Mountain Mistletoe Christmas

by Patricia Johns

  “I think so,” Melanie replied. “He’s the one who worked on the lodge, so...”

  “He’s a nice guy,” Logan said with a nod. “And he’s good.”

  So this contractor came recommended by Angelina Cunningham and approved by a relative stranger’s husband. Well, Jen didn’t have a lot of time to be picky right now. She had to get this house into a livable condition so that when Drew came back after being spoiled by his father for the holidays, she could provide him with a proper home. It was the least she could do.

  * * *

  THE QUARTET WAS playing something classical but Nick couldn’t quite place it. When he’d been married, his wife had tried to give him an appreciation for classical music, but it never stuck. He glanced down at his watch. He knew Matthew Pickard, the groom, from years ago when Matthew had been Nick’s ex-wife’s boss. They’d worked on a couple of charity projects together after the divorce, so they’d kept up a semiprofessional friendship since. That was how Nick had nabbed an invite to the wedding of the season. It was a gorgeous affair—Nick couldn’t deny that. But he was ready to go home to his dog.

  Nick’s daughter, Amelia, was due to arrive in town tomorrow evening from college. While they had a tense relationship, he was looking forward to Christmas with his daughter. Amelia was brash, smart, opinionated and going places. She was in her third year of pre-law at Harvard, and her stepdad was footing the bill. That alone was a source of irritation for Nick—Chris, Nick’s ex-wife’s second husband, having the money to give Nick’s daughter everything she ever wanted...not that he begrudged Amelia her dream college.

  This year Nick had convinced Amelia to come see him for Christmas, since Shari and Chris were going to Europe. It had been a few years since he’d spent more than a few hours with his daughter, and he was nervous.

  Nick glanced at his watch again, then rubbed a hand through his gray-flecked beard. He didn’t feel like making nice and chatting with people, and he wasn’t up to dancing, either. He wanted to head home and be alone with his thoughts. He turned toward the exit.

  “Leaving so soon?”

  Angelina Cunningham came up beside him. She was also an old friend, and he shot her a tired smile.

  “Yeah, I—” Any excuse was going to sound flimsy. “I’m tired.”

  “Well, before you head out, there’s someone I wanted to introduce you to,” Angelina said. “It’s Gayle’s niece, actually, and she needs a contractor. She just bought the mansion across the street from you.”

  The petite woman with the sandy-blond hair. He’d only seen a glimpse of her when she was moving in—slim, beautiful, well-dressed. But that was it—just a glimpse. He’d had no idea she was Gayle’s niece. But there were always unknown connections in a place the size of Mountain Springs. When you took out the tourists, the town was pretty tiny.

  Nick raised his eyebrows. “And she’s renovating?”

  “She is.”

  His first client of the New Year had canceled on him, so it wasn’t like he couldn’t take on another project. Besides, that old mansion was gorgeous, and he’d love the chance to work on it. He did feel a twinge of guilt at considering this, since Amelia was coming for the holidays, but when he’d made plans with her, he thought he’d be working on another project anyway... What did it say about him that he’d rather work than face his own daughter?

  “Just come say hello,” Angelina said. “Then I’ll even help you escape, if that’s what you want.”

  Nick exchanged an amused look with Angelina. “Fine. A quick hello.”

  He followed Angelina between the tables toward the far side of the room. The sun had already set, leaving a glow of crimson along the mountains’ jagged silhouette—visible through the bank of tall windows that flanked the room. He’d helped install every single one of those windows when he’d renovated this lodge, and he was proud of the work. The lodge was better than an advertisement—it showed anyone who’d seen it just what kind of work he and his team were capable of.

  The table she led him toward was in the back corner, and when he approached he saw her, elbows on the table, her hands folded elegantly in front of her, and the low light sparkling in her blue eyes. She was wearing a sleeveless black dress, some lace around the collarbone that looked effortlessly sophisticated. She was stunning—not that it should even matter right now. He swallowed and arranged a professional smile on his face.

  “Jen Taylor, this is Nick Bryant, the one who helped me renovate this lodge,” Angelina said, and Nick leaned forward to shake her hand.

  Jen’s handshake was firm and strong, and after he gave a quick nod and smile to the others at the table, Jen rose and stepped to the side with him.

  “It’s nice to meet you,” she said.

  “Likewise,” he replied. “Angelina said you need a contractor.”

  “Yeah...” She sucked in a slow breath. “I made an emotional purchase, I’m afraid. I have some good ideas for it, but it’s probably going to be more work than I’d anticipated.”

  “The old mansion,” he said.

  “You know it?” she asked.

  “I live across the street,” he replied.

  Her eyes widened at that, and he laughed softly. “You might not want to hire someone that close. I can understand if you don’t want to see your contractor walking his dog in the morning.”

  “No, no...” But there was something in her voice that suggested otherwise.

  “What do you need done?” he asked.

  “Immediately, I need to get the kitchen renovated and the bathroom upstairs made functional again. Once those are done, it can be livable.”

  “When do you need that done by?” he asked.

  “Christmas?”

  He let out a low whistle.

  She shrugged. “I know that’s a lot to ask.”

