In Mistletoe

by Tammy L. Bailey

  “I-I think we should shake hands for now.”

  His lips curled into a wry smile. “Of course.” Still, he drew closer over the table, so close he could feel her soft breath caress his cheeks. “Just so you know, once the deal is sealed…with a handshake, it can’t be broken, no matter what.”

  She glared down at his extended hand. Maybe he had pushed her too far. “Grace.” Now, he didn’t want her to think too long on what he’d proposed.

  “Oh, all right,” she huffed out and thrust her small hand into his. As they sealed their fate, he wondered who stood the most to gain and who the most to lose. Unsure how deep he wanted to dive into that answer, he folded his palm around hers, roused by the tender heat radiating from such a small part of her petite body.

  “Ayden?”

  He glanced up to find his sister standing above them, her blue eyes as big as Mistletoe’s moon before Christmas. When he felt Grace’s hand begin to pull away, he tightened his grip, slicing a gentle warning in her direction.

  “Hi, Maggie.” He brought his other hand to cup Grace’s thumb. In smooth and erotic rhythm, he caressed her velvety skin, a diminutive whimper escaping deep in her throat. “Maggie, this is Grace Evans. Grace, my sister, Maggie McCrery.”

  Grace presented her free hand and offered a timid wave. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

  Maggie didn’t even bat a purple dusted eyelash. “Oh, that’s amazing since I’ve never heard one thing about you.”

  An awkward silence followed as Maggie lifted her cheeks into an overly friendly smile in his direction.

  “I’m Ayden’s…girlfriend,” Grace said after a nervous inhale, her obvious inability to tell a lie showing like fireworks on the 4th of July.

  “Maggie, how’s Kyle? Is the Army letting him come home for the holidays?” Neil stole up from out of nowhere, placing an affectionate arm around her and adding, “Oh, I see you’ve met Grace. Ain’t she pretty?”

  Maggie bobbled her head in baffled agreement. Desire to take control of the situation forced Ayden to stand and bring Grace with him, their hands still very much intertwined.

  “Sorry, Maggie, but I’m late dropping off some blueprints.”

  His sister scooted to the side, her mouth open and her voice seemingly stuck on what she wanted to say. “But…but…you’re still coming to dinner tomorrow, right?” she called. Grace stumbled behind him, her suitcase in tow and the entire bar as quiet as a room full of marble statues.

  “Damn,” he muttered, forgetting all about the infamous Christmas tree dinner at the McCrery House. It meant more to Maggie this year than any other since her husband’s National Guard unit had shipped out to some undisclosed location for a twelve-month deployment. They weren’t even due back until February.

  “Dinner?” Grace echoed low, her quiet voice trembling.

  Ayden shifted back to reassure her. “Don’t worry. There will be too much festive mayhem for Maggie to pay too much attention to us.” At least, he hoped so.

  ****

  Between the booth, the bar and the door, Grace panicked. She didn’t remember drinking any beer, but her mind remained foggy and her judgment too impulsive to believe she hadn’t taken a sip of something potent.

  Oh, what had she done? Not only would Ayden McCabe’s plan not work, she would humiliate herself in the process. Not that this didn’t happen once a month with Rick. In addition, she knew nothing about Ayden. Well, except he was the town’s favorite bachelor, a superhero, and a combination of two, perhaps three, of Jane Austen’s most portrayed characters.

  She waited for a pang of apprehension, something to tell her he was not to be trusted. However, nothing, not even a tiny voice to warn of some impending doom, rose to caution her.

  Still, he escorted her into the night, believing it too late to change her mind. She didn’t halt until a blast of frigid air and wet snow hit her face.

  “Grace?”

  She sniffed, the glacial air freezing her nostrils together for a strange and scary moment. He appeared not to notice as they stood together, their fingers interlocked, his smooth and sensual palm stroking against hers.

  Despite his impeccable, though impenetrable reputation, she wondered if she was putting too much faith in a man she’d only just met. What woman threw herself at the mercy of a stranger, a striking and intriguing stranger, but a stranger all the same?

