Table of Contents
Excerpt
In Mistletoe
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
A word from the author…
Thank you for purchasing this publication of The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
Also available from The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
Yanked out of her reflection,
Grace glanced up at Neil and followed his gaze to a man who stood about six feet tall with wavy light brown hair. She blinked, realizing the flyer did not do him justice.
In person, he was dressed in a pair of Timberland boots, Levi’s jeans, and a blue and white flannel shirt under a rugged Sandstone jacket. His shoulders were broad and masculine, as if they could withstand a hefty stack of 2x4s with little effort.
He stepped forward, pausing only to rip the flyer off the post on his way by. She pressed her back against the leather cushion, finding his expression unreadable, his gait purposeful.
He stopped a few inches from where she sat. “I’m afraid you’re wasting your time, Miss…”
“Evans. Grace,” she said, surprised by his slight Irish accent and unfriendly tone. She wondered what Neil had said to him to cause such a reaction. Then again, maybe the flyer had something to do with his curt introduction.
Well, she didn’t care. Too much depended on her staying in Mistletoe, with or without Ayden McCabe rendering a smile or a pleasant hello. Too late for polite conversation, she stood. “You could at least hear me out,” she said, straightening to appear taller, although she barely cleared the bottom of his chin.
His face softened, but not enough for her to relax. Then the corners of his mouth lifted, and her pulse sputtered. “Look, I’m flattered, but I’m not interested.”
In Mistletoe
by
Tammy L. Bailey
This is a work of fiction. 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.
In Mistletoe
COPYRIGHT © 2016 by Tammy L. Bailey
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
Contact Information: [email protected]
Cover Art by Diana Carlile
The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
PO Box 708
Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708
Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com
Publishing History
First Champagne Rose Edition, 2016
Print ISBN 978-1-5092-1110-4
Digital ISBN 978-1-5092-1111-1
Published in the United States of America
Dedication
To Zak and Ben.
You are my sunshine.
Chapter One
“I’m never about meddling into anyone’s business, mind you,” Jolene Watson, the small town’s train attendant said, “but what brings you to Mistletoe?”
Grace Evans leaned in closer to the rumbling heater of the older woman’s vintage Jeep Wagoneer, still trying to get warm and sort out the last twelve hours. “I’m…I’m looking for someone.” Grace turned to glance out the passenger side window. It had begun to snow since they left the train station, the hurtling flakes a contrast to the darkening sky and mountainous backdrop. She felt thousands of miles away from San Francisco instead of just eight hundred.
“Well, if you’re looking for a man, I might have to warn you, there aren’t many here.” Jolene paused to give Grace a gentle jab with her bony elbow. “Of course, as pretty as you are, I wouldn’t be surprised to see you caught under a mistletoe or two before you leave.”
Grace sent the woman a nervous smile, having enough man problems with her current boomerang ex-boyfriend to avoid standing under the poisonous plant for the rest of her life. For now, Grace needed to undo the emotional cataclysm caused by her younger sister’s selfish need to find herself. Who decides to disappear four weeks before their wedding?
“I do appreciate you driving me to O’Shannon’s,” Grace said, changing the subject. “When I looked for hotels in the area, it was the only place I could find.” There was one more on the outskirts of town, but it was booked for another week and way out of her price range. The woman nodded, leaving Grace to wish she had planned this trip a little better. For one, she should have paid the money for an airline ticket instead of trusting her car to make the trip. Sometimes being frugal did not pay off at all. Now, she believed her carelessness had cost the down payment on the shop she was hoping to purchase.
“Of course, there’s always Hearth’s Gate Bed and Breakfast.”
Pulled out of her depressing thoughts, Grace repeated the name aloud. “Hearth’s Gate?”
Jolene’s heavy silver bracelets clanked as she rotated the steering wheel. “Yes, although, it hasn’t been open since Ida and Connor McCabe passed away. Their son lives at Hearth’s Gate now. You’ll like Ayden. He’s very handsome and such a gentleman.”
Grace opened her mouth and then smashed it shut, believing she’d zoned out too long to ask any questions at this point.
“He was in the military, you know, but he doesn’t talk much about it. He built me a deck before winter set in, no charge, and always makes the most delicious breads for the charity auction. Oh, he’s such a fine young man, and handsome, too,” Jolene repeated.
Grace stifled a nervous giggle, wondering if this Ayden guy also leaped tall buildings in a single bound. “He sounds…perfect.”
“Perfect and single,” said the gray-haired woman. “At thirty, he just hasn’t met the right woman. He likes them tall, blonde, beautiful, and empty. Now, how are you going to settle down with someone like that?”
Grace shook her head and sighed. The last thing she needed in her life was drama, especially someone else’s. Of course, she did sometimes dream of some billionaire stealing her away or having a gorgeous man kiss her in an elevator.
“See, he needs to meet someone like you. You’re grounded, and you can’t be more than twenty-three, right?”
