Colorado Christmas Page 6

  Jason Whitby tried again.

  “You haven’t allowed us to present our client’s case, Your Honor.”

  Becky pinned him with a glare. “You don’t need to,” she said. “I want cool heads to prevail in this matter. The protest group has the right to try to find a solution. Your client won’t suffer if they have to wait another thirty days. However, the demolition of those buildings will have a lasting and possibly devastating effect on this town.” She signed the papers granting the injunction and returned them to Will O’Malley via the bailiff.

  “Thank you, Your Honor,” he said, then turned to the audience with the papers clenched in his fist. The courtroom erupted in loud cheers, accompanied by a great deal of backslapping.

  Becky let them celebrate, wondering how the Denver papers would report this, then stood and walked out of the courtroom.

  WILL SAT ON A STOOL at Rusty’s Bar and Grill, nursing a beer, but he found it hard to join in the festivities. He’d woken at 3:00 a.m. in the grip of a nightmare about the avalanche. He’d felt moody and disoriented this morning. And he’d been afraid he might not be able to present SOB’s case in court today without having a panic attack.

  He’d had several nightmares since the avalanche. Mind-numbing, limb-numbing, heart-palpitating episodes that left him in a cold sweat and wondering if he’d function like a normal human being ever again. He’d worked hard on maintaining the facade of being in control, when deep down he thought he’d go to pieces—thought he’d mess up and let everyone down. They all had such blind faith in him. They’d won today. But what about next week? Next month? Next year when the development company had triumphed and the buildings were completely razed and replaced by an ugly mall and hundreds of condos?

  Snap out of it! he told himself and took a long draft of beer, then choked as he was slapped on the back for what seemed the thousandth time that day.

  “You’ve been uncharacteristically quiet,” his brother Jack said. “What’s up?”

  Will shook his head. “Nothing much.” He wasn’t ready to reveal his fears to Jack, but then he reconsidered. Jack was the least judgmental of his brothers and always willing to lend an ear. He’d resigned from the priesthood a couple of years ago, giving little explanation to his family. He’d then trained as a carpenter and was developing a reputation for restoring Victorian homes. Jack worked long hours and, as far as Will was aware, hadn’t dated since moving back to Spruce Lake.

  “I’m trying to figure out our next move,” Will said, pushing aside some tinsel that had fallen onto the bar. “I wish we had the funds to buy back the buildings.”

  “Fat chance, even with Frank donating wads of money every day.”

  That finally raised a smile from Will. Frank was making daily donations to the cause in order to see more of Mrs. C. She hadn’t forgiven him for “the Louella Incident” yet, but she did offer a smile of encouragement whenever he stuffed money into the donation tin on her counter. Which, of course, encouraged Frank to donate more. They were also now both signatories to the SOB fundraising account.

  In Will’s opinion, it was only a matter of time until Mrs. C.’s heart thawed and she and Frank would be dating like teenagers again.

  “Have you thought of having that ranch land of yours valued?” Jack asked. “You might be able to buy those buildings yourself.”

  Will rubbed his chin. “Matt said the same thing. But I paid a pittance for it and can’t see how it could’ve increased all that much in value. You’re talking millions of dollars.”

  “Anderson’s old ranch got carved up into ten-acre housing lots last year and sold like hotcakes. You should look into it. It’s a pretty valley. You might be surprised by what the land is worth—”

  “Hey, Will!”

  If Will had been standing, he would’ve been knocked flat by the force of Lloyd Wilmott’s beefy paw landing in the middle of his back. The director of the ski patrol was a bear of a man standing over six foot six and built like a refrigerator. In spite of his size, he was hell on skis.

  “I hear you’re looking for a job. We need experienced people like you. Come and see me tomorrow.”

  During college, Will had been a member of the ski patrol. However, the strict discipline hadn’t really worked for him.

  He picked up a napkin to blot the sweat beading on his upper lip. This was exactly what he didn’t need. Someone pressuring him to go up the mountains. And save people. He cleared his throat before saying, “Thanks for the offer, Lloyd, but I’m kind of tied up with saving the buildings.”

