by Mary Manners
“Yes, it is.” Brynn gathered the netting from the floor and bunched it together. “I’ll take this to the trash and get some water for the stand. That tree will need a drink.”
When she left, Dillon turned to Mr. Jansen. Together, they peered through the expanse of living room windows, the view only partially obscured by the tree. “Brynn’s truck’s at the nursery. I’ll return it as soon as the roads clear.”
“Figured as much. No hurry at all. I’m mighty thankful you thought to drive Brynn home. After what happened to her grandmother, I suppose I worry a bit more than I ought to.”
“That’s understandable. Brynn says Mrs. Jansen’s going to be fine?”
“That’s what the doc says. Sometimes being hardheaded and stubborn is an asset, and my better half carries those traits in spades.”
As if to prove his point, a methodical thump along the wood floor in the hallway caught their attention. Dillon turned to find Mrs. Jansen approaching the doorway. A shock of white hair crowned her head and she leaned on a cane for support. But the sharp twinkle he remembered was still evident in her deep blue eyes.
“What a nice surprise.” Her voice crackled with age. “Why, Dillon Cutler…you finally found your way back to us.”
“Yes, ma’am. It took a while, with school and all. But I’m home to stay now.”
“That’s good.” Gran nodded. “Absolutely perfect.”
“Gran, let me help you.” Brynn loped back from the kitchen. She rushed over and handed a pitcher of water to Dillon before taking Mrs. Jansen by the arm. “You might have fallen. You should have called for help.”
“Nonsense, child. I have a sprained ankle and a splintered arm, not an amputation. I’m perfectly capable of fending for myself.” Making good on the claim, she hobbled toward the tree. “I see there’s been a bit of conspiring between the three of you. What a lovely testament to Christmas cheer. And the scent…” She inhaled deeply before draping her uninjured arm over Brynn’s shoulders. “Now, my dear, the Season of Giving can officially begin.”
****
“We almost forgot this.” Brynn reached into the pocket of Dillon’s jacket, now draped over a chair in front of the hearth so it might dry out, to retrieve the small wreath fashioned from mistletoe that Hattie Cutler had sent along. The wreath, garnished with a neat red bow, dangled from a short length of thread. “I’d better get the step stool.”
“No need for that.” Dillon took the wreath. “Where do you want it?”
“There in the doorway. Do you see the nail Gramps left last year?” Actually, it had been sunk along the top of the door jamb for as long as Brynn could remember. Brynn once asked Gramps how long he and Gran had been hanging the mistletoe in that very place and he’d answered, “Ever since our first Christmas together, ’round about forty-four years now, I’d gather. That doorway sure has seen its share of kissin’.”
That had been half-a-decade ago, and the tradition still rang strong and true.
“I sure do.” Dillon stepped up and in one swift motion had the wreath settled into place. “How’s that?”
“Perfect.”
Voices drifted from the hallway near the garage as Gramps hauled boxes of holiday decorations in from the storage shelves and Gran oversaw his work, adding a helpful comment from time to time. Their banter was so familiar it warmed Brynn’s heart.
Her gaze rose to meet Dillon’s as the mistletoe dangled overhead. “Why does your mom leave the berries on the wreaths if they’re poisonous?”
“They’re not meant to be eaten.”
“Then what’s their significance?”
“Tradition states that every time two people share a kiss here, they’re supposed to remove a berry. When all the berries are gone…no more kissing.” Dillon closed the distance between them. “Looks like we snagged one with a load of berries.”
Brynn felt the urge to laugh, but the flutter of her heart tamped the giggle as Dillon’s subtle scent—the outdoors mingled with fir and wood smoke—tickled her nose. “You still don’t remember what you said that night as you handed me the mistletoe, do you?”
“I remember you…your pretty brown eyes and hair like a veil of light.” His gaze softened to velvet as he eased a bit closer. “I was afraid you’d fall trying to pin the mistletoe in place because you were so…scrawny.”
“Scrawny?” Brynn’s laughter found its way up from her belly. “How flattering.”
“You’re not scrawny anymore.” Dillon smoothed a hand along her sleeve. “You’re…just right.”
