Mistletoe in Mayhem (Whiskey Sisters)

by L. E. Rico

  She hands me an elegant bouquet of peonies in assorted shades of blush and pink—bound together by a simple ivory ribbon. They make for a beautiful contrast against the long, flowy, ivory dress that I’m wearing for my daughter’s christening and, apparently, my wedding.

  “But, Henny…how did this happen?” I ask as my head is pushed to one side, then the other as Julie winds my hair into some kind of twist in and around the veil with her purple-nailed fingers. They’re a perfect match to her own purple hair.

  “It was Scott,” she explains, picking up her own, smaller version of my bouquet in white. “He told us how much you’d wanted the church wedding…and how it just wasn’t going to happen before the baby came. So…he decided to give it to you now.”

  “You all are throwing me a surprise wedding?”

  “It’s been under wraps for months,” Big Win pipes up. “Do you know how hard it is to stage a baptismal mass while secretly planning a wedding mass? Father Romance has a little more silver in his hair these days, if you hadn’t noticed.”

  I hadn’t.

  “Wait, where are Bailey and Walker?”

  “They’re providing the music,” Henny explains, tucking a rogue tendril behind my ear. “I tried to convince Bailey to be your flower girl, but she wasn’t having it. So, sorry, you’ll have to do without one.”

  “Okay…”

  “There!” Julie proclaims. “Now, have a look-see. I stole the full-length mirror from Father Romance’s office. That’s why his vestments are a little crooked this morning.”

  When I see myself, my breath stops for just a moment. I’m not a mother or a wife or a divorcee anymore. From head to toe, I’ve been transformed into a glowing, sweetly soft bride. My sister slips in behind me, resting her lovely blonde head on my shoulder.

  “You are gorgeous, James. Even more beautiful than when you married Win…”

  “Oh!” I explain, hand flying to my lips. “Win! I saw him in the church… Is he, is he okay…being here, I mean?”

  Big Win chuckles. “Okay? He’s Scott’s best man.”

  I spin around and stare, incredulous.

  “R-really?” The question comes out as a whisper.

  “Really,” he assures me with a smile and a nod. “He helped Scott with everything.”

  “It’s true,” Hennessy confirms. “I never thought I’d see the day…”

  “Ready?” asks Ginny Fairweather, one of the acolytes.

  I hear the loud hum and buzz in the sanctuary behind her when she sticks her head in.

  “Yes,” Henny says before I can object.

  Surely it can’t be this easy… I mean, after everything my sister and Bryan went through to have their wedding, no way mine could be this simple.

  But it is.

  The doors separating me from my groom swing open—pulled apart by unseen hands—to reveal a congregation of the people I love most in this world. They’re beaming—some tearing up—as they get to their feet to give me the welcome I didn’t have the first time around. All around me, bright and brilliant morning sun streams through the stained-glass windows, casting a kaleidoscope of colors around the vast room. Somehow, huge arrangements of white peonies have appeared around the altar, and there are giant, white ribbon bows affixed to the end of each and every pew. I’m so caught up in the view from the top of the aisle that I nearly forget to look at what—or rather who—awaits me at the end of it.

  Scott is looking at me with an intensity that makes my skin warm beneath my dress. His arms are folded in front of him, his charcoal gray suit now adorned with a single pink peony boutonniere. He’s flanked by a grinning Father Romance. He really does look as if he’s swallowed the canary! And to Scott’s left is Win, wearing a similar suit to his brother’s—with a similar boutonniere in white.

  The smile with which Win greets me is just a touch bittersweet—both of us remembering the day we were wed not so very long ago. Both of us realizing in this moment that we were never meant to be. Not when compared with the unbreakable bond that his brother and I now share. And, somehow, deep in my heart—and his, I believe—that makes things a little bit easier for both of us as I prepare to take my first step down the aisle. Under Walker’s fingers comes the delicate ripple of Schubert joined shortly thereafter by the perfect, pure voice of Bailey.

  All of this transpires in under a minute.

  Henny is the first to step forward, walking the aisle at a slightly faster clip than she did as a bride. I realize that she wants this to be my moment. It’s not until she’s safely positioned across from Scott and Win that my father-in-law takes my arm in his and gives it a warm squeeze.

  “Jameson, it is my great honor to give you away in your pops’ absence. He would be so very proud of you—today and always,” he murmurs, a hint of tears in his voice.

  I squeeze back. “I know. And I love you, Dad. Now, no more of that because I know I’ll start to cry, and I don’t want to look like a raccoon when my mascara starts to run!”

  He chuckles, nods, and we take our first step.

  The ceiling soars high above me, Bailey’s voice rising to the rafters. Row after row of well-wishers smiles, blows kisses, nods, and winks in my direction. But I’m only vaguely aware of them as each step brings me closer and closer to the man I love most on this planet.

  When we reach the very end of the aisle, Big Win leans down and gives me a kiss on the cheek.