  Lloyd clapped him on the back again, nearly sending Will’s beer flying. “Good man. Anything the ski patrol can do to raise public awareness, just let me know, okay?”

  “Thanks, I appreciate it. To be honest, I always figured I didn’t quite fit in with the ski patrol.”

  Lloyd frowned. “You’re kidding, right? Okay, so you’re a bit high-spirited, but you’re also fearless. I knew if there was any sort of emergency, you were the guy we could depend on. That’s why I want you back on the patrol. The pay’s increased since you were doing it, too.”

  Lloyd tipped back his head and chugged a whole beer, then set the bottle on the counter. He wiped his hand across his mouth. “You’ve got the right stuff, buddy.”

  Will’s spirits lifted at the heartfelt compliment. Maybe he should spend more time with Lloyd. The guy was doing wonders for his ego.

  “This town could use more people like you,” he said, clapping his big paw on Will’s shoulder. “I’ve gotta get home, but I wanted to say I hope you’re planning on staying for a while. The place always seems more lively with you around.”

  “If you took the job with the ski patrol, the judge might find you more attractive,” Jack suggested when Lloyd left.

  “It’s not an option, so forget it,” Will said, putting a stop to that line of conversation.

  “The development company is going to make a killing pulling down those buildings and putting up a mall and condos. But what if you raised enough money by selling off your land to buy them back? I could renovate some of those old beauties to create shops with apartments above them, similar to Mrs. C.’s. The houses would come back to life with some TLC. I’m not sure what you could do with the livery stables—maybe a museum. There are lots of possibilities. Plus there’s some land that could be used for more housing, keeping the Victorian theme, of course.”

  Will replaced his beer on the bar and looked hard at Jack. “What are you saying?”

  “Those buildings are brimming with the quaint charm that attracts people to Spruce Lake. Renovating them into a mix of retail and residential use would revive that end of town.”

  Will shook his head. “And Matt thinks I’m the dreamer in the family.”

  “What’s gotten into you?” Jack demanded. “You’re acting like a bear with a sore head. Where’s your enthusiasm? Where’s your vision?”

  “If selling off my land could raise the capital to buy the buildings—provided the company’s willing to sell them,” Will hastened to add, “I still couldn’t afford to renovate them. They’d sit derelict for another couple of decades.” His shoulders slumped. “And then everyone would blame me for letting that part of town go even further downhill.”

  “Don’t doubt yourself, Will, you can do this. I said I’d renovate the buildings. You know I’d do a great job and I’d enjoy the challenge. And you wouldn’t have to pay me, just give me that old church as payment for services rendered.” Jack smiled. “I like the idea of living in a converted church and I could make that little beauty into a decent home.”

  WILL WALKED BACK to Mrs. C.’s that night, his mind filled with ideas—provided he could buy back the old buildings. Jack’s suggestion of renovating the site into shops, apartments and housing had inspired him. They’d retired to a booth and spent the next few hours drawing floor plans of shops and apartments on the paper tablecloth. Rusty kept up a steady supply as Jack’s plans took shape. He was familiar with the size of th
e buildings and wasn’t a half-bad artist, Will decided as his brother drafted proposals for the overall appearance of the buildings.

  Restoring Main Street would necessitate Will’s staying in town long-term and, for the first time in his life, the prospect didn’t fill him with dread. Instead, he felt newly energized. Exhilarated.

  As project manager, he’d have a worthwhile and fulfilling job. It might even make him attractive to the judge.

  Chapter Seven

  Nicolas McBride was terrified.

  Johnny Cooper’s immense bulk blocked his way out of the school grounds, preventing him from crossing the street to the recreation center.

  “Goin’ for your therapy session again?” Johnny sneered.

  Nicolas fought the fear rising in his throat. “Yeah,” he said, not making eye contact, hoping and praying the much bigger boy would leave him alone.

  “When’re you gonna to learn to walk, kid?”