Despite the bizarre exchange so far, Grace almost choked on the woman’s latest admonishment. “Twenty-five, but I don’t—”
“You’re not really his type, mind you.”
Grace didn’t know if she was being insulted or complimented. When she thought Jolene wasn’t looking, she glanced down at her petite form and smoothed her straight mocha-colored hair. She’d planned on getting some highlights, until her best friend Betsy talked her out of the appointment. “Are you crazy? Your dark hair brings out the green in your eyes.”
“And that is the place where we hold the annual Mistletoe Christmas Eve Eve Dance.”
Grace blinked into the thickening snow toward the brick building decorated in red and white holiday lights.
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br /> Beyond lay a snow-capped village with sharp slanted roofs and cross-timbered buildings. On salted sidewalks, groups of people gathered, the cold not stopping their merry conversations or shopping excursions. As Jolene drove by at a snail’s pace, a few of them waved, the woman quick to offer a cheerful exchange.
“Here we are.” Jolene put the old wagon in Park before the carryout sign.
Grace ignored the unexpected butterflies and clutched the door handle as the car jolted underneath them. Gripping her light jacket, she braced against the blustery wind and met Jolene in the rear of the vehicle.
“You’re not much of a planner, are you?” Jolene glanced over Grace’s San Francisco attire.
Grace blew out a wintry breath and reached for her suitcase, believing she should have done a better job of researching Mistletoe, Washington, before throwing a few clothes together, jumping in her car, and racing up here without a plan in place. “I have my moments,” she commented and smiled, prompting Jolene to send her an animated wink.
With her luggage in tow, Grace followed the woman under a green and brown sign into O’Shannon’s.
Dark cherry wood, along with the heat from a hulky gray stone fireplace, pulled Grace further inside. Around her, the polite and gregarious crowd lowered their conversations to a hum.
“I’ll go ask Ewan if he has any rooms available,” Jolene said, leaving Grace by herself.
To avoid the curious faces, Grace twisted to a wall that held pictures of the local sports teams and a few famous visitors. After a few moments in the lulling time, a colorful flyer stapled to one of the rounded wooden posts near the bar caught her attention. She stepped closer, intrigued by the sexy man on the front. He wore a skin-tight black T-shirt that hugged his muscular torso. His short brown hair lay damp against his smooth forehead. As her midsection gave an unexpected flip, her gaze slid to the caption below his tapered waist. Date needed for Mistletoe’s Christmas Eve Eve dance. Call Ayden McCabe at 555-1212 if interested.
“He has nothing to offer you,” Jolene said, rattling Grace from her mesmerized stupor.
“What?”
“O’Shannon’s. Ewan said he’s all booked up.”
Grace’s shoulders dropped, and she fell against the wood post, defeated. What was she supposed to do now? She couldn’t afford a bed and breakfast, and since she’d left her car in Vancouver, Washington, she didn’t even have one to sleep in at the moment.
“Let’s go see if Ayden has room for you at Hearth’s Gate.”
Grace opened her mouth to protest, but Jolene was already heading toward a lanky man in a gray Stetson. Relenting, for the moment, Grace followed, watching the woman draw up behind a skinny cowboy and tap him on his bony back. This is Ayden McCabe? Grace glanced back at the flyer, believing both Jolene and the advertisement had grossly exaggerated the man’s attributes.
“Neil O’Shannon, meet Grace Evans. She’s come all the way from San Francisco, and she’s looking for Ayden.”
Grace stifled an embarrassing wince as the cowboy turned and lifted the bill of his hat with the end of his freckled index finger. “Well, who ain’t?” He tipped his head back further, revealing a set of ruby red eyebrows. “You’re pretty.”
“See. I told you,” Jolene said with a wink, a good luck, and a then a loud goodbye.
Left dizzy from the last few moments, Grace sliced her gaze back to Neil to find him leaned against the glossy bar, his elbows propped up, his hands interlaced across his narrow belly. “But you’re not really his type.”
Tired and frustrated, she forced a cordial smile, not caring about Mr. Adyen McCabe’s damn type. She just needed a place to stay for a few nights that didn’t cost the rest of her life’s savings. To be honest, she had no idea what B&Bs cost these days.
“Look, Neil, I’m a little desperate at the moment, so if you could tell Mr. McCabe that I’d be willing to offer one hundred dollars a night, he might be willing to—”
The cowboy’s lips curled into a humor-filled smirk. “In that case, I’ll give him a call.”
To Grace’s complete mortification, the man did, his conversation bouncing off the high beamed timbers and wooden column posts. She didn’t think it would ever end until Neil pulled the phone from his ear and grinned. “He’ll be here in five.”
Her stomach somersaulted at the announcement, her feet shuffling behind Neil’s moseying gait until a bombshell of a waitress with flashy red nails tried to stop him.
“Have you talked to Ayden?”
“Yep,” the cowboy replied and continued walking.
