Christmas in Caterwaul Creek

By Kay Keppler

Sarah Marcheford feels like an idiot when she gets the brush-off from her fiancé just before Christmas. He'd promised her the moon and the stars—a romantic holiday season as they started their life together in San Francisco. Instead, he tells her he's going back to his wife. Like a dope, she'd fallen for the oldest story in the world.

When her sister calls from upstate New York, Sarah makes a snap decision to visit her for the holidays. But the blizzard of the century closes airports east of Chicago and half the country is immobilized.

Sarah recruits a cabby to drive her to New York, and a pawn shop owner wheedles a ride. The three strangers—one fleeing a broken heart, one fleeing a broken family, and one fleeing the Mob—set out together on a cross-country road trip. Each wants to get away from a painful past. But along the way, they make peace, mend rifts, and find their heart's desire.

Plus a little piece of Sputnik.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kay Keppler
• Release date: Aug 22, 2013
• ISBN: 9781393730415

Kay Keppler

Kay Keppler likes happy endings, whether they’re in the fiction she writes, the fiction she edits, or the fiction she reads. After all, an unhappy outcome is what the newspaper is for! Her characters are resourceful to a fault, hard-working to the extreme, and loyal to the end—qualities she absorbed growing up in a small town in Wisconsin.Resisting the character-building aspects of deep snow and cold, she now lives in California and spends her time creating happy endings.

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Acknowledgments

The Rahr-West Art Museum in Manitowoc, Wisconsin, really does hold a Sputnikfest (and Miss Space Debris pageant) every year to celebrate the landing of a piece of the Russian Sputnik IV in front of its building in 1962. The American Sign Museum is well worth a visit, but look for it in Cincinnati, Ohio, not Bowling Green, where I located it for the convenience of my fictional travelers. Any other errors, geographical or otherwise, are accidental.

Chapter 1

The emerald bracelet shimmered from its narrow Tiffany box, and seeing it gleam in the restaurant’s subdued lighting, Sarah felt a surge of emotion. Across the table from her, the man of her dreams—her prince—looked at her expectantly. Hopefully. Ruefully.

Once upon a time, the prince slayed the dragon and claimed his princess with a kiss, she thought. And all I got was this lousy bracelet.

I’m sorry, Sarah, Daniel Trevethan said. But now that my wife found out about us, well. I’m just sorry.

And I’m a chump. She’d fallen for the oldest lie around. She should have known better.

None of it was true, was it? Sarah said. You lied to me from the start.

I felt stifled. Lonely. Kim has other interests. My kids—well, who knows what’s going on with kids these days. I loved your enthusiasm and energy. Is that so wrong?

What’s wrong is your lying about your marital status when I asked you. You made a fool out of me, and you made a fool out of your wife. You’re a putz, Daniel.

Sarah swallowed some of her wine along with some of her anger as Daniel’s practiced expression of sheepish charm turned wary. All around her in the lush restaurant of the glamorous old San Francisco hotel, happy diners leaned across to their companions and laughed, talked, clinked glasses. The elegant room was decorated for Christmas, with garlands of evergreens and red bows draping the windows and tiny centerpieces of red candles in crystal holders lighting each table. She’d thought that this dinner would be a celebration. She’d thought now that they’d wrapped up the conference they’d worked so hard to organize, Daniel would finally propose. Instead, he’d ambushed her.

The first time he asked me to dinner, I should have asked to see his divorce decree, she thought. Separation papers. A restraining order. Something. But at the time those thoughts had just seemed a little too pushy. For somebody, she thought, as honorable as Daniel.

Daniel Trevethan was the handsome, charismatic, dynamic, and intelligent director of an international children’s charity organization. She’d loved working for him, supporting his efforts to help people. Falling for him was the most natural thing in the world. The miracle was that Daniel loved her back. He’d told her he was separated, that when he and his wife divorced, after the details were worked out, he and Sarah would move into the condo he’d bought and live happily ever after, saving the world.

Yeah, and look how that had turned out. Kim was at home decorating the tree with the kids, waiting for the loyal, handsome, charismatic, and dynamic Daniel to show up after he’d ditched his dumb-ass girlfriend, who was getting the brush-off in a fancy restaurant. Okay, a brush-off with an expensive emerald bracelet. There was that.

I’ve got kids. Daniel sounded both wounded and defensive. "Kim’s never worked. What would she do? I have to make this sacrifice, Sarah. I have to let you go."

All that sneaking around, she said. You didn’t want to talk about us because somebody might tell Kim. I felt like a criminal.

I thought the subterfuge was romantic.

If you’re a felon. I told my sister about us, she said. She never liked you.

