Kiss This

by L. L. Muir

  Mal reached for her walkie talkie. “London. Talk to me. What's going on?”

  There was clattering on the line. Mal braced herself for bad news. In her mind, she saw power lines along the edge of the parking lot. If one of those went down, they'd have only two hours to get it cleared.

  She turned to 007. “Have you got reception? Can you find me a phone number for Rocky Mountain Power?”

  He nodded and pulled his phone from his pocket.

  “Mal? Can you hear me?”

  “Yes. I can hear you just fine. Can you tell what happened? The power is out here.”

  “Stand by.”

  Seconds ticked by, then minutes. They had tested the radios that morning and they’d worked great. Whatever was going on, London didn’t have time to talk. Mal forced herself to be patient.

  “Okay, Mal. Are you there?”

  Her heart jumped. “Yes. I’m here. What’s going on?”

  “The power is probably out everywhere. One of the plow drivers had a heart attack or something. Drove into the big pole. A transformer went down. They're calling for Life Flight. Jeremy's doing CPR. But Mal, there's —”

  “Was it the old guy?”

  “No. It was the son.”

  “I'll be right there.” Mal grabbed one of the umbrellas meant for the doorman.

  “No! Mallory! Don't come! Stay inside. Stay off the causeway! Mal! Do you hear me?”

  Mal paused with the hand on the elegant door handle.

  “I'm here,” she said. “What's wrong?”

  “The pole landed across the causeway. It's a transformer. Sparks are flying everywhere. Jeremy was lucky he didn't get electrocuted pulling the guy out of the truck. You're going to have to stay there until they get it cleaned up.”

  Mal’s mind switched gears smoothly. She was in Wonder Woman Mode.

  “Okay. Okay. Calling the power company now,” she said, noticing Big Brother holding up his phone with the number he'd found. “I'll let you know what they say. Tell Mr. Spencer we'll be praying for his son. I'm so sorry.”

  “I'll let him know. Looks like the son is coming to, so that’s good.”

  “Wonderful. Talk to you in a minute.”

  Mal dropped the radio in her pocket and pulled out her phone. She dialed the power company and put it on speaker so she wouldn't have to repeat the conversation to 007.

  After explaining the circumstances, the woman on the other line told her they would send the fire department to secure the area, but there was no telling how soon the power company would be able to clear the roadway. Their’s was not the only downed line.

  Mal smiled patiently, even though the woman couldn’t see her. “Can you just cut the power? I can have a crew come clear —”

  “Ma'am! You touch that pole and you will go to jail —if you survive. Get everyone back at least a block from the pole. 100 yards. No wedding is worth a life, ma'am.”

  “You'd be surprised,” Mal muttered and hung up. “I'll just have to deal with the fire department when they get here.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  St. John shook his head. “When the firemen arrive, I suspect you should do exactly what they tell you to do. And just whose life is less important that this wedding reception?”

  Mallory shrugged and backed away from him, digging out the radio again. “You know, I didn’t mean it that way.” She put the radio to her mouth, but lowered it again. She needed to think.

  007 folded his arms and frowned at her. “I know no such thing. I’m actually a little frightened. Don’t you suppose you should call your assistant and relay the woman’s directions?”

  Mallory rolled her eyes. Of course she was going to warn the others. It was the step after that she wasn’t sure about. But she pushed the button and put his mind at ease first, telling London how far back everyone had to move, silently grousing that Wonder Woman did not need a side kick.

  St. John had no clue that more than just a wedding was on the line. She had to be brilliant or the doors of her flower shop would close forever. Thanks to a clause in the Ivy and Stone contract, if there were some disaster that was no fault of either party, Mal would split the cost of the flowers with the bride. It was worth the risk to give brides some peace of mind, and the shop hand only taken a hit once before. But that entire wedding had been less than two grand.

  She didn’t even want to think about how much this one would be.

