An Old Fashioned Christmas, page 1
AN OLD FASHIONED CHRISTMAS
THE WORTHINGTONS
KATHRYN KALEIGH
To learn more about Kathryn Kaleigh, visit
www.kathrynkaleigh.com
1
ISABELLA FLEMING
Boys. Did they all have to be such idiots?
Especially my brothers. They were the worst.
And I happened to have the misfortune of having three of them, all older.
It was a beautiful day for flying. With the deep roar of the engine surrounding me, I could fall into an almost meditative state, allowing my thoughts to wander where they would.
I leveled the airplane off at ten thousand feet. My favorite height for flying. From this elevation I could see rivers and patches of green fields and forests. Towns, all connected by highways. Sometimes I found myself following the roads with my eyes. Imagining what it would be like to be down there. Driving a car. It wasn’t that I didn’t drive. I had a sweet little BMW that I drove all around Houston. But still… I couldn’t help but wonder.
Where would I be going?
The pale blue sky stretched out in front of me, the morning sun reflecting off wisps of white clouds blending with the hazy edge of the earth at the horizon.
It was four days before Christmas and I had to clean up my brother Greyson’s mess.
I had no complaints about flying. It was what I was born to do. They said I had my Grandpa Noah’s genes. The highest of all compliments.
If there was ever a better man born, I would have to meet him to believe it.
Houston born and bred, I’d lived there all my life. As a pilot, I had made hundreds of stops at cities, small towns, even airports in the middle of nowhere. But I had never taken a road trip. Not once. Not even in college. Our idea of a road trip back then was grabbing a classmate, hopping into a Cessna, and flying someplace for a lunch or even a dinner.
My gaze swept automatically over the gauges and monitors. This Phenom lived in the little town of Whiskey Springs, Colorado, deep in the mountains just west of Denver. But my brother, also a pilot, and his new bride had left it in Houston when they boarded a commercial flight to someplace in Eastern Canada.
So now I had to get the plane to Whiskey Springs so my other brother, also a pilot, could put it back into commission. This airplane was currently the only Skye Travels airplane housed in Whiskey Springs by my grandfather’s private airline company.
Grandpa Noah Worthington had taken a single little Cessna airplane and used it to establish the foundation of a successful company. One that rivaled the big airlines.
When newly licensed pilots went searching for jobs, the most coveted was working for Skye Travels owned and run by Noah Worthington. And his children and their children. Skye Travels was family owned and family run along with dozens of other pilots, some even living in other parts of the country. It was a modern world, after all. But Houston was the hub of it all.
After leaning over to grab a bottle of water, I adjusted the four-point harness across my shoulders and waist.
The Phenom’s stunningly beautiful piano black interior still smelled like new.
It was only the second time I had flown it.
And even though all three of my brothers lived in Whiskey Springs, this was the first time I had been to the little town.
All I had to do was to drop the airplane off, then get an Uber into Denver where I would catch a commercial flight back to Houston.
That was all.
I blew out a sigh. I was going to have a busy day.
As I caught a glimpse of the Dallas metropolis airport on radar, it occurred to me that I didn’t have a plane ticket back home. I couldn’t even remember the last time I’d flown commercial.
I needed to call the Skye Travels front desk to see if Maggie had taken care of that. Fortunately, the Phenom had Wifi.
2
WESLEY BENNETT
Lively piano music drifted from the first floor of the saloon, but it was quiet enough in my room. Quiet enough that I could hear the steady ticking of the round wooden clock across from the bed. There was no standard electric digital clock on the nightstand—just a phone charger. The room was an interesting merger of modern and old.
My room, at the end of the hall, held one queen sized four-poster bed, an antique mahogany dresser with drawers and a hanging rod. A small bathroom. No closet.
The saloon had been built in the 1800s. The first building in fact, built in Whiskey Springs. The slogan at the time had something to do with a never-ending flow of whiskey. And according to all accounts, they still had a steady supply of the famous whiskey. Interestingly enough, this had been both a saloon and a hotel back then, too. Some people lived in these rooms for various reasons such as while building their permanent homes.
If I stared out the window at the tall rugged mountain peaks in the distance and ignored the modern plumbing and electric, I could easily imagine myself back there in the 1800s.
A magnificent eagle flew across the valley, landing in one of the thousands of spruce, pine, and fir trees. There were a few aspen trees, too. The perfect elevation, as far as I was concerned.
I ran a hand down the window casing. This could very well be an original window frame. The glass with its imperfect waves was most definitely original.
The downstairs saloon level was interesting, too. A girl wearing a saloon-girl dress played the piano like there was no tomorrow. It was crowded, too. I’d been going to grab some lunch, but there were no empty tables.
I didn’t mind, really. I could put in an hour’s worth of work, then go back down and surely, by then, there would be an empty table or maybe even an unoccupied barstool.
It was four days until Christmas and outside of the typical tourist season, this was the busiest time of year for Whiskey Springs.
