Mistletoe in Mayhem (Whiskey Sisters)

by L. E. Rico

  “Honka, swan!” Jackson demands loudly.

  And I’ll be damned if the swan doesn’t honk.

  My nephew throws back his head, peals of laughter emanating from his tiny body. Jameson is about to scoop up her son out of harm’s way when Win grabs her arm to hold her back. He puts his hand up in a gesture for her to wait a second. She looks doubtful—not to mention alarmed—when the swans inch closer and closer. Then ringleader Rufus tucks his head under his wing, and Jax reaches out, gently patting his long, plaid scarf-clad neck.

  “Good swan!” he exclaims.

  Rufus straightens up again, waddling off in another direction, with Ophelia, Jane, and Edgar in tow.

  “Uh…surprise?” Bryan’s uncertain voice comes from behind me, and I feel his warm hands around my waist, pulling my back up against his chest.

  “Bryan! What on earth were you thinking bringing those swans here?” I ask him over my shoulder.

  “Rufus and I have been working on the maneuver all week.”

  “You’re making that up,” I accuse with a puckered face.

  “Nope. Swear to God. You can learn to do anything with a little help from YouTube. I made Scott get on his knees and pretend to be Jackson while I was training Rufus.”

  I want to be angry, but I can’t. All I can do is shake my head and roll my eyes at the ceiling. “You’re something else, Mr. Truitt.”

  “As are you, Mrs. Truitt.”

  And just like that, I feel a zing of excitement shoot through me like an arc of electricity. “Say that again,” I request breathily.

  “Mrs. Truitt,” he replies, savoring each word.

  “Oh! I almost forgot!” I say, pulling myself back to more practical matters. I extricate myself from him just long enough to retrieve the small package that Walker has been holding for me all night. “Here, this is your wedding/Christmas present,” I tell him excitedly as I hand it to him.

  He looks panicked for a moment. “Oh, no! But I haven’t had time to get you anything…!”

  I shake my head firmly.

  “Plenty of time for that later. Right now, this is for you.”

  He carefully pulls apart the silver paper until he’s holding a black, weathered leather box. The hinges, stiff with age, creak as he pries the lid up. And then it’s all there on his face as he pulls out the antique brass compass.

  “Henny…I…you couldn’t possibly know this, but when I was a kid, I always wanted one of these…”

  “I did know that,” I inform him.

  He shoots me that sexy, crooked smile he uses when he doesn’t believe what I’m saying.

  “Oh! My mom told you, I guess?”

  “You guess wrong. Santa told me.”

  “Santa?”

  I nod.

  “Yup. He showed me—it was on your Christmas wish list when you were nine.”

  The smile fades a little, his dark brows drawing together in confusion.

  “Now that she couldn’t have told you…because I never told her about that…”

  “Bryan, I’m not lying to you. Santa told me what you wanted, and I realized it would make the perfect wedding present.”

  “Oh? And why is that?” he asks, still incredulous.

  “So you can always find your way north—back here to Mayhem. To me.”

  For a second I think he’s going to cry. Instead, he slips the compass into the pocket of his tux and pulls me into his arms with a grip of steel.

  “I won’t need it,” he murmurs in my ear. “Because I will never leave your side—for as long as we both shall live.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Bryan

  One Week Later…St. Croix

  She’s sleeping in the chaise longue, long hair amassed in a messy bun atop her head, huge sunglasses covering those beautiful blue eyes. Not that there isn’t plenty to look at otherwise. The coral bikini she’s wearing does an exceptional job of showcasing her curves and those long, long legs. I could stand here and watch her forever, but we’ve got a dinner reservation. I move down to the bottom of the chaise, where her perfect, pink-toed feet are, and I start to kiss my way up those long, long legs. From the inside of her foot, to the ankle, and up the calf. By the time I get to her knee, she’s awake.

  “My, my, Mr. Truitt. What are you up to down there?” she asks in a sleepy, sexy voice.

  “Up to your knee, Mrs. Truitt, and heading to points northward.”

  “Ohhhh, my. Do you need a map? Perhaps a compass?”

