Love Finds You Under the Mistletoe

by Irene Brand

  For a few seconds Lindy’s perfume wafted over to him on the breeze and fogged up his senses. He glanced at her. She was looking him over, and not in a way that assessed his abilities to teach Sunday school. He wiped the perspiration off his forehead. Lindy was by any standard an intoxicating woman. So what was she doing giving him googly eyes? Surely there was a whole fleet of guys lined up somewhere, ready to sweep her off her feet. But even if there weren’t any other men, he knew he wasn’t the right man to do the sweeping.

  “Owen, I hear you’ve done quite well for yourself buying and selling stocks. Is it true?” Lindy asked.

  “Um, yeah, I’ve done all right.” The question made Owen uncomfortable. “Except it’s a lot of work studying the market, and I do make mistakes.” Of course lately his predictions had been more right than wrong. Last time he checked he was a millionaire, but he never talked about it. No need. It would only make people treat him differently. And he liked his simple lifestyle. All he ever wanted was right here in Noel. “I’m grateful to have some stocks that are performing well right now.” He laughed, but he wasn’t sure why. “That’s the short answer anyway.”

  Lindy rose and gestured down the trail. “You ready?”

  Owen eased off the log and followed Lindy, even though it meant leaving Holly and Van behind.

  “So, do you have any tips for beginners?” Lindy asked Owen.

  “Buy low, sell high.”

  Lindy grinned. “I was interested in something a little more revealing.” She gave him a beguiling look, and he wondered if it was a regular fixture on her face when she wanted something. It was appealing, and he figured men rarely denied her much of anything when she wore that expression.

  “I’d say you should still keep an eye on the tech stocks. However, they all look attractive on the outset. But getting to know their ups and downs over a longer period of time is one of the keys. You’ll gradually be able to see what’s not so perfect. It’s like staring at a diamond. At first it glistens under the lights. But if you pay attention and look more closely, you can see all the inclusions. The flaws. When that happens you should be able to make a more informed choice.”

  Lindy shook her head at Owen. “I don’t think this is a lesson in the stock market.”

  “Hmm?”

  “You’re not a writer, but you’ve got quite a knack for subtext dialogue.”

  “Thanks, but you’ll have to elaborate.”

  “It’s when you say one thing and mean something else.” Lindy gave her brow a provocative lift. “That’s the short answer anyway.”

  “Oh.” Guess there was more to Lindy than perfume and fluff.

  Holly trotted by them with Van in tow. “Just so you’ll know,” Holly said to Lindy as she passed by, “Owen always means what he says. He’s a book you can read. But that’s part of his charm.”

  So, Holly had been listening in on their conversation.

  Lindy cocked her head. “How long have you and Holly been friends?”

  “Since we were toddlers,” Owen replied.

  Van suddenly took Holly by the hand and veered off the trail. “We’ll catch up in a minute, guys.” He waved Owen and Lindy on, making it clear they wanted to be alone for a while.

  Lindy sighed. “Guess they need a private moment.”

  Owen didn’t like the sound of that. A private moment meant there’d be potential for intimate goings-on. Whispering. Closeness. And heaven forbid, kissing.

  “You and Holly—I never knew friendships lasted anymore,” Lindy said wistfully. “Everyone is in such a hurry these days. You know, to change jobs and friends and relationships.” She reached down and swished her hands in the clear water.

  “So what kind of books do you write?”

  “Christian romance.” Lindy gazed at him with a flicker of expectancy.

  “Oh?” Romance. Maybe he’d better modify the conversation a bit. “And how long have you been a writer?” Owen hoped to keep his date occupied while he kept a sharp eye on the wayward couple. He sat on a rock as Lindy continued to play in the stream.

