Mistletoe in Mayhem (Whiskey Sisters)

by L. E. Rico

  Bailey scoops up the sobbing Jackson, who looks as if someone has just fed his favorite blankie into a wood chipper. Seriously—I’ve heard this child’s angry cry, his whiney cry, his sleepy cry, and his scared cry. I have never, in the better part of the year that I’ve been a part of his life, heard this pitiful, bereft wailing noise that’s coming from him at this moment.

  When did my old friend become this snobbish, elitist…mean person standing here? Poor, poor Jacintha. The wrath of an O’Halloran scorned is about to obliterate her and it could have so easily been avoided with a few manners and a pleasantry or two. Clearly, she’s no longer the person I used to know.

  The little boy’s pathetic mewling softens as his youngest aunt whispers soothingly in his ear, rocking him from side to side in her arms. Slowly but surely, she manages to calm him, while instinctively making her way to the far edge of the room where he’ll be protected from further upset. When Henny is satisfied that he’s out of the line of fire, she takes a few very purposeful steps into Jacintha’s personal space.

  The foolish woman doesn’t know enough to step back, to be afraid. Instead, she holds her ground and looks up with a defiant, albeit uncertain, expression.

  “Jacintha,” Henny begins so quietly that we all have to strain to hear her, even though none of us—save for Bailey and Jackson—is less than five feet away. “What you can’t seem to understand is that it didn’t have to be this way.”

  “Hennessy—”

  “Shut. Your. Mouth.” My fiancée hisses with so much venom that I can’t help but gasp. And Jacintha can’t help but snap her jaws shut tight. “I’d have done just about anything to make Bryan happy—and that includes being insulted, degraded, and mocked by a miserable shrew such as yourself.”

  This comment makes my heart hurt. I cannot believe I did this to the person I love most on this entire planet. Sensing my misery, Father Romance pats me on the back comfortingly.

  “But, while I will disregard your disgraceful behavior towards me, I will not allow you to turn my family into a punch line at your next Hollywood A-List party.” She pauses—but only for the time it takes her to draw in a long, shuddering breath.

  “We welcomed you to this town, and what did you do? You pranced around as if you would school all of us…us rubes.”

  Another step puts Henny toe-to-toe with Jacintha—who actually flinches when Henny puts a gentle hand on her shoulder.

  “And, all the while, you couldn’t see that you’re the fool, Jacintha. You’re the pathetic, miserable, lonely little girl playing dress-up in the fancy clothes and pretending she’s got it all over everyone else.”

  Jacintha stands there, lips pursed tight, silently fuming as Henny continues.

  “You need to go now, Jacintha. Bryan will see to it that you’re paid for your time, but we won’t be needing your services any longer.”

  “Well, isn’t this just…just…”

  “Jacintha! Stop. Just…stop.”

  I speak her name so sternly that she stops before she can hammer that last nail in her coffin. Instead, she snatches up her bag and starts for the door to the pub, muttering obscenities under her breath. But Hennessy’s not quite done yet.

  “Jacintha?”

  My former-friend and ex–wedding planner spins around and glares at us all.

  “What? What is it? Hmm? What other torrid little insults do you think you can spew at me, Hennessy? Hmm?” she demands.

  But Hennessy’s rage has clearly dissipated, now that she’s said her piece of peace.

  “I want you to know that I’m going to pray for you—that you’ll find love of your own and happiness…and something other than that unfillable vacuum of want that’s torturing you. I just want you to remember one thing—and hear me on this, Jacintha—I am an exceptional attorney.”

  “Oh, what? You’re going to sue me now? Is that it?” Jacintha spits.

  Hennessy lets out a chuckle so dark that I find it physically disturbing.

  “Sue you? Oh, no. No, no, no. I just want you to keep in mind that I know how to get away with murder, Jacintha. And if you don’t believe that, just go ahead and try trash-talking my family or my town again.”

  “Sweet Jesus,” Father Romance murmurs under his breath.