There was actually a Christmas tree in my room. A full six foot fully decorated Christmas tree. Everything in Whiskey Springs that didn’t move got draped with twinkling lights or garland or some kind of festive decoration.
If my room was on the other side of the hotel I would be able to look down at Main Street and would no doubt be able to hear the strains of Christmas music piped through speakers along the sidewalk.
If Christmas was a town, it would be Whiskey Springs.
I was supposed to have flown out today, but the private jet I was supposed to fly out on hadn’t arrived yet. Delayed in Houston.
I’d used the time to learn about the history of the town and soak in the ambiance. Ambiance that was currently Christmas trees and festive music and twinkling lights.
It was supposed to snow tomorrow, but I would be out of here by then. On my way to Pittsburgh… and Christmas… with family.
Since the airplane was delayed, maybe my luck would hold and it would snow enough tonight to keep me here a few days. Until after Christmas would be perfect. Didn’t seem like too terribly much to ask.
Wishful thinking, I told myself, as I turned away from the window.
I poured myself a glass of whiskey, mostly just because it was there, and studied the amber liquid as it swirled in the glass.
I sat in the armchair across from the bed and enjoyed having some time to just sit and think. It was so rare to have that.
The sparkling light from the chandelier overhead and the clear twinkling lights on the tree chased away any gloominess that might try to seep into the room.
This saloon… hotel… had a positive feel to it.
Might be the lights. Might be the lively music drifting from downstairs.
As one song ended, I imagined the girls changing out and another one sitting down to play. This one didn’t play quite as good as the one before, but if enthusiasm counted, she was holding her own.
I swirled the liquid some more, then took a sip. The whiskey burned all the way down my throat. I coughed. Glad I didn’t embarrass myself by trying to drink some of this downstairs. It was bad enough embarrassing myself in private.
My stomach growled, reminding me that I’d come upstairs to work while some of the lunch crowd cleared out. The bartender had offered to send up room service, but I hadn’t seen the need for that.
There was a fine line between isolating and needing a few minutes to just sit and think.
I opened the lid of my computer, used my fingerprint to unlock it, then stared at the blinking cursor.
Wasn’t much point in trying to work now. If I got lost in my work, I’d miss lunch altogether. I closed the lid and shoved the computer aside. I was a firm believer in working hard. But I also knew, from experience, that a break was needed now and then.
Balance. That was the key. Balance between work and play. Both were absolutely necessary to a healthy human condition.
The atmosphere here at the Whiskey Springs hotel—at Christmastime—made it difficult to focus on work.
I slid over a flyer with the Christmas activity schedule I had picked up downstairs.
Tomorrow night there was a Christmas tree decorating contest in the high school gym. The trees would then be donated to charity.
The next night there was some kind of narrow-gauge train ride. Sounded like something for kids. Then the next night—on Christmas Eve—there was a Christmas party for the adults, but according to the flyer, it was family friendly.
Whiskey Springs was a family-friendly kind of town.
I had no family of my own. I almost had, but things had gone sideways. Looking back, it was for the best. Bailey Monroe was not the kind of
She was model-beautiful and loved everything related to fashion, but it had been difficult to hold a conversation with her for more than a few minutes. She had a strange way of looking at the world. One that I never quite got the hang of.
But then I was the science guy. And even though they say opposites attract, the truth was that birds of a feather flock together.
So Bailey had flocked her way on over to a guy she’d dated in high school. They had reconnected on social media. Go figure. I’d wished her a happy life and happily gone about my way. It was funny, really. I often didn’t have a good sense of how I felt about a girl until after she was gone.
Instead of being upset about Bailey, I’d actually felt a sense of relief. That told me that I had dodged a bullet, so to speak.
Going over to the sink, I splashed cold water on my face. And I would actually call it ice cold, if I wanted to be precise.
Since I wasn’t getting anything done up here, I grabbed my phone off the charger and made my way back downstairs. If there wasn’t a table open yet, I would just wait.
3
ISABELLA
There was always more turbulence flying near the mountains. I suppose a pilot would get used to it, but being from Texas and serving that general southern area, the severity of the turbulence near the mountains always caught me off-guard. Today was no different.
Other than those couple of pockets of unexpected turbulence, my flight into Whiskey Springs was uneventful.
Grandpa Noah had taught me when I was knee-high to a tadpole that an uneventful flight was the only kind of flight that would let a pilot get old. Any other kind, especially the kind that involved a careless pilot would not end well.
I took the Phenom in for a smooth landing. I was good at landings. Probably my favorite part of flying. I’d practiced taking off and landing so many times that I could do it in my sleep. Not that I would. I still got that surge of adrenalin when I stepped into a cockpit. The kind that made it hard to believe that I was going to be the one to take this plane into the air and bring it safely back down again.
I stood on Main Street directly in front of the Whiskey Springs Saloon. Maggie, the person who had been running Skye Travels as long as I could remember, had made a reservation for me here. Said it was the only place in town that had a room available for tonight.
