coat.”
MJ and Cindy shared a look of anticipation and surprise, grabbing their jackets and sliding into their respective boots lined up under the mudroom bench.
He waited at the door like a gentleman, his soft brown eyes downright merry.
MJ liked a man who enjoyed giving a gift. It said something about his generous heart and a kind desire to see others happy. George had been like that, she mused as they stepped outside.
The night air stung MJ’s face, cold and clean, spiced with pine from the dozens of well-lit evergreens that filled the property.
“It’s in the front,” he said, leading them that way, past the sleigh and the ski shed, to the main entrance of the lodge.
The porch lights threw soft halos on the snow-covered drive. Down the hill, a set of taillights winked as a large delivery truck returned to the main road.
“I didn’t hear a truck,” MJ said under her breath, a frown forming as she followed Matt.
“What…” Cindy gasped, eyes narrowing as they tracked to the long, low shape just beyond the end of the front steps. A tarp lay in a neat spill beside it, abandoned like a coat dropped in an eager moment. “Is that…”
MJ didn’t need a second look. She recognized the silhouette. A laugh started somewhere in her chest. “No.”
“Yes,” Matt said, grinning with excitement and relief, as if keeping a secret all day had been painful.
“No!” MJ repeated, not quite able to process that she was looking at a brand-new, state-of-the-art, utterly spectacular snowmobile.
Oh, no, this was not the battered old beast they’d tried to coax through last winter—it died a tragic death in March.
This was not the second-, third-, or fourth-hand salvage Red swore he could fix with a wrench and a prayer.
This was glossy and muscular, with a wide track meant to float over whatever Mother Nature threw at them, two seats with backing, a cargo rack, all shiny and perfect and new.
This was a snowmobile that no one at Snowberry Lodge could afford…but, obviously, Matt Walker could.
She put a hand to her mouth. “Matt,” she said, and then said it again because the first time didn’t do the job. “Matt.”
He smiled down at her with an expression she couldn’t quite read. It was the look of a man who’d done a good thing and wanted to fist pump but was too humble to do so.
“You said last week you used to have one,” he reminded her. “And when Benny and Red got into that jam in the meadow, you told me the UTV had a rough time on the snow and ice, as would be expected. So…”
“So you bought us a brand-new snowmobile?” MJ asked, her voice rising in disbelief she couldn’t hide.
“Well, I thought a place like this needs the right machine. For safety. For guests. For peace of mind.” He slid his hands into his coat pockets. “Just seemed like the right thing to do.”
The right thing? It was…well, she didn’t have a word for that level of generosity.
Her sister walked closer to the vehicle, stared at it, let her jaw loosen, but she seemed…stiff. Maybe uncomfortable, but who wouldn’t be at the magnitude of this gift?
“This is amazing and…amazing.” Cindy huffed an awkward laugh, but her smile faded. “I just don’t think we can accept this, Matt.”
“We can’t?” MJ asked, her fingers splayed over her heart, feeling the beat even under her down jacket.
“Because it’s…too much.”
“Well, I thought you might say that, and I didn’t mean to go overboard, but I want to give it to you.
” He shifted his weight in his boots, looking like he might have actually practiced this speech.
“Sometimes a gift is as much about the giving as the receiving. And it’s Christmas.
So, Merry Christmas. Please accept it and use it in good health. ”
“Oh, Matt.” MJ sighed, feeling a little lightheaded. “That is so gracious and kind. Thoughtful doesn’t begin to cover it. Thank you.”
Under his mustache, his lips pulled into a smile. “Hopefully, you won’t have to save another old man and young boy, but if you do”—he jutted his chin toward the snowmobile—“this should come in handy.”
Now, that was an understatement.
He glanced at Cindy, whose expression was softening, but still uncertain. “There’s a manual in the storage bin,” he said. “And the dealer said he’s happy to come out for a tutorial at your convenience.”
Cindy exhaled, her breath coming out in a puff. “I honestly don’t know what to say,” she admitted. “It’s extraordinary.”
“You need it, right?”