“I’m afraid I’ve exhausted my resources in Tumbleweed, Mom.”
She brightens. “Is that why you’re leaving? Do you know something I don’t?” That’s where I get my positive nature. Mom never loses hope that my perfect soul mate lurks right around the next corner.
The vision of Mitch Windsor hits me then quickly fades. “Nope. No man on the horizon. I’m simply spreading my wings.” I fling my arms open wide and twirl once, causing my hair to lift with the breeze and my dangly earrings to dance.
Mom chuckles in spite of herself, yet concern shadows her face. I sit on the bed beside her and grab her hand. “Look, Mom, I’ve enjoyed being a teacher up to now, but honestly, I went into teaching because you and Dad wanted me to. It’s not really what I want to do.”
She hikes her nose a bit. “Well, education has provided a good living for our family.”
“Oh, I know,” I jump in eagerly. “And I’m thankful for that. I really am.” I try to ease into the next comment. “Only I’m not convinced it’s what I’m supposed to do with my life.”
“But a cook in a ski lodge, Gwen? I should think you got your fill of cooking for a crowd working down at the Oasis Restaurant. I never understood why you used up your weekends working there. No wonder you’ve never found Mr. Right. You haven’t had the time. And what about your college training?”
I know Mom’s emotions are bouncing around the same as mine. We don’t know whether to be excited about the future or cry about the past.
“It’s not wasted. Education is never wasted,” I say, parroting her familiar words. I get up, close the bulging box and pull packing tape across the top, sealing it shut. “I’ll be doing something I truly enjoy.” I smile.
Mom quirks an eyebrow. “We should have sent you to a three-month cooking school. It would have saved us some money.”
My bubble refuses to burst. “I promise I’ll make you proud, Mom.” Maybe I shouldn’t go that far, but, well, I’m beginning to feel good about this decision. It feels right. “Candace has gone out of her way to get me this job with her brother. He’s trying something new. I’m trying something new. This is a good thing.”
Mom keeps staring a hole through me with those dark eyes. “I think Herbert likes you, Gwen,” Mom says, making a last-ditch effort to keep me here.
I cringe at her reference to the owner of Tumbleweed’s only bookstore. Herbert Caudell is thirty-nine years old, wears polyester pants and lives with his mother. I hold my breath. Wait. I’m thirty-two, and I live with my mother. That thought rocks my world for a moment. But I don’t do polyester. I release my breath.
My pet iguana leaves his habitat and saunters onto the bed. Mom shoots straight up to a standing position and turns to him with a frown. “Well, he’s one thing I won’t miss.”
Guacamole and I ignore her comment. I scoop him into my arms and rub his belly. I admit maybe owning a pet iguana is a little eccentric. When my brother presented Guacamole as a birthday gift to me four years ago, I had no idea what I would do with him. As we all know, an iguana is hardly the party animal. A white toy poodle dressed in pink bows and coats? Party animal. An iguana? No.
Still, I decided to make the most of it. He was a gift, after all. And green is one of my favorite colors. Besides, Guacamole’s color reminds me of a dip, and, of course, where does one find dips? At parties. Once that realization hit me, Guacamole and I became fast friends.
Mom purses her lips together and heads for my bedroom door. “I’ve made you a lunch for your trip. Now you be sure and call us along the way so we know you’re all right. I hate it that you’re taking a loaded car by yourself. Everyone will know you’re moving, and you’re traveling alone.”
“I’m taking clothes. We still have to see if this is going to work out before I move everything else.”
My mom has always been a worrywart. That’s another of our differences. I don’t allow life’s circumstances to get me all upset—well, most of the time I don’t. I usually roll with the punches. Life is meant to be savored.
“I will call if I get into trouble, Mom. I promise.”
“Well, before you go, your father and I have something to give you.”
I look at Mom with surprise while she steps out of my room. I can’t imagine what she’s got up her sleeve. Probably a directory of eligible bachelors in Bliss Village.
Guacamole gets restless with my holding him, and he goes into his full-body alligator roll.
“If you don’t want me to hold you, why don’t you just say so?” I complain, watching Guacamole walk across the bed to a sunlit spot where he can do his usual basking. Oh, to have such a life.
I smooth the wrinkles on my bed where Mom had been sitting and wait on her return. She stumbles into my room, and I can’t believe my eyes. There she stands with a broad smile on her face and a brand-new pair of top-of-the-line skis in one hand, a set of poles in the other.
“Just in case you decide to have some fun while you’re there,” Mom says. “I hear you can’t go to Bliss Village without skis.”
I take a hard look at the skis and wonder what I was thinking when I agreed to this.
Chapter Two
“Candace, I didn’t know you would be here,” I say as I stumble inside the Windsor Mountain B&B and Ski Resort with two suitcases.
“Here, let me help you.” She holds the door, then once I’m inside, she lifts a suitcase from my grasp and puts it on the floor. “I had to finalize the joint venture paperwork with Mitch.”
I drop my suitcase to the floor, brush the snow from my coat, then grab the slight bill on my black-and-red checkered hat and pull it off, along with my black gloves. “I can’t believe I’m here,” I say and turn to give her our customary hug. “Sorry, I’m all wet with snow.” I brush the white flakes from my cap.
“After living here a while, you’ll get used to it. Snow is a fact of life in Bliss Village,” Candace says with a laugh.
Hearing that makes my stomach flip. “I have to admit I’m excited.” I won’t mention the part about not liking cold weather.
“You’re going to love it here, Gwen. I have a feeling it will work out.”
I have to wonder why she’s so into this. Trying to help out a friend, I guess. That’s the way things are between Candace, Lauren and me—we look out for each other.
“Hey, I like your hair cut that way, Gwen,” she says.
I touch my brown hair, momentarily forgetting that I had it cut to shoulder length with some light layering. “Thanks.”
I look around the room with pleasure and take a moment to catch my breath. I smell cinnamon from a nearby flickering candle. I’m thinking this could be a good sign.
“You like it?”
“It’s incredible,” I say, staring at the massive wooden beams, the stone fireplace, the rustic