How could she possibly judge? I never even met her. Daniel sounded irritated now. Good. She’d bought this expensive dress for him, and then he dumped her. What would he have said to her during their honeymoon if he’d seen her in her truly hideous Godzilla nightshirt?

I loved what we had together. Daniel reached out, but Sarah pulled her hand back. And my marriage with Kim—our marriage isn’t perfect.

Go figure. What with you cheating, and all. That can be hard on a marriage.

Sarah wondered if—right here in the restaurant among the discreet waiters and wine sommeliers and white tablecloths—she could murder Daniel Trevethan. She had a vision of picking up the heavy silver fruit knife, testing its edge against her thumb, and then thrusting it into Daniel’s manipulative heart. He’d topple over, his face in the Brie and pear, his arm dangling, red droplets plopping on the polished walnut floor. Tempting.

A blinding thought struck her. And I wasn’t the first, was I? Lizbeth, who transferred to operations. I bet you slept with her. Probably others, too. Tell me I’m the only emerald bracelet.

Sarah, I promise you. I loved—love—you.

Sarah frowned, looking at him. I don’t think you meant anything you ever said to me. Well, you meant it the times you said, ‘we could use more coffee, Sarah’ or ‘can you work this weekend, Sarah.’ But you’re a shallow womanizer and I was a gullible fool.

Don’t be so hard on yourself, Daniel said. We had some good times. Please accept my going away gift. You’re a wonderful person, Sarah. You’ll be fine.

Sarah stood, pushing back the chair carefully. She picked up her evening clutch and silk shawl, a gift from her sister.

I don’t want the bracelet, Daniel. And as long as we’re saying our farewells, I don’t want your job, either. Keep them both.

Sarah. Daniel grabbed her wrist. Don’t. This doesn’t have to alter anything. We’ve always worked well together. We still can.

No, we can’t. Not now. They’d worked well together when she was cocooned by ignorance. But that time was over.

Don’t decide right away. Make love with me one more time. A farewell. He stroked her palm with his thumb.

And didn’t that just take the cake. She snatched her hand back, glaring at him.

Forget it, Daniel. You’ve had all the farewell you’re getting from me. She grabbed the bracelet and, without a backward glance, swept out of the restaurant.

You never knew when an emerald bracelet would come in handy.

Once back in her room, Sarah dropped the bracelet on the nightstand and checked the minibar. Normally when she stayed in hotels for work conferences, she never touched the minibar because everything in it cost so much. She’d always tried to keep her personal expenses down to help the organization. Not tonight.

Screw the orphans, she thought, cracking open a tiny bottle of liquor and pouring it into one of the hotel’s glasses. They shouldn’t be drinking Scotch anyway. She checked the price list for the cashew caddy—$15. No problem. She opened that, too. She’d never gotten to eat that dinner in the expensive restaurant downstairs. It probably would have been good.

She slumped in the chair and swallowed some Scotch and ate a few cashews. Her boyfriend had dumped her for his wife. She’d quit her job. It was Christmas. She hadn’t made other plans, because she thought she’d be spending the holidays with Daniel.

He’d said they’d be engaged; he’d be moving into the new condo he told her he’d bought. They’d spend the week cuddled in front of the fireplace. They’d be together.

All lies.

Now what? She was sitting in a fancy hotel room in downtown San Francisco, drinking Scotch out of bottles built for Lilliputians. She’d stayed in the hotel for the conference, but she had an apartment in the outer Mission; she could just go home.

But it didn’t feel like home anymore. She’d terminated the lease and packed up her stuff, because Daniel had said she’d be moving in with him at the start of the new year. She literally was all dressed up with no place to go.

Sarah finished her first Scotch and opened a second tiny bottle. Idly she checked her messages. Meri, her sister, had called. Sarah glanced at her watch. It wasn’t too late to call her back, even with three hours’ time difference to upstate New York. She hit one on the speed dial.

Hey, sis, Meriwether said. The connection wasn’t great. Meri and her husband lived up on a mountain in a remote area where services of any kind were frequently disrupted by weather. Their place was fantastic, though, warm and cozy. And they had great views in any season. Meri had been alone up there for the last six months while Josh was deployed to Afghanistan, but he’d been scheduled to go stateside and be home for Christmas. They were probably cuddled up right now, looking out at the mountains.

I thought tonight was your big night, Meri went on. Whatcha doing?

Sarah felt her anger crumble. Daniel dumped me, she said, swallowing most of the second bottle of Scotch in one gulp. He’s going back to his wife. Or staying with his wife. Whatever. I’m an idiot, Mer. A stupid jerk.

"No, you’re not!