3.5 Roasted in Christmas River (2 page)

“Mmm,” he muttered in a gruff voice. “That warms up a cold body nice.”

“What flavor of pie would you like?” I asked to my only customer of the morning so far. “We’ve got Gingersnap Pumpkin, Cinnamon Blueberry, Mountain Cherry, Whiskey Apple, Berry Vanilla Pudding, Chocolate Hazelnut Liqueur, Sweet Potato Fig, Snickerdoodle Banana Mocha Pudding, or Cranberry Apple Walnut today.”

His eyes grew wide as the pie names rolled off my tongue.

“Why, that’s a lot of options, miss,” he said, shaking his head. “Uh… well, I… Well what do you think I should have?”

“Well, I guess it depends on what you like, Tobias,” I said. “If you like a real sweet pie with a little bit of a kick, than the Gingersnap Pumpkin fits the bill nicely. If you like something a little tart, then the Cranberry Apple Walnut would be my choice. If you like something on the savory side, then the Sweet Potato Fig is right up your alley. But if you like an old-fashioned, classic, never-fail pie, then the Mountain Cherry is your gal.”

He gave a half smile and stroked his white beard. He knit his brows together in a look of deep contemplation.

“Well, that is a tough choice, miss,” he said, as if I was a waitress at a five-star restaurant who had just rattled off a specials menu in French.

He stroked his beard again.

“I guess I’ll go with that first one. The pumpkin one.”

“One Gingersnap Pumpkin coming right up,” I said, going back to the pie case and cutting him a large slice.

I put an extra helping of fresh whipped cream on it, and then came back to the booth, placing the loaded plate in front of him, along with a fork.

He dug into it, at first with reserved, self-conscious gestures. Then he started eating more quickly, conveying just how hungry he had actually been.  

I took a seat at the booth across from him.  

“My aunt used to have a bakery back in Rapid City,” he said in a low voice between bites. “Many years ago.”

“Really?” 

He nodded his head.

“I practically grew up in that bakery. I used to help her when I was a kid. Made all sorts of tasty delights. Bear claws, turnovers, bars, brownies. Pies, too.”

By the looks of Tobias’ rail-thin figure, all of that was many years ago indeed.

“She always made sure to save me a little something from the front case at the end of the day. Made sure I wasn’t want for anything.

I was always her favorite.”   

His lips turned up into a bright smile and the skin around his eyes creased with the effort. But a moment later, the smile had wilted like leaves in the frost.

“Some ways that was just yesterday,” he said. “Other ways… Other ways that was a long, long time ago.”

I thought for a second about asking him where his aunt was now. How he ended up out here in Oregon. If he had any other family.

But I decided to hold my tongue.

I didn’t want to bring up any bad memories for him.  

I noticed his eyes drift over to the pie case, and then they dropped down sheepishly when he noticed that I’d seen him looking.

I smiled.

“Something else on your mind?” I asked.

“No, miss,” he said, keeping his eyes down. “You’ve already been nicer than you needed to be.” 

I got up and grabbed his plate.

“You know, I didn’t know you were a pastry expert when you walked in here,” I said. “But now that I do, I would appreciate it if you tried that Cranberry Apple Walnut pie of mine. You see, it’s my newest flavor. I wouldn’t mind a little feedback on it if you’re not too full on the pumpkin.”

His face brightened up. He lifted his eyes, and for the first time, they met mine.  

“Really?” he said.

I nodded. I took his plate and went back over to the pie case. I cut into a new Cranberry Apple Walnut, and I served him up a big gooey slice.

He looked like a kid in a candy store when I handed it to him.  

I was about to sit down at the booth again, but just then, the bell on the front door jingled and a woman walked in.

I tried not to shudder as I recognized who it was.

Chapter 4

Meredith Drutman was a local relator who had once been a real beauty back in the day, having been crowned the local Christmas in July Parade Queen in her time. These days, her looks were crumbling. But she still had all the uppity attitude of a small town beauty queen who had never quite made it in the real world.

