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SHEILA ROBERTS is married and has three children. She lives on a lake in the Pacific Northwest. When she's not hanging out with her girlfriends or hitting the dance floor with her husband, she can be found writing about those things dear to women's hearts: family, friends and chocolate.
You can visit Sheila at her website, www.sheilasplace.com. You can also find her on Twitter and Facebook.
Hi, one and all!
Welcome to Icicle Falls, my ideal town. This place has it all: breathtaking scenery, quaint shops, people who understand the importance of pulling together when the going gets tough, laughter, romance and, best of all, a chocolate factory. (Does it get any more ideal than that?)
I hope you'll enjoy your time with the Sterling women and their friends. These are my kind of women—women who dare to dream and then work hard to make those dreams come true—because where would we be without dreams? And where would we be without our mothers, sisters and girlfriends, those special people who understand us and love us in spite of our flaws? I don't know and I don't want to know.
I dare you to get all the way through this book without eating so much as a bite of chocolate. I couldn't! I hope you'll find me on Facebook and Twitter, and stop by my website, www.sheilasplace.com.
Happy reading!
Sheila
For Lilly-Anne, Pat and the gang at
A Book for All Seasons in Leavenworth, Washington
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Sometimes when we think of an author writing a novel we envision the poor thing hunched over a keyboard for hours on end, staring at a computer screen, all by herself, consuming vast quantities of chocolate, growing fat on her hips. Oh, my gosh, that's me!
Except writing isn't always a solitary pursuit. After all, a girl has to do research. And this is the part of the book where I get to thank the people who helped me with that research. I owe a big thank you to my long-suffering husband for sharing his banking expertise and doing copious research to help me try and get my business details correct. Also, a huge thank you to Laura at Bainbridge Island City Hall for explaining all the work that goes into putting on a community event. When it comes to community events, Bainbridge knows how to do it. Big thanks to Brett at Theo Chocolate in Seattle for being so willing to answer all my questions about what goes into running a chocolate company. They do it right over there. Thanks to my Facebook friends and fans who sent me recipes—wish there was room in this book for every one of them. To the brain trust—Susan Wiggs, Anjali Banerjee, Kate Breslin and Elsa Watson—you girls rock. And finally, huge thanks to the gang at the Chamber of Commerce in Leavenworth, Washington, for making their resources available to me—the history of how your town built itself into a charming alpine village and successful tourist destination is truly inspiring. Icicle Falls is the closest I can come to a tribute.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Epilogue: Dreams Coming True
Extract
Recipes from the Sterlings
The Chocolate Rose White Chocolate Truffle
Bailey’s Chocolate Truffle Trifle
Icicle Falls Moose Munch
White Lavender Fudge
Bear Droppings
Chapter One
Manage your relationships well and your business will go well. Because what, after all, is business but a relationship with some dollar signs attached?
—Muriel Sterling, Mixing Business with Pleasure: How to Successfully Balance Business and Love
Samantha Sterling sat next to her mother in the first pew of Icicle Falls Community Church and fought back the urge to jump up, run to the front of the sanctuary, grab her stepfather, Waldo, by the neck and throttle him. She didn’t, for two reasons. One, a girl didn’t do things like that in church. Still, she could have overcome her reservations if not for the second reason—God had already taken Waldo out. Waldo was as dead as roadkill on Highway 2. In addition to a daughter from his first marriage, he’d left behind his grieving wife, Muriel, his three stepdaughters, Samantha, Cecily and Bailey, and the family business, which was nearly as dead as Waldo.
Sweet Dreams Chocolates had been healthy when Samantha’s father was alive. The company had been started by her great-grandmother Rose and had slowly but steadily grown under his leadership—one big, happy family to mirror the happy family who were living off its profits. All three sisters had spent their summers working at Sweet Dreams. All three had it drummed into them from an early age that this business was the source of both the family’s income and honor (not to mention chocolate). But it was Samantha who had fallen in love with it. Of the three girls, she was the one who’d stayed and she was the heir apparent.