  Her hesitation to go any further prompted him to turn away, his expression stern and distant. When she thought he might dive into a tantrum over her sudden change of heart, he instead twisted back around and pulled her close to him.

  His hands captured both sides of her arms, forcing a puff of icy air from her lips.

  “Give me one day, Grace. If you change your mind, I’ll drive you to the nearest vacant hotel, fifty or so miles away and pay for your stay, no questions asked.”

  Lost in his nearness, she murmured her thoughts. “But, Maggie—”

  He crooked his index finger under her chin, forcing her lips closer to his. “One day,” he whispered. Then he stepped back, his sudden abandonment causing a visible and lingering shiver. She tightened the light jacket around her body until Ayden shrugged out of his coat and placed the masculine-scented covering across her shoulders.

  Entranced, she lingered until he lifted her suitcase and placed it in the back of his truck, covering it with a sapphire blue tarp. She managed a few unsteady steps to the passenger side, surprised when he followed and proceeded to open the door and help her inside.

  “I have to drop off something at work. Do you mind?”

  So unused to being asked her opinion or permission, she sent him an awkward headshake, finding it more and more difficult to deny him anything.

  He closed the door and waved to an older couple before joining her in the driver’s seat.

  “What is a Christmas tree dinner?” she asked.

  He glanced out the back window, smudged gray from salt and grime. He didn’t answer until he backed out and shifted the truck into Drive, his gaze steady on the road ahead. “Every Saturday after Thanksgiving, Maggie invites a few of us over for soda bread, stew, and potato cakes. In exchange, we help decorate the Christmas tree. With her husband overseas, there was no way I could say no.”

  “Oh.” Grace fell silent, the quiet, she supposed, too much for him to take.

  “It really isn’t all that bad.”

  “No.” Grace regretted how she’d sent him the wrong impression. “It’s just been a long time since…” She trailed off, not even sure how much she wanted him to know about her.

  “Since what?” The genuine concern and interest in his deep tone caused Grace to glance into the lapsing landscape. On her side, before a dark purple sky, architect-designed gingerbread houses sat adorable and inviting. They complemented the town and brought an alluring draw to its already cheerful atmosphere.

  “It’s been a long time since I’ve celebrated Christmas.” She paused, fighting the urge to reveal more of her past. She’d never had anyone ask so many questions about her personal life before.

  “Oh, a non-believer?” he said.

  She turned to see his features stretched into what seemed like disappointing lines. Why she cared what he thought of her, she didn’t know.

  “No,” she corrected, afraid she’d have to expose a part of her past not even Rick cared to know. She thought about remaining silent, changing the subject, or pulling the door handle and jumping from the cab, anything to avoid talking about her dysfunctional life.

  “So, then are you a female Ebenezer Scrooge?”

  She scoffed. “So, then are you always this nosy?”

  He bent toward her and chuckled. “I can be.” His sideways smirk, a trifling gesture if there ever was one, sent her heart lurching. Something about his calming openness prompted her to bare more.

  “It’s just that I don’t have many enjoyable moments about the holiday. That’s all.”

  She thought he’d let it go. Most men did, or at least
, most men she knew, one of them in particular. With Rick, whenever she braved a serious topic, the direction of their relationship for example, he’d downshift into blissful ignorance or retreat.

  “What, did Danielle get more presents than you?”

  Grace jerked her head in Ayden’s direction, unsure if he was joking or being serious. Fine, if he was this curious, she’d tell him. It served him right for prying into her past. “No. My dad left my mom on Christmas day. From that point forward, I relate the merry holiday to one of the worst days of my life.”

  She brought in a shaky breath, realizing she’d unleashed fourteen years of anger and hurt down on a man who, less than an hour ago, thought she wanted to pay him to have sex with her. Mortified by her words and by the shocked look on his face, she angled her head toward passenger side window.

  Grateful he didn’t try to comfort her or say something stupid, she sat in contented silence as he maneuvered the truck up a narrow driveway, the bumpy lane riddled with muddy holes and slushy snow.

