Mischief and Mistletoe
Lena Matthews
This e-book is a work of fiction. While reference might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © October 2013 by Lena Matthews
All rights reserved. This copy is intended for the purchaser of this e-book ONLY. No part of this e-book may be reproduced or shared in any form, including, but not limited to printing, photocopying, faxing, or emailing without prior written permission from Lena Matthews.
Printed in the United States of America.
Editor: Mary Moran
Cover Artist: Valerie Tibbs
Dedication
This story is dedicated to my wonderful readers who make every day a holiday. I love you all.
Chapter One
“I’m bored. Why won’t you let me help?”
Charlotte Wilcox looked up from the bed she was making, over to the heavily pregnant dark-skinned woman she had the distinct pleasure of calling her best friend, and arched a brow. “Because you’re a thousand-months pregnant and you don’t need to be tucking and pulling in your delicate condition.”
Laughing, Tamara settled back in the cream-colored French bistro side chair and placed her hand over her belly. “Girl, please, there’s nothing delicate about my big ass. I can make a bed.”
“I’m sure you can, but you aren’t going to on my watch.” Tamara wasn’t due for another week, but to Charlotte it looked as if she was going to pop at any second. She could understand why Russell didn’t want her out and about. “I hope you’re aware I’m putting my neck on the line for you, because your husband is going to shit a brick.”
“Please.” Tamara pfftd as she tucked a stray lock of her shoulder-length black hair behind her ear. “Russell Crichton doesn’t run anything but his mouth.”
Charlotte knew Tamara talked a good game, but she also knew the truth. Russell was so the boss of Tamara. “Uh-huh. Keep telling yourself that.”
“I will go anywhere I flipping want, and if the freaking midwife hasn’t put me on bed rest, Russell damn sure can’t either.”
“He put you on house arrest for good reason.”
“You can’t arrest someone who’s innocent.”
Charlotte paused in the midst of arranging the pillows and looked over at the other woman. “What country have you been living in all your life?”
“You know what I mean. I refuse to be stuck at home on Christmas Eve.”
Charlotte placed the last decorative pillow on the bed then sat down on the corner nearest Tamara so she was facing her friend. “After three years of marriage you still haven’t figured out how to pick your battles and your fights yet?”
“Girl, we’re not fighting. We’re having a religious disagreement.”
Charlotte frowned. Russell had never seemed like the pious type to her. “Religious?”
“Yes, he thinks he’s God and I disagree,” Tamara deadpanned.
Charlotte burst out laughing. “You are so stupid.”
“No, he is if he thinks I’m just going to hang out at home with nothing to do. I can’t work in the dark room because of the chemicals, I’ve cleaned the house from top to bottom, and despite having over three thousand channels, there is still nothing to watch on TV. I’m going mad.”
“I know.” Charlotte nodded sympathetically. “I know, boo. I was there. It sucks, but it’s for the best. There’s a storm coming. You’re heavy with his child. There is nothing wrong with him wanting you and the little bit safe and sound.”
“Oh please. This is California. The snow will be melted by morning.”
“Sure it will.” Tamara could be one of the most obstinate people in the world. And that was saying a lot, considering who Charlotte was married to, which was why even though it went against the “chicks before dicks” code, Charlotte was secretly Team Russell. “I’ve said my piece and I’m not going to say anything else.”
“Thank you.”
Charlotte stood and brushed out the wrinkles in her navy sweater dress before walking over to Tamara and offering her friend her hands to help her stand. “It should be perfect for you and baby no name for the night. Not that I think Russell is really going to let you stay the entire night.”
Tamara took her hands and used them to ease up into a standing position only to turn and tuck her arm into the crook of Charlotte’s. “You keep saying let as if he has a choice.”
“You keep acting like he doesn’t,” Charlotte teased.
Tamara nudged Charlotte gently with her shoulder. “I don’t recall giving you this much crap when you and Ty get into it and I come running to the rescue.”
“That’s because that never happens.” Charlotte’s marriage wasn’t cupcakes and fluffy unicorns all the time by anyone’s standards, but all of their fights ended up resolved in the bedroom, which was probably why she didn’t mind a little tiff every now and then.
“Fine,” Tamara sighed heavily. “Rub your perfect marriage in my face. So cruel.”
Charlotte laughed. “My marriage is far from perfect but it’s good, mainly because, you know…we’re both adults.”
“I’m an adult,” she said in the most childish tone ever. “Most of the time. But really, it isn’t me. It’s the baby. My hormones are all wacky-do and I feel like the Wicked Witch of the West.”
Now that Charlotte believed. Her own pregnancy had been less than thrilling and she could remember loving everyone one second and wishing them all straight to hell the next. “It’s going to be okay, boo. We’ll have a fun evening in and tomorrow you can go home and make up with your husband.”
“After he apologizes.”
“I pity that man.”
Tamara grinned. “As you should.”
The two women separated when they entered the kitchen, each taking their previous spot at the island where they’d left out the cutlery they were going to need to make sweet potato pie. After putting on her apron, Tamara got straight to work. She washed her hands again, then took the cooling yams off the stove and drained the excess water into the sink. Even though she had her own part to do, Charlotte took a moment to watch her friend and smiled.