  By Christmas...it would really depend on how much work would be required.

  “I know that’s probably wishful thinking,” she went on. “The thing is, I’m newly divorced, and my son is spending Christmas with his dad, and then he’s coming back to live with me right after. I wanted to have something decent for him, and when I bought this place, it was based on this huge idealized plan to open an art gallery in Mountain Springs, and I sank a lot of my divorce settlement into it.”

  A painful divorce and a kid in the mix. He knew that feeling all too well, and in spite of his better instincts, he found himself softening toward her situation.

  “If we can have your attention, everyone,” a woman’s voice rang from the front of the room. “We’re going to kick off the evening with the first dance! May I introduce to you Mr. and Mrs. Matthew and Gayle Pickard!”

  Nick turned toward the dance floor, where Matthew and Gayle stood in the center of the room for the very first time as husband and wife. They both looked completely smitten, smiling into each other’s eyes as they danced to a romantic ballad. Now was not the time to talk business.

  “They’re lucky,” Jen said at his side, and he looked down at her. “I’m not sure a second marriage is that ideal for other people.”

  “How fresh is your divorce?” he asked with a rueful smile.

  “Six months,” she replied.

  He nodded. That was a painful time. He remembered that first year post-divorce well. It wasn’t easy. His best friend, Bert, who worked with him now, had dragged him out for a few beers weekend after weekend. Bert had even brought him along to a book club for one very long month that spring before Nick had been able to politely extricate himself from the situation.

  “For me, it’s been eight years,” he replied. “Since we signed the papers, at least. Ten since we split up.”

  “And you’re more optimistic about second marriages now?” she asked.

  “A bit. I’ve had time to figure out what I did wrong the first time,” he replied.

  She eyed him
for a moment, but she didn’t ask him to elaborate, which was just as well. The music changed and the woman at the mic invited everyone else to join the couple, and there was a rustling of dresses as people stood up to dance.

  “Are you two dancing?” Logan asked as he and Melanie walked by, and Nick looked down at Jen with a half smile. He’d been meaning to escape before the dancing started, but now faced with Jen’s clear blue gaze, it seemed rude not to ask... They were at a wedding, after all.

  “Did you...want to dance?” he asked.

  “Sure.”

  It had been a long time since he’d danced with a woman, and he was mildly worried he’d step on her toes. But the song was a slow one, and as they got to the dance floor and he tugged her into his arms, the music seemed to do most of the work. She was petite, and he could see a touch of gray mingling with her sandy-blond waves now that he was close enough to smell the sweet fragrance of her perfume.

  She fit against him perfectly, and her fingers felt cool in his palm. She was beautiful, but not in the model-perfect kind of way. There was something about her, almost girl-next-door. Or girl-across-the-street, in their case.

  “So what did you do before deciding to open an art gallery?” Nick asked, mostly to make conversation and distract himself from thinking too much about the type of pretty she was. She was a potential client, and Nick never did mix business with pleasure.

  “I was a buyer for an elderly man’s art collection. It wasn’t full-time, but I did love what I did.”

  “Wow...” That was definitely out of his realm of experience.

  “I miss it, actually,” she said with a smile that lit up her face. “It was a good job and I got to use my master’s in art history. Part of me wishes I’d just stayed in Denver and continued, but it wasn’t full-time and I wanted to make sure that my part of the divorce settlement set me up for a life I could sustain.”

  “That makes sense,” he agreed.

  He kept his hand respectfully in the middle of her back, but even so, he liked the way she moved—without any thought seeming to go into it, their rhythm was in sync.

  “I did do some research into people’s interest in an art gallery around here,” she said.

  He turned on the balls of his feet, leading her into an open space and away from the other couples crowding in. She laughed softly as he swept her past Logan and Melanie, and he gave her a grin.

  “You can dance,” she said, giving him an impressed look.

  “Yeah. I’m a surprising guy.”

  Her cheeks pinked. He hadn’t exactly meant to start flirting, but he knew that he had. He’d have to rein that in.

  “How old is your son?” he asked in an attempt to get things back on track.

  “Drew’s twelve,” she said.

  That was the same age his daughter had been when he’d gotten divorced, too.

  “Is he...into art?” he asked hesitantly. It was possible.

  “No.” She laughed. “He’s into science fiction, mostly. And video games.”

  “How’s he handling it all?”

  “He’s really sad,” she replied, sobering. “He loves his dad a lot, and he just wanted us to patch it up. For him.”

  “That’s tough,” he said. His daughter had wanted that, once upon a time, and he’d figured it wouldn’t change. It had, though. Now Amelia didn’t seem to have much use for him at all.

  “But life goes on, right?” she said.

  “It does,” he replied. And while the divorce part got easier, parenting didn’t.

  Nick glanced up to see Logan McTavish and his wife dancing a few yards off. Logan held Melanie close, his hand moving slowly up and down her back, and it was like the air almost sizzled around them. Nick pulled his gaze away.

  “I’m going to be honest with you,” Jen said. “Drew is old enough to choose where he lives, and I really don’t want him to choose to live with his dad instead of me.” She stepped away from him, tears sparkling in her eyes. Cool air flooded between them, and he felt awkward standing there on the dance floor with empty arms.

