Christmas In Snowflake Canyon

Paris at Christmas was magical. She had loved every minute of it the year before and had been anticipating another season with great excitement.

Instead, she was stuck in her grandmother’s horrible, dark house, surrounded by people who disliked her. Now she had to spend the weeks leading up to Christmas trying to interact with wounded veterans. If they were all as grim-faced and churlish as Dylan Caine, she was in for a miserable time.

“Where are you parked? I’ll walk you to your car.”

She blinked in surprise at the unexpected courtesy. “That midblock lot over by the bike shop.”

“I’m close to that, too.”

They walked in silence for a moment, past the decorated windows of storefronts. She would have liked to window-shop but she didn’t have any money to buy anything, so she couldn’t see much point in it.

“Your brother did a good job,” she finally said, just as they passed Dog-Eared Books & Brew, the bookstore and coffee shop owned by Maura McKnight. “We got off easier than I expected. We could have been assigned to pick up roadside trash or something.”

“Is it too late for me to sign up for that?” he answered.

She made a face. “What’s the big deal? Why don’t you really want to help out at the recreation center? Your brother’s right. You understand better than anybody some of the challenges wounded veterans have to face.”

The clouds began to spit a light snowfall—hard, mean pellets that stung her exposed skin.

He was silent for a long moment, snow beginning to speckle his hair, and she didn’t think he would answer. She was just about to say goodbye and head for her car when he finally spoke. “I believe Spence and Charlotte had good intentions when they started the program.”

“But?”

“Nobody else on the outside understands what it’s like to have to completely reassess everything you do, everything you thought you were. I hate bolo ties.”

She blinked at the rapid shift in topic. “O-kay.”

“I hate bolo ties but here I am.” He aimed his thumb at his open coat, where she could see the string hanging around his collar, with that intricate silverwork disk at the center. “Andrew ordered me to wear a tie for the hearing. I can’t tie a damn tie anymore. After trying for a half hour, I finally just stopped at that new men’s store over on Front Street and bought this. It was either that or a clip-on, and I’m not quite there yet.”

She didn’t know what to say, especially as she could tell by his expression that he was regretting saying anything at all to her.

She decided to go back to the fashionista ditz he called her. “Personally, I like bolo ties. They’re just retro enough to be cool without being ostentatious. Kind of rockabilly-hip.”

He snorted. “Yeah. That was the look I was going for. The point is, a couple of days playing in the mountains wouldn’t have a lot of practical value when the real challenges are these endless day-to-day moments when I have to deal with how everything is different now.”

She couldn’t even imagine. “I guess I can see that. But don’t you think there could be value in something that’s strictly for fun?”

“I don’t find too many things fun anymore,” he said, his tone as dark as those clouds as they walked.

“Maybe a couple days of playing in the mountains are exactly what you need,” she answered.

“Maybe.”

He didn’t elaborate and they walked in silence for another few moments. As they walked past one of her favorite boutiques, the door opened with a subtle chime and a few laughing women walked out, arms heavy with bags.

She didn’t recognize the blonde with the paisley scarf and the really great-looking boots, but the other one was an old friend.

“Natalie! Hello.”

The other woman stopped her conversation and her eyes went wide when she spotted her. “Gen! Hi.”

They air-kissed and then Natalie Summerville stepped back, giving a strange look to Dylan, who looked big and dangerous and still rather scruffy, despite his efforts to clean up for court.

“How are you?” Natalie asked. “I saw your mom at the spa the other day and she told me you were coming back for Thanksgiving.”

Yet you haven’t bothered to call me, have you?

Natalie had been a good friend once, close enough—she thought, anyway—that Genevieve had included her in her flock of seven bridesmaids. They had been on the cheerleading squad together in high school, had double-dated often at college, had even shared a hotel room in Mazatlаn for spring break after junior year.

When she had been engaged, preparing to become Mrs. Sawyer Danforth of the Denver Danforths, Natalie had loved being her friend.

After Gen ended the engagement, she felt as if she had broken off with many of her friends, as well. Natalie and a few others had made it clear they didn’t understand her position. She and Sawyer weren’t married yet. Why couldn’t he have his fun while he still could? She had overheard Natalie say at a party that Genevieve was crazy for not just ignoring his infidelity and marrying him anyway.

Sometimes she wished she had.

“Are you heading back to Paris soon?”

“I’ll be here for a month or so. At least through Christmas.”

She imagined word would trickle out in their social circle about her parents’ mandate and her enforced poverty, if it hadn’t already. Her mother was not known for her discretion.

“Great. Good for you.”

“We should do lunch sometime,” Genevieve suggested. “I hear there are a few new restaurants in town since I’ve been gone.”

“Yeah. Of course. Lunch would be...great.” Genevieve didn’t miss that Natalie had on her fake voice, the one she used at nightclubs when undesirable men tried to pick her up.

“I’ll call you,” Natalie said, with that same patently insincere smile.

“Or I can always call you.”

“My schedule’s kind of crazy right now. I don’t know if you heard but I’m getting married in February. I think you know my fiancе. Stanton Manning.”

He had been one of Sawyer’s friends and cut from the same impeccably tailored cloth. “Of course. Stan the Man.”

Her face felt frozen from far more than the ice crystals flailing into her. Natalie had been one of her bridesmaids, for heaven’s sake, but hadn’t bothered to even let Genevieve know she was engaged.

If she were fair, she would have to acknowledge that she hadn’t been her best self during the humiliation of her marriage plans falling apart. She had been the one to drop all her friends first and flee Colorado as quickly as possible.

“I hadn’t heard,” she said now. “Congratulations.”

“Thanks. I’m counting down the days. You know how that is.”

Natalie’s friend poked her and she flushed. “We’re honeymooning in Italy. He has an uncle who owns a palazzo on the Grand Canal in Venice with stunning views. It’s going to be unbelievable. Oh, and we’ve already bought a house together in Cherry Creek. You’ll have to see it next time you’re in Denver. Stunning. Just stunning. Six bedrooms, five bathrooms. It’s perfect for entertaining.”

“I’m very happy for you,” she said stiffly.

Okay, so Natalie was living the life she had expected, the one she had dreamed. Italian honeymoons, showplace houses, beautiful friends. She refused to let envy eat at her.