  There wasn’t much time. Hundreds of people would be headed to Harmony Lodge in another hour, leaving early in case of bad roads, making their way up a dangerous Canyon in order to come celebrate with Pemberly. And any who knew Pemberly would think the risk was worth it. For her.

  Mal wasn’t going to let them take that risk for nothing.

  First, she called the Summit County Sheriff. The storm had hit only part of the county thus far, so they were able to send a plow, to take care of the road between Parley’s Canyon and the Lodge. They could not plow the parking lots.

  Next, she offered Mr. Spencer a rental fee for his truck and blade, if he’d leave it behind. There were enough of her staff still around to get the man to the U of U, to be with his son. Jeremy, as it turned out, was experienced with small truck plows. Mr. Spencer was satisfied. With only one plow, though, Jeremy was going to be busy.

  “As soon as the causeway is cleared off, Jeremy can clear a path for the sleighs,” she muttered to herself. “While he’s doing that, the caterer can load up one of the sleighs and bring the rest of the food in just ahead of the guests.” She got London back on the radio and repeated everything. “Let me know when the fire department gets here.”

  She walked out into the ballroom, ignoring her tuxedoed shadow, and began to pace along the arched windows. The snow fell hard. Too hard.

  “I didn’t order this much snow,” she grumbled.

  The man snorted somewhere behind her. Damn him, but he even snorted with an accent.

  Never before had she seen such huge flakes. If she didn’t know better, she could believe there were a dozen teenage boys shoveling snow off the roof making it fall in giant clumps past the big windows. She decided she’d better go shake the snow off the wreaths before it did damage. Besides, the cold air would help her think.

  From twenty feet away, St. John called her name. She waved him away and headed toward the door. He was talking to someone on his phone anyway. He could just keep on talking until she came back inside.

  The snow on the steps was half a foot deep already. The lodge was in charge of keeping those steps clear, but she could find a broom and make a path until their staff could get through.

  Come on, Fire Department.

  She shook the wreaths gently and the snow shattered and fell like so much sand. Utah powder. Nice and clean. A cold breeze bit into the side of her neck like a vampire with icy teeth, and she hunched her shoulders and headed back up the steps.

  The lodge was ready. The parking lot was soon to be ready. She just needed to connect them. And before Pemberly arrived. There was no reason for the girl to know how close her reception had come to being ruined —

  Mal’s head snapped up and she stared into the eyes of Big Brother, standing on the opposite side of the glass. He was talking to someone on the phone!

  He pulled the heavy door open for her, talking while he did it. “Please, don’t cry, Pem.”

  Pem! Damn it! It was too late! Why, oh why hadn’t she thought to discuss Pem with him? She should have warned him not to upset the bride unless absolutely necessary, even if she was his sister!

  He pointed to the phone and raised a brow? Did she want to speak to Pem?

  She closed her eyes and sighed, then opened her hand for the phone. It smelled fabulous.

  “Hi, Pemberly,” she said, resisting the urge to lick the device.

  “Oh, Mallory! The flowers are gorgeous! Ten times better than what I’d even imagined! And the cake is just what you promised. It’s so big!”

  Mal hurried to the archway and peeked into t
he ballroom, expecting to see Pemberly standing by the cake. “Where are you?”

  “We’re on our way up the canyon. I’m so sorry we’re running a little late.”

  “Don’t worry about it. How do you know what the flowers and cake look like?”

  “Bennett sent me pictures from his phone. Sounds like he’s as crazy about…everything…as I am.”

  Mal turned and frowned at Big Brother while she spoke into the phone. “You just take it slow. There is no rush. This party waits for you.” She hung up and handed the phone over.

  He took it carefully, narrowing his eyes slightly, like he didn’t trust her. “What are you thinking now, Miss Mayhue?”

  “You didn’t tell her.”

  “Neither did you, I noticed.” He slid the phone inside his jacket. His shirt was so perfectly tailored, it lay flat against his body. It was probably warm.

