Close to Heaven
A Colorado High Country Christmas
Pamela Clare
Contents
Close To Heaven
Acknowledgments
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Epilogue
Also by Pamela Clare
About the Author
Close to Heaven
A Colorado High Country Christmas
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Published by Pamela Clare, 2017
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Cover Design by © Carrie Divine/Seductive Designs
Image: ozimicians/Depositphotos
mppriv/Depositphotos
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Copyright © 2017 by Pamela Clare
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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All rights reserved.
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No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic format without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials by violating the author’s rights. No one should be expected to work for free. If you support the arts and enjoy literature, do not participate in illegal file-sharing.
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ISBN-10: 0-9987491-3-3
ISBN-13: 978-0-9987491-3-6
ISBN: 978-0-9987491-3-6
Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays to all of my readers around the world. May you be blessed with abundance and health, and may peace and wisdom prevail on this Earth.
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Pamela Clare
Christmas 2017
Acknowledgments
Many thanks to the usual suspects for their unfailing support of me as a writer and a person: Michelle White, Jackie Turner, Shell Ryan, and Benjamin Alexander. I would not get through this without you. Additional thanks to Pat Egan Fordyce for always being willing to read my stuff at the last damned minute.
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Special thanks to Left Hand Brewing Company for the tour and for answering my many questions. I am now a huge fan of your Milk Stout.
Chapter 1
Twenty-seven days till Christmas
Joe stood behind the bar of his brewpub, Knockers, watching the news on one of the muted overhead TVs, waiting for the weather report. He reached up absentmindedly to stroke his beard only to find it gone, five o’clock shadow in its place. He’d lost a bet with his head cook Rico about last week’s Broncos game, and he’d had to shave it off.
Bastard.
He forgot about the bet and his missing beard the moment the forecast appeared on the screen. “We’re in for it.”
The National Weather Service was predicting another three to five feet of snow in the mountains. That was on top of the thirty-eight inches that had fallen in the past twenty-four hours. The governor was asking all but essential emergency personnel to stay home and off the highways while the Colorado Department of Transportation—CDOT—did its best to clear the roads.
That was life in Colorado’s Rocky Mountains.
Joe had already sent Marcia, his bartender, and much of the other staff home, keeping on hand only those who lived nearby. He had wanted everyone else to get safely home before CDOT closed the highways. “It’s time to close up.”
“Hell, Joe, it’s not even nine yet.” Hank Gundry, Joe’s only customer, took a sip of his whiskey, his love of liquor apparently stronger than his fear of driving in the snow. “Can’t a man enjoy the drink he paid for in peace?”
Leave it to Hank to put pleasure before safety. The man had blown up his own house trying to extract hash oil from marijuana a couple of years back.
“As much as I like your company, Hank, buddy, I can’t risk the safety of my staff. You can stay till you finish that drink, but then it’s time to go.”
Hank gave a slow shake of his head. “You’re a hard man, Joe.”
Joe chuckled, reached for a cloth, began to wipe down the bar. “Aren’t I just?”
Rain walked out of the kitchen carrying a plastic dishwasher tray of clean shot glasses, her long blond hair hanging down her back in a French braid, her red Henley shirt and jeans hugging curves that Joe tried hard every day not to notice. She was his general manager, a valued member of his staff. He’d be no better than the drunk hunters and skiers who came in for dinner and leered at her if he allowed himself to see her in a sexual way. In fact, he’d be worse, because she trusted him.
But, damn. It wasn’t easy.
She had a body that turned heads and an angelic face with big green eyes, high cheekbones, and a full mouth that smiled easily. A tiny silver ring graced her right nostril, tattoos of skulls, roses, and ivy adorning her forearms. She’d had her dreadlocks taken out a few months back, her blond hair thick and shiny. But what made everyone in Scarlet love her was her goodness. Joe had never met a woman more generous or caring than Rain. In a world that was growing darker and more selfish by the day, she followed her heart.
But something was bothering her lately. She denied it, but Joe knew her better than that. They’d been working side-by-side for twenty years now. He had hired her not long after he’d opened the place. She’d been only seventeen with a new baby and no family or man around to help her raise the child. He’d given her a job, watched over her. Which brought Joe to the other thing he always tried hard to remember.
Rain was ten years younger than he was. She deserved a man who could love her, maybe raise a couple kids with her, give her a happy life. Joe was congenitally unsuited to that task, the last in a long line of assholes. He had no damned business thinking about her the way he was trying not to think about her.
She went to work putting away the glasses. “What’s the Weather Service saying?”
Joe finished wiping down the bar and tossed the cloth into the laundry bag. “They’re calling for another three to five feet of snow. It’s time to close the place up and make sure everyone gets home.”