“Well, if I remember correctly, you said, ‘Don’t hang it ’til we leave, ’cause there are still a lot of berries, and I’m sure not kissing any girls.’ I’m pretty sure that’s a direct quote.”
“Don’t hold it against me. I was only thirteen. I didn’t know any better. But I know better now.” He reached for her hand and Brynn felt calluses along his palms, borne of hard work at the nursery. His breath whispered over her cheek. “I sure won’t let the opportunity slip through my fingers again. How about you?”
“You’ve become much wiser through the years.” Brynn leaned into his embrace. “But do you make it a habit to kiss women beneath the mistletoe?”
“No, but I’d like to start a new tradition—with you.”
The room seemed to sigh as time paused for the slightest moment. Dillon’s touch was oh-so-gentle as he dipped his head to claim her lips. Brynn pressed a palm to the nape of his neck, savoring the moment. She’d waited a dozen years for this…had dreamed of it on stormy nights while she snuggled in bed, drifting off to sleep. And now, well, the moment was everything she’d imagined…and more.
Dillon broke contact.
“Does this mean we have to pluck a berry?” Brynn murmured.
“Make that two.” He drew her back in for a second kiss, a touch more demanding but still just as sweet. Brynn’s pulse quickened while the chill that had followed her home from the nursery fled. It was impossible to feel anything but a deep, fulfilling warmth while sheltered in Dillon’s arms.
4
Footsteps sounded along the hall and, reluctantly, Dillon broke the kiss and stepped back. The thump of Mrs. Jansen’s cane coupled with the methodical thud of a walking cast was impossible to miss. Still, he twined his fingers with Brynn’s, loath to let go completely. His chest was a tangled labyrinth, making it difficult to breathe.
“Looks like that mistletoe is workin’ just fine.” Mr. Jansen winked over the top of a cardboard carton. His bald pate reflected the overhead light, matching the twinkle in his rheumy eyes. “Hope you saved a berry or two for me and the missus, though.”
“I…we…” Brynn’s cheeks reddened, and she dipped her head like a schoolgirl caught cheating on a test. “I should have been helping you. We just got a little…sidetracked. I’m sorry, Gramps.”
“What for? That’s why the mistletoe’s there. I plan on nabbin’ my share as soon as I set down this carton.”
“Oh, Sam…” Mrs. Jansen hobbled over to plant a kiss on his wrinkled cheek. “Such a sweetie.”
Their love was evident in every movement, the slightest touch. It reminded Dillon of his own parents, back when Dad was alive. Dillon had thought he might experience it, as well, with Jacqueline, but that had been a dead-end street. Maybe his radar was broken…leading him down another path toward heartache here with Brynn. His mother’s words from that afternoon came whispering back.
“Don’t let your bruised heart close the door to what God has in store for you.”
If his current emotional state was any indication, Brynn sat smack-dab in the middle of those plans. Dillon longed to kiss her again—to use up every berry on the mistletoe and then some—and from the glimmer in her eyes and the hint of blush that swept up the nape of her neck, she felt the same.
With great reluctance, he released her hand and strode over to take the box from Mr. Jansen. “Let me give you a hand. Are there more cartons to bring in?”
“Just a few, but
I sure do appreciate the help. If you’ll fetch the others, I’ll start untangling these strands of lights. I do believe we have gremlins living in our garage; every year I pack the lights away nice and neat and somehow, by the next season, they’re all tangled again. Go figure.”
“Must be the same gremlins my dad said lived in our garage when I was a kid.” Dillon laughed as he went after the cartons, carrying them in two at a time while Brynn got Mrs. Jansen situated on the couch with her injured foot propped atop an ottoman. The work kept his mind—and his hands—busy. He’d need some time to decipher the odd yet pleasant feeling that had shifted from his chest to settle deep in his belly, making his pulse race and causing his brain to muddle like garbled stew.
What had gotten into him, kissing Brynn not just once, but twice? He barely knew her, yet he felt as if they’d shared a connection his entire life. Man, he wanted to kiss her again. The very idea was a sort of perplexing and off-the-charts crazy…but a nice kind of crazy nonetheless.
“Here, Gran.” Brynn covered the older woman with a patchwork quilt. “You shouldn’t overdo. You’ve only been home from the hospital a few days. Can I get you something to drink?”
