Please Send Snow (Angel Mountain Christmas #1)

Chapter 1

MADDIE

One look out the taxicab window, and my heart starts to pound with excitement as the trees rush past in the dark.

I’m almost home.

Elvis is crooning “Blue Christmas” across the crackling radio. It’s my favorite holiday song, and even with dodgy reception and the driver humming along off-key, it honestly still sounds amazing to me.

Everything’s coming up Maddie, I tell myself. At least, from here on it is.

“Here we are,” the cab driver says as he pulls down the gravel drive, headlights illuminating the space between the big pine trees. “Not much to look at, but they’re good folks here. They’ll take care of you.”

He’s right about that—both parts. It’s not fancy, but this place is the backdrop for some of my happiest memories growing up. I think of what my dad always used to tell me and I can’t help but smile.

Angel Mountain will always be your home.

“Thanks for the ride,” I tell the driver.

“If you’re checking in up there, I guess you’ve got to check out down here,” he says, chuckling at his own goofy joke as he taps the meter.

The fare it displays makes my stomach drop more than the twists and turns on the mountain road.

But it’s okay. I made it to the lodge, and that’s what matters.

I take the last of the bills out of my pocket and hand them over.

Everything’s coming up Maddie, I reassure myself.

“Change for you, miss?” he asks me, clear that he doesn’t expect me to want any. There’s barely enough left over for a tip as it is.

It will leave me with nothing in my pocket, but my dad always said to choose an empty pocket over an empty heart, so I tell him to keep it, reminding myself to be grateful that at least I had enough to get here.

“My number,” he says, handing me a card. “In case you need a ride back down.”

“Thank you,” I reply with a smile, pretty sure I won’t be going anywhere soon.

I climb out with my backpack, expecting the cab to start rumbling back down the drive immediately. Instead it stays put, engine running, waiting for me to get inside.

I had forgotten how different people were out here, and how much they look out for each other.

A tendril of warmth wraps itself around my heart, just as a swirl of frigid wind wraps itself around my body.

Yikes. Was it always this cold up here, or was I usually just too hyped up on hot chocolate and candy canes to notice?

I head for the lodge, glad to see that even in the dark, it still looks pretty much the same as the last time I was here, years ago—cedar shake shingles, avocado green trim, the wide porch I remember playing on. I can even picture the ancient Welcome mat by the front door.

The windows glow with warm light and I can practically taste the grilled cheese sandwich on homemade bread and the Soup of the Day I used to get for practically every meal back when we stayed here.

Dad would tease me for it, but I think he secretly enjoyed hearing me hum with enjoyment on every bite. Shirlene, the cook, would sometimes come out and declare me her favorite guest in front of everyone, and even when I was twelve I wasn’t embarrassed at all.

My stomach rumbles at the taste of the memory and I try not to think about how long it’s been since I’ve eaten anything real.

Job first, food later, I remind myself as I head up the steps, wondering if Shirlene might need help in the kitchen.

I’m not a great cook, but I can follow directions.

Worst case, I could wash dishes and scrub floors.

I’m not picky. I’ll be glad to do anything at the lodge just for the employee meals and staff housing, no matter how tiny the paycheck.

The stairs creak and the wood feels a little soft. Up close, the cedar shakes are silvered and curling, like the west wind has been allowed to get the best of them over these last years.

A pang of worry twists my stomach. I’m counting on this place not to have changed as much as the rest of my life has.

But the Welcome mat is still in place. And even though the W has faded completely away, I don’t feel any less welcome at the sight.

Pushing open the stout chestnut door feels like coming home.

The warmth of the interior washes over me instantly and I drink in the sight of the wood paneled walls of the big lobby and the scent of the cracking fire in the stone fireplace.

I offer a brief wave over my shoulder as the cab pulls away and the door shuts behind me.

Inside, the Christmas displays are as impressive as ever, if a bit faded.

There’s a vignette by the desk of life-sized reindeer nuzzling each other.

The center of the lobby is dedicated to a miniature Christmas village display, complete with a frozen lake covered in zipping and twirling magnetic skaters.

I think maybe a few of the skaters are missing, but it’s still as magical as I remember.

And in the far corner, there’s Santa’s mailbox painted in candy cane stripes. When I was a kid, I was convinced that Santa really checked that box, so I always made sure to leave a letter during our stay.

