Read Menace in Christmas River (Christmas River 8) for Free Online Page B

create more work for myself later in the evening.  
    Things were starting to get downright nasty outside. Though there had been snow in the forecast, I hadn’t heard the weather man say anything about the gusts. Or about the severe drop in temperature.  
    As I made my way through the crowded pub, I felt the color come back to my cheeks and felt them grow hot after being whipped so harshly by the wicked wind.
    It was Scottish Saturday at the pub – an idea that Warren had had to help trump up business during the long nights of winter, and as a way to win points with his Scottish wife, Aileen. And by the looks of the crowded house, Warren’s idea seemed to have been a good one. The place was jam-packed with folks in Scottish plaid looking to warm themselves up with some tasty Pacific Northwest beer and some friendly conversation. The Waterboys blared from the speakers, and the pub emanated a warmth that had as much to do with the crackling fireplace and good brews as it had to do with the fine folks running the establishment.
    At the moment, Geronimo Brewing Co. was what Warren would call hip-happening .  
    “Cin, you look like you’ve just jumped out of the oven,” Warren said as I came around behind the bar and draped my jacket on the coat rack. “Your cheeks are redder than Rudolph’s nose!”
    “Yeah, they feel it, too,” I said.  
    Warren craned his neck to get a better view of the front window that faced Main Street.
    He shook his head.  
    “I smelled it coming all day,” he said.
    “Smelled what coming?”
    I rolled up my sleeves and grabbed an apron from beneath the counter.
    “The storm,” he said. “Weather folks think it’s going to be just a little guy. But I saw those clouds this morning. They were the color of blood and smelled like trouble. And what’s more, they were conspiring together.”
    He shook his head again.
    “I haven’t seen clouds quite like those in a long, long time,” he said. “I’d say we’re in for some pretty nasty weather these next few days. I just hope that the flight doesn’t get cancelled tomorrow.”
    A glum look came across my grandfather’s face.
    Warren had planned a special Valentine’s Day trip for him and his sweetie to Phoenix for a few days, and their flight was set to leave tomorrow morning.
    I glanced out the window past a row of customers into the dark night. Big, ominous clumps of the white stuff swirled beneath the glow of the streetlamps.
    “I’m sure it’ll be fine,” I said, trying my best to reassure him. “Once you get up out of the clouds tomorrow, it’ll be just pretty blue skies from here to Arizona.”
    He rubbed his chin, still looking out the window.
    “I wish I had your optimism, Cin,” he said. “Though I guess if our flight gets cancelled, then we’ll get a chance to see you judge at the Chocolate Showdown tomorrow.”
    He winked at me.
    “Aw, if I were you, I’d take some sun and quality pool time over the Chocolate Championship any day of the week,” I said.
    He put an arm around my shoulder and kissed the top of my head.
    “Did I tell you how proud I was of you?”
    I grinned, patting his back.
    “Yes, only about two dozen times or so,” I said.
    He chuckled some.
    “Well, I can’t help that I’m going senile,” he said. “But just so I remember this time, we’re so proud of you, Cinny Bee.”
    I felt myself practically beaming.
    “Thanks, old man,” I said. “It means a lot coming from you.”
    Good old Warren.
    After a moment of basking in the feeling, I tied the apron securely around my waist, preparing to get down to work.
    “How’s business been tonight?” I asked.
    “ Hip-happening ,” he said in a sing-song tone. “Folks around here love their Scottish Pub Nights.”
    I grinned.
    “Thanks again for helping out, Cinny Bee,” he said. “Gives Aileen a chance to make one last batch of the Spruce Stout before we head out tomorrow.”
    “It’s not a problem at all,” I said. “You know