  “No, ma’am. I know this route by heart.” I place a gentle kiss on the inside of her knee. “Every valley,” I murmur and repeat the process with her kneecap. “Every hill.” I move up to the outside of her thigh and lick the salt from her suntanned skin. “Every highway…” My tongue moves to her inner thigh. “Every byway…” I’m just about to make my way up to The Promised Land when she swats the top of my head with her big straw hat. I look up.

  “Hey! What gives? Here I am, trying to be all romantic…”

  “On a public beach,” she reminds me, nodding in the direction of an older couple gaping in our general vicinity. “Now, if you’d like to take this geography lesson indoors or to our private splash pool, well, that’s another story…”

  I stand up and offer a hand to help her to her feet, pulling her into my arms as I do. When she gazes at me, I pluck the sunglasses from her face so I can get a good look at those baby blues.

  “My God, you must have doubled the number of freckles on your nose,” I marvel. “And you know how I love a girl with freckles.”

  “I do now, since you tried to count every freckle on my body last night…”

  “Hey, you never know where one might be. I think it was wise to locate any and all skin anomalies…no matter where they are. A freckle could turn into a mole, which could be a potential cancer risk. It’s just good dermatological health, Hennessy,” I say as I nod down at her solemnly.

  “Is that so? Well, I suppose it’s good to know you’re so concerned with my wellbeing.”

  “I am,” I reply earnestly. “I’m concerned with anything and everything that concerns you, Mrs. Truitt.”

  “I like the way that sounds…‘Mrs. Truitt.’”

  When she rolls the name around on her tongue, all I want to do is throw her down in the sand and ravage her. But somehow I think the old people wouldn’t approve. I grab her hand instead and lead her back to our private little cabana overlooking the Caribbean.

  “Oh! I almost forgot to tell you,” I begin as we start up a long set of wooden steps built into the bluff. “I had an email—”

  “Hey! I thought we agreed no business on our honeymoon,” she chides me.

  “It’s not, I swear,” I’m quick to explain. “Have you ever heard of the magazine Weddings of a Lifetime?”

  She stops and stares at me. “Yeah…isn’t that the one Jacintha was so keen to get herself into?”

  “Well, she’s in it now,” I say with a smirk. “Though probably not the way she expected…”

  “Bryan, what did you do? I also thought we agreed not to do anything spiteful to Jacintha.”

  I hold up my hands in surrender. “Hennessy, I didn’t do a thing. That young woman who volunteered to take the wedding photos…”

  “Effie Taylor? She’s the granddaughter of the Taylors who own the drugstore. She’s some kind of photographer for magazines…” Her voice trails off as she makes the connection. “No. She does not work for that wedding magazine…”

  “Oh, but she does,” I assure her. “And she was so blown away by the wedding and how the entire town came together to make it happen that she called her editor back in Manhattan and convinced her to consider it for the special annual edition that comes out in January.”

  “And…?”

  “And we’re the wedding of the year,” I tell her, watching her face light up.

  “What? No way! But how did they even have time? It’s almost New Year’s!”

  “They went back to press and
redesigned the layout to get it in. The editor told me they’ve never been happier to have a cost overage on an issue. And, apparently, the phones have been ringing off the hook wanting to know: A. Who the evil wedding planner was and B. If the town of Mayhem is available for hire as a wedding destination.”

  She throws her head back with laughter.

  “That’s…that’s just…I don’t even know what that is,” she laughs as she shakes her head in disbelief. She takes my hand again, and we continue our upward climb. “And…what about Jacintha, then? Does it say anything about her?”

  “Not directly,” I explain. “But it’s a small circle of people planning weddings of that caliber and an even smaller circle of planners to handle them. No one needs to say her name. If everyone doesn’t know by now, they’ll know soon.”

  My wife sighs heavily. “Bryan, I don’t want her to lose her business.”

  “She sabotaged our wedding!”

  “I know, I know. But I feel sorry for her. Who’s planning her wedding? No one, because she’s not engaged. She’s so busy arranging other people’s celebrations that she doesn’t have time for one of her own.”