“No, dear. Just pull back the curtains a bit. I’d like to see the snow.”
Brynn headed that way, circling the tree which stood slightly to one side of the expanse of windows. When she opened the curtains to their full width, she gasped.
“Look at that.” Brynn’s murmur was peppered with amazement and a wisp of a smile. Then, just as quickly, the smile disappeared. She spindled a lock of hair around her index finger as she spoke. “Oh, my. No one will be able to travel in this.”
“My four-wheel-drive will manage just fine.” Dillon eased in beside her to peer into the road. The grass was hidden, vehicles merely mounds slumped here and there. Streetlights shone across the blanket of white, causing each flake to shimmer in unison. “Or, we have the nursery trucks if it gets really bad. They can navigate through anything. Is there somewhere you need to go, Brynn?”
“The hospital…Janie.”
“Janie?”
“Yes. Janie Mitchell.”
“Right. Sure.” Dillon remembered the name from Brynn’s conversation with his mom at the nursery earlier. He’d seen Sarah Mitchell sing with the church choir on a few Sunday mornings. His mom had mentioned she was fairly new in town, having moved here a year or so ago when her husband had a job transfer. They’d only been in Clover Cove a few months when he died in a motorcycle wreck. “She was injured in the accident.”
“Such a calamity.” Mrs. Jansen covered her mouth with one veiny hand before gulping to continue. “The poor child and her mother…having lost her husband not too long ago.”
Brynn smoothed back her grandmother’s silvered hair. “I promised to bring Janie a surprise, as well as a basket of goodies for Sarah. I don’t think she’s left the hospital since Janie was transported there last week. And now this storm will make it virtually impossible for anyone to visit, to give them a bit of company. I have to go. I can’t let them down.”
“They’ll understand, Brynn. No one would expect you to travel in this.” Dillon felt a chill through the glass and wondered if ice lay beneath the snow. The roads should be passable in utility vehicles if the temperatures held. But a melt-and-refreeze could prove deadly. “This won’t last long…maybe two or three days. Snow never lingers around here. You can head to the hospital as soon as it clears.”
“Three days can be an eternity to a hurting child, not to mention her mother who is holding vigil there on her own. No, a couple of days isn’t good enough. I made a promise to Janie. I keep my promises, Dillon. Something as benign as a little snowstorm can’t detract me from that.”
“This is more than a little snowstorm, dear,” Mrs. Jansen interjected. “It looks like a nor’easter.”
“We don’t have nor’easters in East Tennessee, Gran.”
“But we have mountain snow, and if it falls on the right side of the mountain—or the wrong side, depending on how you look at the situation—it can cause a whole lot of upheaval and a healthy measure of danger.”
“You’re right.” Dillon stepped between them. “So, I’ll take Brynn.” He turned to her. “Will that work for you?”
“Yes, but…you’d really do that?” Brynn caught her lower lip between her teeth. Another glance out the window had her brow furrowing. Obviously, she weighed her options and soon found she had few, if any. “For me?”
“Of course.” He nodded. “And for Janie and Sarah Mitchell.”
“Thank you, Dillon.” Her gaze softened as she grazed his forearm with her fingertips. “I really appreciate it. You’re a lifesaver.”
“No problem. What time should I come by for you?”
“I told Janie I’d be there at ten.”
“Then we’d better pray this storm lets up and, just in case it hangs around, plan for an early start.”
****
Later that evening, Dillon turned into the nursery’s lot. The crowd was sparse and the parking lot nearly empty. The unexpected storm had chased away most of their customers. A hearty few braved the elements, though, and Reese walked rounds in the maze of trees offering help while Maddie tended the main greenhouse where the check-out counter was located. Most likely Gunnar had asked her to stay while he closed up the mechanic’s shop and to wait until he swung by with Kyle to get her. Maddie had a reputation for engaging in hapless fender-benders, so there was no sense taking a chance in this kind of weather.
A light in the main office window toward the rear of the property signaled that Wyatt was huddled inside, most likely enjoying this break in the crowd long enough to catch up on some financial bookwork. Wyatt had a thing for crunching numbers and, unlike Reese and Dillon, he enjoyed the solitude found while spirited away inside the four walls.
Dillon, on the other hand, would rather be strung up than caged in.
