On Monday morning at just past eleven, Morgan’s older brother, Connor Reed, walked into the Silver Bells Luxury Tours store per my request. The Reed family was a distinguished group here in Christmas Mountain and Connor looked every bit the part. He managed the loan department at Reed Bank, drove a silver BMW, and dressed for work like he owned the bank himself. He had the same pear-green eyes as Morgan, his dark hair was neatly styled back, and he wore a designer sweater that fit his muscular physique. The guy was a catch, for sure.
Back when I was a sophomore in high school, I’d gone with Connor to his senior prom. We’d double dated with his best friend Dallas and his date Nina, hit the dance floor hard, and had an amazing time. There was talk that we were a couple after that, but nothing could be further from the truth. With zero chemistry between us, we stayed in the friend zone, which was why he’d agreed to this favor I’d asked of him.
As he came toward me, I straightened next to the newly-fixed mannequin, who had two arms again—yay! She made me think back to how cute Adam had looked after de-arming her last week, which made me feel a little guilty about my plan to sabotage his potential buyers. But I reminded myself that this was for a good cause.
“Good morning, Faith.” Connor’s pear-green eyes twinkled at me. “You know you owe me big time for this. Now tell me what my role is.”
“Just hang out here in the store and act like that’s a normal routine for you. Get in the way of the potential buyers. Be a bit of a nuisance.” I twisted my hands together. “Act like you feel this is home and you’re not sure about them being here, like they’re not worthy.”
Laughter spilled from his mouth. “What?”
I patted his arm. “Just go with whatever I say, okay? Please.”
He nodded. “I got you. I think I can handle it.”
“Great. Just, um . . .” I looked around for Harmony, knowing I needed her to drop that paperwork Adam wanted on his desk for me. “Make yourself at home.”
“All right.” He plopped down in a camp chair just as Harmony came in.
Her eyebrows rose. “I’m not going to ask why you’re sitting in that camp chair. I don’t even want to know. Okay, maybe I want to know a little. What are you doing here, Connor?”
“I’m just a guy in a camp chair.” He leaned back, clasping his hands behind his head. He flopped one booted foot onto a box holding new items that needed shelving. He was using it as a makeshift Ottoman. I told myself it was fine.
“Adam asked for these figures, if you wouldn’t mind taking them to him.” I handed Harmony the paperwork he wanted for his potential buyers and the numbers didn’t bode well for keeping Silver Bells from becoming a day spa (oh the horror).
“Will do,” Harmony said, and nodded, going back to the business office.
I dipped my fingers into a thermos I’d filled with snow, dropping bits of snow here and there along the floor, which took me a few minutes as I did a thorough job. Then I grabbed a magazine and tossed it at Connor just as the door opened and Adam swept through the front door with the prospective buyers.
The couple walking behind him looked glossy-magazine cover worthy. I’m talking perfect hair, designer clothes that looked like something right off the slopes of Aspen—if we pulled this off I needed to add that line to our store—with tanned faces and glowing skin. Their smiles? The next time the power went out, I wanted someone with teeth that big, white, and perfect nearby.
But who was the man behind them? The couple’s goober younger brother they were obligated to bring along? The younger man wore a rumpled suit, wire-rimmed glasses, and his coat looked like he’d thrown it on in a hurry. It also looked two sizes too big.
Adam strode toward me. “Faith, there you are.”
“Who’s the guy?” I whispered.
“Another buyer,” he whispered, flaring his eyes.
“You’re showing to multiple buyers at the same time?” I asked, thinking that was a dumb move and maybe I wouldn’t need much sabotage to kill these potential deals.
“Not intentionally,” he whispered, making a show of shaking my hand, presumably to fool the buyers into thinking we were exchanging professional information but really his touch only succeeded in making my belly flip. “The guy behind them showed up unannounced and insisted on coming. He’s from New York and was supposed to arrive on Wednesday. I’m not happy, but not much I can do. Would appreciate your help.”