  “Oh, come on now—”

  “No, Bryan, I’m serious. I’ve had some time to think about this. I don’t want to sue her. I just want the deposits that we paid out to be returned. And then we can be done with her.”

  “Okay,” I shrug. “Whatever my wife wants…”

  We’re at the top of the steps at last, pausing to look out at the spectacular view—white sand, azure water, and not a cloud from here to the horizon. Hennessy wraps her arms around my waist and looks up at me.

  “I’ll tell you exactly what your wife wants.”

  “Oh?”

  She stands on her tiptoes and puts her soft mouth to my ear. The whisper of her breath tickles me as she tells me exactly what it is that she wants. When she pulls away, she’s smiling seductively. My brows go up.

  “Really?”

  She nods, and I scoop her up in my arms, carrying her toward our cabana while she squeals and kicks in delight.

  At last, she’s here. With me. For the rest of my life. It’s been one wild ride, that’s for sure. But it’s been worth every minute of every hour of every day of the chaos.

  Epilogue

  From the Editor

  In my nearly two decades here at Weddings of a Lifetime, we have covered every conceivable type of ceremony…from the most intimate home wedding to the most elaborate, over-the-top extravaganza on a private island. Dozens and dozens of variations on the theme of everlasting love and commitment. But never before have any of us here on the WOAL staff encountered anything like the wedding of Mr. Bryan Truitt and Ms. Hennessy O’Halloran.

  We all know that wedding planning can be fraught with unexpected storms—little flurries that can snowball into a blizzard in the blink of an eye. But nothing could have prepared us for the story of Bryan, a real estate developer, and Hennessy, an attorney.

  Wishing to be married on Christmas Eve in the same church where the bride’s late parents were wed, the couple scrambled to put their celebration together in a matter of months. To facilitate matters, a high-profile wedding planner was hired out of Los Angeles. This should have made things infinitely easier for the couple. Sadly, that was not the case. Citing to us only a “bad fit,” they terminated the services of this planning “professional.” I put that word in italics because this individual proved to be nothing of the sort—spitefully cancelling vendors, un-inviting guests, and going so far as to send the bride’s couture wedding gown to Iceland!

  But this story isn’t about that attempt to derail Hennessy and Bryan’s happiness. It’s about the extraordinary love and support that came from the entire community of Mayhem, Minnesota—population 842. With a mobilization effort that rivaled the best military tactical plans, literally hundreds of friends and strangers alike spent the days leading up to Christmas cooking, decorating, sewing, and even making an entire compliment of origami florals.

  Thanks to the good people of Mayhem, this wedding overcame sabotage, a blizzard—and even a quartet of ornery swans to transform into what is quite simply the most beautiful wedding we have ever encountered…not just because of the candle-lit ceremony or the reception at a rustic dairy farm—though these were truly unforgettable—but because of the bride and groom themselves.

  Mr. and Mrs. Truitt proved themselves to be tenacious in the face of serious obstacles, generous in their gratitude for the myriad people who made their wedding possible, and gracious in their refusal to name the individual who set out with such malice to destroy their big day. I can’t think of any better foundation upon which to build a life.

  To quote the officiate of this wedding, Father Grigory “Romance” Romanski as he wrapped up the ceremony:

  “What God hath joined together let no man, or woman…or blizzard put asunder.”

  On behalf of the entire staff of Weddings of a Lifetime magazine, I’d like to extend our very best wishes to the new Mr. and Mrs. Truitt who have, unanimously, won the distinction of Wedding of the Year…as well as our hearts.

  Lisa Stone,

  Editor, Weddings of a Lifetime Magazine

  Baby Bedlam

  a Whiskey Sisters novella

  Chapter One

  Jameson

  June

  I cover my mouth to hide the yawn I just can’t hold back another second. It doesn’t help that the room is dark and quiet—the only light coming from the glowing screens of the equipment all around us.

  “Hey! No falling asleep during my sonogram!” my sister, Hennessy, says as she swats me from her reclined position on the examination table.