The lobby isn’t as bustling as I expected, but it’s probably just a little late in the evening for that.

I head right up to the counter and my heart aches when I notice the display of Foster’s Figurines.

The little animals are so sweet in their Christmas finery, but if I let myself really look at them, all the memories will come rushing in and I need to stay focused.

“Welcome to the lodge,” a woman says, greeting me from behind the counter with a professional smile.

I swallow, wondering why she’s back there. Sidney is the manager, and he’s an elderly man.

Her eyes travel slowly down my coat and jeans to my wet sneakers and the out-of-place travel bag that’s probably worth more than the cab I came in on. I’m caught between the world I used to occupy and the one where I live now.

“Is Sidney around?” I ask her hopefully. I’ll need to talk to him if I want to get a job.

“Sidney retired a few years back,” the girl says. “I’m the manager now. My name is Margo, and I can help with anything you need.”

I stare at her for a moment, blinking stupidly as the panic begins to rise in my chest. This isn’t how I pictured it.

The idea of Sidney retiring is unthinkable.

Sure, he was an older guy even back when I used to come here, but he loved this place.

I guess I just thought he would go down with the ship.

“You’re the new manager?” I ask.

Brilliant, Maddie. She just said she was.

“I sure am,” Margo reassures me with a patient smile.

“Great,” I tell her, trying my best to rally. “I’m hoping to find a job.”

“Oh,” she says, her smile fading. “Unfortunately, we don’t have any openings.”

That can’t be true. Sidney always used to tell my dad about how hard it was to find enough good workers up on the mountain. There seemed to constantly be a shortage, with one person always filling in for another.

Margo was eyeing my bag before. Maybe she’s assuming I’m not the type that’s willing to get her hands dirty, or that I’m just passing through.

“I’m not picky,” I tell her right away. “I’m happy to wash dishes or clean rooms, whatever needs doing. And I’ll stick around. You don’t have to worry about that.”

“I really wish we had an opening,” Margo says, her gaze hardening. “But I barely have enough shifts for the staff we’ve already got.”

The phone rings before I can reply and she picks it up.

“Reception,” she chirps with false cheeriness.

I turn away from the desk, trying to hold it together. I’ve had myself convinced that things would work out if I made it back here, so this is honestly the first time since my life started unraveling that I’ve felt like I was really out of options.

“Miss Foster,” a friendly voice says from behind me.

I turn to see Michael, the doorman. He must be in his late seventies by now—he was even older than Sidney—but he looks as impressive as ever with his pressed suit, silver hair, and sparkling blue eyes.

I wonder for a moment if he just heard my conversation with Margo.

“May I take your bag for you?” he asks.

If he thinks I’m a guest, then he obviously didn’t overhear anything. I’m not sure what to say, so I just blink at him like I did at poor Margo. Is that normal? How much are people supposed to blink? I honestly can’t remember. However much it is, I am definitely overdoing it.

“Apologies, Miss Foster,” he says, clearly misunderstanding my hesitation. I’m kind of surprised that he recognized me, but that’s typical Michael. “We’ve had to do some downsizing. I’m no longer just the doorman, I’m also the bellhop now.”

And apparently that’s all it takes to break me. All the tears I’ve been holding back over my own situation suddenly prickle at my eyes at the thought of sweet Michael in his carefully pressed suit having to carry people’s bags, and it’s taking everything I’ve got to hold them back.

Don’t you dare start sobbing, I admonish myself inwardly. You’ll give this lovely man a heart attack.

“Oh dear,” Michael says, taking my arm. “Come, let’s get you comfortable.”

We make it out of the lobby and into the corridor where a set of stairs leads up to the second floor rooms in the lodge, and a big door opens to the path that leads to the outdoor cabins.

He’s about to ask which way we’re going.

The jig is up, as my dad used to say. I’ll have to explain myself.

I decide that I’ll do it in the elegant way I’ve practiced a hundred times, with a light reference to the loss of my dad and a self-deprecating quip about the direction my life has taken that won’t make him feel too sorry for me.

“I… I don’t have a room,” I blurt out too loudly, stopping in my tracks.

So much for my elegant explanation.

“Well don’t you worry,” Michael tells me. “We’ve got plenty of empty rooms. I can reserve one for you now, if you’d like.”