Cedar Creek Seasons Read Online Free PDF

met a woman in Door County who’d turned the farm her father had built into an artists’ retreat, complete with a round fireplace room at the base of the silo. She could envision one huge, airy, vault-ceilinged loft space, filled with paintings and sculptures from all over the world, all lit with multifaceted LED lights hanging from invisible cords. On one end would be an efficient but lush studio apartment. If his car was any indication, it would be ripe with color. Wilson wasn’t home and she couldn’t wait to explore his digs.
    She turned off the car and the music that had turned her thoughts heavenward. The wipers stopped. Icy beads scudded across the windshield. The wind had picked up and leaden clouds promised more snow. She zipped her jacket to the top, flipped up her hood, and grabbed her cleaning bucket. Head down, she walked up the flight of stone steps leading to a red-painted door. A wrought iron handle creaked as she turned it and stepped in—to a galley kitchen the size of her laundry room.
    He’d said his place wasn’t big, but she’d assumed, when he said he owned a barn, that he meant not big compared to the Milwaukee Art Museum or the Louvre. She took in white walls, off-white cupboards, and almond-colored appliances. Efficient, yes. Lush, not so much. She walked toward the next doorway, prepared to gasp.
    She did.
    The room was about the same size as Del and Ralphy’s. Nice for a bedroom—nowhere near big enough for a living room that doubled as a studio. Paintings took up every available nook, but nothing decorated the walls except a framed Bible verse. The room did have one redeeming feature. A drab, blue curtain hung on the far end, but no window coverings blocked a wall of tall windows framing an art-inspiring view of heavily wooded hilly acres divided by a creek.
    Three medium steps took her to a stark neutral-walled bathroom where a person could do one’s business while simultaneously washing hands in the sink and soaking feet in the tub.
Efficient
.
    In the bedroom, a high antique bed was pushed against one wall. A carved highboy dresser and a ladder-backed chair left just enough room for one person to walk sideways to the head of the bed. Very cozy. But then, she’d never been claustrophobic. Put Elsa in this room and she’d jump out the window.
    And that was that. It would take her all of about twenty-eight minutes for a thorough cleaning. She took off her jacket and rolled up her sleeves as she walked back to the kitchen.
    A bold font on a neon gold flyer balancing precariously on a stack of magazines caught her eye.
    W IN O NE Y EAR’S F REE R ENT —
P RIME RE TAIL L OCATION
    “Sponsored by the shopkeepers of Cedar Creek Settlement.” If anyone needed business space, it was Wilson Woodhaus.
    She scanned the fine print. A committee would narrow entries down to four. The winner would be decided by the public. Whoever got the most votes would have a twelve-hundred-square-foot shop rent-free for a year.
    Twelve hundred square feet? Cedar Creek Settlement?
Are you kidding?
“Forget him.
I
want this.”

Chapter 5
    T he old stone building, webbed with dormant ivy vines, rose before her like a promise.
Your future awaits
, it whispered. The wrought iron arch over Willow’s head proclaimed C EDAR C REEK W INERY . On a snow-blanketed second-story sill, three pudgy earthen crocks huddled beneath a weathered board announcing C EDAR C REEK P OTTERY .
    And what will I call my shop?
She opened the right side of the bright blue double doors. “Cedar Creek Children’s Chair Company” had a nice alliterative ring to it. “Five Cs” for short. She’d have to order a new branding iron.
    The old plank floor groaned as she walked through the winery and up a half flight of stairs. Elsa’s shop was straight across the hall. The store was void of customers but filled with rack upon rack of clothes from days gone by. Willow fingered a beaded lace collar on a wasp-waist red velvet gown with