  “Sorry,” I mutter. “I’ve been on my feet all day—three emergency C-sections, one preemie, and a breech since I got here—and I haven’t even had lunch yet.”

  “Well, maybe Kathy here can relieve you up on Labor and Delivery for a while,” Henny’s husband, Bryan, jokes to the sonogram tech.

  My colleague is not amused. In fact, she looks rather alarmed at the suggestion.

  “What? No, no, no. I stay off the third floor whenever possible. Don’t you know? Pregnancy is contagious! And I’ve already had my four. No, sir, no way, no how,” she replies, shaking her head adamantly.

  “It is not!” I counter. “Stop scaring my sister or she’ll never come to visit me at work again!”

  Hennessy pats her newly minted, rapidly-growing baby bump and shrugs.

  “I don’t know… I kinda like the idea of having a big family. So if we met up for lunch whenever I wanted to get pregnant again…”

  “Um…just to be clear,” Bryan says from his seat on the opposite side of the table, “we’d still be able to do it the…er…usual way, right?”

  “Don’t worry, honey. Whatever it takes…” Hennessy assures him with a squeeze of his hand.

  Kathy snorts as she squirts the warm gel onto my sister’s tummy.

  “Jeez, Hen, slow down on the cheese curds, will ya?” I tease. “You’re not even four months yet and you already look like you’re six!”

  “Yeah, well, not everyone’s as lucky as you were, James.” Henny turns to Bryan. “You couldn’t even tell she was pregnant until she was nearly seven months! And, even then, she just went up a size in her regular clothes. Didn’t buy a single pair of these awful, stretchy maternity pants!”

  “I guess I was lucky like that,” I muse, remembering my non-pregnancy pregnancy fondly.

  “Maybe if you didn’t eat so much pie, Hen,” Bryan offers. “She can’t seem to get enough mincemeat pie—Janet Lahti is baking around the clock to feed her craving.”

  I make a face. “Eww…really? Mincemeat, Henny?”

  “Jameson, I seem to recall you sending Win out in the middle of a storm to get you oatmeal raisin cookies.”

  “Huh…” I consider this for a second. “You know, I’d forgotten all about that! And now that you say it, an oatmeal raisin cookie sounds really good. Maybe
I’ll bake some later…”

  The thought of baked goods flies from my mind when I hear Kathy gasp at something she’s seeing on the screen. My eyes search through the black and white lines and swirls and flutters, looking for something out of the ordinary. And there it is.

  My turn to gasp.

  “What?” Henny asks, her eyes moving between Kathy, me, and the screen. “What’s wrong?”

  “I…uh…” Kathy mutters. “Just…just give me a sec here…”

  I stand up so I can get a closer look over her shoulder. “Is that…?”

  Kathy nods.

  Henny freaks.

  “What’s wrong? Jameson—tell me what’s wrong with my baby!” she demands, struggling to sit up, even as Kathy keeps rolling the probe around, periodically clicking a mouse to capture an image of what she’s seeing.

  “Oh my God! My kid has four arms! I knew it,” Henny wails miserably. “This happened to that woman! The one I read about on the web…”

  Bryan is on his feet now, clutching her hand in his. “Hen, I told you to quit reading that crap! All it does is scare you. Jameson, please tell your sister that there are no extra limbs floating around inside her right now…”

  Kathy and I look at one another.

  I can’t tell her that, because it would be a lie.

  …

  “Twins?” Bailey shrieks. “You’re having…twins?” She’s jumping up and down now, her blonde ponytail bobbing up and down with her. “Oh…my…gawddddddd!”

  “I know! Right?” Henny grabs our youngest sister’s forearms, and now the two of them are jumping up and down. “We’re having twins!”

  I don’t have the energy to join them, but I do manage to cheer from the sidelines of a bar stool. Even the normally impassive Walker is grinning from ear to ear.

  “Hold on,” she says, coming out from behind the bar to make her way to where Father Romance is standing, emceeing the weekly pub quiz.

  He leans down from the dais so she can whisper in his ear. I see his brows go up in surprise before he catches the grin from Walker.