  She shouldn’t have gone out in the snow without a coat, even though she hadn’t planned to be out for long. She rubbed her upper arms. “I don’t want to ruin her day until I have to.”

  “Exactly my thoughts.” He slipped his jacket off and held it open for her. “Just until the chill wears off.”

  She shook her head and waved it away. “I’ll be fine in a second.” The thing was probably dripping with the taste and smell of him. If she put it on, she’d never get the scent out of her nose, sending her into withdrawals when he left town.

  A small clump of slush fell from her hair to her neck, then slid around and dove into her cleavage before she could stop it. His hand reached out and she thought he would go after it, but he was holding a handkerchief out to her. She ignored it and scooped the ice out with her fingers. It was nothing but water by the time she pulled her hand out.

  His eyes remained stuck on the bib of her apron. His jacket hung by one finger, his arm held out to the side, forgotten. She didn’t move. She didn’t want to jiggle something while he was staring at it.

  His gaze shot up to lock with hers.

  She breathed. He breathed.

  The radio squawked. “Mal?”

  She needed to answer it.

  “Mallory?”

  He watched her hand reach into her apron, watched her bring the radio to her lips.

  “Hello?” she said quietly.

  “The fire department is here.”

  “Just in time,” she whispered.

  007 didn’t laugh.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Fire Chief Moulder was a nice guy…for about a minute.

  If they couldn’t extract two people off the island, he sure as hell wasn’t going to allow a few hundred people on to it. And he wasn’t going to waste time standing around talking about it.

  “Are either of you seriously injured?” Moulder asked.

  Mal looked at St. John. He was too pretty to damage, but he probably knew how to make someone bleed without putting them in too much danger…

  “Don’t even think about it,” he growled.

  She spoke into the radio again. “No. No one is hurt.” Yet.

  “Then we will see you in the morning.”

  St. John stalked toward her with his hand out, expecting her to give up the walkie talkie. She shook her head and tried to maintain the five feet between them. He stalked her over to the north windows, overlooking the lake, when the radio squawked in her hand.

  “Mal? This is London.”

  “I’m here.”

  “So, what are we going to do, really?”

  “I need five minutes. Just give me five minutes and I’ll have a plan.”

  St. John lunged for her, grabbed her wrist, and peeled the radio out of her hand. Then he stepped back and loosened his tie while pointing at her with the little black antennae.

  “Five minutes? You think you can solve a snowstorm in five minutes? I think you’re mad. I really do.”

  Mal sighed. “I need five minutes of silence. That’s all.” She allowed him to keep the radio for the moment and began pacing, keeping her eyes on the lake.

  The problem was the causeway. Not a little problem, but at least it was the only problem. She couldn’t move it. She couldn’t move the castle any closer to the parking lot, obviously. She couldn’t bring the guests to the island by chopper because it was snowing too hard. The carriage was no good unless the horses could swim and pull a boat. Boats were out; they would have to reroute the guests to the boat dock 2 miles away. That wasn’t going to work.

  “So, how do you move hundreds of people from the parking lot to the castle without using the causeway, without using the air, and without using a boat?”

  ““How about teleportation?”

  Mallory realized she must’ve been talking out loud. But she didn’t have time to be embarrassed at the moment. She looked at her watch then held up four fingers, hoping St. John would get the message and back off. She still had four minutes left.

  “Sorry,” he muttered.

  Teleportation. Funny. Jet skis? Too wet. What they needed was a new causeway. A new causeway. They had one plow, but how much snow could they plow into the lake before it built up enough to stop melting? She closed her eyes. Imagined the snow piled up in the water.

  They had two hours tops. How do you build a causeway in two hours? She had no idea.

  Finally, out of frustration, she turned to St. John. “How do we build a causeway in two hours?” She put her hands on her hips and waited. She didn’t care if he made fun of her just as long as he said something that might give her an idea.