“Of course.” I grimaced, remembering my talk with Harmony this morning and that this guy from New York was the one who wanted to turn the business into a day spa if it wasn’t profitable. I’d have to let Connor know to really scare this goob away.
Adam introduced the couple to me first, Mr. and Mrs. Johnson. He was in finance and they loved resort towns and had been to Christmas Mountain many times over the years. The other guy was Miles Wilson, from New York.
“Faith is our manager and can help you with anything you need,” Adam said, making me feel special and appreciated before I remembered he wanted me to work against Silver Bells’ interests.
“Nice to meet you,” I said, forcing a smile as I shook their hands.
Connor looked up from his magazine as Harmony came back in carrying two boxes filled with cinnamon rolls.
“Please help yourselves to our wonderful coffee bar, with cocoa, too. The pastries are fresh from Jingle Bells Bakery,” I said.
“Yummy!” Connor sprang to his feet, practically elbowing the Johnsons out of the way as he grabbed a pastry. Then he poured himself a tall coffee, returned to his chair, and flopped back.
I bit my upper lip, trying to suppress the burst of laughter that wanted to escape.
All eyes watched as Connor took a hearty bite, a heartier gulp, and then immersed himself in the magazine again. It was then that I realized it was the latest issue of a women’s magazine. The cover showed a woman in a sparkly sweater and carried the promise of “The Most Delicious Low-Cal Christmas Treats You’ll Ever Bake!”
Harmony’s jaw dropped open for a moment, before she ducked her head and escaped back into the business office.
Adam gave Connor a sidelong glance, turned to me and lifted his eyebrows.
“Nothing to worry about,” I whispered, waving my hand. “He’s in here all the time.”
If the Johnsons and Miles Wilson seemed bothered by the odd man in the chair, they didn’t show it. Instead, they went to the coffee bar and returned with cups and treats in hand. Darn. But then Connor yawned loudly, raising his arms above his head before scratching his belly.
Miles Wilson was giving Connor some serious side eye, so maybe the plan was working. I decided to press it a little.
“The store’s known for being welcoming, even to those with less than adventurous souls. I never turn a customer down, and I really think we might be able to book a tour with this guy today,” I said, using an upbeat sales-worthy tone.
Adam darted a look at Connor that said he wished he would find his welcome a little less . . .warm. I had to stifle a laugh. I was going to owe Connor big time, but it would be totally worth it. Connor looked like he had settled in for the duration. I wouldn’t have been shocked if he kicked his shoes off and went after some of the high-end fur-lined slippers we sold.
Connor looked up right on cue. “I was wondering, how survival-ready are those SUVs you use for tours anyway? I mean, say you might get us to the top of the mountain but what if we get an avalanche?”
“An avalanche?” Mrs. Johnson asked.
“It’s what happens after a big slab of snow forms on top of looser snow.” Connor held out his arms and seemed to be using some surfer-dude kind of voice like he was an extra in Point Break. “The looser snow can’t hold it. The big slab goes down, taking whatever’s in its path along for the ride. You can get boulders, debris . . .”
“Fallen tree limbs,” I put in.
“Smaller rocks and a lot of loose snow,” Connor continued.
Miles, clearly a man who considered risks, chimed in, “They can knock down a house and take out the roofs and walls too.”
Connor lifted his chin. “An avalanche could take out the whole town. At any minute.”
I wasn’t sure if I wanted to hug him or slug him. He was putting it on more thickly than I had hoped for. Maybe too dire.
“Well, an avalanche can happen,” Mr. Johnson said. “But it’s usually back country. We’ve never seen one in a single skiing season, have we, honey?”
Mrs. Johnson’s cheek dimpled. But she looked nervous.
“We haven’t had one in a while, thank goodness,” Connor said, and I could hear the audible sigh Mrs. Johnson let out. “But when we get them, they just keep on coming. It’s like the mountain has decided to throw a whopper of a snowball fight.”
