Mistletoe Hero

“Is he blind?”

Arianne giggled. “Well, thanks for the outpouring of support, but I wasn’t losing sleep over it. Maybe I’m really not his type. He’s entitled to feel that way.”

“Huh.” Quinn rocked back in her chair, thoughtful. “For a guy who looks like a walking magnet for any female with a pulse, I can’t remember the last time I heard he was dating anyone. What do you suppose his type is?”

They were all silent for a moment, and Arianne wondered if her friends were also thinking about Shay Templeton. God, she would have been about my age when she died. Arianne was sure that, at some point in her childhood, she’d seen the woman, but she’d never had real reason to take notice.

Ari looked at Lilah, the oldest of the three of them. “Do you think the story is true?”

Lilah shrugged. “Depends on which version you mean.”

The Templetons had been a wealthy, tempestuous couple, known for loud fights in the dining room of the country club. One valet reported stumbling across them while they passionately made up in their parked car. Mr. Templeton had been nearly forty, a decade and a half older than his wife, and devoted to the law firm in which he was partner. Gossip ran that whenever Shay got to feeling neglected, she would shower affection on a chosen young man, playing to Templeton’s one insecurity to provoke his jealous attention. But, as far as Arianne knew, none of the men she’d flirted with had been as young as sixteen-year-old lawn boy Gabe Sloan. One story had Gabe shooting Mr. Templeton in a jealous rage, with Shay falling down the curved staircase to her death as she and her lover tried to flee. Other citizens scoffed that Gabe wasn’t even at the house at the time the gunshot was reported. The end result remained the same—Shay Templeton had a broken neck and Mr. Templeton had been shot with his own revolver.

It was rare for something so controversial to happen here in Mistletoe, and the whole sordid tale had grown into local legend. Making Gabe some sort of cross between Don Juan and a yeti.

“Why do you think he’s stayed all these years?” Arianne asked. She knew Gabe’s father still lived in Mistletoe, but she didn’t think she’d ever seen them together publicly. Were they close?

“Whatever the truth is, it’s a sad story.” Quinn rolled her shoulders back as if trying to shrug off impending gloom. “What made you ask him out, Ari?”

“Don’t know, really. Like you said, I’ve noticed how attractive he was. This just happened to be the first time I found myself alone with him. Why not ask him out? It’s how I’d approach any other guy who interested me.”

Lilah and Quinn shot her pointed looks. Gabe Sloan was so not “any other guy.” He was in a category unto himself.

“Will it be awkward next time he comes into the store?” Quinn asked. “That’s one of the reasons I’m hesitant about Patrick, or any man associated with the school. I have to be there every day, cheerful and patient for the kids, I can’t risk creating an uncomfortable work environment.”

“I don’t feel awkward about his rejection at all,” Ari insisted. “And I can prove it. You guys say we need some extra muscle to help with the festival? I know just the solution.”

Her friends gaped at her as if she’d lost her ever-loving mind.

“What? Haven’t you seen his biceps?” she demanded. “The festival is a community tradition. He’s part of the community.”

“Not in the strictest sense,” Lilah argued gently.

“Then, maybe it’s time he was.” Arianne’s natural determination had kicked in; there was little chance of anyone dissuading her now.

She thought of her large, close-knit family and the warm, nurturing sanctuary Mistletoe had always been for her. It pained her to think of her comforting hometown being something more sinister for Gabe. For whatever reason, he’d chosen to stay—maybe because of his family ties or maybe just because he, like her, was a stubborn cuss, refusing to be driven out by furtive speculation.

Whatever the reason, if he planned to remain, it only made sense that he’d eventually want to perform a role in their shared society besides supporting player in a fourteen-year-old tragedy.

Ari brightened. She’d been feeling a bit melancholy lately as the golden summer days shortened into the early darkness of fall. It was probably just the natural letdown now that all the activity surrounding Lilah’s wedding—Ari had been the maid of honor—and preparations for Rachel’s baby—Ari had helped repaint the nursery and had been the backup Lamaze coach—were behind them. For almost two years, it seemed as if her family had been frenzied with events, and she suddenly found herself at loose ends as she watched her brothers move on with their lives. They no longer needed her advice and help. But perhaps she’d stumbled across a new challenge worthy of her considerable energy.

Gabe Sloan didn’t know how lucky he was.

Chapter Three

“Hi. Mind if I sit here?”

Gabe choked on a bite of his pulled-pork sandwich. Where the devil had she come from? Glancing at Arianne Waide’s pixie features, he speculated that perhaps she’d used fairy dust to simply materialize here.

Before he could answer that he did mind—and that there were at least half a dozen unoccupied tables nearby—Arianne sat on the wooden bench opposite him. She impatiently moved aside the tabletop roll of paper towel between them. The restaurant didn’t boast impressive interior decor, but the barbecue was phenomenal.

If Gabe were a better person, he’d think it was a shame more people didn’t know about this hidden treasure. By all rights, it should be just as crowded as the Dixieland Diner. But he was selfishly glad he never had to wait in a long line during the lunch hour and that he wasn’t jostling elbows with locals like Arianne.

“I’ve come to ask you a favor,” she declared.

“What is wrong with you?” This time he knew he hadn’t done anything to encourage her attention. So what was she doing stalking him to the far side of town at his favorite hole-in-the-wall?

“Careful.” She wagged her index finger at him. “Last time we spoke, your manners were a bit rough, but I’m willing to overlook that and start fresh.”

“How nice.” Was she deranged? The explanation seemed likelier with each passing moment. “To what do I owe this magnanimous oversight?” Whatever he’d done to earn it, he’d make sure not to repeat.