Grace trailed behind Neil wondering if her sister had been so afraid to face her fears that she’d taken out a map and thrown a dart toward the north, the point stabbing this remote Christmas town in the middle of nowhere.
“He’s here.”
Yanked out of her reflection, Grace glanced up at Neil and followed his gaze to a man who stood about six feet tall with wavy light brown hair. She blinked, realizing the flyer did not do him justice.
In person, he was dressed in a pair of Timberland boots, Levi’s jeans, and a blue and white flannel shirt under a rugged Sandstone jacket. His shoulders were broad and masculine, as if they could withstand a hefty stack of 2x4s with little effort.
He stepped forward, pausing only to rip the flyer off the post on his way by. She pressed her back against the leather cushion, finding his expression unreadable, his gait purposeful.
He stopped a few inches from where she sat. “I’m afraid you’re wasting your time, Miss…”
“Evans. Grace,” she said, surprised by his slight Irish accent and unfriendly tone. She wondered what Neil had said to him to cause such a reaction. Then again, maybe the flyer had something to do with his curt introduction.
Well, she didn’t care. Too much depended on her staying in Mistletoe, with or without Ayden McCabe rendering a smile or a pleasant hello. Too late for polite conversation, she stood. “You could at least hear me out,” she said, straightening to appear taller, although she barely cleared the bottom of his chin.
His face softened, but not enough for her to relax. Then the corners of his mouth lifted, and her pulse sputtered. “Look, I’m flattered, but I’m not interested.”
She opened and closed her mouth but was unable to say a coherent word through an entire verse of “Jingle Bell Rock.” When he began to saunter away, she panicked. “Okay, I can pay you three hundred dollars for three nights.” She really couldn’t, but she had nowhere else to go.
He swayed back toward her, his dark brown eyebrows raised, one higher than the other. “Three nights?” he repeated, his gaze sweeping over her like a sweltering Mediterranean wind. He grinned, a curious and secretive expression that sent a hot tendril down her spine. Although they had barely enough daylight between them, he managed a step closer.
“Don’t you think you’re being just a little pretentious…Miss Evans?” He lifted his hand, his thumb and index finger pressed close together for visual effect.
Pretentious? Grace hoped beyond all reasonable expectations, she didn’t need more than four days to run into Danielle or find someone who knew of her whereabouts. Their mother’s frail sanity depended on Grace bringing Danielle home. First, though, Grace needed a place to stay that didn’t require taking out a small bank loan to get her home.
“All right, two nights, but for that price, I do expect breakfast,” Grace said, hands on her hips and believing if she needed more time to find her sister and drag her back to San Francisco, she’d figure out a way to convince him then. “A full-sized bed is fine, and I can be very quiet. You won’t even know I’m there.”
He canted his head, amusement dancing in his arresting blue eyes. After a moment of disconcerting silence, he finally whispered in her direction, “If I’m making you breakfast afterward, I better damn well know you’re there.”
“Hi, Ayden.”
Grace jerked her head in the direction of the waitress Neil spoke to earlier. Like the last time, the woma
n noticed no one except the person with whom she spoke.
“I’m really surprised you made that flyer,” she said, her lips protruding in an exaggerated pout. “Why didn’t you just ask me?”
As if invisible, Grace stood trying to lower her gaze but finding herself drawn to Ayden who stood so close she thought if he turned his head and she moved hers a sliver, her lips might brush his neck.
“My damn sister made that flyer, Rachel, and the last time we spoke, you were—oh, let me see if I can remember it correctly—moving on.”
She puffed up, her bountiful breasts lifting to graze against his shoulder. “I said that because I wanted you to beg me to stay.”
“Hmm,” he commented with a shrug, causing the woman to draw back and slap him across his beautiful face. The cracking sound caused more than a few heads to twist in their direction. As Rachel stomped off, Ayden massaged the red handprint on his cheek.
“You’re very popular, aren’t you?” Grace said, unable to stop the words from tumbling from her lips.
He worked his jaw and sent her a sideways grin. “I can be.”
Affected by his easy flirting, Grace slid back into the booth, her thoughts swinging to the last time she’d spoken to her ex, Rick. She wondered what he might have done if she’d had the nerve to slap him with such frustration? It seemed every time they broke up, the very next day, he was dating someone, always with a three-syllable name. Monica. Sabrina. Tiffany. Then, like every other time, he’d call and want to get together…to talk.
“Why?”
Grace had somehow forgotten she wasn’t alone and raised her head up to find Ayden seated across from her, no worse for wear over his and Rachel’s heated confrontation.
“Why what?”
He inhaled, his eyes narrowing over his Romanesque nose. “You’re a pretty girl, Grace—”
“I swear, if I hear one more person tell me that again today—” She stopped short of a threat, finding Ayden’s fully curved lips lifted in a lopsided smirk and his eyebrows arched in avid curiosity.
“You don’t think you’re pretty?”
Grace shook her head. “It’s…not that. I’m just not used to being told a lot, that’s all.”
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