Adam’s mouth fell open. He held up a finger, dropped it, and closed his mouth.
“The SUVs?” Connor asked.
Adam’s jaw tensed. “Our SUVs are very well equipped and in the very unlikely event that we were going off-road and near an avalanche, we should be able to get all our clients away from danger long before there was anything to worry about.”
“Should be,” Connor muttered.
I stepped up next to Adam, so he wouldn’t sense my plan. “Our SUVs are equipped with four-wheel drive. They carry emergency medical kits, and all of the other things we might need. The guides are trained to react to emergency situations, no matter what may have caused them.”
Adam looked relieved.
“Good to know,” Connor said, and then went back to reading his magazine.
Adam mustered up a big smile. “Let’s move on to a different section of the store.”
They followed us toward the shoe wall.
“What’s this?” Miles asked.
Adam looked at the snow on the floor. “Oh, someone must have tracked that in . . .”
“Nope.” I sighed, shaking my head. “It’s the roof.”
Adam’s head jerked and he drilled a hard gaze at me. “What?”
I pointed upward and shrugged. “The roof leaks every now and then.”
“It leaks snow?” Miles asked.
Gulp! I hadn’t thought that the snow should’ve melted by now if it dropped down from the roof, so I nodded. “Yes, unless it’s raining.”
“What happens then?” Mrs. Johnson asked.
“It leaks rain.” I gave her a wide-eyed look.
Adam choked a little.
“But it’s not a terrible problem,” I said, glancing over at Adam, who had turned pale. “I’ve been trapped in here during a blizzard and it only made puddles.”
Miles squeaked out, “Blizzards?”
Mrs. Johnson murmured, “Trapped? In the store?”
“Oh it was fine.” I clapped my hands together. “Really. I had plenty of pastries and coffee. We keep them on hand. Being trapped in a blizzard isn’t that bad, unless the power goes out. We do have back up power sources here in the building, though. Everyone in town does. You have to be prepared. It is Montana, you know. The grid is pretty far-flung and if it goes out in one spot, well it sort of spreads the outages. The mountains make it hard for crews to fix things very fast.” I paused. “But it all does get fixed eventually.”
Mrs. Johnson let out a sort of whimper. Connor wandered our way holding the magazine. Adam’s eyes widened. Mr. Johnson’s eyebrows rose to his hairline.
Miles gestured to another spot of strategically placed snow. “Is that also a leak?”
I studied the snow. “Maybe.”
Adam shook his head. “Snow would not leak through a roof in that form. Must’ve been tracked in on boots. Customers have been in and out all day. We should get that up before we have an accident.”
“Slips and falls will jack up your insurance,” Connor said in a mournful voice.
“Yes, let me grab a mop.” I hurried off to get the mop and when I came back I found Connor peppering Adam with questions about a tent ridgepole we used. Adam was surprisingly knowledgeable.
I was mopping up the snow from my failed roof-hole idea when Connor came up and put an arm around me. “You must be the best employee ever,” he said.
A line formed between Adam’s eyebrows and his gaze moved from Connor back to me. Uh-oh, was he suspecting we were in cahoots?
“Sir, I hope you plan to book a tour with Silver Bells today,” I said, feeling very pleased with turning this around to a sales pitch.
“Let me think about it,” he said, dropping his arm from my waist and going back to his chair in the camping area.
Miles followed him, checking out the tent ridgepoles.
Mrs. Johnson stepped toward me. “You have a great blowout, Faith. May I ask where you had it done?”
“The C.M. Salon on Main Street,” I said, and told her all about Morgan’s business.
“That salon wasn’t here the last time we visited Christmas Mountain,” Mrs. Johnson said, turning to her husband. “What a great addition.”
He stroked his chin. “I’d heard the town had been failing, but seems like things are turning around.”
Mrs. Johnson smiled at her husband. “I think we need to consider putting in an offer, dear.”
With those words, my heart dropped all the way to my stomach and stayed there. Where was an avalanche when you needed one?