  “What’s this?” She rotated in his direction, hoping he’d forgotten the last few moments of their conversation.

  He blinked at her with narrowed eyes before nodding. “Well, if all goes well, my next project. The county wants to build a tourist lodge to bring in more money. McCabe Builders is bidding for the job, and I wanted to show the blueprints to a few of the men to see what they think. They have a stake in this, too.”

  A little familiar with the bidding process, Grace wanted to know more. “So, do you have a good chance of getting the job?”

  Ayden tossed her a quick glance, surprised she cared to ask him any more questions.

  “I don’t know. A larger company from Bellevue is also offering, and they have much more capital, enough to come in lower, much lower.”

  “Why don’t you come in lower then?”

  “If someone offered to buy the B&B, I would.”

  “Oh.” Grace noticed the disappointment and firmness in Ayden’s stern tone.

  “Sometimes it’s substance over means; matter over money.” He shifted his truck into Park and lifted his arm to wrap around the back of her seat. Grace froze, her pulse jumping into an erratic rhythm. He was going to kiss her and she was going to let him.

  Chapter Four

  The few seconds of anticipation proved to be a grand disappointment as Ayden reached back to pull out something behind the seat, bypassing her lips for a rolled-up tube with black lettering: Blueprints. Her cheeks burned with embarrassment, and she ducked her head to keep him from noticing.

  “I won’t be long.” He left the truck running and the heat cranked all the way to the right.

  While she sat alone, she glanced around, amused to find a My Favorite Uncle coffee mug jammed in the cup holder near the cassette radio.

  From the mirror dangled a set of metal dog tags. It was too dark to make out anyone’s information. Still, her fingers skimmed over the raised typeset until the door jerked open.

  Ashamed at her nosiness, she fell back against the seat, afraid she’d intruded too far into his private life. Seemingly clueless to her snooping, he dropped in beside her, adjusted the dog tags, and circled the truck back the way they came.

  “You were in the military?” she asked, wondering if he’d shut down and change the subject.

  Ayden smiled. “I was, but I’m sure you already knew that, right?”

  She dipped her head. “Yes, Jolene Watson is probably one of your biggest fans. She has you perched upon a pretty high pedestal.”

  In the diminished light, Grace noticed how his jaw clenched and his features turned a shade darker.

  Up a slight hill and on a curved horseshoe driveway, he remained aloof and reflective, easing the truck to a stop before two post lights at a two-story, gray-stoned house. The large wraparound porch stood as the house’s most welcoming feature.

  Beside the stone house stood another, half the size but exquisitely charming and quaint. With no lights shining from the windows, she wondered if it remained shuttered for any particular reason. She returned her attention to the main house ahead.

  “Is this—”

  “Hearth’s Gate? It is now,” he said, before bumping his shoulder against the door and jumping out to retrieve her suitcase. She fumbled for the handle, her mind sobering at the bizarre circumstances surrounding their agreement.

  She must have dallied too long, glancing up to find him already opening her door. He extended his hand, her acceptance of his offer as natural as blinking.

  Still, she stood unused to this kind of attention or care. Most of her life, her sister and mother had depended on her to open the doors, take their hand, and guide them where they needed to go. She had been their rock for more years than she cared to count. She believed Rick saw her the same way. No matter what he did or how he acted, she’d remain his rock and his lighthouse, always steady and waiting for him whenever he became lost. Sometimes she wished she had her own lighthouse built upon a steady rock, and anchored with a love she only read about in romance novels.

  “I stay in the main house. The one beside is nothing more than a workshop now,” he said.

  Grace peered back to the one and half story stone structure. She remembered the shop she’d been thinking about turning into her own café and bakery. Of course, gazing upon this quaint house made the place in San Francisco appear plain and unappealing now.

  “I’ll show you to your room before Maggie flounces over, lobbing more questions at us than we have answers.”

  Grace agreed, allowing him to lead her into an inviting foyer, soft skylights illuminating the solid oak flooring and a curving oak staircase.

