Whiskey Holiday

by Crystal Daniels

  WHISKEY HOLIDAY

  MISTLETOE MONTANA

  SANDY ALVAREZ

  CRYSTAL DANIELS

  CONTENTS

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  1. Tannon

  2. Winter

  3. Tannon

  4. Winter

  5. Tannon

  6. Winter

  7. Tannon

  Epilogue

  Mistletoe Montana Series

  More Books By Us!

  Copyright © 2020 by Crystal Daniels & Sandy Alvarez

  All rights reserved.

  ( NOTE: This book is a work of fiction. )

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the authors’, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. It is not to be shared, sold or distributed in any way except from the authors. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Cover Artist: Yoly Cortez

  Image Provided by: Wander Book Club - Photographer: Wander Aguiar Photography

  This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it to the author and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of the authors.

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  GOODREADS

  Crystal Daniels

  Sandy Alvarez

  BOOKBUB

  Crystal Daniels

  Sandy Alvarez

  TANNON

  Sensing a pair of eyes on me, I roll over and crack my lids open to find Duke sitting beside the bed, staring at me with his head cocked to the side. Reaching over, I rub the top of his head."Morning, Duke."

  Blowing out a breath, I sit up on the side of the bed and stretch, working out the kinks in my back and neck. "Give me five minutes, boy," I tell Duke as I scrub my hand down my face and through my beard as I stand to make my way across the hall to the bathroom. After brushing my teeth and taking care of business, I step out of the bathroom and make my way into the kitchen with Duke on my heels. "Here you go, boy." I open the sliding glass door, and Duke rushes out into the yard as the blistering cold slams into my face. Leaving Duke to do his thing, I go about making myself a cup of coffee. As I'm staring out the kitchen window and watching Duke pounce around in the snow while waiting for the coffee to brew, I make a mental checklist of the things I need to do today. On the kitchen table behind me, my phone pings with an incoming text. Striding toward the table with my cup in hand, I snatch my phone up to see a text from Nash.

  Nash: Something came up. I'll be a few minutes late.

  I shake my head at his text. 'Something came up' is code for 'I'm banging my wife and will be late for work.'

  Me: Get off your wife and get your ass to the office. You know I have to stop by the site this morning and can't open it.

  Nash: Fuck. I forgot. I'll be there.

  Chuckling, I set my phone down and finish the rest of my coffee. Nash Stone has been my best friend for the past seven years. Nash and I served side by side in the Army during my last deployment. Not having any family, I enlisted straight out of high school and served my country for twelve years. Nash comes from a military family and also joined at eighteen. Both of us have been out for five years. I went back to Washington, whereas Nash came back here, to Mistletoe Montana. Then six months ago, Nash approached me with the idea of us opening our own business. Since leaving the service, I worked for myself doing restoration work on homes I had bought then flipped once I was finished with them. Working with my hands is something I have always loved, and I am good at it. I love taking something old and making it new again. And when Nash asked me if I wanted to open a business with him, I jumped at the chance. I also didn't hesitate to up and move to Mistletoe. Nothing was holding me back in Washington since I grew up in the system. Nash, however, is married with two kids. He and his wife are currently trying for baby number three. His whole life is in Mistletoe. So, six months ago, I loaded up what meager belongings I owned into my truck, and Duke and I made a move here.

  I didn't know what to expect when I moved to Mistletoe, but it sure as hell wasn't what I found. The people of Mistletoe love Christmas, and celebrate the holiday year-round. Three hundred and sixty-five days out of the year, Mistletoe Montana is like stepping into a winter wonderland. I found the town odd as fuck when I first moved here, but it didn't take long for the place to grow on me.

  Growing up, Christmas was not a big deal. I can't remember a single Christmas celebrated in a particular way.

  Nash likes to rib me by saying my moving here was fate because of my last name. Fuck if he's not right. With a name like Tannon Christmas, I can't argue that shit was fate.

  Duke scratching on the patio door pulls me out of my thoughts, and I walk over to let him in. "Let's get you fed before we go to the office." Duke goes straight to where his food bowl is and sits on his haunches while waiting for me to fill his dish. Duke is a German Shepard, and he has been by my side since the start of my last deployment. When my last tour ended, it took me eight months to get him back. For over seven years, Duke has been the one constant in my life; my companion. "We roll out in twenty, Duke," I tell him, pouring some kibble into his bowl. Duke lets out a bark as if to say he understands before he begins scarfing down his food.

  Twenty minutes later, Duke and I are climbing into my truck and making our way into town. The drive to the office only takes fifteen minutes. When I moved to Mistletoe, I rented the house I'm living in from Nash's parents. His dad is a realtor but also owns several rental properties around town. I have been meaning to bite the bullet and buy myself a place finally, but with getting mine and Nash's business off the ground, there hasn't been much time. I kind of like the idea of finding a fixer-upper. I make a mental note to call Mr. Stone and have him be on the lookout for something.

