The Merriest Magnolia

by Michelle Major

  Carrie glanced around the stylish restaurant to the well-dressed patrons and formal waitstaff. “I don’t think I’d fit in here.”

  “In Magnolia, you’ll always be Niall’s daughter.”

  “I’ll always be his daughter no matter where I am.” Carrie shrugged. “I don’t want to run away from that because he’s part of me. Maybe I let him eclipse me too long but pretending he didn’t matter isn’t the answer.”

  “What kind of answers are you looking for?” Vanessa asked, taking a dainty pastry from the tray.

  “I’m still working on figuring out the questions I need to ask,” Carrie admitted. “I appreciate you making time for me today. I know you don’t like revisiting the past or talking about Dad.”

  “Your father and I both made mistakes.” Her mother’s tone gentled in a way Carrie barely recognized. “Just know that one of my few regrets is that leaving Magnolia affected my relationship with you. You don’t deserve everything that’s happened, although I guess it’s good that you like these other women.”

  “They’re my sisters,” Carrie said, some of the tension knotted inside her loosening as she spoke the words. She cleared her throat, knowing it was too soon to share with her mother how much Avery and Meredith had come to mean to her. Things were still too fragile with Vanessa. “I’ve started painting again.”

  Her mother sucked in a quick breath. “Because it gives you the feeling of still being connected to your dad?”

  Carrie shook her head. “We both know he didn’t want me to be an artist.”

  “I hope you know why,” Vanessa said. “Petty, jealous man.”

  Back in high school, when her father had derided her talent, Dylan had been the first one to accuse Niall of jealousy. She hadn’t believed him, of course, and her mother had stayed silent on the subject before she’d left. It still pained her to think that her father, whom she’d loved with all her heart, would have undermined her in that way.

  “It doesn’t have anything to do with Dad.” She picked up her teacup and hoped her mother didn’t notice that Carrie’s fingers trembled. “I feel like myself when I’m painting.”

  “You could move to New York City,” Vanessa suggested. “I have friends there who’d help you get settled. The art community there is far more vibrant than anything you’ll find in some piddling coastal town.”

  Carrie opened her mouth to protest then shut it again. She’d never been to New York—or anywhere, really. It shamed her to admit, even to her own mother, how small her life had been. Her father had traveled but he’d always claimed he needed Carrie “holding down the fort” in Magnolia. She hadn’t even had the guts to put up a fight. Niall had never been abusive, but his emotional manipulations had taken their toll on her over the years.

  If she ever challenged him, he’d go straight into the silent treatment, freezing her out of his life until she’d felt like she was living in Antarctica instead of the Carolinas. She’d learned to assess his moods and not push him too far in a way that would anger him. Only now after months of being truly on her own did she see how twisted their relationship had become.

  “I’ll think about it,” Carrie told her mother, slathering jelly on another scone. “Dad left a mountain of debt behind so Avery, Meredith and I have been working on increasing tourism in town and cleaning up the house so that we don’t lose everything to the bank.”

  “I did love that house,” Vanessa murmured. “I don’t suppose Niall kept up with the maintenance on it?”

  Carrie shook her head but didn’t share how far into disrepair the stately mansion had fallen. She’d moved out on her own several years ago and her father had quickly deteriorated into a secret hoarder. She’d been unaware of how bad it had gotten until after he was gone but suspected her mother would place some of the blame on Carrie. Her one job had been taking care of her dad, and his house and his finances were a mess. She had enough guilt all on her own, thank you very much.

  They finished tea with talk of the hotel and plans for the holidays. Carrie had never done much to celebrate Christmas. Although her father’s paintings showcased an idealistic version of American life, he hadn’t actually liked traditional holidays. But Vanessa’s long list of festivities gave Carrie an idea or two she could suggest at the Magnolia business owners’ meeting later that evening. If they continued the uptick in revenue, their properties might actually make money by the following summer.