  “I always keep a room ready for Maggie and the kids. Since Kyle’s deployment, she likes having a place to stay when things get a little overwhelming.”

  “You have a beautiful place,” Grace said in awe of the antique furnishings and traditional paintings hanging on the Tuscan-painted walls.

  He glanced around before returning his attention. “Thank you.” He said nothing else as Grace sensed his unwillingness to get too close or reveal much of his parents’ legacy.

  He stepped onto the staircase, her suitcase still in his hand. Near the arched window halfway up, he paused, glancing back to make sure she followed.

  A crystal chandelier dangled above them, swathing a soft light over his strong jaw and intent gaze, causing her heart to flutter like a captured sparrow.

  “Grace?”

  She needed a distraction. “Tell me you can find Danielle.”

  He didn’t hesitate. “I can find Danielle.”

  Satisfied with his answer, though flustered over her constant reaction of him, she lifted her foot to take the first step, realizing it sealed their fate.

  Like the downstairs, the upper level opened up into quiet splendor and coziness. In the hall, warm colors of tan and burgundy enhanced a marble table placed between two closed doors.

  “This is my room.” He pointed to the right. “That will be yours.” He paused as if to give her time to change her mind. When she said nothing, he continued. “The linen closet is at the end of the hall, and the bathroom is behind us.”

  “Does that mean we have to share a shower?” The idea was too intimate to contemplate.

  “Only if you want to,” he responded, misconstruing her question with a flirtatious suggestion.

  A reply froze on her lips. He sent her a smirk before stretching in front of her to open the door, his mouth drawing a few inches from hers. Grace held her breath and the urge to lean forward.

  “It can get a little chilly in this room at night, so I’ll make a fire and bring out some extra blankets before you go to bed.”

  She stood before him, motionless, lost in his thoughtful nature and sensual scent. Crisp air, soap, and radiating heat oozed from his body, drawing her ever closer. Now, she understood everything Jolene bragged about him. If he did own a cape, Grace wondered where he stored it.

  Too easy, Grace though
t, for her to become attracted to a man who treated emotional relationships like kryptonite. Maybe that’s why so many women answered his sister’s ad: he was a challenge to be won or conquered. Grace knew, however, that men like Ayden McCabe set the rules of engagement and never detoured. He was as determined to remain alone as women like Rachel and the twenty or so others on his voicemail were determined to claim him.

  Resolute to remind herself of this every time he drew within a breath of her, she stepped into the room. Reminiscing over her mother’s hysteria and her sister’s foolish behavior kept Grace focused on her mission and her future, wherever that lay.

  “Where do you want it?”

  She twisted back to Ayden, her head shaking from his question. She believed he’d somehow read her mind until he raised her suitcase, his eyebrows quirked and waiting for her answer. Embarrassed at her whimsical thoughts, she pointed toward the white metal brass bed, a snowy-white down comforter spread across the mattress, a wine-red throw folded at the foot. On each side hung two double-hung windows, matching curtains draped over one single vintage wooden rod.

  Near the foot of the bed sat a white brick fireplace, a set of five-arm candelabras and an oval mirror resting on a mahogany mantelpiece.

  He placed her suitcase upon the bouncy mattress, clapped his hands together, and turned to face her. “I don’t know about you, but I’m starved. I have some leftover stew, and we can make some sandwiches.”

  “That sounds heavenly,” she said, realizing she’d been too upset to eat much of anything between San Francisco and Mistletoe.

  “Then I’ll meet you downstairs?”

  ****

  Ayden observed Grace’s cautious smile. Innocent and brave, uncertain and demure, he knew it wouldn’t be long before she forgot their pact and started asking questions about a future together.

  Of course, he anticipated some physical contact between them. He recognized the interest and curiosity in her eyes right away.

  However, determined he’d made the right decision regarding their agreement, he left the room and pivoted left at the bottom of the steps, twisting in the direction of his updated kitchen. For six months, he’d labored, installing tall French doors leading onto a twenty-foot deck, polished oak cabinets, and black marble countertops that helped pull the spectacular mountainous view inside.