In Mistletoe

by Tammy L. Bailey

  With Grace on his mind, he opened the fridge and carted out last night’s dinner, all the while vowing to remain unaffected by her nearness.

  As she lingered longer upstairs, he checked his phone, deleting seven new messages and dialing an old friend who had recently left the military to start his own investigative company outside Seattle.

  “Fitzy, it’s McCabe.”

  “Well, how the hell are ya, Lieutenant? Me and Hogan were just talking about you…wondering if you were ready to move to Seattle and become part of our team. Hey, Hoge, it’s the lieutenant.” There was a pause. “Hogan sends a salute.”

  Ayden grinned. “I hope it’s a respectable one.”

  Fitzy chuckled. “Always, sir. What’s new?”

  Ayden was still unsure of all the pieces and parts to Grace’s sister’s sudden escape. “How are you at locating someone who may or may not want to be found?”

  “Well, if you remember, we specialized in the latter.” Fitzgerald took a loud sip of whatever he held his hand, followed by an exaggerated, Aaah.

  “How old are they?”

  “Old enough to get married.” Ayden dumped the congealed stew into a large steel pot.

  Fitz howled as Charlie Hogan, Fitz’s wingman since their tour in Afghanistan, spewed a string of curse words for scaring the hell out of him.

  With the speaker muffled from Fitzy’s hand, Ayden thought the man did a horrible job of explaining the situation. “I think the lieutenant’s planning to get married if we can find the woman.”

  “No, Fitzy,” Ayden corrected him. “She’s a sister of a friend, not anyone I know personally.”

  “Oh, of course.” A momentary pause followed. “You can count on us. As soon as you can, email me a picture of the woman along with any other information, a cell phone number, address, things like that. I’ll have her found before you can say I do.”

  Ayden started to correct his platoon sergeant again, but the man was fully engaged in answering the deluge of questions from Hogan yelling across the room. “What? Is the lieutenant getting married? You owe me fifty bucks!”

  “No,” Fitzy called back, “I don’t owe you any money. I told you once, and I’ll tell you again, Lt. McCabe will settle down when camels fly.”

  Then the phone call ended, leaving Ayden to reflect over Fitzy’s words.

  “Oh, the stew smells wonderful. Do you want me to make the sandwiches?”

  Ayden glanced up to find Grace shuffling into the room, hair pulled away from her face in a haphazard ponytail. He thought she looked more at home here than anyone he’d ever invited in the door. “Yes, you’ll find everything you need in the fridge and on the counter over there.” He pointed to a green vintage breadbox his mother brought over from Ireland.

  His gaze followed Grace’s easy gait to the box first, unable to take his gaze away as she pulled out some Irish sweet bread. From his mother’s recipe, he’d made a few extra batches to give to the charity auction for Thanksgiving.

  “I spoke to a friend of mine in Seattle who has an investigation service company. He needs all the information you can give me on Danielle.”

  Grace froze midway back to where he stood. “I thought you’d…that we’d try and find her. She said she was staying in Mistletoe. Surely, it won’t take long to ask around, show her picture, find someone who’s seen her.”

  Ayden stopped what he was doing, taken aback by Grace’s frantic response. He rounded the counter and met her in the open space between them. “I hate to be the one to break this to you, but your sister hasn’t set one foot in Mistletoe. She’s either lying or leading you on a wild goose chase. I tend to believe the latter, for some reason.”

  Grace’s delicate eyebrows drew together. “But…but that doesn’t make any sense. God, none of this makes any sense. She’d never do this to Trevor.”

  The concern in her face forced Ayden to soften his tone. Before him existed a woman left by her father at such a young age and forced to grow up fast and, apparently, become the fixer in the family. Whether she knew it or not, she stood like concrete, set to crumble at any moment.

  “So, does Trevor know he no longer has a willing fiancée?” Ayden asked.

  Grace’s shoulders stiffened. “Danielle is not unwilling. I…I know she’s not.” She paused, her pretty face lined with uncertainty. “It’s complicated.”