Meredith was a terrible gossip, smiling in everyone’s face while spreading nasty rumors about them around town. Her twenty-something daughter Haley took after her mom, and in the past, the girl had thrown a nasty insult or two my way when she thought I was a romantic rival for a young Sheriff’s deputy she was obsessed with. I was sure that Meredith’s young son wasn’t much better than his mom and older sister. Meredith’s husband probably wasn’t either, for that matter.    

Needless to say, I didn’t much care for Meredith. But customers were customers, and for some reason, the Drutmans continued to come back to my pie shop.

Meredith was wearing a red wool trench coat and had a little bit too much eyeliner and mascara on for this hour of the morning. Her heavy makeup job settled deep into her wrinkles, making her look older than she actually was.

She stopped dead in her tracks when she saw Tobias sitting in the booth across from me. Then she shot a nasty look in his direction.

“What can I help you with?” I said coldly, getting up and going back behind the glass case.

“Cinnamon, I need to place an order for Thursday. I’ve got George’s
entire
family descending on our house, including his cousins Bob and Morgan, who, between you and me, are gluttonous good-for-nothing bums. Then Haley’s bringing her new boyfriend home for Thanksgiving, which I guess is okay, but I can’t say I’m too fond of Haley’s new love interest. Did you know that that boy has tattoos covering the entire length of both arms? I told her, ‘Haley, that boy’s not the marrying kin—”  

“I’m sorry, but it’s a little late to be placing an order,” I said.

I’d had a sign in front of my pie shop for two months now telling folks to place their orders for Thanksgiving at least a week ahead of the big day. I’d made that rule so I’d be adequately supplied for all the orders and so I wouldn’t have to spend Thanksgiving here at the pie shop, making food for other peoples’ feasts instead of my own.

But in typical Meredith fashion, she thought the rules didn’t apply to her.  

Her eyes narrowed, a hint of anger behind them. But then the expression on her face changed into a full-on pout.

“But it’s Thanksgiving, Cinnamon,” she pleaded in a whiny voice. “I’m depending on these pies. I might lose my sanity if I have to make dessert myself. And you know, your pies make everyone so happy. I mean, my entire family just
loves
them. Haley especially would be disappointed if we didn’t have your pie this year.”

I crossed my arms, and looked out the window.

I didn’t buy any bit of what she was trying to sell me, but from a practical standpoint, I knew that taking this order would help put a little extra something into my Christmas present fund this year.

I’d had my eye on a new pair of boots for Daniel to replace the ones that Wyatt Rasmussen upchucked all over at last year’s Christmas River Rodeo. The new boots had a hefty price tag on them. And being that Daniel and I had just returned from our Maui honeymoon, where money just seemed to flow out of our bank account like a river, I was going to need all the help I could get to purchase those boots.

I looked at Meredith skeptically, and then pulled a pen and notepad from the drawer.

“All right,” I said. “What kind of pies do you want?”

The edges of her mouth curled up into a smile, reminding me of that part in
The Grinch
when the green cave dweller devises his malicious plan to ruin Christmas for Whoville.

She rattled off some typical Thanksgiving pie fare. Pecan, Gingersnap Pumpkin, and Whiskey Apple.

“They’ll be ready by 9 a.m. Thursday,” I said. “I’m closing the shop by noon, so don’t wait until the last minute to pick them up.”

She nodded quickly.

Tobias coughed, catching Meredith’s attention again. She turned around, staring at him. Then she leaned forward toward me.

“Cinnamon, what is
that
man doing in here?” she rasped, her eyes growing wide, as if I was committing some crime by having him in my shop. “Don’t you know that he’s…”

She trailed off as she realized that I wasn’t in agreement with whatever she was implying.

“I asked him to be a taste tester,” I said. “Tobias has some experience in the pastry industry.”

“But Cinnamon, he’s a…”

She trailed off again.  

She leaned in even closer to me.

“He’s a homeless drunk who could be
dangerous
,” she said in a voice that was louder than it should have been.  

I narrowed my eyes at her.

“Meredith, your pies will be ready Thursday morning,” I said coldly. “Now if you don’t mind, I have some work to do.”

She raised an eyebrow at me.

“Well, fine,” she said. “I’m only trying to give you some neighborly advice, dear. Once one of them starts coming in, you know there’ll be others following close behind. And anyway, if I were your husband, I’d sure be worried about you inviting a man like that off the street into your pie shop.”