  If Dylan Scott didn’t mess everything up with his scheme to take over the town. She sighed as she followed her mother back toward the front of the hotel.

  Worry over today had chased away thoughts of Dylan for a few hours, but as she said goodbye to her mom and began the drive home, he invaded her mind again.

  Would he show up tonight at the meeting? She certainly hoped not. Dylan was a distraction she didn’t want or need in her life at the moment. And if her heart seemed to thump a crazy rhythm at the thought of him, contradicting her determination to keep him at arm’s length...

  Well, what did her heart know anyway?

  CHAPTER FIVE

  DYLAN ENTERED THE meeting room in the basement of the town hall building that night trying not to appear nervous. Or bitter. Or angry. Or anything like the punk teen he’d been back in the day.

  He paused just outside the doorway and took a breath. There was no need to pretend those things. Dylan Scott had come a long way in the decade since he’d left this small town fading in his rearview mirror.

  And he was thinking about himself in the third person? Bad sign.

  Damn.

  What was it about Magnolia that made him doubt everything? He thought about pulling up his bio on the company website, just to assure himself he had the credentials to back what he wanted to do in this town.

  “Idiot,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair.

  “Exactly what we were thinking,” an unfamiliar voice said from behind him.

  He turned to see Carrie staring at him, color high on her cheeks. She was flanked by two other women. The tall blonde gave him a cool once-over then narrowed her eyes to glare.

  The petite woman on Carrie’s other side wrinkled her nose as if she’d just smelled a wicked dog fart. “Since we’re all in agreement that you’re an idiot, it would be the perfect time for you to leave.”

  He’d seen these women with Carrie at her art show when he’d come to Magnolia a month ago and made an unannounced stop at The Reed Gallery. Niall’s three daughters. Carrie and her sisters.

  Even though there was a decent chance none of them would care if he stepped off the curb and got struck by a random garbage truck, his heart warmed at the thought of Carrie finally having people in her life who truly cared for her. Niall had been one of the most selfish, self-centered men Dylan had ever met. Carrie’s mom wasn’t much better, leaving her only child to take care of that egotistical jerk.

  The way her half sisters leaned in, as if ready to pounce on him if he so much as raised a brow in Carrie’s direction, told him she’d found her tribe.

  A sharp ache darted along his spine as his mind immediately went to his uncle and cousin. They’d been his only true family and now he was left with no one.

  Not true. He had Sam, who hated him with the burning heat of a thousand suns. Dylan was basically hosed all the way around.

  Except that he had money and power and planned to use those to carve out a place for himself and for Sam. He wouldn’t fail his cousin on that count.

  Even if that meant taking down the Reed sisters in the process.

  “I’m just getting started here,” he said, offering the trio a wide smile. “I’d recommend you stay out of my way, ladies. It will make things easy on all of us.”

  The little one stomped a booted foot. “That sounds like a threat. We don’t take kindly to threats, you big bully.”

  Dylan half expected to see a dusty tumblewe
ed roll by like he’d been cast in some old Western movie. This mini standoff with the Reed sisters definitely made him the villain, but he didn’t mind. The role seemed suited to him and gave him an excuse to ignore his unwelcome feelings for Carrie.

  “I’m not known for kindness, Meredith,” he told the spitfire and saw her eyes widen slightly, shock that he knew her name making her frown deepen. “Your older brothers can attest to that.”

  “The meeting’s about to get started,” someone announced from the doorway.

  Malcolm Grimes stepped forward and placed a hand on Dylan’s shoulder. “Let’s try to remember that we all want what’s best for the town.”

  Dylan gave a tight nod even as he saw Carrie’s mouth thin. He knew his plans for the properties in downtown would make her even angrier but told himself it wasn’t personal. He’d never let his emotions get in the way of a good business deal and didn’t plan to start now.

  He entered the meeting room and felt the weight of a dozen distrustful stares upon him. No one greeted him or even offered the hint of a smile as he took a seat near the back of the rows of chairs.