  “Aren’t all relationships?” Ayden asked, his voice low and steady. He wondered on a consistent basis if his mother had taken advantage of his father’s willingness to stay here. While resentment of her began to nag at him, guilt burned a slow hole in his stomach. If only his father had had a backbone and his mother had listened, they might still be alive today, maybe living back in Ireland. And his friend and comrade might have—

  “You don’t know them,” Grace mumbled, more to herself than to him. Under hooded lashes, he watched her throw a few things, literally, between slices of the bread he’d made. In silence, she brought the plate over and placed it on the island countertop.

  They ate, he unable to take his gaze from her for more than a few seconds at a time. At last, her spoon scraped the bottom of her bowl, and she sat back, her eyes filled with satisfaction. “That was the best meal I believe I’ve ever had.” She placed her small hand against her flat stomach.

  “Well, I’m glad you liked it. It was my mom’s recipe.”

  Her lips parted, and her gaze lifted at a slow rate to his face. He knew then, she’d been told about his past. He’d learned long ago, nothing was sacred here, not even to a mere passerby. “I’m very sorry about your parents,” she said, her voice quiet and cautious.

  He nodded and narrowed his eyes. “Let me guess. Jolene again? And what else did our busy train station attendant say about what happens in Mistletoe?”

  He leaned forward, resting his elbows and forearm on the table. He only hoped Grace knew nothing of the legend surrounding the Christmas Eve Eve Dance. The last thing he needed was her getting some romantic notion about them staying together after this.

  Chapter Five

  Grace considered her first words. She wanted to know more about the man she was supposed to pretend to be in love with, the man who made her heart jump every time his gaze lowered to her mouth. She cleared her throat and shook into an indifferent demeanor, knowing he could see right through her if he wanted. “She said your parents ran Hearth’s Gate before they died and that you’d come back here to take care of your sister.”

  “I see.”

  “How long were you over there?”

  He hesitated, making her wish she hadn’t asked the question. After several moments, he sent a quick smile. “Not long. I was a very young officer, and I was on patrol when I received the news of my parents’ deaths. After that, I put in for a hardship discharge, left my men and a good friend behind, and never looked back.”

  Grace didn’t know what to say to a man who’d fought a war and lost his parents at the same time, so she didn’t say anything. They sat in stillness for a moment, she picturing him in charge of a group of men willing to die for their country. He appeared so brave and fearless on the outside, but on the inside, she wondered how much alike they really were.

  “What are you thinking, Miss Evans?”

  Surprised by her thoughts and his questions, she jumped and then dipped her chin to her chest.

  “Oh, come on. I see a hundred questions swimming around in that pretty…fine head of yours.”

  She giggled, remembering the warning of anyone calling her pretty again. Instead of revealing her thoughts, she threw a question at him that was unexpected, for both of them. “So, are you planning on taking anyone to the Christmas Eve Eve dance?”

  The corners of his mouth turned downward, and he pulled back, making her wonder if she’d crossed some unknown boundary. Instead of retreating, she sat waiting for his answer. She also sat staring at his mouth for a few wild heartbeats before he leaned forward, his fingers coming so close to touching hers.

  “Yo
u’re going to be home soon, I’m sure, too busy to think of who I may or may not be planning to take anywhere.”

  Grace tried not to imagine his body flattened against Rachel’s at the legendary dance, his lips pressed against her temple and words of endearment on his tongue.

  His smile returned. “Look, Grace. I promised I’d find your sister, so don’t get any bright ideas of staying any longer than a few days. We have an agreement, and I expect you to uphold your end of it.”

  Offended that he had to remind her of their emotionless pact, she tilted her chin higher. “I hate to blow a hole in your ego, Mr. McCabe, but I’m looking forward to returning to San Francisco and my—”

  ****

  Ayden didn’t know why, but believing she was going to say boyfriend sent him over the edge of calm. He reached her, bracing his arms on each side of her and pushing her gently against the counter. Her peppery breath fanned across his face, her small breasts rising fast to press firm against his chest. Blood rushed through his veins and to the more masculine parts of him. He locked gazes with her, his jaw tense and his tone warning. “From this moment forward, the only boyfriend you have is me, are we understood, Miss Evans?”

