Mistletoe in Mayhem (Whiskey Sisters)

by L. E. Rico

  “All right already! I get the idea!” She’s giggling, even as she kicks me gently with her foot. “Then where did you have in mind?”

  “Just leave that up to me.”

  “Hmmm…a surprise…I think I quite like that, Scott Clarke.”

  “Me, too,” I say, even as I’m leaning down to put my mouth to hers.

  “I can’t wait to see what you have in mind,” she whispers between kisses.

  Me, too.

  Chapter Three

  Jameson

  July

  When I find Father Romance, he’s in his office, staring at his computer screen intently. I rap on the partially open door and wait for him to look up. That big, easy grin of his fills his face and warms me from within. He’s such a good man. And that’s why I’m here.

  “Jameson, love! Come in, come in!” he calls out, beckoning me inside the “priest cave.”

  I close the door behind me and slip into one of the tufted leather chairs facing his huge mahogany desk. I’m immediately struck by the smell that’s so unique to this space—it’s a mixture of musty books, mothballed vestments, and stale holy water—with just a whiff of burned coffee. Sister Mary Margaret is notoriously bad at making coffee.

  “Hello, Father. How are you? You were looking pretty serious there…”

  He takes off his glasses and rubs his temples wearily.

  “Oh, my dear, you have no idea. I’m next in the queue to go on a retreat. I’ve managed to avoid it for a few years now, but Bishop Hopewell is insisting I take at least a week.”

  “But isn’t that a good thing, Father? I thought those sabbaticals were all about recharging your spiritual batteries.”

  “They are, they are. It’s just that the last time I went, they had Father Nutty—er…Father Buddy cover my services. And as you likely know, he’s a bit…”

  “Unconventional?” I offer when he seems at a loss for an appropriate adjective.

  “I’m thinking more along the lines of batty, daft, screwball…”

  I chuckle at the thought of the priest affectionately known as Father “Nutty” Buddy. He’s notorious for use of puppets as a teaching aid in his seminars for engaged couples—an experience I was spared the first time around because Win wouldn’t agree to a church wedding.

  “Well, at least you know he’ll get a good turnout on Sunday morning. Everyone in town will be there just to see what catastrophe he causes this time.”

  He chuckles softly, rolls his eyes, and shakes his head.

  “Yes. Last time I was away, he ended up taking the youth group on a field trip to see the touring production of Avenue Q in Minneapolis. He didn’t realize that it was an…er…adult play about puppets. Puppets that do…adult things…”

  “Oh! Isn’t that the musical with the number ‘Computers Are for Porn?’” I ask, recalling Henny’s account after Bryan took her to see it on Broadway.

  “That…would be the one,” the priest responds with a solemn nod. “My dear, when I tell you the phone was ringing off the hook with furious parents… And poor Father Buddy! He was so mortified by the puppets having…relations…that he suspended his ministry for six months! The man just couldn’t look at them the same way again.”

  “Well, I’m sure he’s learned his lesson there,” I offer up.

  “Oh, I’m quite sure he has. But enough about the good Father. What is it that I can do for you, Jameson?”

  It’s been hard for me to work up the nerve to make this ask. What if he says no? Then what? Finally, I take a deep breath and wade in.

  “Umm…well, Father, as you know, Scott and I are engaged. But we haven’t set a date yet… And, this time around, I’d really like to be married here, in the church. By you. Is that…is it possible with me being divorced and all? I’ve been a little afraid to ask,” I admit. “In case the answer is no…”

  Father Romance extends a warm hand across the wide plank of his desk and places it over mine.

  “Jameson, I don’t see any reason you shouldn’t be married here in your home church. Let me just see what kind of availability we’ve got,” he says, pulling a large, leather-bound volume from the side of his desk. “Of course, I don’t have firm dates yet for my sabbatical… If you’d like me to ask Father Buddy to conduct your wedding mass…maybe bring along his puppets…”

  I snort in a very unladylike fashion—a hallmark of the O’Halloran women, I’m afraid—and shake my head.

  “No, no…Father Buddy’s very sweet, but I think we’ll just work around you, Father Romance.”

