Yule Be Mine

by Charlene Teglia

  "But you aren't going to be a Christian much longer. You'd better get used to doing things the Foster way,” he countered.

  "I knew it. I knew I should never have let you get your way with the ring. Now you'll expect to get your way all the time,” Jordan fumed.

  "Ring?” Gary asked mildly.

  Jordan beamed at him and displayed the rock for his perusal.

  The older brother hesitated a moment longer, then reached out to clasp Luke's hand. “I guess you're the lucky man. Congratulations."

  "Thank you.” Luke relented enough to set Jordan back on her feet as he shook Gary's hand, but he made sure he kept a firm grip on her. It gave him chills to think of the trouble she could stir up without even trying. And it gave him an inner sense of deep satisfaction to think of her wreaking havoc on his unwitting family later.

  It served them right for all their heavy-handed attempts to see him paired off.

  His smug reflections were disturbed when another bear-like male let out a roar and charged, swooping his fiancée off her feet. “There you are! I've got you now.” The stranger let out a chilling cackle and began stomping off with her down the hall. “You can't escape your fate. You will ... peel the potatoes!"

  The pronouncement of her sentence had Jordan moaning and pleading for a lesser one. Then she seemed to recall that she'd forgotten someone and tugged at one handy ear. “Stop! Wait!"

  The bear lumbered to a halt. “Don't try to weasel out of it. It's your turn."

  "No, no, I'll peel the potatoes,” Jordan assured him. “I want you to meet someone. Luke, this is Lawrence, my other brother. Lawrence, meet Luke Foster, your future brother-in-law."

  The bear turned and subjected him to a leisurely head to toe survey. “Him? You want to marry him? What's wrong with Seymour?"

  Jordan gave a half sigh, half groan in answer to that. “What's right with Seymour would be a better question. Anyway he came along too late. Luke had already captured my hand. And my heart,” she threw in for good measure.

  The bear growled. Then he rumbled, “What kind of a name is Luke? I can't let you marry a man with a name like that. Luke. One syllable. It's ridiculous. No. I'm sorry, he'll have to go."

  "His full name is Lucius,” Jordan stated serenely.

  Luke shot her a look of pure venom. Apparently she'd given that one a great deal of thought ahead of time.

  The bear rumbled, considering. “All right. You can marry him. But you'd better think of the children when it's time to come up with names. Don't let him help."

  "I won't. I've already thought of Desdemona, Drucilla and Lucretia for girls,” Jordan replied with apparent sincerity.

  The bear nodded. “Nice to meet you, Lucius. Welcome to the family. Come and stir the gravy, would you?"

  "Glad to,” Luke murmured. He followed the stomping bear-like Lawrence carrying Jordan off to the kitchen if not to the dungeons—and he had the distinct feeling that he'd stepped into a strange world inhabited by mysterious beings.

  He really should have known. A person like Jordan didn't come from an average, normal American family. It was rather amusing, actually. The Christians were a family of heathens.

  He couldn't wait for his family to meet them all. It was exactly what they deserved.

  He could barely contain a grin, thinking of his mother's expression as she anticipated wedding plans that would accommodate the preferences of both sides. He wondered if Lawrence would bellow that a woman with an unworthy name like Margaret couldn't be allowed to have anything to do with the ceremony. Or maybe he'd be moved to accept her on the basis of her name consisting of three syllables.

  Jordan grinned at him over her brother's shoulder and Luke smiled back at her, content to stir gravy if it meant he had the unprecedented pleasure of watching her be made to peel the spuds. She'd make a charming scullery slave. An enticing urchin with dirt streaking her face. For the first time, Luke could appreciate the sentiment of keeping a woman in the kitchen. Barefoot, she'd be even more adorable. He was sure she'd have tiny, perfect pink toes with miniature pearly nails. He had a sudden desire to see her naked feet.

  Then he realized the direction his thoughts were taking. She was driving him insane. And he had a long way to go before New Year's Day. Luke began to wonder if he wouldn't have been better off with Cotton Candy after all.

  Then Jordan winked and blew him a kiss and he knew he wouldn't trade her for anything. For better or worse, she was his ... at least for the time being.