“I’ll let the kitchen staff and servers know.” Rain gave him that brilliant smile of hers, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “You’re such a good boss.”
God knew, he tried. “Thanks.”
Rain disappeared into the kitchen again.
“You’re not so good to your customers though,” Hank muttered.
“Come on, Hank. You going to give me a hard time? My customers are better off staying home tonight than getting stuck in a snowdrift—and that includes you. You want to make Hawke come out with his crew to fish you out of a ditch?”
“I guess not.” Hank pushed an empty shot glass across the counter. “Give me one for the road.”
Joe took Hank’s empty glass. “I thought you didn’t like jail. You want to risk getting a DUI and ending up there again?”
“Hell, no.” Hank got to his feet, slipped a worn parka over his wiry frame. “See you when the snow lets up.”
“Be safe out there.”
Joe locked the front door behind Hank, then walked over to the control panel near the stage to shut off the music. He glanced over and saw it—another notch in the wooden post to the left of the stage. “What the hell?”
He examined it then crossed to the other side of th
e stage and ran his fingers over the notches in the wooden post there. Nothing new here.
These things had started showing up years ago. At first, he’d thought they came from the gear that bands who played Knockers lugged up around. But they were too uniform, too deliberate to be accidental dings. Besides, they hadn’t had a live band in a week. How had the new one gotten here?
Well, he didn’t have time to unravel this mystery now.
He took the receipts and cash drawer and disappeared into his office, leaving it to his staff to finish the cleanup. He was almost done preparing the bank deposit when Rain stuck her head through the open doorway.
“Cheyenne and I finished with the front end. We’re heading out.” She wrapped a purple hand-knitted scarf around her neck. “Rico and Vicki are almost done in the kitchen.”
Joe got to his feet. He needed to check on the brewery and see how Libby was doing. “You sure I can’t give you and Chey a ride?”
“Chey just left, and I’m good.” She pulled a woolen hat over her head. “I snowshoed in this morning. I’ll be home before you can finish scraping your windows.”
“Smart.” Joe ought to have thought of that. “Be safe.”
“You, too. Goodnight.”
“Goodnight.” Joe walked back to the brewery and found Libby, his brewmaster, cleaning up. The brew crew ran in two shifts, arriving earlier than the rest of the staff and staying later. But not tonight.
He raised his voice so Libby could hear him over the machinery. “We’re closing early.”
“Rain told me.” Libby was petite with freckles that made her look like a kid, but she moved the big hoses with ease and was a beer genius. “I just got a batch of milk stout moved into the fermentation tanks, so I can shut down as soon as I’m done cleaning up.”
That was a relief. If the wart had been at an earlier stage in the process, shutting down would have meant dumping the entire batch, a loss of thousands of dollars.
“Do you need a ride?”
She shook her head. “I’m good.”
“Stay safe.”
“Will do, boss.”
Joe left the brewery and walked back to his office, where Rico found him.
Rico pulled the hairnet off his beard. “We’re done, boss. Vicki just left. I’m heading home. You need anything?”
An oak of a man with thick biceps, Rico was as kind as he was rough-looking. He had worked for Knockers for most of the twenty-one years it had been open, using the culinary skills he’d learned as a kid while doing a nickel in prison for auto theft.
“No, I got it. Thanks. You just get yourself home. Rain snowshoed in. I hope she makes it home okay. I offered to give her a ride, but…”
Rico shook his head. “When are you going to tell Rain how you feel about her? I’ve been watching the two of you dance around this for years.”
Joe glared at him. “Where did that come from?”
“Oh, come on. Out of all the staff making their way home tonight, you’re worried about her. It’s obvious that you have a thing for her.”
“Why did I hire you?”
Rico grinned, stroked his beard. “For my looks.”
Joe scratched the stubble on his jaw. “Go ahead. Rub it in.”
“Go, Broncos!” Rico chuckled all the way out the back door.
Rain Minear made her way home through quiet streets, Christmas lights glowing from beneath the snow, the sounds of the world muffled. Scarlet’s single snowplow hadn’t touched the side streets, only the main highway, so she had to break trail the entire way. This storm was carrying a lot of moisture from the Gulf of Mexico, which meant the snow was heavy. At least the exercise kept her warm.
She reached her street, rounded the corner. “Nice.”
A four-foot snowdrift covered her front porch, blocking her front door, snow hanging in cornices over the eaves. She tromped up to the front porch, pulled her shovel free of the snow, and began to dig out her door.
Snow was still falling hard, fat flakes sticking to her eyelashes, melting against her exposed cheeks, saturating her hat and hair. By the time she’d cleared a path to her door, an inch-deep layer of snow covered the front steps where she’d started.
She knew what she’d be doing tomorrow morning.