  He smiles, nods, and winks before turning his attention back to the big book, thumbing through the gold-edged pages. When he finds what he’s looking for, he opens the book up flat, sets it down on the desk, and runs his long index finger along the surface of the pages.

  “All righty then,” he says, still flipping and glancing and running his index finger up and down the blocks set aside for each day of the month. Finally, he looks up at me. “You know, ever since Henny and Bryan’s wedding was featured in that Weddings of a Lifetime magazine, we’ve had a substantial uptick in wedding bookings here. A lot of the fall is already reserved…and, once we head into the Advent season, it’s pretty difficult to shoehorn in a wedding. Does it have to be this calendar year, Jameson…?” he asks hopefully.

  I shift uncomfortably. This is the last answer I want to bring back to Scott. I think he thinks I’m dragging my heels on this wedding—which I’m not. I’m just feeling a little overwhelmed and a lot tired. And, at this very moment, a little weepy, too. Suddenly Father R. looks alarmed.

  “Oh! Oh, my dear, what’s wrong?”

  I’m shaking my head when he hands me a tissue from the box atop his desk.

  “I’m sorry, Father,” I mutter between nose blows. “I was just hoping we could do it before the end of the year…”

  “What? Oh, Jameson, love, I was just saying it was going to be a little chaotic—not that it was impossible! No, no, child. Here, let’s see.” He runs a beefy finger down one page and flips to another. “Ah, here we go. How about the second Saturday in August?”

  “August?” I shake my head. “Oh…I don’t know if I can put together a wedding reception that quickly…”

  He sighs. “Well…there is the third Saturday in September…”

  “Yes! We’ll take it!” I blurt before he can tell me more. Because there’s more.

  “The only thing with that, my dear, is it would follow right on the heels—or rather, hooves—of the blessing of the animals. And last year, there were several hours of clean up post-service. Miss Lucy’s cats seem to have a hairball issue… But if you’re willing to risk it, I am…”

  “No, no,” I say dejectedly. “No, let’s stick with the August date. We’ll just have to make it work.”

  He reaches across the desk and rests a large, warm hand over mine. “Don’t you worry, Jameson. Your wedding ceremony will be something special. Something you’ll always cherish.”

  I’m nodding as I take more tissues and blow my nose unceremoniously.

  “I know, I know it will,” I reply. “As long as it’s here and it’s you who’s doing it…”

  “My dear, I promise you, short of the good Lord himself bringing the building down, you and Scott will exchange your vows right here. And nothing would make me happier than to officiate the service.”

  “Thank you, Father. Thank you so much,” I say with genuine gratitude. “After Henny and Bryan were married here last Christmas Eve—just like our parents were—well, it really brought home to me how much I regretted not being married in the church the first time around. Win was just so stubborn! And I was too naïve to insist…”

  “Jameson, you weren’t naïve. You were in love. And people in love tend to do things they wouldn’t normally do—both good and bad.”

  “Yeah, like chasing them to the airport with a pie in hand and no plan…” I mutter, thinking of how I tracked Scott down and had him pulled off a plane so I could tell him
I loved him. That was definitely good. Stalkery for sure, but good, nonetheless.

  Father Romance gives me a knowing smile.

  “My dear, trust me, I’ve heard stranger. That being said, I’ve never seen two people more destined to be together than you and Scott. I don’t usually comment on things like that because it’s the good Lord’s will that matters, and that always comes to pass…but, in this instance, I feel quite certain the two are one in the same.”

  I realize suddenly that this is why I’ve come here. Not to book a wedding date—or even ask for permission to be married here. But, rather, to hear what I already know to be true in my heart. Because, sometimes, you’ve just gotta hear it out loud.

  …

  “Okay, so what else do I need? A few boxes of diapers, right? Maybe some bottles…”

  We’re sitting at the kitchen table of the house my sister and Bryan have been living in since they got married a year ago. It’s a sweet house, but small—especially considering the upcoming additions to the Truitt clan.

