Page 322 of Screwged for Christmas

Kids? She was slightly afraid to ask how many. The wife who looked ready to pop any second, playfully slapped at her husband before they moved past her and stepped into the foyer. “Mrs. Winters, we presume?” they turned and asked in unison.

Momentary dumbstruck, Ivy quickly stacked the luggage beside the small registry desk Where the hell were those logs? “Um. No, well yes, but I think you’re referring to my grandmother. She’s not here right now.” But boy, would she hear about this in epic proportions!

“Sorry we’re early,” confirmed the gentleman with a rueful grin. “The missus here didn’t want to wait,” he continued as he pressed a tender kiss to his wife’s forehead. “We tried calling yesterday before our flight but didn’t get an answer. With the new baby on the way we thought we better get a jump on the holidays, you know what I mean?”

“Oh, yes. Um, I’m so sorry. We had problems with the power. I don’t really know how to say this, though. We really aren’t open at the moment.” She sounded like a heel just saying that and immediately wanted to take it back.

“Oh, please Ms. Winters.” Just as the overly pregnant woman reached out to place a hand on her arm, several smaller versions in various sizes of the older man came barreling through the front door. Boots, Stetsons, Wranglers… all miniaturized for a range of kids, from just learning to walk with the help of an older sibling to heartbreaker territory.

Snow trailed them into the inn and on their tails came a younger version of Max. Except this version competed with his human counterpart siblings in how loud he could howl.

A muffled sound like a car door caught her attention and she groaned when she spied another couple climbing out of a minivan.

“Please, miss. There’s not another place to stay within forty miles and I don’t think I can take another hour in the car with these boys. We do have a reservation. Can you squeeze us in a couple of days early?”

More like four days early. Days she needed. She wanted to play the bad guy, put her foot down and refuse. The place looked hideous and these people wanted to stay here?

Six sets of brown eyes and a puppy looked at her expectantly.

Ivy didn’t have the heart to say no. Stuffing three rowdy boys back into a car would make her a little crazy too.

She pulled a set of room keys out of the drawer and handed them to the gentleman. “You guys can have the Tom Sawyer room. Third door on the right. It’s the large suite for a large family.”

“Thank you, miss.”

“Please, call me Ivy.”

“Mighty obliged, Ivy.” He tipped his hat before leading his family up the stairs.

Ivy placed her palms on the reception desk and let her head fall forward.

So far Ivy Effect three and Ivy zero. She could win for losing, but keeping tally wouldn’t help anyone. Especially her.

A wisp of something caught her eye a second before the deafening chirp of a fire alarm rang out.

“Oh!” She gasped and bolted through the dining room only to skid into the kitchen as smoke boiled out from the edges of the oven. Ivy dove for her phone and punched in the only number she could think of.

She really needed to stop thinking she coulddoChristmas and give up already.

CHAPTER 12

It smelled like Christmas died. She officially killed Christmas. She was a Grinch and Max was well… Max. The irony was not lost on her there. She had watched the movie enough times to remember the villain’s cute pooch and hers shared the same name.

Ivy swung the oven door open to a face full of angry smoke that one at one time would have been beautiful little Christmas tree cookies and reindeer. Now black blobs of yuck stared back at her. She grabbed a mitten and reached in for the tray.

The hiss of grease was the only prelude to the flames that suddenly burst to life from the stove to her right.

“Oh Lord save me from myself!”

Ivy flinched and nearly fell backward over Max. “Watch out, Max!” She tossed the charred cookie tray on the counter. Ivy shoved him behind her as she picked up a lid from the countertop and beat back the pops of grease. A lick of yellow danced high as she inched closer to turn the stove off.

She tossed the pan in the sink, ready to grab the extinguisher when a flame flared too high. “Oh for Pete’s sake, what else can go wrong!” Blood rushed to her head.

With Max sprawled on his back at her heels, she did a lunge and pivot that rivaled Olympic skaters, snatched the extinguisher and nailed the curtains with a blast of foam.

The sink was next.

Once. Twice for good measure. From the side, smoke still clogged the kitchen and she nailed the charred blob of cookies too.

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