She reached up with the shovel, knocked the overhanging snow free of the eaves in the areas she could reach, knowing she would have to deal with that tomorrow, too. She didn’t want the snow tearing off her gutters. But for now, damn it, she wanted a hot shower, a glass of wine, and a good night’s sleep.
She kicked off her snowshoes, propped them up against the house, then stepped inside, warmth spilling over her. She yanked off her boots and stripped off her winter gear, hanging her parka, gloves, hat, and scarf over a kitchen chair to dry. Then she walked to the bathroom, shed her clothes, and stepped into the shower.
The hot water felt wonderful as it sluiced over her skin, rinsing away the day’s tension and the odors of fryer fat, beer, and food. It had been a slow day, and slow days were long days. A shift passed much more quickly when the tables were full. Also, busy days gave her less time to think. Lately, that’s all she’d been doing—thinking about her life, or lack of a life.
She was a thirty-seven-year-old mother of an adult daughter, an empty-nester with no education, no savings, and no love life. She worked two unskilled jobs—managing Knockers and cleaning rooms at the Forest Creek Inn—and she still lived in the weird little mountain town where she’d grown up.
Scarlet Springs—one square mile surrounded by reality.
You are going nowhere.
It would help if she had some idea how to make things better for herself, what direction to go. Move to Boulder to be closer to Lark? Rent was crazy expensive there, and she’d be competing with students for restaurant jobs. Get a GED and some kind of degree? She didn’t have the money to put herself through school right now. Voice lessons so she could take up singing again? She had no real connections in the music world and no clue how to make a name for herself. Besides, singing in a band had been the dream of her teenage self, and it had almost ruined her life.
As for her love life, well, Joe would never break the rules and date a member of his staff. If he hadn’t tried to sleep with her when she was in her twenties and hot, he wasn’t going to do it now. She needed to get over him and move on.
Easier said than done.
Some people were intimidated by him and thought him reclusive and eccentric, and Rain supposed he was. He kept to himself and never talked about his own life, never let anyone inside. Still, he was one of the kindest men she knew, decent to his core. Doing the right thing mattered to Joe, not because of what people would think, but because it was the right thing to do. While too many of the men Rain had known had thought only of themselves, he was generous to a fault.
On top of that, he was completely bonable. He was as good-looking as a man could be—tall, well-built, with a gorgeous face. Big brown eyes. Long eyelashes. A gentle nose. She’d found him incredibly handsome with the beard, but without it, he was lethal. She could see the hollows beneath his cheekbones and the square cut of his jaw now—not to mention that full, kissable mouth. The fact that he also had long hair—thick dark hair with just a touch of gray at his temples—was the cherry on top for Rain, who’d always been drawn to rock-star types.
And how has that worked out for you?
Ah, hell. Rain needed to get out of this place. She needed to leave Scarlet, start over somewhere, build a real life for herself doing something that mattered.
Everything had made sense when Lark had lived at home. Rain had built her life around providing food, shelter, clothing, and love for her daughter. Every paycheck had been a victory, a step forward for their little family of two. Now that Lark had moved to Boulder, nothing seemed to make sense at all. Rain hadn’t even put up Christmas decorations this year. It didn’t feel like Christmas without Lark in the house.
Snap out of it. You succeeded. You should be
happy.
Yes, she had succeeded. She had raised her little girl, watched her grow into a beautiful, intelligent, independent woman. Lark hadn’t made any of the mistakes Rain had made. She’d be graduating from college in May, and these years of struggle would be behind them. Rain should be celebrating, not feeling sorry for herself. But then she hadn’t expected success to feel so damned … lonely.
She finished her shower, dried off, and slipped into her softest flannel pajama bottoms and a tank top, too tired to haul in wood for a fire. She settled on the sofa with a glass of red wine and the TV remote. After a few sips and five minutes of channel surfing, she turned off the TV and reached for her smartphone.
It was almost eleven, but Lark was a night owl. Rain sent her daughter a quick text message, not wanting to intrude but missing her too much not to reach out.
Hope you are safe and warm. How was your day?
She waited ten minutes for a reply, but it didn’t come.
To hell with this day.
She finished her wine, brushed her teeth, and crawled into bed, cell phone on her nightstand just in case Lark called. She was almost asleep when her phone buzzed.
She reached for it, saw that Lark had sent a photo of herself standing outside in front of what looked like a giant snowman. Her cheeks were pink from the cold, a bright smile on her face, snow in her hair.
A text message followed.
We made a snow giant. Hope you’re warm up there. Love you! XOXOXOX
Rain smiled, texted a quick reply.
Looks like fun! Love you too! XOXOX
She looked at the photo again, the momentary connection to her daughter easing some of the ache inside her.