  “Henny,” I interrupt as she navigates the website that hosts her baby registry, “with twin infants, a ‘few’ boxes of diapers will get you through a day. Barely. Maybe. If you’re really, really lucky. When I had Jax, I was changing that kid every hour, on the hour, for the first three weeks. So you shouldn’t be registered for boxes of diapers—you should be registered for cases. Pallets, if they’ll let you!”

  “Really?” she confirms, her eyes suddenly wide with fear and disbelief.

  She looks so much like a deer in the headlights that I have to giggle. My lovely, brilliant sister—the attorney—has absolutely no clue what she’s in for.

  All at once, my humor turns to something darker. I remember how scared I was going through pregnancy without our mother to guide me. I’d have given anything for a little reassurance that everything was going to be okay…that I wasn’t going to be a horrible mother. That I wouldn’t drop my kid or accidentally smother him or screw him up so badly that he’d be talking about me in therapy for decades to come. So I take a deep breath and put a hand on my sister’s forearm.

  “Henny, I can’t lie to you—having one baby is a lot. Having two…well, that’s just crazypants. You’re going to be more tired than you ever thought possible…but—I promise you—the elation of having those sweet little angels is going to make it all worth it. And remember, you’re not alone. You have Bryan‚ who’s amazing. And I’ll be there for you—whatever you need. Bailey and Walker will do anything and everything they can to help, too. I want you to be excited—not afraid.”

  Her bright blue eyes glisten with moisture, and she swipes at them with the back of her other hand.

  “Thanks, James, I needed to hear that.” She hesitates a moment before starting again, slowly. “So…Bryan…”

  I can only imagine where this is going.

  “Uh-huh…Bryan what?” I coax gently.

  “He…he really wants to go through with this nanny thing. In fact, now he’s thinking we might need two of them!”

  “Really? Two?” I was wondering how he was going to find even one in the county—folks around here seem happier to raise their own kids. “What, is he thinking he’s going to import them from L.A. like he did with all your wedding vendors? I mean, look how well that turned out!”

  “It turned out beautifully, thank you very much!” she replies, suddenly on the defense.

  She’s right. Despite the near-catastrophe of a vengeful wedding planner scorned, a historic snowstorm the night before, and a band of rogue swans, my sister’s wedding was exceptionally beautiful. And definitely one of a kind.

  “It did,” I concede and take a long, slow, deep breath so I can adjust my tone. “I’m just saying, don’t let him get all over the top with the baby stuff, the way that he did with the wedding. I think you having a little professional help—especially in the very beginning—is a great idea. But there are a lot of moving parts here, and I think adding a stranger—or strangers—into the mix long-term might just complicate things. Anyway…it’s not like you have to make this decision now. You’ve got months yet. And, even then, you can always hire a baby nurse for the first month and make a decision about a more permanent situation later, after you’ve got a handle on things.”

  “Yeah, about that…” she says, looking suddenly sheepish.

  “What?”

  “Bryan—he really wants us to at least talk to a few people. He’s got Helen arranging some interviews.” She grabs my hand and holds it tightly. “Oh, James, you have to be there! I don’t know what questions to ask or what red flags to look for…”

  “Oh, no. No, no, no,” I say, shaking my head and smiling. “I am not getting involved in any nanny nonsense—”

  “Hey!” she objects with some irritation. “You just said you’d help me with whatever I need…and this is what I need! You’re a mom, and you’re a nurse. And, more than that, I trust you more than anyone else in the world…maybe even my husband. Besides, you know what Mama used to say…”

  “Cradle to grave,” I supply with a sigh of resignation. “Fine. I’ll be there. Just remember—you’re the one who asked for my opinion, and like it or not, I’m going to give it to you.”

  She’s smiling again. Ugh. She knows just how to push my buttons.

  I look around the sweet but tiny house. “Where on earth would you put one nanny—let alone two? I mean, this place is fine for the two of you…and maybe for a while when the kids are small, but if you’re thinking about having other people living under your roof…”

  “Oh, no. We’ve already talked about that. Bryan wants to build our dream house—complete with a nanny suite off the nursery.”