  “Well, I’ve been writing ever since I was a kid. I try never to brag on myself, but I will tell you this. At twelve I did write a short story that so astounded my teacher…”

  Owen tried, really tried, to listen to Lindy, but it was difficult since Van and Holly were moving closer. They edged toward each other’s lips, and it certainly wasn’t for resuscitation. There was no question about their intentions—Van and Holly were going to kiss. He couldn’t watch. Holly was, after all, the little Goodnight girl he’d grown up with. The one he’d built a fort with out of sticks and grass and bits of mud—mud he’d lovingly hand mixed with her. The girl he’d bandaged when she’d scraped her knee on her inaugural bike ride. What is my point? He’d always been a part of Holly’s life, and no Nicholas Sparks wannabe was going to romance her off to Houston!

  Perhaps it was time for another distraction. Owen was two seconds away from releasing a diverting holler when Lindy tiptoed over to him and kissed his cheek.

  The warmth of Lindy’s breath mingled with her soft hair against his skin made him lose his sobriety for a second. He stood up from the rock, stumbled backwards, and then landed not so mannishly in a stream. He scrambled up out of the cold water, his clothes soaked. “Why did you kiss me?”

  “I was just trying to thank you.” Lindy placed her hands over her mouth.

  Was she stifling a giggle? “Thank me for what?” Owen squashed some of the water out of his jeans and coat, but his efforts were useless. He was a soggy mess.

  “I wanted to thank you for saving my life.” Lindy batted those huge eyelashes of hers. And then he noticed it—when Lindy talked he could see her tongue moving. What a quirky mannerism. The effect was mesmerizing, but not in a good way. He shook off his stare. “I know the terrain is a little wild out here, but you’re in no danger. I think the most I could have saved you from are the minnows in this stream, and the worst they can do is tickle your toes to death.”

  “Oh.” Lindy laughed. “You are so hilarious.”

  “Are you sure about that?”

  “Yes.” She raised an eyebrow, and her brow meant business. But it didn’t matter what her brow was up to. Or her big flirting eyelashes or any other part of Lindy. All he could think about was that snotty-nosed kid all grown up who was kissing another man.

  “You saved my life because I really needed your company today,” Lindy said. “You see, my boyfriend left me for another woman, and I’ve been alone now for almost a month.”

  “I’m very sorry.” Even though his sympathy meter wasn’t pinging off the charts after Lindy’s unhappy revelation, he knew he’d come off like an insensitive boob if he tried to disentangle himself from her. Meanwhile the water’s chill seeped into unmentionable places, giving fresh meaning to the word misery. He glanced over at Van and Holly. The two of them seemed anything but chilled as they kissed. Each other. In a sunlit meadow. Then he remembered the cell phone in his pocket. Before Owen could counsel himself against the deed, he reached into his pocket and pushed the cell phone button he’d been pushing for years.

  Even at some distance Owen could hear the tiny notes from Holly’s phone playing “Somewhere Over the Rainbow.”

  Holly eased away from Van’s kiss and reached into her pocket. When she looked at the phone, her gaze—a bit fiery he thought—darted over to him.

  Owen hid behind a tree. Like a squirrel. His call had effectively broken up their cozy bubble. Life could indeed be manipulated. He wondered if Van felt that way as the master influencing his creation. It was a good feeling. No, it was a great feeling. Maybe he should take up writing. Then feeling like a fool, he came out from behind the tree.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Holly tapped her foot in the dirt. Owen Quigly, what do you think you’re doing, sneaking around, sabotaging a perfectly good kiss? Owen and Lindy were certainly welcome to hike on down the trail without them. And why were Owen’s clothes all wet? Ho
lly turned her phone off, sent her old friend one more dark warning, and then gave Van her full attention.

  Van made little circles on Holly’s wrist with the tip of his finger.

  Holly had a sudden urge to chuckle since the sensation felt more tickly than alluring, but since she wanted to hold onto whatever was left of the moment, she stifled a belly laugh.

  “I guess you know how I feel about you.”

  “How do you feel, Van?”

  He lifted her hand to his chest and pressed her palm against his heart. “I feel as though I’ve been dreaming of you my whole life.”

  “Oh?” His heartbeat felt impressively real and rapid, but his comment sounded more like fiction.

  “I’ve not been the same since I met you. I don’t eat much. Can’t sleep anymore. But boy can I write. All because of you.”