  But he didn’t laugh, he frowned and opened his hands as if to prove he had no ideas he might be hiding from her. His face puckered with regret. He started moving toward her. She backed away. She still had three minutes left. Maybe two. But she wouldn’t waste them crying on anybody’s shoulder. She was going to figure this out. She always figured things out, it was what florists did. Clever florists could fix anything. All she needed was enough wire, enough floral tape, a plastic spool, a corsage pin, and she could fix anything but a blown transmission.

  St. John caught up to her but only because she had backed against the window and had no more room for retreat. Their little dance was getting old. Intoxicating, but old. If he kept it up, she would have to stop running, if only to call his bluff.

  He put his hands on her shoulders. She tried to shake him off but he just held tighter.

  “I can figure this out,” she whispered to his shirt button. “I can always figure something out.”

  “Listen to yourself.” He used the knuckle of his forefinger to lift her chin and make her face him. “When the only option, the only solution, is to create a new causeway in two hours, I’m afraid this cannot be fixed.”

  “You don’t understand,” she said. “I was brainstorming. I didn’t really expect to figure out how to build a causeway in two hours, I just hoped that silly ideas might lead to something doable.”

  “Ah, I see. Then you’re not actually a nutter?”

  “Well, I can’t say that. You have to be a little nuts to be a florist or you won’t be any good at it.”

  “I’m beginning to see that.” He looked at his watch. “And now that your five minutes is up, I have a reasonable plan.”

  “Reasonable?” She didn’t like the sound of that.

  “Yes.” He pointed to himself. “Not a florist, if you’ll remember. So I suggest we send Pem and Jordan on their honeymoon and throw them a reception later on in the year.”

  Mallory’s stomach churned. He was telling her to give up. There was no other choice. There was no other option. The problem could not be fixed. The reception was off —the reception that was going to keep Ivy and Stone alive. And if he needed a florist for a reception later on, he’d have to hire someone else. Ivy and Stone would disappear along with the little house scheduled for demolition.

  It took her a while to realize that she was shaking. It wasn’t until St. John stepped closer and wrapped his arms around her that she finally felt her body vibrating against him. And she was cr
ying. She was going to get mascara all over his pretty white shirt. It would have to be one more thing to add to the bill.

  She wasn’t exactly sure what she was crying about. Her failure to save the reception? The loss of her business? Or the fact that St. John was going to be in town, looking for a florist, and it wouldn’t be her? She wanted to believe she was crying for Pemberly.

  She didn’t have it in her to push him away. For once, she was going to cry on someone’s shoulder. And if she would have known how truly comforting that shoulder would be, she’d have done it much sooner.

  She’d been deluding herself. And in a business where delusion was a tool used on a daily basis, she had a talent for it. But she’d known, deep down, that the reception was iffy as soon as that pole had gone down. She just couldn’t face all the rest of the things in her life that were going down with it.

  She took a deep breath and tried to prepare herself. The bride would be on-site any minute. Shattering a bride’s dream was the thing she most dreaded in life. And she would have to suck it up and do it.

  The vibrating stopped. The tears turned off. She scrambled for some reason to stay where she was, to stock up on warm, James-Bond-scented comfort, but this was no time to be selfish. She slowly straightened away from him, embarrassed.

  Her phone rang. St. John took a step back. It was London. Mallory pushed the button and put the phone up to her ear. “London, I’m so sorry. I can’t think of anything, can you?”

  “Mallory? Pemberly’s here. I explained what’s happened. She wants to speak to you.”

  “Okay. Put her on.” She was going to be sick.

  “Mallory?”

  “Pemberly, I’m so sorry!”

  And together, they cried. Mal tried to console the bride. The bride tried to console her. After a minute or two of that, Mal put an end to it.

  “Okay, Pemberly. We’ve had our cry. It’s time for you to clean up your makeup and salvage the rest of the day. Why don’t you call Bennett’s phone and talk to him while London and I put together a plan. You’re still up for a party, right? You’ve got guests coming, right?”