Life had simply gotten better the day Tamara married Charlotte’s husband’s best friend. They lived less than fifteen miles away from each other, saw each other several times a week, and once Tamara popped her little bun out, they would be raising their kids together. Growing up, Charlotte never expected she could be so happy. Damn, she was glad she’d been wrong.
“So have you given any more thought to what you’re going to do about work?” Tamara asked as she turned around.
“No,” Charlotte sighed as she walked over to the fridge and took out the small ball of dough. After closing the refrigerator door, she went over to the island and stood across from Tamara who was using a mixer to fold in the butter, sugar, milk and eggs with the yams, nutmeg and cinnamon. “I have a little time left before I have to give Nathan an answer on whether or not I’ll be returning but…”
“But what?”
“I thought it would be easier to make this call,” she admitted after a second. “After Ida passed away last month, it made complete sense for me to take some time off work and be here for Ty and Candace. She wasn’t just the housekeeper, she was part of our family. I had to be here, but honestly, I hadn’t planned on it being a long-term thing. Yet the more time I’m home the more I find myself enjoy it.”
“You sound ashamed about that.”
Charlotte paused and m
et her friend’s gaze guiltily. “I kind of am.”
“Why?”
The more she talked the harder she rolled the dough out. “Because I didn’t bust my ass at college to be a stay-at-home mom. I feel like I’ll be letting someone down if I don’t use the gift God gave me.”
“Not to shit on your degree, because I know you worked very hard for it, but what makes you think raising your child and making a home for your family isn’t the gift that God gave you?”
Charlotte paused mid-roll and looked up at Tamara. “When you say it like that, it sounds very logical.”
“I know.” Tamara grinned as she added the vanilla extract. “Sucks, doesn’t it?”
“Beyond the telling.” And this was another reason she loved her friend. Charlotte might not like hearing it at times, but sometimes the hardest truths came from the best sources. “So…I guess I’m unemployed.”
“Looks that way.” Tamara turned off the mixer and set it down on a napkin next to her bowl. She leaned forward a bit and took a deep breath in, then slipped her pinkie finger into the filling and brought it to her mouth to taste. She closed her eyes and moaned orgasmically then looked over at Charlotte and sighed happily. “This is perfect. Damn I’m good.”
“What’s perfect?”
Both women turned to look at the little girl standing in the doorway of the kitchen and smiled. It was hard not to smile anytime Candace, the Cowgirl Princess extraordinary, entered a room, because she was utterly fabulous. In another life, Charlotte just knew her daughter had been royalty. Nothing else could explain Candace’s obsession with princess dresses and the regal way she carried herself. Of course she was also her daddy’s daughter, so under every dress she wore she always had on a pair of blue jeans and one of her many pair of cowboy boots.
Today’s pair was purple and they were bedazzled with rhinestones, and on her arm she was carrying a small Coach bag her Aunt Tamara got her just because she could. And if that wasn’t cute enough, a mess of golden-brown curls surrounded her little light brown heart-shaped face. Curls that had never met a ponytail it couldn’t annihilate. Candace, as always, looked as if she was ready to take on the world and Charlotte couldn’t be prouder.
“Hey, baby girl. I thought you were with Daddy working on the tractor.”
“We’s done with that,” she said as she climbed up on a stool next to Tamara. “It’s still not working and it started to snow a whole bunch more, then Daddy got a phone call so he said we had to come inside.”
“Don’t worry about the snow,” Tamara said dismissively. “It will be gone in an hour or two.”
“Do you think if you keep telling that lie it might come true?” Charlotte teased her friend.
“Oh, hush you.” Tamara pulled out a stool and sat down next to Candace. “Did you have a birthday or seven because I swear you keep getting taller and prettier every time I see you.”
“No, I’m still four,” Candace said in a long-suffering manner.
Tamara lovingly brushed her thumb across her goddaughter’s cheek. “Cherish it, kid. It only goes down hill after five.”
“You always say that.”
“That’s because it’s true.”
“Sure.” Candace reached out and placed her hand on Tamara’s belly. She was obsessed with the upcoming addition. Thankfully though, her constant touching didn’t bother Tamara. “You come up with any names yet?”
“Nope.” Charlotte shook her head at her friend’s lie. Tamara had picked out names in grade school, this was just part of a game the two played. “You have any new ones?”
“Yes.” The precocious four-year-old opened her purse and pulled out her Blues Clue notebook and a black crayon. She meticulously opened it up to a page that had scribbles on it, because, despite how smart she was, Candace hadn’t quite mastered the art of writing all her letters just yet. “I’ve given this one a lot of thought, Aunt T’mara.”
Tamara held her smile in check, something Charlotte just couldn’t do. “Hit your T with them.”
“Okay, today’s pick is…” Candace looked down at the list with an oh so serious expression on her tiny face then back at Tamara. “Pinkie Pie.”
“Pinkie…Pie.”
Charlotte burst out laughing. She always knew nothing good would come from her daughter watching My Little Pony.
