A Candy Cane Cat-astrophe

by Addison Moore

Shep pulls me close and lands a heated kiss to my ear.

  “I’m sorry. I can’t imagine how hard that must have been for you.”

  I pull back and take in this handsome man. “You believe me?”

  “I don’t have a single reason not to.”

  “And you’re not running me out of town or calling the men with the big nets?”

  “Nope.” A look of amusement crosses his face. “In fact, it only makes me love you more.” He brushes his thumb over my lips as his expression grows serious. “I meant what I said. I love you, Bowie Binx. And if what you say is your reality, then I believe you. Do you mind sharing these visions as they happen?”

  “Well, I don’t really like to call it a vision. I mean, I totally take umbrage when someone tries to classify my abilities as psychic. Technically, it would be true, but I’d like to think the big guy upstairs is giving me the heads-up on a few things.” My chest bucks with emotion. “Have I mentioned that I ramble when I get nervous?”

  “Have I mentioned that I find just about everything about you downright adorable? And the fact you took down a suspect on your own tonight—as much as I want to discourage that from ever happening again, I find it alarmingly sexy.” He strengthens his grip on me. “I’m not going anywhere. So if you were hoping that a ghost or your supernatural ability to see into the future would do the trick, you’ve got another thing coming.”

  “Thank you.” A dark giggle brews in my chest. “So you really love me, huh?”

  He nods. “Madly, deeply—wholeheartedly.”

  Shep lands his lips to mine, and we drive those three little words home with our hearts, our souls, as we rise above all of the noise around us.

  Shep loves me.

  And I love him.

  Holly Wright’s killer has finally been arrested.

  It’s the most wonderful time of the year, after all.

  Chapter 15

  Having a gift exchange among the employees at the café wasn’t my idea. It certainly wasn’t my idea to draw Regina’s name out of the hat. But it was my idea to close early on Christmas Eve—early as in three in the afternoon so that each of us could get home and start rocking around our own Christmas trees.

  “All right,” I say as Thea, Flo, Regina, my sister, and Opal gather around the counter, each of us holding a gift for one another. Opal just so happens to be holding five miniature stockings. Everyone knows good things come in small packages, so I’m looking forward to her gift the most.

  “Me first!” Opal holds the stockings in the air. “As the owner of this haunted castle, I wanted to reward you each for making this a banner year at the Mortimer Manor.” She hands us each our very own stocking. “Go on and open it. You all deserve it.”

  We each yank out a sleek emerald green gift card.

  I suck in a quick breath. “A one day ski pass to the resort up the way. Thank you, Opal. I haven’t skied in years. But I can’t wait.”

  The rest of the crew thanks her as well.

  Stephanie bumps her shoulder to mine. “I think she’s trying to get us killed,” she whispers.

  Regina scoffs. “I get the feeling we’re not that lucky.”

  Opal gives me a wily grin. “Turn it around.”

  I give the gift card a spin, and it reads also good for one brick pizza oven.

  Both Stephanie and I let out a scream that sends the other women in the room taking a full step back.

  “All right. A pizza oven. We get it.” Regina slides a silver package the size of a box of tissues my way. “I drew your name, Bowie.”

  Thea gives my sister a gift, and Flo happily holds a small box wrapped with newspaper and hands it to Thea. Steph gives Flo a gift, and I slide my shiny red package across the counter to Regina.

  Regina and I stare at one another a moment as if we were at a standoff before tearing into our respective gifts.

  And to our amazement we each pull out a sprig of mistletoe. The parchment card attached to hers reads find someone to share this with. And the card attached to mine reads enjoy the hell out of Shep.

  I hold it up and look at the woman who has caused so much difficulty for Shep and me these last few months.

  “Do you really mean this?” I ask with an air of disbelief.

  Regina closes her eyes a moment and nods. “I do.” She bears those root beer-colored eyes into mine. “I’ve never seen him so happy with any other woman the way he is with you, not even me.” She glances to the mistletoe in her hand. “Here’s hoping I get to put this to good use in the new year.”

  And just like that, I think Regina Valentine and I have stopped butting heads over Shepherd Wexler.