  Was Van Keaton really falling for her? “I’m glad your writing has gotten better.”

  He moved closer to her. “It’s so much more than the writing I’m talking about.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I’m talking about us.”

  “Us is a good word.”

  Van took her hands in his. “I’d love to know what you’re thinking, right this minute.”

  Holly grinned. “Well, lately you’ve had this look like you need to tell me something.”

  “I do, actually.” Van sighed, paused, and then sighed again. “I need to tell you that when Beatrice Monroe saw you on TV and then read my blog, she contacted me by e-mail, and I encouraged her to come to Noel to talk to you. To tell you about your mother passing away.” He looked down. “I hope you’re not angry with me for meddling.”

  “How could I be angry with you?” Holly touched his cheek and turned his head, drawing his gaze back to her. “It was the only right thing to do.”

  “You can’t know how relieved I am to hear you say that. I’ve been pretty torn up about it. I mean, I could have told Beatrice not to come, and I think she would have stayed away. It might have been easier on you, not knowing your mother was dead. I honestly had no idea what to do.”

  “I admit, the truth has been hard to deal with, but it also means a certain amount of emotional resolution—eventually.” Holly hugged her arms around her waist. “I just wish I could have said good-bye to my mother.”

  “Then why don’t you? You should write your mother a letter, even though she won’t be able to read it. Whenever I go through hard times in my life, I journal. I put down everything in a notebook. It might be a good start for you—to find that resolution you mentioned.”

  “It might. Thank you.” Holly thought for a moment. “I know you’ll want to add what happened to my mother to your book. And I’ll answer all your questions when we have more time. But for now I want to say—I feel as though I’ve been holding my breath all these years, waiting for my mother, waiting to live my life. As if my identity were in limbo, not really knowing who the real Holly Goodnight was—is. As if I could find a truer version of myself if I found my mother, my roots. Does that make any sense?”

  “Yes, but we can watch a flower grow and thrive without ever looking at the seed.” He sat on a boulder and gently pulled her down next to him.

  “True.” After sitting for a moment in the quiet, Holly unzipped her pack. “By the way, I bought you a gift.”

  “Really?”

  She pulled out a packet of antibacterial wipes.

  Van accepted the gift with awe. “This is the most thoughtful gift anyone has ever given me. You really do get me.” He took hold of her hand and kissed it.

  She and Van were finally alone, but one more question dangled in the air like an overripe tomato. “If you wanted us to be alone, Van, why did you insist on making this a double date? I don’t understand—”

  Van stopped the discussion by covering her mouth with his. The kiss cut off her words, but not her senses, which ebbed and flowed with sheer delight. She just hoped Owen wasn’t going to spring a badger on them or pretend to have a heat stroke with all that flannel. When the kiss came to a close, her eyes fluttered open. “So, Mr. Keaton, how would you describe that kiss in your book?”

  Van continued to hold her. “How would you describe it?”

  Holly pondered the question. “Well, if we lived in the sixties I’d say the kiss was totally cosmic.”

  “Hey, that’s good.”

  “Thanks.”

  “No, I mean really good. I could use it.” He eased her away from the circle of his arms, yanked out a notepad from his pocket, and began scribbling on the paper.

  The word aghast seemed appropriate. “Van, are you taking notes about our kiss?”

  “Sorry.” He smiled at her. “I hated to lose the moment.”

  “Well, I think you just did.” Holly gave him a little huff and, without looking back, stomped toward the trail.

  Farther down the path, Lindy appeared to be squatting in front of Owen, trying to Velcro the front of his shoe. It was impossible to ignore the fact that Lindy adored Owen. And why shouldn’t she? He was a wonderful guy. Holly had always prayed Owen would find the right woman, a woman who could recognize all the wonderful facets of his personality. Perhaps Lindy was the one. But if her prayers were being answered right before her eyes, why didn’t the blessing make her feel like celebrating?

  Holly caught up with Owen and Lindy, and then a short-winded Van stumbled up behind her.

  “Say, Owen, did you fall in the creek?” Van put his hands on his hips. “What happened?”