  She swallowed loud, her mesmerizing brown-hazel eyes blinking, her tongue darting out to wet her lips. Damn, he wanted to kiss her. Hard. But what signal would that send her? He had no doubt she’d believe she had a future here like the others. “You could not be more wrong in your assumption, Mr. McCabe. I was about to say, my life. And we both know I don’t have a man waiting for me, or at least, I haven’t had one for three weeks and five days,” she said in tantalizing whisper.

  He pushed away, angry with himself for not staying in control of his thoughts and emotions. She lured him, with her pretty eyes and a tantalizing mouth. He fisted his hands and willed himself to place more distance between them. When he’d separated them by a few feet, she cleared her throat and changed the subject.

  “It was very noble, what you did,” she said after a long silence between them.

  He shook his head, unsure of what she’d meant.

  “Leaving your career behind to take care of your little sister.”

  He never thought it was noble. Not even once. “It was a long time ago.” He grabbed Grace’s empty bowl and placed it in his to put into the sink. He wanted to end it there, believing he had when she asked him the question he thought he’d never have to answer again.

  “Why did your parents call this place Hearth’s Gate?”

  He opened and closed his mouth, struggling with an explanation without actually having to show her. After all, what good came from unlocking that door again? When Grace continued to sit, blinking at him, innocent and curious, he walked around to stand before her. In a casual gesture, he presented her his hand.

  “Come with me.” Like the several times before, she surrendered her palm against his, the contact growing more comforting and natural, more self-indulgent and pleasing.

  Through a set of solid French doors, he guided her, the room swathed in darkness and stale air. Since he’d refused to replace the chandelier bulbs that had blown out, one at a time, nine years before, he let go of her hand to search for a dusty candle and match. He found both on the timbered mantel above the shadowed hearth.

  Scents of sulfur and wax filled the room as he lit the blackened wick and turned the flickering light to the grand stone fireplace. He wasn’t surprised by Grace’s reaction, her eyes wide, glittering, and full of admiration for the place his parents cherished.

  “It’s…breathtaking.” She left him to glance around the room and to glide a hand over a long double pedestal dining table. He was sure, if he closed his eyes, he could still hear the many guests who would gather for breakfast in the mornings. With the memories came the numerous times he’d fought with his father about stepping onto the frozen porch to retrieve the logs for the fire.

  “Aye, son, but our guests will be waking soon,” the man would say in his heavy Irish lilt.

  Ayden believed Hearth’s Gate never saw a day unoccupied. With its dining room always bursting with laughter, his mother always smiling, he thought it would last forever. Well, until he returned to find the room filled with black-clad mourners, their wrenching sobs replacing the once delightful gaiety.

  “Ayden?” Grace’s quiet and angelic voice at his right arm caused him to choke back a treasure trove of raw emotions.

  “You should have seen this place before—”

  Unprepared to share more than he already had, he blew out the candle, grasped Grace’s steady hand and led her back toward the kitchen, shutting the door on the room and the memories.

  She respected him enough not to ask any more from him. After cleaning the kitchen, they sat at the breakfast table as she showed him the picture of Danielle, pretty like Grace but with longer, lighter hair, sparkling green eyes, and a carefree smile.

  “She looks like you,” he said.

  Grace’s nose wrinkled. “No, Danielle is gorgeous and has left a trail of broken hearts down every street in San Francisco since she was sixteen. She was lucky to have met Trevor. After one date, he vowed he was going to marry her—” Grace stopped short, and sighed. “She’s so spoiled; she doesn’t know how lucky she is to find someone like him. He’s perfect and loves her so much.”

  “Perfect?” Ayden interrupted.

  “I didn’t say he was perfect.”