  “I don’t know. But I’m trying,” Nicolas said. Embarrassed about needing leg braces to help him walk properly, he didn’t need Johnny pointing it out to everyone within hearing distance.

  “Then try harder!” Johnny shouted and gave Nicolas a shove, sending him sprawling in the snow.

  A few of the other kids laughed—friends of Johnny’s, or kids who were scared of him, too. Nicolas fought back tears of humiliation as he tried to get to his feet, but it wasn’t easy on the slippery, snow-covered ground.

  None of the teachers were nearby and it didn’t look as if any of the spectators were going to come to his aid. Nicolas swallowed bitter tears as he tried to regain his footing, but the other kids just laughed harder. They all despised him.

  He’d been advanced two classes at Spruce Lake Elementary. His mother said being in a lower grade wasn’t intellectually challenging enough for him, but Nicolas hated being with the bigger kids—especially kids like Johnny.

  All he wanted was to be left alone. He hated being smart. It was no substitute for being physically normal. He didn’t fit in. He ate lunch alone and spent most of his day trying to keep out of Johnny’s way. He’d never again tell his mom he’d been bullied. Johnny had been really mad when he was hauled up to the principal’s office and he’d been even meaner since.

  “Get up, you dumb-ass weakling!” Johnny yelled, charging at Nicolas.

  Nicolas braced himself, expecting a kick to the ribs, but someone yelled, “Get lost, Cooper, you jerk!”

  Nicolas looked up into the face of an angel. “Come on,” she said, offering her hand and helping him to his feet.

  “Who’s yer girlfriend?” Johnny sneered.

  The girl released Nicolas’s hand and said, “As if you don’t know, you dumb bully! And in case any of your friends don’t know,” she said, surveying the group, “I’m Sasha O’Malley and this guy—” she drew a startled but grateful Nicolas toward her “—is a friend of mine. So don’t mess with him, okay?”

  The other kids backed off, but not Johnny. “You don’t scare me,” he scoffed.

  “Then maybe I will!”

  Another girl, a pint-size one, stood with her fists raised, lips pinched together in a grimace, eyes narrowed with challenge. Nicolas was scared of her, although she was at least six inches shorter than him.

  “Don’t waste your breath, Daisy,” the older girl said. “Johnny Cooper’s nothing but a bully.” She turned her attention back to him. “I can’t wait till you go to middle school, you rat. Maybe someone there’ll beat you up, the way you like to beat up kids who’re weaker than you.”

  Nicolas wasn’t happy about being called “weaker,” even if it was true. He wished the ground would open up.

  “Well, I’m not weaker’n him!” the little girl yelled. She ran at Johnny and punched him in the jaw. Johnny went down and she leaped on him.

  Then all hell broke loose. Sasha yelled, “Run!” at Nicolas while the little kid squabbled in the snow with Johnny. Despite her entreaties, Nicolas was glued to the spot, unsure what to do—help the little girl before Johnny got the upper hand and killed her, or run away as Sasha commanded. Although Johnny was twice her size, the little kid flipped him over and pinned him to the ground just like Nicolas had seen cowboys do to calves in the rodeo. She straddled Johnny’s back, grabbed a fistful of his hair and pulled it back.

  “Go! Now!” Sasha cried again, pushing Nicolas toward the school gate.

  The rest of the other children had cleared off, standing a safer distance away. Nicolas still couldn’t decide what to do, but the little kid and Sasha were giving him a chance to escape. So he took it, moving as fast he could across the road to the safety of the rec center before Johnny could push the little kid off and come after him.

  Now, as he sat waiting for his therapy session, he felt cowardly for running away. He should’ve stayed and helped the girls—although he had no idea what help he would’ve been. They sure were brave. And the little one was really tough! He’d have to find them at school tomorrow and thank them.

  He wouldn’t tell his mom what had happened, otherwise she’d march right up to school and demand Johnny be punished. And then Johnny would punish him!