But then her father had died and everything came to a halt. Samantha lost the man she and her sisters idolized, and her mother lost her way. Muriel left it to Samantha and the bookkeeper, Lizzy, to keep the company running on autopilot while first she mourned and then later searched for a new husband.
Enter Waldo Wittman, a tall, gray-haired widower recently retired, encouraged to do so by his company, which was downsizing. (Now, looking back, Samantha suspected there were other reasons Waldo had been turned loose.) He’d wanted to get away from the rat race, or so he’d said. With its mountain views, its proximity to eastern Washington wine country, its small-town friendliness and its attractive widow, Waldo decided Icicle Falls would fit the bill. And Muriel decided the same about Waldo. So, after a year and a half of widowhood, she got a new man.
And now there he was, at the front of the church, stretched out in his favorite—expensive!—gray suit. Sweet, beloved Waldo…the money-eater. Oh, Waldo, how could everything have gone so wrong so fast?
It was early January, the beginning of a new year. And what a nightmare year it was promising to be, all because Mom had made her new husband president of their family-owned business. She’d left Samantha as VP in charge of marketing; much good that had done. Now Samantha was VP in charge of disaster and she could hardly sit still thinking of the mess waiting for her back at the office.
“You’re fidgeting,” whispered her sister Cecily, who was sitting next to her.
Fidgeting at a funeral probably wasn’t polite but it was an improvement over standing up, pulling out her hair and shrieking like a madwoman.
Why, oh, why hadn’t Mom and Dad done what needed to be done to make sure that if something happened to Dad the business passed into competent hands? Then Mom could have skipped happily off into newlywed bliss, no harm no foul.
None of them had expected her to remain alone forever. She was only in her fifties when Dad died and she didn’t function well alone.
When Waldo arrived on the scene she came back to life, and Samantha had been happy for her. He was fun and charming, and she and her sisters gave him a hearty thumbs-up. Why not? He’d brought back Mom’s smile. At first everyone got along well. Like Samantha, he’d been a shutterbug and they’d enjoyed talking photography. Her favorite joke when she’d stop by the house to talk business with Mom (or try, anyway) was to ask, “Where’s Waldo?”
But once Mom dropped him on the company like a bomb, Samantha didn’t have to ask. She knew where Waldo was. He was at the office, in over his head and making her crazy.
She ground her teeth as she mentally tallied how much money he’d squandered: new business cards with his name on them, new stationery, new equipment they hadn’t needed, a fancy phone system they couldn’t afford that a slick-tongued sales rep had talked him into buying. How could a businessman be so bad at business? Of course he’d convinced both himself and Mom that every purchase was necessary, and Samantha hadn’t had the veto power to stop him.
That had been just the beginning. Six months ago their profits sank and they started having trouble paying their suppliers. Waldo cut back on production, which then affected their ability to fill orders, and Lizzy, their bookkeeper, began looking as if she’d been invited to dinner with the grim reaper. “We’re behind on our IRS quarterlies,” she’d informed Samantha. “And that’s not all.” She showed Samantha expenditures on the company credit card that made no sense. A gun. Ammunition. Cases and cases of bottled water, enough to keep the whole town hydrated. Waldo was a financial locust, devouring the company.
Where’s Waldo? Busy dumping their lives in the toilet. Flush, flush, flush! She could have happily stuffed his head in a toilet and—
“And I believe that if Waldo could speak to us now he’d say, ‘Thank God for a life well-lived,’” Pastor Jim said.
Her mother let out a sob and Samantha felt a pang of guilt. She should be crying, too. She’d liked Waldo. He’d been a man with a big heart and a big appetite for life.
“We know he’ll be missed,” Pastor Jim was saying, and Cecily laid a comforting hand on Mom’s arm. That, of course, gave Mom permission to start crying in earnest.
“Poor Mom,” whispered Bailey, who was sitting on the other side of Samantha. “First Dad and now Waldo.”
