Mistletoe Hero

by Tanya Michaels

  Rachel let out a low whistle. “Gabe Sloan? Talk about the most gorgeous person in the county.”

  “Arianne got him to agree to help us,” Quinn said proudly. “I have to admit, I was surprised, but she did it.”

  Arianne bit into another fry. Little did her friend know that Gabe’s assistance had less to do with her persuasive prowess than his wanting closure with the town. Oh, he probably didn’t think of it that way, but Arianne could read between the lines. She hadn’t shared with anyone what he’d told her about planning to leave.

  “So what happened with Shane?” Quinn asked. “You guys have known each other forever.”

  “And he’s never seemed interested in me romantically, which is why yesterday caught me so off guard. He said he thought we could have something special if I would give it a chance.”

  Rachel winced. “But you don’t see him that way?”

  “’Fraid not. I mean, he’s a great guy. I’m just more attracted to—” She broke off as the image of Gabe’s unsmiling but striking face filled her mind. Be reasonable, Ari. Regardless of how physically attractive Gabe was, no woman with common sense would consider a relationship with him. As far as his personal life went, he had issues with a capital I and as far as Mistletoe went, he had one foot out the door.

  “Shane’s just not my type,” she concluded lamely. “I told him that I didn’t feel the same way.”

  “You didn’t say you still wanted to be friends?” Quinn asked hesitantly.

  “No! Although I do hope that.”

  “And you really didn’t have any inkling?” Rachel asked, shifting the baby gently. “Because I can’t say I’m all that surprised he likes you. You guys do spend a lot of time together.”

  “Yeah, but it’s always been so platonic.” At least on her part. Had she deliberately overlooked something she hadn’t wanted to see? Feeling unobservant and perhaps a bit foolish, she changed the subject. “Who has Dele duty tonight?”

  Sixty-year-old music teacher Adele Momsen signed up for every volunteer opportunity in town, bursting at the seams with Big Ideas she was eager to share. When she got married eight years ago, she’d wanted her and her groom to lift off from the circular drive of Mistletoe Methodist in a hot-air balloon. The town fathers had quickly vetoed that idea, citing FAA regulations. Her enthusiastic suggestions often ranged from the bizarre to the beyond-budget to the outright someone-could-get-killed. Lilah and Quinn liked to make sure that a specific person diplomatically reined her in before someone else hurt her feelings with more tactless objections.

  Lilah raised her index finger, taking on the responsibility for tonight. “I love Dele. She might not be living in the same reality as the rest of us, but her heart’s in the right place. Can’t say the same about Cici Hunaker.”

  Cici was known for being something of a control freak; her kids had moved on to middle school and high school, yet she continued to call the chairpersons on Whiteberry’s PTA committees to find out if they were still doing things her way. And, if not, to insinuate they were idiots.

  “Hey, speaking of the Hunakers,” Arianne began.

  “Yes?” Rachel prompted.

  Mentally kicking herself, Arianne shoved a couple more fries into her mouth. Had she really been about to ask if any of them had heard rumors about Gabe Sloan and Tara Hunaker? Even if what Shane had implied was true, Gabe and Tara were consenting adults. Why did the thought of them together bother Arianne so much?

  Because I’d like to think he has more discerning taste than that. Not because I’m jealous.

  The baby chose that moment to wake up crying, and Lilah offered to unlock her classroom and let Rachel nurse Bailey in private. As the two women excused themselves from the cafeteria, Quinn and Arianne cleaned up the trash from dinner.

  “I’m glad you’ll be meeting Patrick tonight,” Quinn admitted. “I’m interested in getting your opinion of him.”

  “And you know I’ll be happy to give one,” Arianne joked. But a foreign sentiment was squirming around inside her. Uncertainty.

  She was known for reading people well and giving smart advice, but now she questioned that reputation. After all, she’d entirely missed any sign that one of her close friends was falling for her and, over the past week, she’d found herself thinking too often of Gabriel Sloan. There wasn’t anything strange about noticing he was hot or wanting better for him than the informal exile the town had sentenced him to years ago. But she’d fallen asleep more than once imagining what it would be like to kiss him and had stalled last night getting off the phone with him simply because she liked listening to his voice.