  “Who gives this woman in marriage?” Father Romance asks in his loudest, clearest voice.

  “We do,” Big Win replies with equal assertion.

  We?

  He drops my arm, turning to his right to do—I don’t know what, because I can’t see around him. But then he returns to face center, this time holding my daughter in his arms, Jackson standing proudly by his side.

  “We do!” Jax yells so loud that the entire congregation bursts into laughter.

  I’m fighting back the tears as I kiss Maggie’s sleeping head and then drop down onto my haunches so I can embrace my son.

  “I love you so much, my sweet boy,” I murmur in his ear.

  “I love you, too, Mama,” he says, again at top volume, this time causing a round of “awwwwws!” to spread across the church in a wave.

  Then Big Win takes my children and slips into a pew, leaving me face to face with Scott. He steps forward and takes my hand, leading me the rest of the way to the altar. And to the rest of my life.

  Epilogue

  Scott

  November

  “Are we there yet?” she whines from behind me.

  “Hey, I thought the kids were the ones who were supposed to say that,” I tease over my shoulder, watching as she picks her way carefully up the gentle slope behind me. “In fact, your son has been patiently waiting for you to catch up with us!”

  “Pffft.” She waves a hand in my direction—a signal for me to shut up about her being a slowpoke already. “Some of us have spent a little less time playing ‘billy goat’ than others.”

  I’m grinning as I lean down and extend my hand, helping her up the last few feet.

  “You made it, Mama!” Jackson exclaims, jumping up and down in his tiny hiking boots. “You climbed the mountain!”

  Jameson grins at her four-year-old son, who seems to have miraculously lost every last bit of “little boy” over the past year. He’s now squarely in the “young man” category.

  “Yes, my love, I climbed the mountain!” she agrees, though we both know it’s little more than a hill. “She’s out cold, you know,” James informs me, standing on her tippy-toes to get a better look at Maggie, who’s been strapped to my back, floppy bonnet protecting her little head, for the last two hours.

  “I know. This kid definitely has the Clarke snoring gene.”

  “She does not!” James protests, just as our daughter lets out a noise resembling a tiny chainsaw. We both chuckle. “Okay…maybe she does snore. Just a little. And in a very girly, dainty way…”

  “You mean like
the girly, dainty way she burps?” I ask. “And farts…”

  “Hahahahaha!” Jax cackles wildly from my side, where he’s sworn he’ll remain at all times. “Unca Sock said farts! Maggie farts!”

  I reach out to tussle his hair, glowing copper in the light of the setting sun. His mother moves in behind him, snuggling into the crook of my arm as she pulls her son back against her, hand resting against his chest. We stand like that—for what feels like both an eternity and the blink of an eye—watching as the sky transitions from brilliant orange, to pink, to that golden ocher hue that precedes gloaming.

  A long time ago—or what seems to me to have been a long time ago—I stood in this spot alone, watching this same palette progress across this same broad vista. It was nice. Beautiful, even. And I checked it off my list of things to do and see in my lifetime. But I’m a different person now that I’ve returned here. Now, as I look out, the colors are somehow deeper, the breeze somehow warmer, and the air somehow sweeter.

  Though, I have to admit, this phenomenon isn’t anything new. And it certainly isn’t exclusive to this small territory on our tour of southeastern Mexico. No, these “enhanced” senses seem to date back to the night I almost lost the love of my life. The night I held my daughter for the first time. The night that my world finally felt whole and complete. The night that everything changed.

  This night won’t be quite so important, but it will go down as one of the more magical moments in my life. When we hike back down to our camp, I’ll start the fire. James will put the hotdogs on sticks, and we’ll laugh as we watch Jackson lose his s’mores to the flames. She’ll sing Maggie to sleep by firelight, and I’ll tell Jackson a story about the people who lived on this land so many moons ago. Then, once the kids are tucked into the tent, lost to their sweetest dreams, my wife and I will lay on a blanket, looking up at the vast, inky sky, and we’ll count our blessings—one for each star. And when she leaves me, with a weary yawn, to be alone with my own thoughts, I’ll pull the well-worn little spiral notebook from my jacket pocket, and I’ll flip to the back page where I’ve written the words:

  Live happily ever after.

  That’s where I’ll place my very last checkmark—on that very last page.

  Then I’ll climb into the soft nest of sleeping bags and pillows and warm, sweet children, take my wife in my arms, and hold on to her—and this—for the rest of my days.

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  Acknowledgments

  Gratitude is a powerful thing. The simple act of being thankful for what I already have has brought so much more into my life. More friends, more love, more abundance…and more words. So, it is with a full heart that I give my thanks for the people who made this book possible—both directly and indirectly…

  The Whiskey Sisters series is like one long, unfolding love letter to the state of Minnesota and the wonderful people who live there. The years I spent living and working in St. Paul were some of the best of my life, and I’ll always treasure them.