“Well, that’s between me and Daniel. Now if you’d excuse me, I—”

  The front door jingled and a cold rush of air ran through the dining room. I looked over, realizing it was Tobias leaving.

He hadn’t finished his pie.

Stupid Meredith. He must have overheard her.

I shook my head and hurried across the dining room, opening the front door, trying to catch him before he disappeared, but I was too late.

I looked up and down both sides of the street, but didn’t see him anywhere.

Tobias was gone.

A few seconds later, I felt Meredith at my arm.

“It’s really for the best, dear,” she said. “The man was probably going to rob you. I most likely saved you by walking in this morning.”

I felt my cheeks flush with anger. She brushed past me, her overbearing perfume hitting my nostrils hard. I watched as she walked across the street and got into her BMW.

I let out a sigh into the damp fog and went back inside.

I cleared Tobias’ half-eaten plate of pie away.

I hoped he had gotten enough.

Chapter 5

I gripped Huckleberry’s leash with one hand, and dug the other one deep into the pocket of my plaid pea coat. I clutched the paper bag firmly in the crook of my arm.

I took in a deep breath of gloriously crisp fall air. The fog had burned off and the warmth of the sun had melted the hoarfrost from the trees, leaving the branches glistening and sparkling in the autumn light.  

Even though I was short on time, I walked slowly along the dirt path through the woods, savoring the beauty of late November in Christmas River. With everything going on this week –  taking orders, baking pies, and trying to plan the biggest meal of the year for my immediate family and friends – I hadn’t had much time to enjoy the outdoors. Which was a shame, because this time of year was spectacular up in the Cascade Mountains. Colorful leaves, clear, cold air, and weather as unpredictable as a crazy old person behind the wheel of an RV. Anything could happen. Some Thanksgivings, it was sunny and in the 60s. Other Thanksgivings, howling winter storms hit our corner of the mountains, making you question whether it was actually Thanksgiving or Christmas. You just never knew what the weather had in store. And in some ways, that was part of the fun.  

A chilly wind blew into the side of my face and a couple of golden, apple cider-colored leaves got caught in Huckleberry’s black fur as they blew across the trail. The Australian shepherd shook them off and turned around to look at me, as if he’d mistaken the wind for a person ruffling his fur. 

I smiled, thinking of how much I loved that little dog at the end of the leash. It had been almost three years since I’d found him homeless, his original owner, Mason Barstow, having been murdered around the time of the big Gingerbread Junction competition. Mason’s murder had been pinned on me, and the then-sheriff had tried to arrest me for the deed. But looking back on all that now, I couldn’t really complain.

As morbid and heartless as it sounded, Mason Barstow being murdered was one of the best things to ever happen to me.

I’d gotten Huckleberry out of the deal. And someone else very special walked into my life that month as a result of the murder.

I approached the footbridge that straddled the Christmas River, the geological feature for which our small town was named for. A man was standing in the middle of the bridge, looking down at the cold, rushing river.

My footsteps echoed against the hollow wood and made the bridge shake slightly, but the man in the brown coat with the tan face and shaggy black hair didn’t seem to hear me. I stopped near him, and followed his gaze down toward the river.

“Did you bring the goods?” he whispered just loud enough to hear.

He kept his eyes fixed on the water below.

“Yes,” I rasped.

“Everything I asked for?”

I nodded.

“The Cranberry Apple Walnut?”

I nodded again.

“The napkin? The fork?” he said, his tone serious and unwavering. “Because if you didn’t bring the fork, then the deal is off.”

“I brought the fork,” I said, clutching the paper bag like it contained gold nuggets. “But we still have to discuss payment. Did you bring the green?”

“About that,” he said, stepping so close to me that I could smell the clean, evergreen smell of his aftershave. “I’m going to be a little late with the payment.”

I turned toward him raising an eyebrow.

“That’s not what we discussed,” I said, pulling the bag back.

He stepped even closer to me, his presence making my heart speed up.

“You know I’m good for it,” he said.

“Do I?” I said. “You seem like an untrustworthy sort to me. The kind my grandfather warned me about growing up.
Unsavory
is what I think he used to call fellas like you.”