  “I’m afraid I’m to blame,” Lindy said. “I distracted Owen with a kiss, and he toppled in.”

  Van looked obnoxiously satisfied.

  Owen raised his chin, looking triumphant but not terribly happy.

  Holly cocked her head, taking in the scene. Owen and Lindy had only known each other for what, an hour? Lindy certainly wasted no time moving in for the kill. Now, Holly, what’s with this sudden attitude?

  Van touched the small of Holly’s back, and in spite of her irritation at him for his note-scribbling, she leaned toward his caress.

  Owen’s smile faded.

  Holly dug the tip of her shoe into the dirt, making a tiny crater. She felt unsettled, but she wasn’t sure why. It was like the seconds right after a lightning strike and just before the thunder. She tried to relax her shoulders, but they were frozen with anxiety. Was it Van’s insensitivity? No. Something else niggled at her. “You guys ready to go back for some lunch? I’m famished.”

  “Yep.” Owen nodded. “I’m starved.”

  Lindy shrugged. “Sure, if Owen wants to.”

  Van dusted off his jeans. “I can always eat.”

  So much for Van’s lovesick loss of appetite.

  “I’ll need to stop by my house first,” Owen said. “You know, to put on some dry clothes.”

  They all turned in unison as if in obedience to some offstage director. On the hike back toward the park entrance they made general murmurings about the beauty of the grounds and the brilliance of the morning, but their quick-stepping march revealed that everyone, including Holly, was ready to change the dynamics of the double date.

  When they finally stood at the park entrance, Van asked, “Where should we eat?”

  “What are we in the mood for?” Holly looked at Owen, who had his arms crossed over his chest. He had his attention fixed on Van.

  Lindy pulled a packet of something out of her shoulder bag and offered it to Owen. “Want some peanuts?”

  “He’s allergic.” Holly thought she’d come off like an overprotective mom, refusing a snack for him.

  Lindy looked surprised. “Really? You’re allergic?”

  “Yeah, I’m afraid so,” Owen said. “Thanks, anyway.”

  “Well, I’m a great lover of peanuts.” Van smacked his lips, and Lindy tossed him the sack. “Thanks.”

  Lindy looked at Holly. “What else should I know about our dear Owen? Please tell me more.”

  “Okay.” Holly grinned at h
er dear friend, who was now staring at her. “Owen usually wears sneakers with Velcro because he has trouble tying things. He has a crooked finger that didn’t heal quite right after an accident when he was twelve. Apparently it’s dangerous to juggle watermelons.”

  Lindy laughed.

  “Let’s see, he’s good at chess, but he’s neither competitive nor a pushover. He likes root beer floats, hot sauce, stargazing, mushroom hunting…and he makes the best friend anyone could ever have.” Holly felt a rush of heat, embarrassed that she’d divulged so much intimate information.

  “What an endorsement,” Lindy said to Holly. “I’m tempted to marry Owen on the spot.”

  Van busied himself scribbling on his notepad.

  Holly rolled her eyes at Van, but he didn’t seem to notice. She glanced at Owen, who wore one of his straight-as-a-window-blind grins and stared back at her with what she could only describe as an obtuse expression. What is going on? “Owen? You okay?”

  “I’m fine,” Owen said to Holly. “And how are you?”

  “Good. I’m good.” Holly grimaced, wondering if her friend was having a meltdown.

  Owen cleared his throat loudly. “By the way, I’ve got an idea.”

  “Oh?” Holly said. “What’s that?”

  “I just thought of the perfect theme for a Christmas tree.” Owen clapped his hands, gesticulating in the most uncharacteristic way.

  “What is your theme?” Oh, dear.

  Owen looked right at Holly. “A tree covered in nothing but—teddy bears.”

  Holly coughed.

  Van’s face became the portrait of puzzlement, and he finally put away his infernal notepad.

  “Ohhh.” Lindy giggled as she gave her date’s arm the daintiest little punch. “Isn’t that just the most precious idea for a Christmas tree?”

  Owen looked so miserable Holly didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.