  It’s a Christmas miracle indeed.

  Since our big shindig is officially tomorrow afternoon, Shep invited me over tonight to help him decorate his Christmas tree. And since I don’t have it in me to leave my sister alone on Christmas Eve, I bring her along for the merrymaking and the noshing of Nana Rose’s cookies.

  “Knock, knock!” Stephanie says, swinging open the door to Shep’s cabin as she strides on in with a box of Nana Rose’s cookies in her arms. “Bet you’re glad you gave me a key.”

  Shep’s place has a masculine vibe with dark floors and chocolate-colored couches. It’s at least three times the size of my place, and yet it still somehow manages to feel homey. The fireplace is blazing with roaring flames, and the scent of a fresh cut pine fills the place with its heavy scent.

  “Did you bring food?” Shep offers my sister a lopsided smile.

  “Do cookies count?” She hands him the box because we all know they count in the best way possible.

  “Every time. Merry Christmas, ladies.” He steps over and lands a heart-thumping kiss over my lips. “Is that peppermint I’m tasting?”

  I waggle my brows. “New lip gloss with a little Christmas kick to it.”

  “It’s kicking me in all the right places.”

  Stephanie grunts. “All right, you two,” she says, plucking Pixie from my arms. “Let’s deck the halls before I’m forced to douse you both with eggnog to cool you off.”

  Stephanie turns on some Christmas carols, and the three of us light up Shep’s tree and decorate it within an inch of its evergreen life. Soon we’re planted side by side on the sofa, with me in the middle and Pixie lying over my sister’s lap.

  “Well, that was fun.” She knocks her foot to mine. “What’s next, kids? A snowball fight? Building Frosty out on the front lawn? If we steal some of the neighbor’s snow, I think we can swing it.”

  “How about you take Pixie and head to bed?” I don’t hesitate giving her the boot. The edict to include my sister on some Christmas Eve fun expired about five minutes ago. “Don’t wait up for me, sweetheart.”

  “Fine,” she says, getting up and taking Pixie with her. “But don’t stay too late. We need to get up early. That meat sauce isn’t going to cook itself.”

  She takes off, and soon it’s just Shep and me.

  “Bowie.” He pulls me close and lands a kiss to the nape of my neck. “I’ve got a gift for you.”

  “And I’ve got a gift for you.” I walk my fingers down his tie to give him a little hint of gifty things to come.

  Shep reaches back onto the sofa table and hands me a small red box, the size of something expensive.

  “Oh, Shep,” I say as I carefully examine it. “Are you sure about this?”

  “I’m positive.”

  I open the box to reveal a pair of emerald cut emerald earrings encrusted with miniature diamonds all the way around.

  “Shep.” My fingers float to my lips. “They’re beautiful. Thank you so much. I love them. And I love you.” I wrap my arms around him with excitement.

  “You’re welcome,” he says, pulling me onto his lap. “They were my grandmother’s.”

  My mouth falls open. “Are you sure you want me to have them?”

  He nods. “My grandma used to say she could see the future when she looked into those beauties. I think she would love
for you to have them.”

  “They’re perfect,” I say, holding them close.

  “You’re perfect.” He steals a kiss from my lips. “We’re perfect.”

  We spend the next few hours sharing more than a few perfect kisses.

  Back when my mother and grandmother used to have the run of the kitchen, major holidays were a lot more exciting and, dare I say, relaxing.

  Stephanie and I chopped, fried, simmered, and baked our way to a perfect Christmas dinner. We pulled out the big picnic table again, and all the usual suspects have showed up. Opal is here in her Christmas finery, a heavenly emerald brocade dress that I have a sneaking suspicion might have once been used as a curtain of a certain Southern Bell’s home. Tilly, Jessie, and Shep are all here, too, and our small motley crew feels every bit like family.

  And then there’s Dom Canelli, Enzo Lazzari, and Dom Junior who more or less came over as a personal gift to Jessie. They don’t feel like family, and yet they’re family. How’s that for irony?