  Before going into the office, I head across town to the Wallace farm. Andrew Wallace owns a farmhouse that sits on ten acres of land. He bought the two-story house for him and his wife a few years ago. The couple has been slowly renovating the place, but they had to put the project on hold last year when the previous company they had hired ended up jerking them around.

  They contacted T & N Restoration the first week we were in business. Now, six months later, their home is nearly complete. I'm riding out there this morning to make my final walk through and to see if they are satisfied with the job Nash and I have done.

  As I make my way down the driveway toward the house, Andrew steps out onto his porch and waves. Putting the truck in park, I climb out, and Duke follows.

  "Good morning, Tannon. Hello there, Duke," Andrew pats Duke on the top of his head.

  "Hey, Andrew. How are you this morning, and how's Anna?"

  "I'm good. Anna's inside fussing with the kids. I'm taking them to the tree farm. Anna wants to get there early before all the good ones are gone."

  "Well, I won't keep you too long then. I came to do a final walkthrough."

&
nbsp; "No problem. Come on in. Can I offer you a cup of coffee?" Andrew asks.

  "I'm good, but thanks, man."

  Andrew and I spend the next fifteen minutes walking from room to room while I inspect the work my crew finished up a few days ago.

  "I have to say, Tannon, Anna and I are pleased with the work you all did here. I still can't believe this is the same house we first bought."

  "I'm glad you guys are happy with the results. Was there anything you could think of that we could have done differently?"

  Andrew shakes his head. "Nothing, man. I'm telling you; you all did a perfect job. You did everything exactly as we wanted."

  Nodding, I smile and offer Andrew my hand. "I'm happy I was able to help you achieve your vision."

  "After what we went through last time, you really saved us. Especially since you didn't charge what the work was worth."

  I shake my head and go to protest. Andrew cuts me off. "I looked up price quotes online and asked around to some out of town companies on what they charge. You charged me thirty percent less than what the work was worth, Tannon."

  "It was a fair price considering you took a chance on a new business. That and what you had been through with the previous company you paid to do the job. I only wanted you and Anna to have your dream home."

  "You gave us that and more, Tannon." Andrew shakes my hand and pats me on the shoulder. "Which is why Anna and I have been singing your praises every chance we get."

  "Appreciate that, Andrew."

  Andrew falls in step beside me as I walk back to my truck. "I'll stop by your office later this afternoon with a check for the final payment."

  "That'll work. I'll see you then." I give Andrew one last nod before climbing into the truck.

  As I'm driving through the town square, I take in all the tourists already filling the sidewalks as they make their way from shop to shop. Some have their hands full of shopping bags from Morton's Department Store, and some have ducked inside A Latte Like Christmas, the local coffee shop for something to warm their bellies. I also notice one family wearing their ski gear. No doubt headed for the slopes to spend the day skiing.

  A few minutes later, I arrive at the office to find Nash's truck parked out front. T & N Restoration is located directly in the middle of town in a quaint brick building next to a hardware store. The front of the building has a large window with our company name etched on it. It's been six months, yet I still have a sense of pride wash over me every day when I pull into my parking spot to see those letters on the window.

  As I walk inside, Duke brushes past me, making his way down the hall to my office to where his bed is. On my way there, I stop at Nash's office door and rap my knuckles on the open door. "Hey. Got any messages for me?"

  Nash looks up from his computer. "Hey, man. No messages. I'm just finishing up on this week's paperwork. How'd things go this morning? Was Andrew and his wife satisfied with the job?"

  "Yeah. He said he would be in later to take care of his balance."

  Nash nods. "That's cool. Will you be here when he comes by? I need to head out to the lumber yard. That shipment of ours came in a week early."

  "Shit. Really? That's good news. I'll call Mrs. Betty and let her know we can get started on her kitchen earlier than expected. She'll be pleased."

  Nash stands from behind his desk and throws his coat on. "Sounds good. I'm going to hit the road. There was a tree down on Elk Street, so that means I'll have to take a detour to the lumber yard. I want to get there before old man Cunningham closes for lunch. And you know how he is. He gets to talking to the ladies at the diner, and a thirty-minute break will turn into three hours. Last month my ass was waiting half the damn day for him to return."

  I chuckle cause he's right about the old man. "Alright, man. I'll catch you later." With a nod, I turn and make my way down the hall and into my office.

  WINTER

  "Seriously, Winter. You missed one hell of a party last night," Brinkley, my best friend, says. "Tammy was caught with her Christmas tinsel around her ankles, while Mr. Claus was giving her a big package if you know what I mean." I throw my head back, laughing. Brinkley has a unique way of telling a story. "She's giving Ho-ho-ho a whole new meaning this year," she says in a fit of laughter.