  “I’m really sorry,” he said, following her off the dance floor. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  “It isn’t that,” she said with a quick shake of her head as they got to the edge. She crossed her arms. “I’m more professional than this, I promise you. But I really need something comfortable by the time my son gets here. I need a home for him. You know?”

  She didn’t want to lose her son in this divorce. He could understand that, because it could happen when you weren’t looking.

  “I can’t promise that I can finish it that quickly,” he said.

  “Just enough to make if comfortable?” she asked hopefully.

  “I can take a look and give you an estimate.”

  A relieved smile spread over her face. “Thank you. I’d appreciate that. And if you can’t do it, maybe you could recommend someone.”

  He wasn’t in a hurry to just hand this off to someone else, but he wasn’t going to say that. “I could come by in the morning, if you want. Say around nine?”

  That was a nice professional hour, and he could see her when he was wearing a tool belt and he could get his balance again. He wasn’t used to talking business with a woman while slow dancing. They needed to reboot this professional relationship.

  “Nine would be perfect,” she said. “Thank you. I do appreciate it.”

  His mind went to his daughter again, and he felt that pang of guilt. But Amelia had already told him that she was looking forward to catching up with some old friends, and she knew he’d be busy. Maybe he was running away from the inevitable with his daughter—that mutual acknowledgment that whatever fatherly relationship he’d been hoping for was too far in the past to resuscitate.

  “I’m going to let you enjoy your aunt’s wedding,” Nick said.

  “Of course. Thanks again.”

  He needed to get out of here, away from his beautiful potential client, away from the romance of a December wedding. Because he knew exactly what he’d done wrong with his first marriage—he’d followed his wayward heart and married a woman much higher on the social ladder than he was. And this Jen Taylor was beautiful, educated and had a passion for art. She was on a whole different level than he’d ever be, and that should be enough for Nick to shut down any kind of attraction he might be feeling.

  Nick knew what he needed, and that was to stay solidly on his own level. He’d made that mistake once already, and he was no glutton for punishment.

  CHAPTER TWO

  JEN STOOD IN the middle of the old kitchen with a cup of coffee in one hand and her cell phone in the other. The kitchen had the same 1920s style as the rest of the house, with long counters, tall cupboards and a hardwood floor that was scuffed into paths that led to the servants’ entrance, and to the main entrance into the dining room. How many people had served meals from this kitchen? How many had served only themselves?

  She was dressed in a pair of jeans and a blue cashmere sweater that she knew brought out her eyes. And that wasn’t because she had that contractor coming by in a few minutes, either. A woman could take pride in her appearance post-divorce. There was no rule against that. She moved the phone to give a panoramic view of the old kitchen.

  “Okay, now the kitchen is going to be fixed up by the time you get here,” she said to her son on the other end of the video call. “But look at these gorgeous old wood cabinets!”

  “Uh-huh.” Drew wasn’t interested in the kitchen details, it would seem. “Where’s my room?”

  “Upstairs on the third floor, next to mine. It’s full of boxes right now,” Jen replied. “I’m going to clear it out before I show you. But this is an old mansion, son. It’s a hundred years old, and the original owners were the wealthiest people in Mountain Springs once upon a time. This kitchen was used for servants, and the family dined
in the other room.”

  “Do we get a maid?” Drew asked with a laugh.

  “Not a chance,” she said, and she flicked the camera around so she could see Drew again. “But it’s going to be great. You’ll see! This place is just amazing.”

  “Is it haunted?” he asked.

  “Are you hoping?” She chuckled. “No, it’s not haunted, but it’s filled with history. This is going to be your home. It’s cool. Trust me.”

  She could hear some voices in the background, and Drew’s attention was drawn away.

  “Is that your dad?” she asked, trying to sound casual.

  “Yeah, he and Tiffany are back from their walk,” Drew replied. “Tiffany says Dad has to get exercise, so he stays healthy.”

  Jen had been hearing about Tiffany a lot lately. Tiffany insisted upon green smoothies and she swore by hot yoga. Tiffany thought that Christmas was too commercial, and she insisted on making a wreath for the front door out of fresh evergreen sprigs and twigs of holly that she bought at the farmers’ market. There was nothing Samuel liked more than humoring the young, beautiful women he taught and dated. Jen should know—that was how she’d met him—and having an enthusiastic young woman bounce into Samuel’s heart and his life stung.

  “Are you getting a Christmas tree?” Drew asked.

  “Um—” Jen hesitated. “Without you here for Christmas, I wasn’t planning on it.”

  “What? Mom! You’ve got to get a tree!” Drew said. “Have you seen Dad’s? Let me show you.”

  The picture flipped around to display a massive Christmas tree decorated with what looked like popcorn strings and a mishmash of ornaments. These weren’t the decorations they’d used as a family. She’d taken most of those with her—the ones that held particular memories, at least. This tree, for all its homey, natural look, was also color coordinated with red and white. Drew’s face came back into the picture.

  “It’s nice, huh?”

  “Really nice,” she said, forcing a smile. Sam was moving on, apparently. Another woman was decorating his tree.