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“Yes!” Her excitement practically bursts through the phone. “Mack and I made several trays. They turned out so good!”

My heart squeezes. “I can’t wait.”

When we hang up, I smile.

Okay. Christmas is going to be okay. Maybe.

By the time I reach Bridger Falls, dusk is settling across the valley and my breath catches.

It’s absolutely beautiful with snow covering everything. Greenery wraps around storefronts, and it’s dusted with snow. Red bows decorate every black iron lamppost. Christmas lights glow softly against the white landscape. The gazebo beside the lake sparkles, covered in lights. A cart sells popcorn, hot cocoa, and cider.

Families walk through town carrying cups and shopping bags from little cozy shops that seem to have popped up. New ones I can’t wait to check out, like the coffee shop and bookstore Cami opened.

I roll my window down and take a deep breath of mountain air that smells like snow. God, I’ve missed this place.

Kids laugh and sled down the big hill. Christmas music drifts through the air from my car’s speakers.

Over by the gazebo, the man-made skating rink is packed, as usual. Or used to be. It’s a tradition to come here, skate, and get a hot chocolate at the end. Then we’d fall asleep on the way home, tired from skating and full of sugar. Mom took us every year. Until the year she died.

Then we never went again. Dad wasn’t interested in making our childhood magical with family traditions like Mom was. It’s like the fun part of our childhood stopped when she died. Jack Jessop Sr. cared more about getting richer than he did about taking care of his kids.

That’s when life became about survival and less about enjoying life. And now? I’m going to figure out how to enjoy life again.

7

jenna

This Place will Never Change

One minute I’m driving through downtown Bridger Falls, soaking in the twinkling lights and storefronts that look like they belong on the front of a Christmas card, and the next, my tires are crunching over the familiar gravel parking lot of The Black Dog.

I laugh to myself, because some habits never die. I turned in here out of habit.

The Black Dog Saloon sits exactly where it’s always been on the edge of town, looking warm and welcoming against the snowy backdrop. Solid and steady, no matter how much life changes, this place never will. And neither will the man who owns it.

For most people in Bridger Falls, The Black Dog isn’t just a bar. It’s home. It’s where Walker practically raised me and my brothers.

The food alone is enough to make people drive in from three counties over. Momma Mary has been running the kitchen since Walker opened the place years ago, and around here, her recipes are sacred. People have tried to bribe her for her biscuit recipe, begged for her chicken-fried steak seasoning, and even offered cash for her cinnamon roll glaze recipe. She just smiles, pats them on the shoulder, and tells them to come back tomorrow if they want another taste. She’s a legend and an icon.

Some things are worth protecting. And this is the place to go where you feel safe and welcomed. Whether you need a stiff drink or a heartwarming meal, it’s The Black Dog, and it’s the heart of Bridger Falls.

The old and faded wooden sign swings gently in the winter breeze. Snow drifts cover the top of it, and it shakes down in powdery drops on the front walk.

Warm white strands of light line the roof, and garland wraps around the porch railing with red bows. I bet Violet had a hand in that, because I don’t recall Walker ever decorating for Christmas like this.

Through the front windows, I can see the lights inside. When someone walks out the front door, I can hear people chattering and glasses and utensils clinking.

Home. That feeling settles deep in my chest.

Asher Walker, the owner, gave us something we didn’t have growing up. Stability. Our dad was absent for most of the time. Us kids relied on each other and Tessa, our ranch manager. She only stuck around for us kids. She couldn’t stand my dad. No one could, except himself. He did everything for himself and never cared about his kids. And very few people went up against Jack Jessop Sr. and won. He was a monster and destroyed anyone who got in his way. So, we all learned very quickly to stay away.

Dad was always chasing the next deal, dollar, shortcut, and person he could cheat and steal from. He didn’t care who it was. No one was off limits. And he practically ruined the Jessop name in Bridger Falls. It has taken my brothers and me a long time to show everyone that we’re not him. We’re a combination of the good people in this town who gave a crap about us.

Meanwhile, Walker was showing up every single time we needed him, or before we even knew we needed him. When I was sixteen, it was Walker who took me out in his truck and taught me how to drive. I close my eyes and smile, picturing the memories from that time. Walker was in the passenger seat, his big black cowboy hat on his head. His little daughter, Mack was in the backseat, cheering me on, too. He took me out several times a week until I had it down and never gave up on me. And somehow, by the end of that summer, thanks to Walker, I had my driver’s license. Hard to believe Mack’s seventeen now and she’s driving. My heart aches a little at the things I’ve missed by being away from Bridger Falls.

Walker gave me my first real job, wiping tables, rolling silverware, and cleaning up the bar on Sunday mornings. Then, when I came home from college during breaks, he’d always find me shifts because he knew I needed a place to belong. The same thing he’d done for Jack, Weston, and Tucker. Walker took care of all of us.

Walker also never missed our graduations or other special life events. When Jack was stationed in California during his military years, Walker and Mack even flew out to visit us. I was in college in L.A., and Jack was stationed there in San Diego. We all spent an entire weekend in San Diego like a family at a beach rental house. We played on the beach, ate fish tacos, haunted all the local tourist traps, and I still remember sharing a moment with Jack about how lucky we were to have Walker and Mack in our lives. They may not be blood, but they’re family.