  I have never loved this woman more than I love her at this very moment.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Hennessy

  My joy at jettisoning Jacintha is short-lived over the next several days as harsh reality rains down on me. It’s a brutal reminder that I’m running out of time and options. And that Jacintha Rowling knows exactly how to exact her revenge.

  Jameson shakes her head sympathetically while Jackson—his choco crisis now long-forgotten—paws at his mac and cheese in the high chair next to her.

  “I can’t believe she could do so much destruction in such a short time!” she marvels. “What’s the tally at this point?”

  “You mean the body count?” I snort. “The caterer, the band for the reception, the tent for the reception, and the string quartet for the service. Also, the dress designer called to let me know she’d sent the dress out to the updated address that Jacintha gave her.”

  “Wait, wait, wait,” Walker interjects, shaking her fork at me. “What updated address is that?”

  I can’t help myself; I have to smile. This one was just brilliant.

  “The one in Iceland.”

  “Holy. Crap,” Walker breathes. “That witch sent your wedding dress to Iceland?”

  “So it would seem.”

  I’ve kept a brave face all day, but that really was the last straw.

  “Sue her,” Bailey says over her lasagna. “You’re a lawyer. Just sue the crap out of her.”

  “Not as easy as you might think,” I explain. “She’s in California. I’m in Minnesota. I mean, yes, I’ll sue to get back all the deposit money that we lost when she canceled everything—but there’s no way I can force the vendors to deliver their goods and services in time.”

  “You could postpone,” Jameson says gently. Walker grunts in agreement.

  It’s just the four of us for dinner tonight, with Bryan having an important conference call to handle. And, honestly, I’m happy for the distraction my sisters provide.

  “I could,” I sigh and push the cheesy noodles around my plate. “But I don’t want to. I care more about being married to Bryan than about how we end up there. Besides, it’s not as if I’ve lost the church…and that’s the most important part.”

  My sisters nod their agreement.

  “Okay, so what can we do on our own, here? Aside from the church?” Jameson asks distractedly as she tries to keep Jackson from flinging his dinner on Walker.

  “Hey!” Walker warns our nephew. “Knock it off. Right. Now.”

  Amazingly, the toddler changes course and stuffs the handful of elbows into his mouth, never taking his eyes off his scowling auntie.

  “Well, let’s see… I suppose I could see if one of the area restaurants can throw a buffet spread together for us…”

  “I thought you wanted a sit-down dinner,” Bailey reminds me.

  “Yeah, well, beggars can’t be choosers. Not likely I’ll be able to pull that off on Christmas Eve. Who’s going to want to do setup, and serving, and cleanup?”

  “Ho Ho Fan,” Walker offers. “They’re always open Christmas Eve and Christmas Day.”

  I chuckle at the thought of it. “As much as I love their General Tsao’s chicken, I doubt I can get Bryan to agree to that. No, if I’m really, really lucky, I’ll be able to find someone willing to cook big trays the day before that Donovan can heat up at the pub. We can set up a long serving table on the far end and bring in some extra tables and chairs—”

  Jameson drops the fork she’s holding onto her plate with a noisy clank.

  “Whoa! You want to have the reception at the pub?” she gasps.

  “Uh…well, yeah, kinda…” I say, not sounding or feeling as confident at that decision as I did
a little while ago. “I mean, where else can I have it, James? The Elk Lodge is already booked, the VFW Hall is closed for renovations—I got so desperate I even tried the high school gym—but they’ve got a roof leak being repaired over the holiday break.”

  “Ewww!” Bailey scrunches her face in distaste. “Gross! You actually considered the high school gym? It smells like old sweat socks! They don’t even have the prom there anymore.”

  I shrug. “At this point, I’ve given up on trying to find an elegant venue. I’ll be lucky if I can find any venue. So, yeah—even though it would be tight, and even though I spend every single day there—the pub is a definite possibility.”

  “Can you get another tent? Locally, I mean?” James asks.