  Nicolas had learned his lesson—keep quiet and pretend everything was all right, rather than speak up and make more trouble for himself.

  WILL STROLLED INTO the Spruce Lake Recreation Center. Situated on the lakefront and across the street from the elementary school, it was an impressive indoor complex that served the county and consisted of a twenty-five-meter pool, hot tubs, a sauna, steam room, exercise facilities and squash courts. A hydrotherapy pool was separated from the main pool by full-length glass paneling.

  Will waved at Jessie Sullivan, an old school friend and now a physical therapist, as she worked with a client in the hydro pool.

  Since he couldn’t even think about going skiing without provoking a panic attack, he’d decided that swimming would be the next best exercise. He dived in and concentrated on powering up and down the pool, lap after lap. By the start of the fifteenth lap, he was feeling the effects of the high altitude and lack of oxygen.

  Cruising to a stop at the shallow end, Will lifted his head to catch his breath and found a pair of legs three inches from his nose. They were kid’s legs and were encased in braces below the knees. Will glanced up and was met by appraising blue eyes.

  “Hi. You’re a good swimmer,” the kid said.

  “Thanks.” Will caught his breath. Didn’t want the kid thinking he wasn’t fit. “Coming in?”

  “I’m not allowed to swim in this pool.”

  Will looked from side to side. “Who says?” he asked and raised his fists. “I’ll show ’em!”

  The kid laughed. “You’re funny.”

  “Why aren’t you allowed in this pool?”

  He made a face and said, “Mom says it’s too dangerous. I’m only supposed to go in the hydro pool with Jessie. I do therapy with her.”

  That would explain the leg braces. “Jessie’s a good therapist. Is she teaching you to swim?”

  “Nah. We just do boring stuff. I’m not strong enough to swim freestyle.”

  The kid gazed longingly at the other swimmers as they did laps up and down the pool at a more leisurely—and more sensible—pace than Will had.

  He sensed a vulnerability in the child and a yearning as he watched the swimmers. For Will, learning to swim had come as easily as breathing, but life had thrown this kid a curveball. “I’ll teach you to swim if you want to give it a try,” he said.

  The kid’s eyes lit up. “You mean it? Wow! You really mean it?”

  Will admired his enthusiasm. “Sure. What’s your name?”

  “Nicolas.” He thrust out his hand.

  Will hauled himself out of the pool and shook the kid’s hand. He was a cute kid. Red hair, freckles…leg braces.

  Nicolas stared up at him. “You’re real tall.”

  Will grabbed his towel and wiped the water from his face. “Nah, only about six-two. You’ll be tall one day.”
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  The kid gestured down at his leg braces. “I dunno.”

  “Swimmers are usually tall,” Will said, not knowing if this was true, but it might cheer the boy up.

  “Really? I want to be tall. And swim in a race,” he said.

  “If you wish for something hard enough, it’ll come true,” Will told him, thinking the kid might well end up learning to swim.

  “I wish I had a dad.” As if realizing that wasn’t possible, the kid said, “I wish I could get a dog for Christmas.”

  Hell! Leg braces and no father. The kid had it rough.

  “There you are!” Jessie said, joining them. “I see you’ve met an old school friend of mine, Nicolas.”

  “He’s going to teach me how to swim.”

  Jessie glanced up at Will, her eyebrows raised. “Really? And when does he propose to do that?”

  “When he gets his mom’s permission.”

  “Good luck! She’s extremely overprotective,” she added in an undertone. “You’ll need to produce documented evidence of certification as a swim instructor. Advanced level.”

  “A level-three ski instructor’s certificate won’t do?”

  Jessie giggled. “Hardly!” She smiled at the kid. “Ready for your session, Nicolas?”

  “Sure. Nice meeting you,” he said to Will, then ambled with an awkward gait toward the hydrotherapy pool enclosure.

  “What’s his problem?” Will asked.

  “Slight cerebral palsy. But he’s smart as a whip and a great kid.” She turned to Will. “That was sweet of you, offering to teach him to swim.”