“Yes,” Candace continued firmly. “Pinkie Pie is my favorite Little Pony character and since the baby is going to be my favorite baby, I think they should have the same name.”
Charlotte couldn’t fault her daughter’s logic, but more importantly she couldn’t wait to see her friend weasel her way out of this.
“Um…” Tamara looked over at Charlotte for help, but Charlotte shook her head and mouthed, You’re on your own. “Okay. Pinkie Pie Crichton is a mouthful, but it has potential. But only for a girl.”
Candace looked affronted. “Why only for a girl?”
“Because I don’t think if we have a little boy he’s going to want to be called Pinkie. That’s more of a girl thing.”
Candace closed her handy-dandy notebook with a snap. “Aunt T’mara, boys can wear pink and girls can play with blocks and soldiers, and anyone who says different is just pushing pro…pro…” she paused and looked up at her mother with a frown. “What is it, Mommy?”
“Sexist right-wing propaganda,” Charlotte said proudly, happy that all her talks about how there was no such thing as boy toys or girl toys had paid off.
Candace looked back at Tamara and nodded her little head firmly. “That.”
Tamara on the other hand looked less impressed. “Look, Gloria Steinman. I will add the name to the ever-growing list that you continue to supply me with, but I’m not making any promises. Okay?”
“Thank you.” Candace put her notebook and crayon back into her purse and turned to her mother. “May I have two cookies, please? Rudolph is about to come on.”
Charlotte was trying her best to refrain from laughing. Which was a common occurrence in the Wilcox household since Candace first learned to speak.
“Sure,” Charlotte grabbed a napkin and set two of the treats on it. “Try not to make a mess.”
“Yes, Momma. See you later, Aunt T’mara,” she said before grabbing her goodies and jetting from the room.
Tamara waited until Candace had cleared the room before she burst out laughing. “Girl, I don’t know how you do it.”
Charlotte glanced pointedly down at Tamara’s stomach. “From where I’m sitting it looks as if you’re about to find out.”
“Yeah, but my kid isn’t going to be so expressive and such an extrovert.”
Charlotte arched an eyebrow. “Really.”
“What, you don’t believe me?”
“Of course not,” Charlotte scoffed. “You haven’t met a word you didn’t want to say five times over nor have you ever had an opinion you felt the need to keep to yourself. Your kid isn’t going be like Candace. She or he is going to be ten times worse.”
Tamara placed her hand on her stomach and frowned. “Did I ask you all that?”
“Nope.” Charlotte went back to finishing her pie. “But I sure didn’t have a problem telling you all that.”
“See…this is why nobody likes you.”
“I like her,” Charlotte’s husband Ty said as he entered the room.
“Well, you’re biased,” Tamara grumbled.
“That I am.” The handsome Caucasian man dropped a quick kiss on Tamara’s head before rounding the table to his wife’s side.
Charlotte put down the bowl and spatula and went straight into his arms, where she belonged from the moment they met. She had to get on her tiptoes to kiss her extremely tall cowboy but it was so worth it. Everything they’d gone through over the last five years had been worth it, because he was. “You’re looking mighty fine, Mr. Wilcox.”
“Only to you, Mrs. Wilcox.”
“I beg to differ. No man in the world comes close to you.” At least not to her.
Ty w
as the epitome of tall, dark and handsome cowboy. He towered over her five-four frame by yards, and he was so damn good-looking that it really made no sense. His dark brown curly hair brushed his temple and his nape, short enough not to appear too girlish, and long enough she would have something to pull on in bed. His eyes were a brilliant shade of blue with long lashes that almost seemed too feminine. His eyelashes were the only thing feminine on him though. Ty had a strong jawline, a nose that seemed as if it might have been broken once or twice, and as usual, about this time in the evening the beginning hint of stubble on his cheeks.
Oh yeah, Ty put the Fi-hine in fine. “Tamara, don’t you agree my husband is all that and a bag of chips.”
“He’s ay-ight, I guess. If you like that type.” Tamara picked up a Christmas cookie and shrugged.
Charlotte arched an eyebrow. “And what type would that be.”
“Panties-wetting type.” Tamara winked as Ty roared with laughter. “But whatever. I’m just here for the goodies.”
“I’m here for the goodies, too.” Ty pulled Charlotte in close to him and covered her mouth with his. The second Ty kissed her everything else fell to the wayside. Even after all these years together he still made her feel like a blushing bride. Their tongues entwined, stroking each other to a fever pitch. They kissed as if they hadn’t seen each other in years instead of just hours ago, but for some reason it was always like that with them. The desperation had by no means waned and, God willing, it never would.
They stayed connected for a few seconds longer than Emily Post would have suggested with company about, then pulled away slowly, knowing this wasn’t the end, it was only the beginning.
Charlotte took a step back and placed her hand over her heart to calm herself a bit. “Did you finish up?”
“Barely, the snow is ridiculous out there. It’s getting so bad you can hardly see three feet in front of you. I sent the men home and helped the others find the extra bedding for the bunkhouse. Good thinking you stocked up on food for it the other day when you were in town or we might have had five extra mouths to feed for breakfast and lunch tomorrow.”
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