  Lawrence elbowed past a crowd of women to deposit Jordan in front of a mountain of potatoes. He handed her a peeler, pointed to a pan for the peels and plunked down an enormous bowl to contain the readied potatoes. Then he placed a paw between Luke's shoulders and aimed him at the stove, where a pot of gravy bubbled to the side of a cauldron of boiling water, presumably in readiness for the spuds Jordan began dutifully peeling.

  "Here,” he boomed, nearly deafening Luke. “Keep stirring until it thickens. I'll turn it down to simmer for you.” Lawrence adjusted the temperature, handed him a wire whisk and then made a megaphone from his hands, as if that was necessary. “Everyone, listen up!"

  A hush fell over the kitchen and all eyes turned to the bear. “Jordan's getting hitched,” he announced. “This is Luke, the hitch-ee. It's a terrible name, but Jordan promises not to let him name the children, so we'll let her keep him anyway. Introduce yourselves and don't let him burn the gravy.” Then the bear lumbered away, oblivious to the shocked female faces left in the wake of his announcement.

  Luke decided he could well understand Jordan's penchant for charm. It could come in handy around this group. He wished he had some of it himself. He summoned up his best smile and made eye contact all the way around. “Nice to meet you.” Then his eyes bulged in horror as he saw Jordan pick up an enormous carving knife to cut out a potato eye. “Stop!"

  She jumped at his unexpected shout and Luke nearly died inside until he saw that she hadn't lost her grip on the knife handle.

  He moved quickly to take it away from her and heaved a sigh of relief. Then he glared at her. “Don't ever do that again. You use a paring knife for that, Jordan."

  She glared back. “This was handy."

  Suddenly he didn't trust her with a paring knife, either. “Go stir the gravy. I'll do these."

  "No."

  "Yes."

  She opened her pink Cupid's bow lips to argue and Luke clapped a hand over them in callous disregard. “Stir or wear the matching earrings. Your choice,” he threatened.

  Sparks flew from her gray eyes. It was a good thing she couldn't speak, he decided. She wouldn't sound very loving just at that moment.

  Maybe he should make it easier for her to back down. He did an impromptu Dirty Harry impersonation. “What's it going to be, huh? Do you feel lucky?"

  She started to laugh in surprise and delight at his talent.

  Luke grinned back at her. “Come on, wench, stir the gravy or we'll have some explaining to do to Lawrence when it burns.” He removed his hand and handed her the whisk with a flourish.

  Jordan took it and headed for the stove. Then she threw him a melting, impish look over her shoulder and blew him another kiss—and it hit him.

  By golly, she'd done it again. He'd been had. Tom Sawyer hadn't been half as clever, getting his fence whitewashed. The Snow Queen had just struck, and now he was stuck peeling her potatoes.

  Luke did a slow burn as she saw the realization in his eyes and giggled in helpless delight at his predicament. He certainly couldn't announce to the whole kitchen that he was an idiot who'd been thoroughly snowed. But he would get her later. The dark promise burned in his light blue eyes and the incorrigible imp just laughed harder.

  She shrugged when the group of sisters-in-law turned their questioning eyes on her. “Private joke."

  As one, they nodded thoughtfully.

  A motherly-looking brunette pulled up a chair and started to assist Luke in peeling through the mountain. “I'm Vicky,�
�� she said with a friendly smile. “Theodore's wife. He's the youngest brother,” she added in explanation. “The quiet one."

  Luke raised a dubious brow. “Are any of them quiet?"

  She grinned back. “Well, things are never dull around here. Let's just leave it at that."

  Luke nodded. He thought he could understand Jordan's preference for living alone. Without some peace and quiet, insanity would strike quickly. In fact meeting her family was providing all kinds of little revelations. He was growing in his understanding of her every minute.

  "I've known Jordan for years,” Vicky continued. “You know that her brothers raised her from the time she was twelve, don't you? She was a late gift. The boys were all grown so when their parents died, we all sort of helped mother her when we married into the family. So in a manner of speaking, you'll soon have four mothers-in-law."

  Luke digested that piece of information with some dismay.

  Vicky laughed at his obvious consternation. “Don't worry; we're all so happy to see her finally settling down that you'll probably be nominated for sainthood."