  I shake my head. “I tried this morning. There’s nothing available. Besides, I never thought that was a great idea—I was so afraid we might get a bad snow storm and it’d collapse.”

  “That would suck,” Walker comments, a sly smile twitching at the corners of her mouth. “But it’d be pretty hysterical.”

  “Yeah, real funny,” I mutter. “I’ve just traded one catastrophe for another.”

  “Listen, we can do this, Henny,” Jameson proclaims resolutely, smacking the table for emphasis. “We can figure this out. I’ll bet there are plenty of people in town who would love to—”

  I throw up my hand so that the palm is facing her in the universal sign for “Stop!”

  “Absolutely not. I’m not going to impose on our friends and neighbors—the people meant to be our guests—to spend their holiday working for me. Not gonna happen.”

  Everyone is silent for a minute, the only sound around the table being the scraping of forks. Boy, I really know how to kill the mood.

  I sigh. “I’m sorry. I’m just…I’m so stressed. And, as obnoxious as Jacintha was, at least she was getting things done. I didn’t realize how many moving parts there are to a wedding.”

  “Don’t you even,” Walker warns, pointing her fork in my direction. “She had to go.”

  “I know, I know,” I murmur, pushing the salad around my plate.

  “Good lasagna, James,” Bailey says, changing the subject.

  Jameson gives her a faint smile. “Thanks, Bailey.”

  “So, how is it that we have the pleasure of Jax’s company?” I ask when it occurs to me that this is one of his father’s nights.

  Jameson rolls her eyes. “Oh, I don’t know. Something about having to work late on a case at the office. He’ll take him tomorrow night instead.”

  “Seems like Win’s doing better,” Bailey observes cautiously.

  “Yeah. I think he is doing better. We’re doing better, actually. Win and I are in a really good place right now. He hasn’t been sulking about Scott and me—the opposite, actually. The two of them are spending time together at the office, and they even took Big Win bowling the other night!” She leans across the table toward us and drops her voice as if someone might overhear what she’s saying. “He’s seeing someone. And I think it might be getting a little serious.”

  “What? No way!” I exclaim, happy to have someone else’s drama to think about for a few minutes.

  James nods. “Yes! He’s been dropping a few comments about a ‘lady friend’ over in Powell. The other day, he wanted to know if I was okay with her meeting Jackson. He swears to me she’s an age-appropriate adult. Divorced with a little boy of her own. I mean, I’m not nuts about another woman spending time with my kid…but I think it’s a good sign that he’s been so…I don’t know…considerate about it, maybe?”

  It’s still a little hard for us to be enthusiastic about Jameson’s ex. He was too big of a jerk for too long of a time for us to simply forget. Still, they do seem to be getting the hang of this co-parenting thing.

  “So does this mean you and Scott are gonna be making us nuts with all this wedding crap soon, too?” Walker asks.

  “Oh, I don’t know when we’ll get married. For now, I’m just happy to have him in my orbit. He makes me so happy.”

  She is happy. It’s clear by the look on her face—a sweet, contemplative smile—and by the sound of her voice—lighter and brighter than it was for a long time. I put my hand over hers and give it a warm squeeze.

  “Well, James, I definitely think the second time is going to be the charm for you.”

  Her smile broadens as she returns the gesture.

  “I think so, too. But I know—with all my heart—that, unlike me, you’re getting this right the first time.”

  I say a silent prayer that she’s right.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Bryan

  As I stand here in O’Halloran’s next to Helen, the pub is as packed as I’ve ever seen it. Every seat, every table, every barstool is occupied—and still dozens more stand around the perimeter of the room, holding up the walls as they sip their drinks. I’d say I’m worried the fire marshal might shut us down, except for the fact that he’s sitting at table number twelve in the corner.

  “All right, all right, would everyone please settle down!” Helen yells over the chatter. I half expect her to pull out a coach’s whistle any second. Once the room has quieted, she continues. “As you all know, Bryan and Hennessy are due to be married on Christmas Eve.”