  “Uh-huh. A nanny suite… And how soon does he figure he’ll get around to building this ‘dream house’ of his?”

  She shrugs. “Before the babies come, I guess. He’s been out scouting properties since we found out…”

  “Wait…so, here you are, four-and-a-half months pregnant—with twins, mind you—and your husband wants to hire a nanny and build a new house before the kids arrive? With winter just around the corner? Seriously?”

  “Seriously!” She grins. “Don’t worry, Jameson. You know Bryan—and Bryan always gets what he wants.”

  “Well, he did get you, and that’s something.”

  She peers at me curiously. “You don’t look so hot. Are you coming down with something?” she asks, reaching across the table to put a palm on my forehead.

  “Hey, who’s the medical professional here?” I chuckle, shooing her hand away. “I’m just really, really tired. Scott and I are going to take a couple of days this weekend, and hopefully I’ll catch up on some rest then.”

  She quirks a high, blonde eyebrow.

  “Uh, somehow, I think resting is the last thing you’ll be catching up on.” Her tone is both amused and suggestive. “When are you two gonna pull the trigger already? You could actually live together instead of him sneaking in and out of your window in the middle of the night. No wonder you’re tired! All this cloak and dagger stuff must be exhausting.”

  “Well, I did just talk with Father Romance—”

  Henny leans forward excitedly.

  “You did! That’s wonderful! Tell me, tell me, tell me! Did you set a date? Oh! Will you do Christmas Eve, too? Like us—and Mama and Pops? Oh, you should totally do Christmas Eve, James!”

  “Whoa…whoa! Slow down there! Not all of us have an unlimited budget, Mrs. Moneybags!” I tease. “Besides, I’m sure you won’t want to walk down the aisle looking like a piñata at nearly nine months pregnant…”

  She looks confused.

  “Why would I be walking down the aisle?” she asks.

  “Because you’ll be my maid of honor, of course.”

  My sister gasps.

  “I will?”

  “Of course, silly! You’re my best friend. Will you stand with me when I marry Scott?” I ask.

  “I will!” she declares excitedly.
/>   “Hey, I think that’s my line…”

  “Oh, it is,” she agrees, once again swiping at tears. “Ugh! Why can’t I stop crying?”

  “Hormones for you. I think sympathetic pregnancy for me. I tear up at the drop of a hat—or a dog food commercial.”

  She points an excited finger at me.

  “Right? The one with the dog who gets lost…”

  “Oh! And he’s all alone, just wandering the streets…” I add.

  “Until someone finds him and brings him home…to the little boy…”

  And then, I’m sobbing right along with her, for a dog—that probably gets paid in treats every time the stupid commercial airs—and the fictional home that he returns to. Because, for us Whiskey sisters, home is the only place we want. And family is the only thing we need.

  Chapter Four

  Scott

  July

  The cabin was Bryan’s idea. Even though it’s a less than twenty miles from Mayhem, its location on an isolated lot along Big Diamond Lake makes it feel as if we’re far from civilization. Not that this little gem is what you’d call “rustic.” It’s got a hot tub on the back deck, a flat-screen TV the size of a horizontal refrigerator, and a bed big enough to sleep four very still people…or two very active people…comfortably. And I do plan to be comfortable tonight. Not to mention active.

  I’d planned to pick Jameson up at the hospital after her shift, but she wouldn’t hear of it—saying she’d prefer I come over ahead of her and get something sorted out for dinner so she wouldn’t have to worry about it. And so I have…the wine is chilling, the steak marinating, and I’ve already got a respectable man-blaze going in the firepit out back—just enough to ease the damp, cool air that’s rolling off the lake and settling over the Adirondack chairs I’ve set up so we can watch the sunset over the water. By the time I hear her car pull up outside, I’m practically bouncing off the walls.

  I walk back through the cabin and out onto the front porch in time to see her climb out of the SUV in her cobalt blue scrubs. And when the sun manages to catch some of her rich, auburn hair in its light, she looks as if she’s wearing a fiery halo. For the hundredth time today, I thank God, the universe, my lucky stars, and the heavens above for bringing this stunning woman into my life.