  In contrast, as Carrie and her sisters entered, almost every person in the room smiled and waved or called out a greeting. A not so subtle reminder that Dylan was the outsider, an interloper in their tight-knit community.

  “I’ve saved seats for you,” an older woman said from the front of the room. Dylan recognized Josie Trumbell, whose dance studio had been around even when he was a kid. The sisters moved forward and he could almost feel Carrie’s effort to not look at him as she walked past.

  He had a sudden urge to reach out to her, to ground himself in the feel of her softness the way he used to. Of course, he kept his hands at his side. He had no right to touch her and there was a better than average chance her sisters would relish the opportunity to claw out his eyes if he dared.

  Once the women had taken their seats, Malcolm stepped behind the podium and smiled at his audience. “It’s great to see so many of you here tonight. This is an exciting time for our town.” His dark gaze tracked to Dylan. “I’d like to formally welcome back to Magnolia one of our own, Dylan Scott.”

  Dylan cringed inwardly at the pathetic, halfhearted round of applause that greeted the mayor’s words.

  Mal frowned. “Come on, people. Don’t forget we’re all on the same team now. Dylan’s company has a strong track record of developing real estate in Boston, and he’s going to use that expertise to inject some new life—” one thick brow rose “—and hopefully revenue into Magnolia.”

  “Have you looked at his track record?” Dylan blinked as Carrie stood and faced the crowd. “He destroys the integrity of established neighborhoods with his high-rises and dense urban revivals.”

  She’d researched him? Oh, hell. It appeared Carrie was taking seriously her promise to make things difficult for him in Magnolia.

  “I renovate dilapidated buildings and give communities a second chance at prosperity,” he countered, rising to his feet.

  “Renovate with a bulldozer,” she shot back. “You decimate the character and change neighborhoods to the point where the people who love them don’t even recognize their homes anymore.”

  Dylan felt a muscle in his jaw clench. She’d read the editorial from the Boston paper accusing him of pushing an agenda of new urban blight. “We only go the route of a tear-down if a building isn’t structurally sound.”

  “What are your plans for the properties you’ve purchased in Magnolia?” Malcolm asked, his tone a bit cooler than it had been moments earlier.

  “We’re in the initial stages,” Dylan said, “so no final decisions have been made.”

  “But you aren’t going to tear down any buildings?” The question came from Stuart Moore, whose family had owned the bookstore across the street from Dylan’s properties for as long as anyone could remember. “I just started turning a profit again thanks to the new wave of visitors in town this fall. A big mess of construction will impact that.”

  “For a time,” Dylan conceded, trying not to show his impatience. Normally, he focused on the big financial and marketing aspect of the deal. Wiley had been the one to work with the established businesses around their properties. He’d had a way with people that Dylan obviously didn’t. “But if we convert the properties to mixed-use spaces with condos as well as upscale commercial properties, that will bring in a brand-new customer base.”

  “How much will the condos sell for?” Carrie demanded, her chin lifted in challenge.

  She’d done her homework.

  Dylan cleared his throat. “Typically, our properties start at a base price in the mid-six figures.”

  He fought back a groan at the round of gasps and disbelieving murmurs that greeted those figures.

  “Magnolia locals can’t afford that,” the woman sitting next to Carrie exclaimed.

  “We’re hoping to attract new residents to the town,” Dylan explained, hoping he sounded enthusiastic.

  “And chase out everyone else,” Carrie accused, pointing a finger at him.

  “I’m sure Dylan doesn’t have some grand scheme to return to Magnolia and take over the town,” Mal interjected before Dylan could respond.

  Carrie let out a delicate snort. That was pretty much what he’d told her he planned to do that dark night when seeing her again had weakened his defenses and loosened his tongue all at once.

  “I want to make things better,” he said. That much wasn’t a lie. Not for himself. His life was fine. Great. Maybe lonely. Perhaps lacking much substance outside of the relentless pursuit of success. Dylan wouldn’t complain.