Losing two husbands—talk about a double whammy. Mom had not only loved both her husbands, she’d loved being married. She had no head for business (which probably explained why Grandpa had been perfectly happy to let Dad run Sweet Dreams), but she had a gift for relationships. She’d even had a couple of relationship books published with a small publisher and before Waldo died she’d been about to start on a new book, Secrets of a Happy Remarriage.
Samantha hoped that now Mom would turn her attention to learning how to have a happy life—with no marriage. At least, no marriage until they could get the business off the critical-care list and Samantha was put officially in charge.
The sooner, the better. Her first order of business would be to rehire Lizzy, who Waldo had fired in a misbegotten attempt to economize. She only hoped Lizzy would come back and help her sort through this mess.
She heaved a sigh. Here her mother was grieving and all she could think about was saving the family business. What was wrong with her? Did she have a calculator for a heart?
“Now I’d like to give the rest of you a chance to say something about Waldo,” Pastor Jim said.
He made me nuts probably wouldn’t cut it. Samantha stayed seated.
Lots of other people were happy to oblige, though.
“He was the most generous man I ever met,” said Maria Gomez, his regular waitress at Zelda’s. “He gave me two hundred dollars to get my car fixed. Just like that. Said not to worry about paying him back.”
Samantha pressed her lips firmly together and envisioned hundred-dollar bills with wings flying away, circling ever upward and off toward Sleeping Lady Mountain.
You do have a calculator for a heart. People were talking about how nice Waldo had been, and all she could think about was money. She was a terrible person, a terrible, terrible person. She hadn’t always been like that, had she? A tear slipped from a corner of her eye.
Ed York, owner of D’Vine Wines, stood. “I can still remember sitting with Waldo out on his deck, looking at the mountains, sharing a bottle of wine, and him saying, ‘You know, Ed, it doesn’t get any better than this.’ That Waldo, he sure knew how to enjoy life.”
While everyone around him was pulling out their hair.
“He was a dear soul,” old Mrs. Nilsen said. “Last month he stopped in the freezing cold to change my tire when I had a flat on Highway 2.”
On and on went the praise. Good, old, wonderful Waldo. Everyone here would miss him—except his rotten, ungrateful, Scrooge-in-drag, calculator-for-a-heart stepdaughter. She was pathetic. Another tear sneaked out of her eye and trickled down her cheek.
Pastor Jim finally called a halt to the festivities and the party made its way under cloudy skies to Festival Hall, where everyone could mingle, sing Waldo’s praises further and devour cold cuts and potato salad. Inside, the three sisters smiled and commiserated.
Waldo’s brother and his daughter, Wanda, had flown in from the East Coast. Taking in the woman’s red eyes as she approached, Samantha managed to find empathy in the swirl of guilt and resentment and frustration she was experiencing
“I’m sorry we’re having to see each other again in such sad circumstances,” Wanda said.
“So are we,” Cecily told her.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” Samantha added. And she was. She knew how horrible it was to lose a father and she wouldn’t wish that on her worst enemy.
Wanda dabbed at her eyes with a soggy tissue. “I can’t believe he’s gone. He was the best father. And he was always so positive, so upbeat.”
So clueless. “I wish we could turn back the clock,” Samantha said.
Wanda sniffed and nodded. “You were all so good to him.”
Samantha couldn’t think of anything to say to that. She hardly wanted to confess that during the past few months she’d been anything but good.
Cecily stepped into the gap. “He was a nice man.”
True. He was just a bad businessman.
“He sure loved Muriel,” Wanda said. “He was so lonely after Mother died. Muriel gave him a new lease on life.”
“And I don’t know what her life would’ve been like without him,” Samantha said.
“I think Muriel would like to hear that, Wanda,” murmured Waldo’s brother, Walter, as he led their long-distance stepsister away.
“I need a drink,” Samantha said.
“Great idea,” Bailey agreed, and they all drifted over to the punch bowl.
Samantha really wasn’t much of a drinker, but a good stiff belt sure seemed to help a lot of movie characters through stressful moments and right about now she was willing to give it a try. “I wish this was spiked,” she muttered.