  She might be too wise to lose her heart to a man like Gabe, but if she admitted to her friends that she was starting to enjoy his gruff, growly voice, they might worry that she was losing her mind.

  PATRICK FLANNERY TURNED OUT to be every bit as attractive as Lilah and Quinn had said—just under six feet with smiling, bright blue eyes and rich brown hair. But his most appealing quality, in Arianne’s opinion, was the way he kept glancing toward Quinn. Especially when he didn’t think anyone was watching. When Quinn caught him, her pretty face flushed pink, and Arianne grinned, mentally betting herself that she’d be fitted for another bridesmaid dress within the year.

  Still, for all that Patrick was a nice-looking man, he was rendered nearly invisible the second Gabe Sloan set foot into the cafeteria. A sudden pulse of hyperawareness left Arianne as unsteady as if the room had rocked beneath her feet. He was ruggedly sensual in a brown leather jacket and worn jeans; his hair was slightly damp as if he’d grabbed a quick shower before coming to the meeting.

  Gabe Sloan, in the shower. A hot shiver went through her. Steady, girl.

  “Gabe!” Hoping that none of her baser instincts were visible in her expression, she beamed at him, quickly crossing toward him.

  As Arianne threaded between the narrow cafeteria tables and the scattering of women already seated, that earlier uncertainty she’d been feeling reared its ugly head, and she second-guessed herself. She’d wanted Gabe to feel more included in Mistletoe, but aside from Patrick, he was the only man present. He stood out dramatically in this small assembly of women, against the surreal backdrop of a playground mural in bright primary colors and low-to-the-ground bench seating meant to accommodate even the smallest kindergartener.

  Had she made a mistake asking him to come here? She banished the thought almost immediately. Change was difficult, but that didn’t make stagnation or withdrawal healthier options.

  When she stopped in front of him, Gabe dipped his head in acknowledgment. “Miss Waide.”

  It should’ve sounded silly—she was Arianne or Ari to everyone she knew—but something about the way it came out in Gabe’s low voice conjured the Western frontier and mysterious gunslingers who were good with their hands.

  “Call me Arianne. Please.”

  “All right.”

  She swallowed, breaking eye contact. “Come on, there’s someone you should meet.” Arianne knew everyone’s eyes were on her and Gabe as they approached Patrick, who sat at a table with Lilah, Quinn and Dele Momsen. Rachel had yet to return from feeding the baby.

  “Gabe, this is Patrick Flannery, Mistletoe Elementary’s newest teacher and our town’s newest resident. I’m sure you’ll make him feel welcome,” she babbled.

  Gabe quirked an eyebrow at her as if challenging her assertion, but he was perfectly cordial as he shook hands with Patrick. “Gabe Sloan, nice to meet you.”

  Dele scooted over on the bench so that Gabe could sit between her and Patrick.

  “Pleased to make your acquaintance,” Patrick said, glancing around with a self-conscious smile. “Don’t get me wrong—there are worse fates than being surrounded by women—but I’m glad not to be the only guy. So, you’re from Mistletoe? Most everyone I’ve met seems to have grown up here.”

  “My whole life,” Gabe said.

  Arianne wondered if anyone else heard the bitter undertone of his voice. Her atte
ntion was wrenched away from Gabe when she saw Kasey Kerrigan, juggling a large box of printed flyers, as well as art supplies they were going to use to make eye-catching posters. Leaving the two men to chat, Arianne went to Kasey’s side.

  “Thanks,” Kasey said as she handed over a plastic bag and some neon poster board.

  “No problem,” Arianne said. She smiled at the older woman, but then stiffened as she saw who was entering the cafeteria behind them.

  The Hunaker sisters.

  Too bad flasks would be considered inappropriate at a PTA-related meeting because Arianne thought that a little hard liquor might take the edge off dealing with Tara and Cici. Both women were in their forties, well preserved through expensive cosmetics and a few surgical weekend trips to Atlanta. They had matching smiles that made Arianne think of great white sharks with collagen injections. Neither Hunaker sister actually had a child currently enrolled in Whiteberry, but since the same could be said of several volunteers—Ari and Gabe included—that didn’t give the committee license to boot the siblings.