  Ayden nodded, suppressing an obnoxious grin. “Yes, you did.”

  Her features changed, her teeth drawing her bottom lip in to nibble for a few moments. “I mean…I meant perfect for her. Danielle needs someone to coddle and bend to her every whim, and Trevor does so without her ever having to ask.”

  Ayden slid close enough to pick up the subtle smell of Grace’s vanilla- and sugar-scented skin. “So, is that what you’re looking for? Do you want to find someone to take care of you and bend to your every whim?”

  Her gaze shifted away from him, and he knew she was either getting ready to hand him an excuse or a lie.

  “Since I’m not currently looking, I’m not sure how to answer your question.”

  His attention dropped to her mouth, wet and red from trying to avoid answering him. From what he knew about her so far, she put everyone else first, unsure or unwilling to transfer any responsibility. Even if she did find someone who was willing to live for her and only for her, Ayden wondered how fast she’d walk away. Maybe run was a better word.

  He decided he had plenty of time to figure out Ms. Evans in the next few days and so changed the subject. “If you want to go get settled in, I’ll gather some firewood from outside.”

  “Okay,” she agreed. He drifted toward the sliding glass doors when she called him back around. “Do you mind if I take a shower?”

  His mouth opened, but he just stared at her. Was she asking or inviting him? Of course, this wasn’t the first time he’d been asked, but the question was usually followed by a come-hither look and a tantalizing exit in order to get him to follow. Instead, Grace stood there, her black lashes blinking in half-second intervals. He realized soon enough he’d dated too many women with only one thing in mind.

  “It’s all right if I don’t,” she said after he didn’t answer her right away.

  He nodded to shake out of his thoughts. “Oh, yes, of course. Have at it.”

  She sent him a curious smile and rotated toward the hallway. By the time he’d gathered enough wood for the fireplace and traipsed upstairs to her room, the water in the main bathroom was already running. Left alone, he tried to focus on not burning his fingers on the match as he heard the scrape of the shower curtain and the squeak of the nozzle.

  “Get it together, McCabe,” he mumbled to himself, forcing his mind to block out the image and sounds of trickling water over bare skin. Grace’s bare skin. Damn. She might not have wanted him to think of her in such a way, however, it didn’t prevent his mind from calling up the image over and over again.

  An agonizing fifteen
minutes later, she stumbled into the room, her eyes wide, her arms crossing over a form-fitting blue T-shirt and a matching pair of boxer pajamas that barely cleared her upper thighs. At her navel, the thin fabric clung to her damp skin.

  In one exhale, the blood drained from his head and straight into his groin. Like any blue-blooded male, his gaze drifted at a slow pace toward her glowing face. She blinked at him, reminding him of an innocent angel caught between two worlds. Unfortunately, her appearance spurred him into a devil of a mood.

  “Did you stop to think that what you’re wearing might be a tad inappropriate?” he said, his tone gruff and husky.

  Her arms dropped to her sides, her small hands fisted and ready to battle. In her bare feet, she padded across the oak floor and stopped less than a foot away. By her heavy breathing, he knew he’d just swatted at a hornet.

  “Not that I’m an expert on fires, but I didn’t think it would take more than five minutes to start one. To be honest, I didn’t think you’d still be here,” she said, her voice shaking. He thought she was done until she brought in a few more deep breaths.

  “Besides, if I’d not been in such a hurry to leave San Francisco, where it’s probably sixty degrees at the moment, I would have spent more time searching for my mother’s full length nightgown with the frilly ruffles instead of grabbing this.”

  Ah, there it was. She’d found her voice and spirit, unleashing God knows how many hours of travel and anxiety in one fell swoop. Of course, she’d not worn the skimpy attire to coerce him into making love to her. Damn, he’d been dating way too long.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, beginning to unbutton his blue and white flannel. When she jumped back, grabbed the blanket off the bed and covered herself, he froze at her insinuation and the fact that his motion caused her to retreat clear across the room.