  We wrap up dinner, move on to dessert, and then open up our gifts in haste. And when all is said and done, we sit around the fire watching It’s a Wonderful Life.

  Before too long our guests head for the door, and we say goodnight.

  Shep helps Opal over to Tilly’s car, and I think Jessie and Dom Junior are making out under the mistletoe, but I pretend not to notice.

  “Well, boys.” Stephanie slaps both Enzo and Dom over their shoulders. “It’s been real.”

  “Real good.” Enzo lands a wet one right over my sister’s lips. And worse? She looks as if she’s enjoying it. There goes any hope of losing these two anytime soon. “Everything was good, especially the mostaccioli.” He gives his fingers a chef’s kiss.

  “That’s right.” Dom folds his arms across his chest as he looks to the two of us. “We’ll be talking to you girls again real soon.”

  “Who are you calling a girl?” I don’t bother hiding the irritation in my voice.

  Dom and Enzo exchange a look.

  Enzo nods to the two of us as they take a step back.

  “Don’t you worry, Stella.” Enzo looks right at me, and my blood runs cold as he says my real name. “We’ll make sure we treat you with respect.” He gives Steph’s chin a tap with his thumb. “You, too, Stephanie.”

  “Bowie.” My sister grows rigid before shaking her head my way in a panic. “I didn’t say anything to them, I swear.”

  A short-lived smile crests Enzo’s lips. “No, Bowie, she didn’t. But don’t worry, ladies. We’re big fans of your father’s. We come in peace.” He winks my way, and I recognize it for what it is—a threat. “We’ll talk soon.”

  The two of them take off with a wave and scoop up Dom Junior on their way out.

  Soon everyone is gone, and Shep makes his way back.

  “Whoa.” He wraps his arms around me. “Let’s get inside, and I’ll do my best to put a smile back on your face.”

  We head on in, and I wonder if I’ll ever have anything to smile about again.

  I fill Shep in on what happened, and he holds me long into the night. We wonder about the future—whether or not we’ll get to have one, and if we do, we can’t imagine what it might look like.

  Shep traces my lips with his finger. “Merry Christmas, Kitten.”

  “Merry Christmas, Shep.”

  “It’s going to be okay.”

  I nod.

  I’d like to think so.

  But I don’t need to peer into the future to know we’ve got trouble.

  And if trouble is what the Canellis and the Lazzaris want, that’s exactly what they’re going to get.

  Shep’s lips curve with malevolent intent. “I think I’ve got a way to make you forget about all of your troubles, at least for one night.” He reaches back and plops a Santa hat on his head.

  “I’ve always had a thing for men with fast sleighs.”

  “Now tell me, have you been naughty? Or have you been nice?”

  “I think I’m going to let you discover that for yourself.”

  And I clue him in on it, one steamy kiss at a time.

  **Thank you so much for reading! We hope you enjoyed the ride! Need more Starry Falls? Hop on over and pick up the next book in the series! Click here—> A Purr-fect Storm

  It’s beginning to look a lot like murder. It’s winter in Starry Falls, the snow is falling and the mobsters are coming in strong. My freedom is in the balance and the only question on my mind is should I stay or should I go now? Shep is willing to risk it all for me—and a thank you, I might just get us both killed.

  Living in Starry Falls is proving to be deadly.

  Click here—> A Purr-fect Storm

  ***Love your books with humor, sass and murder? You’ll devour the Murder in the Mix Series!

  Start at the beginning! Cutie Pies and Deadly Lies (Murder in the Mix 1)

  Enjoy this preview. Happy reading!

  I see dead people.