Bailey looked across the room at their mother. “I feel so bad for Mom.”
Muriel Sterling-Wittman sat on a folding chair framed by the weak winter light coming through the window behind her, a beautiful tragic figure starting the new year alone. Her basic black dress discreetly draped her Betty Boop curves and her hair was still the same shiny chestnut it had been when Samantha was a girl, courtesy of the geniuses at Sleeping Lady Salon. The green eyes Waldo once raved about were bloodshot from crying but still looked lovely thanks to lashes thick with waterproof mascara. Half the men in the room were hovering around with tissues in case she found herself in need.
“Well, at least we won’t have to worry about her being lonely,” Bailey said. She was the spitting image of their mother and the most like her, as well—sweet, positive and naive.
Cecily gave a cynical snort. “Much good any of those men will do her. They’re all married.”
“Not Ed,” Bailey pointed out.
“He’s got the hots for Pat over at the bookstore,” Samantha said, and mentally added, Thank God.
“Arnie’s not married,” Bailey said. “Neither is Mayor Stone. Or Waldo’s brother. Wouldn’t it be sweet if—”
Samantha cut her off. “Let’s not even put that thought out in the universe.” All they needed was another man coming along and convincing Mom that the third time would be the charm.
“Look at them. Waldo’s barely gone and they’re already circling around her like some old-guy version of The Bachelor.” Cecily shook her head. “Men.”
“You know, for a matchmaker you sure have a sucky attitude,” Bailey observed.
“Where do you think I got it?” Cecily retorted.
“How do you manage to stay in business?” Bailey asked in disgust.
“By staying superficial.” Cecily gave them a wicked grin.
Cecily was the only blonde in the family and she was the prettiest of them all with perfect features and the longest legs. Samantha had been cute with her red hair and freckles, but it was Cecily the boys drooled over. Still, in spite of her good looks, Cupid had never been kind to her. So far she’d gone through two fiancés. Samantha didn’t understand how Cecily could make money matching up beautiful people in L.A. but couldn’t seem to get it right when it came to her own love life.
Like you’re doing so well?
Touché, she told her snarky self.
“You’re enough to make a woman give up on love,” Bailey muttered as she nodded and smiled politely at old Mr. Nilsen, who was ogling her from the other side of the hall.
“That would be the smart thing to do,” Cecily said.
“Well, I don’t think Mom’s ready to give up on love. Maybe you could match her up with someone,” Bailey suggested.
“No!” Several people turned to stare and Samantha downed a slug of punch in an effort to put out the fire in her cheeks. What was wrong with her? Could a woman suddenly get Tourette’s at thirty?
The wicked in Cecily’s grin kicked up a notch. “I know what you mean. No one will ever be able to replace Waldo.”
“I liked Waldo, I really did,” Samantha said. “But no more men. I’ve got enough to deal with already.”
“Gosh, Sammy.” Bailey frowned at her.
Samantha frowned back. “Hey, baby sister, you two get to go back to sunny California and match up lonely millionaires and cater events for starlets. I’m the one stuck with the fallout here.”
Cecily sobered. “I’m sorry. You’re right. We’re leaving you with a mess. You’ve got the business to sort out, plus Mom’s affairs.”
“Except if anyone can do it, you can, Sammy,” Bailey said, linking arms with her.
Samantha sighed. As the oldest it was her job to be the rock everyone leaned on—although right now she didn’t feel like a rock. She felt like a pebble on a beach about to be swept away by a tsunami.
And her own mother had been the one to unwittingly drop her there. She and Muriel loved each other dearly, but they often disagreed. And before Waldo died they’d disagreed a lot, especially when Samantha tried to get her mother to talk sense into him.
“He’s not feeling well,” Mom kept saying, but when pressed for details she’d remained vague.
Maybe the poor guy’s heart had been acting up all along. Maybe he’d been so worried about his bad health he hadn’t been able to concentrate and that was why he’d made such poor decisions. Except that didn’t explain his odd purchases. Or the answers he’d given her when she asked about them.