  But Sam needed something more. A home. A community. A chance to heal from the tragedy that had robbed him of his family.

  It might be a long shot to think they could find that in Magnolia, but Dylan had to try. He’d run out of options.

  “That’s the spirit,” Mal shouted with what sounded like forced enthusiasm.

  No one else in the room looked convinced.

  “Speaking of spirit,” the mayor continued. “Another item on the agenda for this meeting is to discuss the upcoming holiday festival. It kicks off Thanksgiving weekend. Most of the plans are well underway, but maybe you have any ideas to share, Dylan?”

  Dylan struggled to keep up with Malcolm’s rambling train of thought. “About what?”

  “Christmas?” the mayor prompted.

  “Ho, ho, ho,” Dylan mumbled, throwing a narrow-eyed glance at Carrie and her sisters.

  To his surprise, Carrie’s lips twitched as if she were fighting a smile.

  “I’m serious,” Malcolm said, leaning forward on the podium. “We want to continue the success of the fall tourism campaign to attract visitors to Magnolia for the holidays. You’re from the big city. Surely you have some creative suggestions for making our town more festive.”

  Dylan pressed a finger to his right eye, which had begun to twitch. The entire room seemed to be waiting for him to offer up some brilliant idea.

  “I don’t do Christmas,” he said finally.

  Another round of gasps and disapproving murmurs.

  “Hanukkah?” Mal asked tentatively. “I guess I never realized you were—”

  “No.” Dylan shook his head. “The holidays. Thanksgiving, Christmas, Hanukkah, Kwanza, New Year. All of them. None of them, actually. Celebrating fake holidays isn’t my deal.”

  “Those holidays aren’t fake,” Carrie said to a universal chorus of nodding heads and a few amens.

  “Not as phony as Valentine’s Day,” Dylan agreed. “But they’re all about materialism. Which means that you should reconsider obstructing my proposal when your plan for the festival is about pushing people into spending money.”

  “It’s about celebrating the most wonderful time of the year,” Carrie argued. “We’re going to have Santa, craft booths, light show
s, games for kids and all the holiday fun anyone could want.”

  “That’s right, Dylan McScrooge,” Meredith added. “Your heart must be at least two sizes too small.”

  “That’s the Grinch,” Carrie told her.

  “He’s like Scrooge and the Grinch rolled into one annoying package,” Meredith said.

  “No name calling,” Malcolm warned the feisty brunette. “I run a civilized meeting.”

  Dylan wanted to slouch down in his seat again, or better yet stalk out of the stuffy basement room and head for the nearest bar, which in Magnolia would probably mean Murphy’s Pub, his dad’s old favorite.

  “Is Sean Murphy still around?” he asked the man sitting next to him. Thomas Mayfield owned the gas station on the edge of town.

  “Yep,” Thomas confirmed. “Serving the same watered-down beer for over two decades. You should try the new microbrewery that opened out on the highway toward the beach. It’s a big improvement.”

  “I’ll check it out,” Dylan answered then glanced up again when Mal called his name.

  “What do you think of Carrie’s plan?” the mayor asked.

  He’d missed whatever ideas she’d proposed during his side conversation about finding a drink. He shrugged and switched his gaze to Carrie, who was staring at him with an expression that dared him to challenge her.

  Suddenly, Dylan didn’t have the heart for it. He was tired of pushing, tired of fighting. It felt as though he spent most every day engaged in a battle of wills with Sam; ironic when the move to Magnolia had been to make things easier for both of them.

  “Her dad ran the town the way he wanted for decades,” he pointed out to the assembled business owners. “You all know where that got you. But if the same old Reed family monarchy is what you want—”

  “That isn’t what I want,” Carrie interrupted. “I’m trying to fix the problems my father caused.” She gestured to Avery and Meredith. “We all want that.”