  Soapy water sloshes over the rim of the bucket as I sit it on the wood floor at my feet, creating a puddle beneath my boots. Wearing rubber gloves up to my elbows and my hair pulled back in a braid, I smile. Another day of scrubbing years of dirt off the floors and soot from the two stone fireplaces completed before work. "I hate that I missed it." I sigh. "Hell, between the bar, and this house, I haven't had free time to enjoy any festivities this year. My social life has become nonexistent."

  "Christian asked about you last night," Brinkley says, and I roll my eyes. "I heard your eyes roll into the back of your head." Brinkley chuckles. "Come on. What's wrong with Christian?"

  "He's a nice guy and all, but…"

  "He's safe—too dull?" Brinkley asks.

  I plop down on the living room sofa that faces the fireplace and stare at the flames dancing atop the burning logs. "I don't know, Brink—maybe?" I'm even questioning myself. "He's got everything going for him; a steady job, good looking, doesn't live with his parents. The rational part of my brain says to give him a chance, but everything else inside tells me to run the other way. I want more than stability. I want passion—to fall in love. I want that soul-sucking I can't live without them kind of feeling. A man who can make my toes curl just by the tone of his voice."

  "You read too many books, Winter. The man you just described only exits between the pages of a romance novel." Brinkley sighs. "I get it—I really do. Hell, to be honest, I want the same damn thing, but how in the hell are we supposed to find a man like that in Mistletoe?"

  Slumping against the back of the couch, I lean my head back, and stare up at the vaulted ceiling. "Maybe I'll find him under my tree on Christmas morning." My statement causes Brinkley to giggle, and I laugh with her.

  "Tell Santa I want one too. Listen, I got to run. I'll see you at work Peanut," Brinkley says, and I can hear the smile in her voice. It makes me look down at the inside of my wrist. No bigger than a penny, inked on my skin, is a small slice of bread with peanut butter tattooed. Brinkley has the same one; only hers is jelly. She's my other half. I've known Brinkley since we were in diapers. She's my ride or die—my soul sister. Our mommas call us peanut butter and jelly because where you find one, there is the other.

  "Later, Jelly," I say before ending the call.

  I glance around the room. I still can't believe I bought the Billings Chateau weeks ago. This old American Queen Anne style house has sat here empty and neglected for nearly five years. The bank and the rest of my family tried to talk me out of buying the old place, doing all they could to convince me it was nothing more than a money pit. Nevertheless, my heart was set on it—has been since I was a little girl when I used to ride out here with my grandad and visit his childhood friend Mr. Billings and his wife. They never had children of their own, so the home and land have sat here untouched. It needs a lot of work, but I'm determined to restore it to its original beauty.

  I stare at the work I've accomplished so far, taking in the rich mahogany featured throughout the house and the intricate carvings etched into the wood above every doorway. This 1897, 6000-square-feet home has a lot of history under one roof. If these walls could talk, the stories they could tell. That thought alone brings me so much joy. It's not much, but I have managed to clean almost every surface, from floor to ceiling.

  A bitter breeze causes me to shiver, reminding me to fix the seals around the front door, along with several broken window panes around the home.

  I stand, and lift the bucket off of the floor, and carry it to the kitchen, where I pull my gloves off and sit them on the countertop near the sink.

  I pour myself another cup of hot coffee, then grab my coat from the hook on the wall and slip it on. One downside to the home is
the furnace is acting up. Sometimes it works—sometimes it doesn't. Not ideal in the middle of a midwest winter, but, for now, I'm wearing extra layers of clothes, using the fireplaces and a small space heater to keep warm when needed.

  Grabbing the quilt I found tucked away in an old trunk this morning off the kitchen table, I drape it over my arm and walk across the room to the back door. The crisp December air greets me when I open the door and step outside onto the wrap-around porch. There's snow on the ground, and it's cold, but I love coming out here every morning.

  I settle in one of two rocking chairs nearby and drape the blanket across my legs, protecting myself from the cold. I sip on my coffee and listen to the sounds of the river that runs along the property's backside, which I can't quite see due to all the overgrowth.

  The Château sits on five acres of land, surrounded by trees and water. It's my own little slice of heaven here in Mistletoe, Montana. My home away from home after years of living with my parents. Not that they minded. Hell, if my father had it his way, I'd live with them forever.

  The wind picks up, and the tip of my nose begins to go numb from the cold, so I head back inside. Removing my coat, I toss it and the blanket on the back of a kitchen chair. Cleaning up, I empty the dirty water from the bucket into the sink, wash my hands, then pull the ingredients I need for my mom's famous chili from the fridge and pantry. The sound of a truck horn honking from outside lets me know my dad is here with my new truck battery.

  While finishing with the task at hand, I hear the front door open and my dad stomping the snow off of his boots before hearing the door slam shut. "Is that your momma's chili I smell?" my dad says as he strolls into the kitchen. "Morning, baby girl." He comes up beside me and kisses the side of my head—I breathe in his scent. My dad always smells like Brut cologne and black coffee.

  "Since mom has been so busy preparing food at the soup kitchen this week, I thought I would have her some dinner already made by the time she got home today."