  Arianne increased her stride, hoping not to get sucked into small talk with Cici and Tara, but even with the additional distance, she caught Gabe’s name, followed by a flurry of hectic whispering.

  Kasey and Arianne sat on the empty bench across from the men and were joined by Rachel and her now-content daughter. Then Quinn stood to welcome everyone and make it clear how much the school appreciated their support.

  “The fall festival is a long-standing tradition, and I know that with your help, we can make this year’s the best yet! Now I’m going to turn things over to my cochair Lilah Waide….”

  Lilah outlined the subcommittees and specific positions that needed to be filled. When she mentioned the cakewalk and annual bake-off, though, a hand shot up from Arianne’s table.

  “Not to be a bother, but could I interrupt for just a sec?” Dele asked sweetly. “I revere our town traditions—I’ve lived in Mistletoe more than fifty years—but there’s no reason we can’t improve on them, right? Reach for new heights?”

  Lilah’s smile flickered nervously, but she nodded. “Change can keep things fresh.”

  “What if instead of a whole bunch of people individually baking cakes, we banded together? I saw this news piece on a middle school attempting to make the world’s largest cupcake and there was mention of a Canadian slab of fudge that was over two tons. Wouldn’t it be neat if Mistletoe could set one of those records for the biggest cake?”

  Two tons of fudge? Just how much cake was Dele proposing? The silence in the cafeteria got very loud, emphasized by a single derisive titter in the back. One of the Hunakers, no doubt.

  “Well,” Lilah began. “That certainly is an ambitious idea! But I doubt we could get all the logistics squared away in only two weeks. Would you mind if I write this in our notes as something to discuss for future years?”

  Dele beamed. “I think that’d be just fine, Lilah. Thank you.”

  It wasn’t until Quinn began differentiating between the booths that they hoped would break even financially, those there for fun despite not being moneymakers, versus the ones they actually expected to profit on that Dele’s hand shot back up again.

  “I had a fundraiser idea,” Dele said proudly. “A couple of years ago, during the July Fourth celebration, officials like the mayor and principal agreed to sit in a dunk tank. Citizens lined up to pay for a chance to soak them!”

  Lilah and Quinn exchanged glances. As Dele’s ideas went, this one was completely sane.

  “Sounds terrific,” Lilah said, “with the possible exception of the weather. I’m not sure it would be warm enough—”

  “Oh, I don’t think we should dunk them!” Dele interjected. “I think we should make them walk the plank. As part of our costume competition, we already have a best pirate category, so it just makes sense! Think about our students in their best buccaneer garb, paying for a chance to march their favorite—or least favorite—teachers off a plank at swordpoint.”

  “I’m sorry, did you say off a plank?” Cici Hunaker echoed incredulously.

  Dele spun around, nodding eagerly over her shoulder. “Sounds like fun, dontcha think?”

  “And this would be the plank of the handy pirate ship we just happen to have sitting in town square?” Cici rejoined.

  Tara snickered, and Dele’s face fell. Looking at the older woman’s crushed expression, Arianne’s loathing of the Hunakers soared to new heights.

  Even Quinn was openly glaring at the two women. “I should remind everyone that we’re all working toward the same goal and the first rule of brainstorming is that you don’t criticize ideas as they’re flowing.”

  “Even the ridiculous ones?” Tara muttered.

  “Actually—” Gabe turned in his seat, ostensibly addressing Dele, although his voice carried throughout the room “—I like your idea, Mrs. Momsen.”

  “You do?”

  He reached out to awkwardly pat the woman’s hunched shoulder. “Absolutely. There are plenty of people in this town I wouldn’t mind sending off the plank.”

  Across the table from him, Arianne was dimly aware of muffled laughs and even one or two gasps, but none of those reactions truly registered with her. She was fixated on Gabe’s profile as he exchanged hesitant smiles with Dele.

  Heaven help me, he has dimples.

  Chapter Six

  Quinn and Lilah called the meeting to a close just in time—over the past hour and a half, the cheerfully decorated cafeteria walls had started closing in on Gabe. I need to get out of here. He was preoccupied enough with his growing unease that he nodded at something Patrick said without really hearing it.