“A man needs to be able to protect what’s his,” he’d said when she’d questioned him about the gun.
“In Icicle Falls?” she’d countered. The biggest crime they’d had all year was when Amanda Stevens keyed Jimmy Rodriguez’s Jeep after he’d cheated on her with another girl. And Jimmy hadn’t pressed charges.
“You never know,” Waldo had hedged. “I saw someone. In the parking lot.”
“Doing what?” she’d asked.
“He was following me. And don’t tell your mother,” he’d said. “I don’t want to worry her.”
Like he’d just worried his stepdaughter? Then there’d been the water.
“We could have an avalanche and be trapped here for days,” he’d said.
She’d let that slide, too. Until things started getting really bad. And then, just when she’d decided she and her mother would need to have a very unpleasant conversation, Waldo had walked from their house on Alpine Drive into town and keeled over dead right in front of Lupine Floral. Poor Kevin had dropped the roses he’d been storing in the cooler and run out to give him CPR while his partner, Heinrich, called 9-1-1, but Waldo was dead within minutes.
And now she was stuck dealing with the mess he’d left behind. Her sisters were leaving on Monday and she was the one who’d be dealing with their mother and figuring out how to pay the people who depended on Sweet Dreams for their livelihood. Great-grandma Rose, who’d started this business on a dream, was probably turning in her grave at what her descendants had done to it.
Samantha frowned at her half-empty punch cup. The glass is half empty…the glass is half full. Either way, “This stuff needs booze.”
Chapter Two
Your biggest asset is your family.
—Muriel Sterling, Mixing Business with Pleasure: How to Successfully Balance Work and Love
Two hours later, friends and extended relatives had exhausted themselves on the topic of Waldo and consumed all the potato salad and cold cuts. The party was over. Sent on their way with one final hug from Olivia Wallace and a paper plate containing half a dozen lemon bars, the three sisters and their mother stepped outside to a cold, cloudless night.
Mom looked as drained as Samantha felt. Only Mom’s exhaustion was from pure grief. Samantha’s was contaminated by a less pure mixture of feelings.
“I’ll follow you guys back to the house,” she said, and went in search of her car.
It was now five-thirty on a Friday afternoon and the old-fashioned lampposts along Center Street stood sentinel over a downtown shopping area about to go to sleep for the night. Nearby restaurants like Zelda’s and Schwangau would open for business, but here, on what the locals dubbed Tourist Street, the shops were closed and only a smattering of cars remained.
Samantha loved their little downtown, its park with the gazebo and multitude of flower beds, its cobbled streets edged with quaint shops, the mountains standing guard over it. Normally this time of year the mountains would have worn a thick blanket of snow, and both cross-country and downhill skiers, as well as snowboarders, would be in town for the weekend, shopping, eating in the restaurants, enjoying the little outdoor skating rink and admiring the Bavarian architecture. But these days there were few visitors. It had been a lean year for snow. Heck, it had been a lean year, period, and several once-thriving shops were now shuttered.
Businesses going under—don’t even think about that.
Too late. That was all it took to make her angry once more about her own company’s troubles and she had to remind herself that her world, unlike her mother’s, had not come to an end. Somehow she’d manage to pull the business from the brink but Mom would never have her husband back. This was the second one she’d lost in five years. What was that like, to be in love and happy and lose it all not once but twice? Samantha thought back to her own romantic troubles and realized she had no point of reference. She could only imagine.
She needed to be a supportive daughter, lock any negative thoughts inside her head and keep her big mouth shut. Mouth shut, mouth shut, mouth shut. She chanted it for the last several steps to her car. Then she got in, closed the door and said it one more time. “Mouth shut.” Okay. She was ready.
She got to the house to find Cecily starting a fire in the big stone fireplace, the sound of crackling cedar already filling the great room. Bailey was arranging cards along the mantelpiece where Waldo’s ashes reposed in a brass urn, while in the kitchen Mom made tea. The plate of lemon bars sat on the granite countertop. It was a regular postwake party.