  An impromptu round of cheering goes up around the room, and I give a small wave and a smile to acknowledge them.

  “What you may not know is that their wedding planner was fired…and is now doing her level best to sabotage this wedding. She’s somehow managed to cancel all the vendors, knowing full well that they’ll never be able to rebook on such short notice. She’s even managed to reroute the wedding dress to Iceland!”

  An unmistakable cloud of hostility rises above the crowd that’s gathered. There’s grumbling, and tsking, and much shaking of heads.

  “So we’re left with a wedding coming up in less than two weeks and a lot of question marks. No reception venue. No food or servers. No cake. No music for the service or the reception. No dress. And no way they’ll be able to get all their bases covered in time.”

  I tap my friend/assistant on the shoulder to let her know that I’ll take it from here. This is my fault…so it has to be my “ask.”

  “I know how many of you know and love Hennessy and her family. I also know that I stepped on some toes when I decided to import our entire wedding from L.A. All I can say is that I screwed up. Big time. And now, because I was such a jerk, Hennessy may not get the wedding she wants. The wedding she deserves. What I’m asking for is help. Anything you can do to help us pull off any part of this wedding would be so appreciated. A little time…a table cloth…a hotdish for the buffet, whatever. And I know it’ll be Christmas Eve, but we’d like everyone…everyone to share our joy and attend the ceremony and the reception—assuming we’re able to throw one together.”

  A raucous round of applause breaks out, and I feel my shoulders slump with relief. Now that I know they aren’t going to laugh in my face, I feel brave enough to continue.

  “You’ll notice that my bride-to-be is conspicuously absent, as are her sisters. None of them know that I’m here—that this meeting is even happening because Hennessy is way too proud to ask for so much help. But I’m not. I love her…and I know you do, too. That being said, please don’t worry that she’ll be hurt or disappointed if—for any reason—we’re not able to muster enough help with this. She’ll never even know we had this conversation. And with that, I’ll hand it back to Helen, who is acting as the coordinator for all things ‘wedding’ from here on out.”

  Helen, with her no-nonsense glasses and her orange hair, unveils a huge whiteboard that’s been divided into different columns and categories.

  “So, here’s the deal. We need people to prepare food, including the cake. Also needed are volunteers for a decorating committee—this will encompass any decorations needed at the church as well as the reception. And, speaking of the reception, we could hold it here at the pub, but we’re hoping someone might come up with
a better idea for a location.” She pauses and scoots across the board so she can reach the rest of the columns. “That leaves us with the need for a DJ, sewing services to help whip up some bridesmaid dresses, and a photographer. Plus, it’s my understanding that the bride has always dreamed of having a long veil for her walk down the aisle of that church. Anyone who can help make that happen would be especially welcome—Bryan is willing to pay whatever it costs to make, buy, order…whatever. Now, you all go home and take some time to think about it. Please, just let me know by—”

  Helen isn’t able to get the sentence out before the room erupts in animated conversation. People start clustering into small groups and, before I know it, things are out of our control…in a good way.

  “Catering committee is meeting over here!” calls out Miss Lucy van der Hoovenwald, proprietress of the Pink Lady Slipper Inn. Several people join her at a large round table in the corner of the room. And from there, the crowd continues to divide and conquer with calls going up all over the room.

  “Decorating here!”

  “Music over here!”

  “If you want to help with wedding attire, sewing, knitting, crochet, glue gun—whatever—we’re over here.”

  Helen’s brows arch so high that her glasses actually slip off her nose, the beaded chain that tethers them around her neck catching them before they can hit the floor. She turns to look at me incredulously with an expression that says: Holy crap! Are you seeing this? And I am. I am seeing this. Probably close to a hundred people dropping everything to mobilize for the sake of my wedding. Well, probably more for Hennessy, but I’ll take a little of their affection, too.

  “I was expecting to have to pull teeth,” Helen mutters to me under her breath. “This place—these people—I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  “Oh, I think plenty of people would have come to our aid back in L.A. We just never had to ask for anything like this before.”