  “Great!” The other man clapped him congenially on the shoulder. “You just let me know what night works best for you.”

  Gabe paused, not sure what he’d just agreed to, but telling himself that, whatever it was, it couldn’t be any stranger than telling Adele Momsen he’d build her a pirate ship. Rather, a partial facade of a ship. Kasey, from the family-owned Kerrigan Farms, had said there was a company that rented “bouncies” and ball pits—popular attractions for kids who wanted to jump inside inflatable structures or play amidst hundreds of spongy balls. She thought she remembered something from their catalog where participants could literally dive into an open pit. Assuming her phone call to them tomorrow was productive, Gabe would start work on a raised platform that would emulate the deck of a ship, complete with a plank.

  By Gabe’s early teens, he’d been antsy, wanting to leave Mistletoe and the proximity of an unloving father who made him feel vaguely guilty for his very existence. Looking ahead to the financial independence he’d need to escape, Gabe had started mowing lawns and helping elderly neighbors—including Adele Momsen’s mother—clean out their rain gutters. He’d kept an organized spiral notebook of his clients and what they’d paid him. To this day, he kept an organized to-do list and studied it each morning over coffee.

  A couple of weeks ago, it had been a simple, even predictable, compilation: pick up materials at Waide Supply, meet with Linda Berdino about her yard, tell the Winchesters that they really did need to hire a certified plumber.

  And then Arianne Waide had happened.

  Gabe’s list had morphed radically. One, find new home. Two, build pirate ship.

  Patrick Flannery shrugged into his jacket. “So I’ll catch you later for that pool game.”

  Three, make new friend. Apparently. “Sure,” Gabe said. At least now he knew what he’d agreed to.

  With a nod and parting smile for Mrs. Momsen, he made a beeline for the exit and the promise of fresh air. He was almost there when Tara Hunaker sidled into his peripheral vision.

  “Gabriel?” Her low, smoky voice might have been more seductive if it weren’t so affected. And if he didn’t know her better.

  The week he’d spent working for her had ensured that he would never look at her and see a beautiful woman.

  “I wanted to apologize for my knee-jerk r
eaction to the pirate fundraiser,” she said, her expression beseeching.

  “Good idea,” he said. “Mrs. Momsen’s right over there.”

  “Fair enough. I’ll talk to her as soon as we’re done. Have to say, I never would have expected to see you here, but I’m glad—”

  “Gabe!”

  Arianne bounded toward them with all the restraint and self-consciousness of a puppy, a complete contrast to Tara’s studied expressions and come-hither voice.

  Despite whatever chaos Arianne had wreaked on his life, he’d choose dealing with her over Tara Hunaker any day. He flicked the latter a dismissive glance. “If you’ll excuse us?”

  He stepped to the side and waited for Arianne to reach him.

  At close range, her smile was nearly blinding. “You were magnificent!” She threw her arms around him.

  Gabe stiffened. She was hugging him? People didn’t hug him. He wasn’t…He didn’t—“Miss Waide?” Unhand me.

  Not that her embrace was unpleasant. Quite the contrary. She was soft and lush, round in exactly the right places despite her diminutive size. Her warmth radiated through him, the scent of raspberries teasing his senses. He was startled by the urge to pull her tight and breathe her in.

  His newfound claustrophobia kicked in with a vengeance, and he jerked back a step. He half expected her to look stung by the rudeness, but instead, her rueful smile was apologetic.

  “That was probably overkill, hmm?” she admitted. “I do tend to come on strong.”

  “I hadn’t noticed,” he deadpanned.

  “I just wanted to say thank you before you disappeared into the night. You made sweet Mrs. Momsen’s entire year, agreeing to help with that ship.”

  He shifted his weight, unused to this level of gratitude. When he fenced in someone’s backyard, they usually just handed him a check. “Hey, she’s the one who had the good idea. I’m just the hired muscle.”

  “Except that we’re not paying you,” Arianne reminded him with a laugh. “Oh, but we’ll definitely reimburse you for the supplies. Jennifer Gideon is the PTA treasurer—just make sure she gets your receipts. And we’ll help with construction, too. It’s too much work for one person in such a short time frame. Patrick and I—”