  Luke wondered how to respond to that. A saint would never be able to handle Jordan. Only a more devilish and determined man stood a chance. A man like himself, he mused. It was a pleasantly heady thought.

  The mothers-in-law—or sisters—whichever—ooh-ed and ah-ed gratifyingly over the engagement ring. Luke shot Jordan a look of smug satisfaction. Unmoved, she actually stuck her tongue out at him when nobody was looking.

  He was definitely going to get her later.

  In a flurry of banging dishes, arguments over the proper way to carve the bird, and assorted other moments of madness, dinner was finally served and the whole family gathered to give thanks.

  As the eldest, Gary gave the blessing. Luke felt the first hint of unease when he was included in the prayer of thanksgiving for the family's blessings. Then he decided that no thunderbolt from the heavens would be striking. He had his hands full fighting for the side of good, trying to keep a wicked, wayward wench out of trouble. It was poetic justice, really—he'd started off wanting a fraud for his family. Now he was rising to the challenge of straightening out a woman with more twists than a wire clothes hanger.

  The more he thought about it, the more certain he felt that if anyone needed the hand of divine providence, he did. An angelic Jordan was looking soulfully at him, her palms together in prayerful devotion. Her sweet mouth shaped the words “thank you” at him. The very image of an imp from the netherworld.

  He gazed steadily back at her and mouthed, “I'm going to get you."

  She didn't look at all concerned. Instead, she cheekily dropped one lid in a naughty wink.

  Chapter Five

  "Who are all these people?” Jordan whispered as Luke hung her cape in his parents’ hall closet.

  He smirked knowingly at her. “Now you know how it feels to be on the receiving end."

  She was practically dancing in an agony of anxiety. “There's too many of them. This isn't fair. There should be some kind of limit."

  When he settled one big hand on her shoulder, she relaxed slightly. If all else failed, Jordan reasoned, she could easily hide behind Luke. He was certainly big enough.

  Luke gently but firmly turned her in the direction of the genteel crowd in the large open foyer and propelled her forward. Jordan went with dragging feet. He stopped to whisper in her ear. “Relax. I'm right behind you."

  That was a good touch on his part, she noted admiringly. To all appearances, it was a very loving, intimate sort of gesture. She summoned up a smile and prepared to be her most irresistibly charming. Show time.

  His mother already liked her, she reminded herself to bolster her confidence. She'd probably even put in a good word with his father. And hadn't she said they'd think she was an angel? That the family would love her?

  Jordan concentrated on seeming sweetly angelic. Visions of harps, wings and haloes danced in her head. She'd be as charming as a cherub, as pure as the pearly gates. For practice, she tried an especially heavenly smile on Luke and was rewarded with one of his warm smiles in return. Amazing. His smile made her feel positively buoyant. Warm, too. She suddenly felt as high and giddy as Icarus flying into the sun, unable to resist the heat.

  But if she lost her wings, she could count on Luke to catch her before she plummeted to oblivion. He had steady eyes. Trustworthy. Dependable. He wouldn't let her down. And she wouldn't let him down, Jordan promised silently.

  She charmed. She smiled. Made polite conversation, told amusing anecdotes, was warm and witty. And didn't forget a single name, thanks to diligent study beforehand.

  Margaret Foster was demonstrably glad to see her again and took her in hand to make the introductions. Luke's father Ben presented an impromptu toast to their future happiness. His sister Wendy admired her perfume and asked Jordan the name of the fragrance.

  To Jordan's delight, they were glad to accept her. She felt a shaft of envy for whoever Luke ended up marrying for real ... the lucky lady would have wonderful in-laws. That is, she reflected with a flash of unease, if she didn't embitter them for life by perpetrating a hoax like this on them.

  It was one thing to fool her impossible brothers. She'd exhausted all other avenues first. They had it coming for ruining her cruise with Mitchell, if nothing else. But lying to people who hadn't done anything to her was different. It would have been easier if they'd hated her.

  But as predicted, they loved her. Jordan couldn't ever remember feeling worse. Not even the time she'd given Randall's long suffering retriever a punk haircut. The dog hadn't held it against her. She wasn't so sure Luke's family would be as forgiving.