  As always, thanks to my husband, Tom, who—more often than not—is the one picking up the rotisserie chicken when I’m too tired or too busy writing to cook. He never complains when I spend an entire weekend with my writing buddies or let the dishes pile up so I can get that last edit done. He can’t always keep track of what I’m working on, but he always supports it—and me.

  A good editor is worth their weight in gold. An exceptional editor is simply priceless. Stacy Abrams definitely falls into the latter category. I’m so very grateful for her insights because they make me push a little harder, work a little longer, and do more than I thought I was capable of. She makes me a better writer with each and every project we share.

  Some amazing new people have come into my life over the last year—bringing with them inspiration, faith, insight, and an openness that I didn’t think many people still possessed. I am so grateful for these amazing women who push me to be better every single day—and remind me of just how lucky I am to have come as far as I have in such a short period of time. My love, my appreciation, my friendship, and my respect seem woefully inadequate in the face of all that you ladies offer me daily. Thank you, thank you, thank you to Nika, Liz, Meara, Jen, ViVi, Miranda, Blue, and Patty.

  A special thank you to Jeannie, who gives so much of herself without hesitation. She is a cheerleader, a manager, an agent, and an empath. She puts out fires, ushers the lost to safety and security, buoys the spirits of the fallen, and reminds us with unfailing frequency and unyielding certainty that we are not imposters…we are writers. For these, and so many other things, you have my friendship, my devotion, my gratitude, and my love. Oh, yeah, and you’ve got some pretty swell puppers, too!

  With the release of the second book in the Whiskey Sisters series, Mischief and Mayhem, I offered up a special opportunity, asking readers to help me create a new nanny character for use in the second of the novellas featured here, Baby Bedlam. They submitted their vision of a quirky new resident for Mayhem, Minnesota—giving me specifics about appearance, idiosyncrasies, and even snippets of dialog in their character’s voice. I was so thrilled with the results that I ended up using FOUR of the entries instead of just one. My thanks for this fun little twist goes out to the following folks:

  To Marika Weber, whose Jack Black Daniels was the perfect fit in our Whiskey world! He’s got that same rough exterior and gooey interior that works so well with our third sister—and subject of the next book—Walker. Don’t be surprised if he sticks around for a bit, Marika!

  To Linda Quick, creator of the lovely Theta Galloway, a fun throwback character whose 1940’s-50’s vibe adds a very cool retro angle to the town of Mayhem. She was one of the two nannies who was ultimately hired to tend to the O’Halloran-Truitt twins, and I expect we’ll see a bit of her going forward as well!

  To Rebecca Wallis, my thanks for one of the most fun characters I’ve had the pleasure of writing in a while—our Aussie nanny, Penny (not a porn star) Lovejoy. She came right off the page and into my heart, Bec, and I thank you for this wonderful addition to Mayhem.

  To Jeannette Cornforth who, in all honesty, is not a stranger to me. We’ve been long-distance friends for some time now and I’m so grateful to have her as close as my email. It’s here that I owe Jeannette a bit of an apology as I kind of let her character—Anastasia O’Rourke—get away from me. I swear, Jeannette, I tried to write the 50-something, passive-aggressive Minnesota cougar nanny, but she just wasn’t having it! Again and again I tried to paint her with those traits and, again and again, she pretty much told me to take a hike! Apparently, the Anastasia of Mayhem just couldn’t seem to get past her Fifty Shades addiction…and you know what? It works for her. She’s a little too old for it, she works a little too hard at it, and she’s not especially good at it—which all make for a fabulously fun bit of character color.

  There are a ton of people I haven’t thanked here—only because there’s only so much space, and because I’ve thanked most of you in my acknowledgments at least once before. You know who you are—my friends and family, fellow writers and radio colleagues. Thanks to all of you, as well.

  A special shout out to the Romance Writers of America for giving me the home I didn’t even know that I wanted, the joy I never realized I was lacking, and the courage and support to pursue the dreams that have been hiding deep down inside of me for way too long. Thank you for all you do for every romance writer in this country and beyond.

  As always, I like to end on a spiritual note—because I think that gratitude and spirituality go hand-in-hand, no matter what your faith may be. I am so grateful for the presence of God in my life, and the myriad blessings that rain down upon me every day that I walk this earth. Thank you, Father, for the hope, the love, the joy, and the courage. Each and every word comes to me through Your grace.

  About the Author

&n
bsp; L. E. Rico was going to be principal French horn of the New York Philharmonic. That was her plan, anyway. The New York Philharmonic had no idea of her intentions, and that’s probably a good thing, since she wasn’t an especially good French horn player! Lauren was, however, an exceptionally good classical music radio host. She has made a career of demystifying classical music for her audiences by taking it off a dusty old pedestal and putting it into a modern context. Lauren has recently discovered a passion for writing, which she’s managed to combine with her love and knowledge of the classical music world. She also writes new adult under Lauren E. Rico.

  Also by L.E. Rico…

  Blame It on the Bet

  Mischief and Mayhem

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