He killed the engine and made his way across the lot, drawing his hands to his mouth and breathing into them to combat the chill that numbed his fingers. He’d left his jacket with Brynn. Actually, he’d left more than his jacket—he missed her already.
Sensible: not an ounce. Crazy: just call him certifiable.
Maybe Wyatt could help Dillon make heads or tails of the storm unleashed inside him. Their eight year difference in age tipped the scales of experience well into Wyatt’s corner and since Dad’s passing, Wyatt had graciously stepped into the role as Dillon’s go-to guy when it came to matters of the heart.
Dillon bypassed Reese and offered Maddie a quick nod. His boots crunched over the snow as he rounded a corner toward the office. Flakes continued to dust the ground as the temperature plummeted. A moderate wind had him wishing for his jacket as he closed the distance to the door.
At the click of the door latch, Wyatt glanced up, his dark eyes glittering beneath the light. “Hey, Dillon. Where’ve you been?”
“I had to make a delivery.” Dillon headed toward a space heater near the foot of the desk. Thankfully, Wyatt had it cranked to the highest setting.
“Really?” Wyatt scanned a delivery sheet and then removed his wire-framed reading glasses, tossing them onto the blotter. “I don’t see a record of it. Must have been some adventure, seeing as you’ve been gone a full three hours.”
“Dock my pay.” Heat brought the feeling back to his fingers, causing them to tingle painfully.
“Now, there’s a thought.” Wyatt laughed. “How’s Brynn?”
Dillon’s head shot up. His gaze locked on Wyatt’s. “How did you know?”
“We don’t keep secrets here. Besides, it’s written all over your face.”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re a walking contradiction. That grin could fill a library, but you look more than a little perplexed, as well.” Wyatt leaned back in the rolling chair and crossed his arms. “So, the counselor is in. Go ahead, dump your load.”
“Give me a minute.” Dillon gathered h
is thoughts as he strode over to the coffeemaker Wyatt insisted on running practically twenty-four/seven. Right now, he was glad for his brother’s idiosyncrasy. He filled a foam cup, dumped in a packet of sugar and a healthy shake of powdered creamer before stirring it all together with his finger. Then he crossed back to the desk and dropped into the chair opposite Wyatt. “Are you in a hurry?”
“I’m never in a hurry when it comes to helping my baby brother out of a jam.”
“In that case”—it took one giant huff of a breath before he spewed like Mount Vesuvius—“I kissed her.” He inhaled once more, long and deep. “Not once, but twice. I liked it.”
Wyatt grinned as his eyes danced. “Well, that’s certainly a relief.”
“I’m being serious, Wyatt. I want to kiss her again, but I can’t. I shouldn’t.”
“Why on earth not?”
“It’s crazy. That’s why not. And Jacqueline—”
“Is completely out of the picture. For good. Mom’s right on all counts in that department. Talk about crazy; that’s one roller coaster you don’t want to stand in the queue for. Ever again.” He propped one foot on his knee and eased the chair back and forth in a slow, rocking motion. “OK, here’s the bottom line. Sometime our heart races ahead of our brain. There’s nothing wrong with that. It does no good to reason things out ad nauseum, especially when there’s no earthly explanation for the way we feel. Believe me, I’ve been there and done that, and it garners the same results as beating your head against a brick wall. So, my advice to you is to just go with it, and let God have His way, whatever that might be.”
“I think Brynn’s here only long enough to help Mrs. Jansen get back on her feet.” Dillon sipped the coffee, let its sweet warmth soothe his throat. “And to keep watch over little Janie Mitchell. She might not have returned here to stay.”
“Then again, maybe she has.” Wyatt dropped his foot and leaned in, splaying his hands atop the desk. The glow from the overhead fixture cast him in a milky globe of light. “Look, I remember the night you came home after dropping off the tree and those gifts at her grandparents’ house. You had this same look, even back then at only thirteen. It was as if a freight train had plowed through and knocked you clear off the tracks. Even if I’d thought to have some fun teasing you over it—and believe me, I did—I just couldn’t bring myself to cast that first stone. Because there was something to it then—something deeper than a little adolescent, starry-eyed crush—and my guess is there’s something to it now. Only time will tell.”