  Okay, so I don’t see dead people—at least not on the regular—I see dead pets. Yes, pets. At first, I had no idea what these hologram-like beasts were up to until after an unfortunate run of something akin to trial and error that I concluded each dead pet was some sort of a harbinger for its previous owner, a very, very bad omen if you will. Sometimes I see them floating around willy-nilly in a crowd and it’s hard to decipher exactly who the bad luck is coming for. But on occasion, I see them attached firmly to the side of whomever the incoming disaster is set to strike. I’m not sure why this is my lot in life. In fact, my lot in life hasn’t been so stellar in general. My birth mother thought it was a brilliant idea to leave me on the floor of a firehouse, and that’s where a brave and thankfully curious firefighter spotted me, swaddled up and squirming. It just so happens that I was adopted by that sweet man, Joseph Lemon, and his wife, Miranda, and gifted a book-loving big sister, Lainey, currently Honey Hollow’s lead librarian, as well as a feisty and shenanigan-prone younger sister, Meg, who is also known as Madge the Badge on the Las Vegas female wrestling circuit. And being that Las Vegas and all of its glittery wrestling venues are a good distance from Honey Hollow, Vermont, we don’t see her very often.

  But back to that strange gift of mine, or curse as it more often than not feels—I have zero clue where it came from or why, or even the major significance of it. A part of me has always believed that something alarmingly supernatural occurred around the time of my birth, and that’s exactly why my birth mama decided she so desperately needed to offload a seven-pound chunk of bad luck.

  The very first time I put the furry-dearly-departed and outright chaos together was when I was seven and I saw the flicker of a barely-there turtle swimming next to Otis Fisher’s ear. Later that day, Otis fell from a tree and broke his arm. At the time, I wasn’t too sorry about it either. That boy had a mad hankering for pulling on my pigtails. And as fate would have it, the boy who lived to tease me, one day admitted to having a mad crush on yours truly. And post that amorous admission we dated on and off for about three years. If I thought that boy was annoying in elementary school, he outdid himself in high school. In fact, Otis—or Bear as he’s affectionately known around these parts for having once chased off a black bear before it could invade and devour an entire herd of innocent tourists who were on a leaf peeping tour—is one of the reasons I left Honey Hollow to begin with. No sooner did my high school diploma cool off than I hightailed it to New York—Columbia University to be exact—where I’ve had the displeasure to ogle other people’s dead pets.

  I’m quick to push what I’ve affectionately dubbed the New York Disaster out of my mind as I take a step outside of my apartment. It’s a duplex, actually, and my landlords, the Simonson sisters, live upstairs. They’re the primary reason I’m headed out on this unforgivably crisp September morning wearing my Sunday best, even though it’s smack in the middle of the week, Wednesday. Usually, I’d be happily snug in my favorite jeans, sporting my comfiest sweatshirt with my hair in a ponytail, and on my way
to the Honey Pot Diner where I’m currently employed as the chief baker, not that there’s anyone baking underneath me but, hey, I like the title. Instead, I’m stuffed in a pencil skirt, two sizes too small, and a blouse that looks as if I swiped it off a mannequin at Goodwill, partially because I did. Okay, so I don’t own many Sunday clothes per se, but only because the local church is all about casual attire. They’re far more concerned with keeping your soul free from the flames than they are about your accruements, but I digress. I’m not headed to work or any holy house in the great state of Vermont. I’m headed to court—small claims court to be exact—all the way over in Ashford County.

  Just as I’m about to head to my beat-up old hatchback, I spot both the aforementioned Simonson sisters at the foot of the driveway squabbling amongst themselves about who knows what—most likely me. It is me they’re hauling to court after all, and over something completely ridiculous.

  It just so happens that last summer at the county fair my blueberry buckle pie won the coveted blue ribbon in its division, and it seemed as if all of Ashford County were thrilled for me, at least all of the townsfolk here in Honey Hollow. But the Simonson sisters were decidedly not enthused in the least. Sometime between the taste test and the judging, someone edited my entry to read Simple Simonson Pie and crossed out the all-important part about the blueberry buckle. Regretfully, a riot of laughter ensued, mostly from the fine, and, might I add, intuitive folk here in Honey Hollow, but I swear on all that is holy that good time only lasted about three thrilling minutes before I made the correction. Although, to hear Mora Anne and Merilee tell it, the aftermath not only bruised their egos and reputation but managed to cause a retail apocalypse down at the shop they own and run. It turns out, The Busy Bee Craft Shop was short on patrons and dollar bills alike and had a difficult time paying its rent last month, so the only logical solution they could come up with was to sue me for every last red cent.