  A warm arm hugged her to a solid side and she leaned into Luke's support readily.

  "All right?” The low question spoken against her cheek looked to anyone watching like a kiss and an endearment.

  She leaned up to answer, “No."

  A brow quirked at her. “I didn't think so. You were drooping. There is nothing sadder than the sight of a forlorn fairy.” Luke tugged her into an alcove and smoothed back her white shock of hair in a comforting gesture. “What's the matter? Running out of trouble to stir up?” His teasing grin didn't draw the expected smile.

  "I don't like lying to your family, Luke.” She told him the truth baldly and leaned her cheek against the smooth fabric of his jacket.

  "Hmm.” Luke drew her closer and cupped the back of her head with one palm. The other stroked her spine. “I see."

  She was glad he did. She cuddled trustingly in his arms, feeling better by the minute. She felt an instinctive certainty that he'd know how to straighten everything out without causing a family feud of epic proportions.

  "Jordan?"

  "Yes?"

  "Look up."

  She did. And her eyes widened. They were directly under a sprig of mistletoe. Her startled eyes met his amused ones.

  "Providence,” Luke informed her in a solemn voice.

  Then he tipped her chin up with one warm finger and slowly lowered his mouth to brush lightly against hers.

  Time stopped. Her heart stopped.

  She was kissing her fiancé.

  What kind of woman was she?

  Not a dead one, she answered herself. Only a dead woman could be unmoved by a kiss from Luke. Feather light, as soft as a sigh, as sweet and warm as mulled wine, Luke's lips teased hers for an endless moment. Then he lifted his head to smile at her.

  "Everything's going to be all right,” he assured her gently.

  "It is?” The hopeful, plaintive note in her voice spoke volumes.

  "It is."

  Jordan sagged against him in relief. He meant it. He'd fix it somehow.

  In fact, he'd probably just meant for the kiss to reassure her. And he'd probably thought that it would look really funny if they were spotted not kissing under the mistletoe.

  "Trust me.” He gave her a gentle squeeze.

  "I do.” She did. She had from the very first.
She'd known she could trust him. Jordan trusted her instincts. The same instincts that screamed a warning around all the mismatched men had cheered at the first sight of her battered rescuer.

  "Now show me a smile, or I might have to go open the safe and start looking for a really heavy necklace,” Luke teased.

  Jordan tipped her head back and grinned up at him, happy again.

  "Hey, let someone else have a turn,” Wendy's husband urged them, his wife in tow as he gestured towards the mistletoe.

  Smiling, Jordan and Luke retreated from the alcove and rejoined the party.

  Her spirits lifted once more, Jordan set about enjoying herself, flitting around the room from group to group, confident that she'd been worried about nothing. It would all work out perfectly. This really was a perfect plan. She and Luke were safe from holiday horror dates. They could enjoy the season secure in each other's company. A little side-stepping around questions—like when was the actual date of the wedding—she could handle artfully.

  At least, until Aunt Cora cornered her about the wedding dress. Jordan ran through her mental family-tree check. Cora, oldest sister of Margaret, widowed, no children. Maybe the fact that she'd never had the opportunity to plan a wedding for her own daughter sparked her rabid interest in Jordan's wedding. Whatever the reason, the old lady was unshakable on the subject. Jordan tried every ploy she knew. Nothing worked.

  Finally, in desperation, she said loudly, “I don't know what I'll do about a dress, Aunt Cora. I have a dickens of a time finding clothes to fit properly. Maybe there's a petite line of bridal wear."

  Immediately, Luke appeared at her elbow. “Good things come in small packages,” he informed Jordan, competing with her for the title of most charming.

  She gave him a melting smile. “You think so?"

  "Definitely.” Then he turned his charm on Aunt Cora. “Excuse us, won't you? I want to show Jordan something."

  "Oh, of course.” She smiled and waved them off.

  "Whew. Another close call. I couldn't get her off the subject of our approaching wedding with dynamite,” Jordan moaned. Then she danced around Luke in effervescent glee. “You dashed to my rescue. My hero! You were wonderful.” She heaped praise on his head as she flashed him a dimpled gamine grin.