Sparkly Christmas lights twinkled up and down the street. And Christmas music blasted out of speakers up and down the street.
It was cold, cold enough for my heavy coat and cold enough that I wished I had gloves and a scarf, but not snowing. It seemed like it should be snowing.
I hoisted my overnight bag over my shoulder. I had everything I needed for an overnight stay. Hadn’t used the bag in a long time. It was supposed to be for unplanned stay-overs. I always packed a real suitcase for planned trips.
This was about as unplanned as they came, I guess. I was supposed to just drop off the airplane. What was it about Whiskey Springs? The little town had captured the attention of all three of my brothers AND my older sister. They had all four found their soulmates here. At least that’s what they all claimed.
This was just a little town in the mountains. How was it even possible that all four of my siblings had found true love here? And, to be quite honest, I was feeling a little nervous about being here.
I wasn’t dating anyone right now and the thought of fate bringing me here to meet someone just quite frankly scared me more than I could even think about.
I hadn’t even decided whether I wanted to get married or not.
Fate was one of those things like ghosts. I didn’t believe in them, but I didn’t not believe in them. I didn’t have enough evidence to make an informed choice either way. So I stayed neutral. Nonetheless, I had a healthy respect for both ghosts and fate. Enough that I tried to stay out of their way.
I heard piano music before I even pushed the saloon door open. Saloon. Hotel. Maggie insisted that I would like it. Apparently, since there was no way she could know that firsthand, she had learned it from one of my siblings. Right now I wasn’t too happy with my siblings, especially the one who had gotten me here, but all in all, I trusted their decisions.
A young lady dressed in an old west costume—a low-cut red ruffled dress and hair piled on top of her head, played the grand piano on one side of the room. The dining tables were all taken. And unlike the girl playing the piano, the people at the tables looked like regular, modern tourists and maybe some locals here and there.
The bartender standing behind the counter with the standard mirror behind him, making the bottles of alcohol look twice as abundant, was dressed in old-west fashion as well. And… it seemed like he must be the one I needed to talk to about my room since I didn’t see any other place to check in.
“You have a reservation?” the bartender asked. His name tag identified him as Wyatt.
“Yes.” I rested my tote bag on the nearest empty barstool. “Isabella Fleming.”
Wyatt produced a key. “Been expecting you,” he said. “One of the Flemings.”
“Yes,” I said, taking the oversized silver key from his hand. “Try not to hold it against me.”
Wyatt laughed. “Don’t worry. We’re Fleming friendly around Whiskey Springs.”
“Good to know,” I said, shouldering my tote bag and turning around to look for the best pathway to the stairs. “I’m just here for the night.” I glanced back at him over my shoulder.
Wyatt nodded, keeping his expression neutral. “Good luck with that,” he said.
“Thanks,” I said and kept walking. My brother was going to pay for this one. He owed me big time.
All I wanted to do was get up tomorrow, get to Denver, and board my airplane back to Houston. In the meantime, I would stay in my room.
If I stayed in my room, surely I could avoid whatever marriage fever had infected my siblings.
4
BENNETT
I had ended up spending most of my day walking about town. Managed to snag a few western themed trinkets for my family. A coffee mug with a grizzly bear on it. A t-shirt with Whiskey Springs splashed across the front. A coffee table book of paintings by one of the early founders, a woman by the last name of Auclair.
I’d sort them all out when I got to Pittsburg. Figure out who got what. I’d already bought some gift cards to wrap up, so everyone would get something they liked.
By the time the sun dropped below the rugged mountain peaks, I was freshly showered and dressed to go downstairs. I hadn’t gotten any work done all day, but I wasn’t concerned. I would make it up later.
Right now, I was thinking about some fried food and a whiskey.
Just before I headed out, my phone chimed with a text message. Scowling at Bailey’s name on my screen, I almost ignored it. But curiosity got the best of me. Even though she had burned her bridges with me, it wasn’t in my nature to ignore someone I’d cared about, even if we had broken up.
BAILEY: Just wanted to check in. Make sure you made it to Pittsburgh.
I did not want to start a conversation with Bailey. She was in my past. But I answered her anyway. I was, after all, a gentleman.
ME: Still traveling. Have a good holiday.
Then I turned off the volume and slipped my phone in my jacket pocket.
I just wanted to have a quiet evening to myself. I’d go downstairs, have a burger and fries. A whiskey. And come back up for an early night. The last notice I’d gotten from Skye Travels was that the plane had actually arrived and would be ready to leave at my convenience.
They apologized profusely for the delay and offered me a substantial discount on my next flight. I wasn’t sure whether to be impressed or wary. A little of both, actually. An apology with a marketing ploy.
Skye Travels had a stellar reputation, so I knew I was reading too much into it. They were apologizing for the flight not being here as promised.
Maybe I was actually a little disappointed since I’d sort of hoped I’d get another day out of the delay.