“I’m naturally kindhearted,” she drawled.

Looking alarmingly as if she were settling in for a prolonged conversation, Arianne propped her elbows on the table and rested her cheek on her fists. It was the kind of posture that should have appeared youthful. Except that when she brought her arms together like that, it pushed together a surprising amount of cleavage in the scooped neckline of her fuzzy green sweater. He couldn’t recall what she’d been wearing Wednesday night, but he was sure it had been looser. And that it hadn’t seemed so damn touchable. Annoyed that he’d even noticed, he clenched his fingers into a fist on his thigh.

In spite of her small stature and wavy locks, she was definitely all woman. A woman whose company I didn’t ask for.

“Look, kid, I’m not kindhearted. I’m an ill-tempered misanthrope. Fancy word for someone who doesn’t like people.”

Most females would get huffy over his condescension and implied aspersions on their maturity. Arianne widened her smile.

“I understand,” she assured him. There was so much commiserating sincerity in her tone that it took him a moment to realize she was reflecting his patronization right back at him. “You’re a genuine ogre. Probably live in a swamp, hang out with a talking donkey—”

“You have an odd strategy for asking favors,” he informed her as he stood.

“You’re leaving?” She shot an incredulous glance toward his plate, which still held most of his onion rings, the last quarter of his sandwich and a pickle spear.

“Lost my appetite.”

“In that case.” She reached unabashedly for an onion ring, closing her eyes and making a near-purring sound in her throat. Once she’d swallowed, she beamed at him in approval. “Wow, those are good.”

“I know.”

“Why don’t I eat here more?” she wondered aloud, popping another hand-battered onion ring into her mouth. With a final resigned glance at the food, she stood, too.

Gabe had the terrible suspicion that she’d fall in step with him and trail him wherever he went. That if he went to the parking lot and drove away, she might actually follow; if he tried to evade her by going into the men’s room, she’d simply wait him out. He doubted he could squeeze through the window.

“I should have been clearer earlier,” she said, her voice suddenly brisk and businesslike. “When I said I came to ask a favor, that was true, but it’s not just how you can help me, it’s how we can help each other.”

The old cynicism burned in his gut. If she suggested in husky tones that she could scratch his back if he scratched hers, he would lose all respect for her. And it startled Gabe to realize that even though he barely knew her and had spent the majority of this encounter wishing she’d disappear in a puff of smoke, he did respect her. She had an…implacability that was commendable.

That slight admiration kept him from telling her point-blank to get lost. Instead, he crossed his arms over his chest. “I have a busy afternoon ahead of me—we don’t all work for our daddies. You have thirty seconds.”

“You remember Quinn Keller, the teacher who hired you to repair her roof last June?”

He nodded. Quinn was a decent sort. She’d tipped him for the work he’d done without winking over the check as though he was supposed to add some extra service—something more than one town matron had hinted in his younger years. Quinn would bring out freshly squeezed lemonade on hot days but seemed unnerved enough by him that she kept their conversations brief.

Unlike certain blondes who seemed determined to chat him up from now until the Second Coming.

The moment he’d inclined his head, Arianne hurriedly continued as if mentally counting down the time he’d allotted her. “Quinn’s cochairing the committee for Whiteberry’s fall festival and needs help with some of the labor—assembling booths, hooking up electrical equipment—but she doesn’t have much of a budget. After all, the whole point is to raise money for the school. So we wanted to ask you to do it for free.”

He snorted. The lady had a bottomless supply of gall. “And I’d be doing this out of the nonexistent goodness of my heart? You have a nice day, Miss Waide.”

He headed for the door with a deliberately long stride, but what she lacked in long legs she made up for in unholy tenacity. No sooner had he stepped into the cool afternoon air than that voice once again sounded at his ear—or rather, six inches below it. With her nonstop chirping, he would have expected her to have a shrill tone or maybe something nasal, with a hint of whine. She actually had a low, melodic pitch. It wasn’t hard to imagine that she’d used that voice to convince plenty of people to do her bidding.

“Gabe,” she chided, “don’t you think it’s silly to run away? It’s not like you can hide from me in a town this size.”

She had a point. After all, he periodically crossed paths with Shay’s parents and heaven knew they weren’t actively seeking him out the way Arianne was threatening. “No reason to hide when I can outdistance you, short stuff.”

“You can try. I’ll get a scooter and keep up. Ask my brothers if you don’t believe me.”

Oh, he did. He just wasn’t sure how he’d become the object of her persistence. For months she’d simply been the checkout girl at the most reliable place in town to get hardware supplies. Then she’d dropped that bombshell of a dinner date on him, and suddenly he had a smiling thorn in his side who smelled like raspberries.

“Miss Waide, just so we’re clear, you know I was serious when I said you weren’t my type? I’m not playing hard to get or something.”

For a moment, her blue eyes glinted, darkening with some unnamed emotion. Had he angered her? Hurt her?

He refused to feel bad, not if the end result was her staying away from him. In the long run, he’d be doing her a favor.

Her tone cooled. “My proposition today wasn’t of a romantic nature, trust me. Let’s just forget about the other night. It was an isolated incident, prompted solely by—by…” Here she stumbled.

Without meaning to, he took a step closer to her. “Yes? Why did you ask me out?”

“Well.” She squared her shoulders, trying to look as composed as she had been inside the barbecue house. Yet the pulse in the hollow of her throat beat more rapidly. She reflexively licked her lips, a movement that might have seemed calculated in another woman, but seemed like genuine nervousness in Arianne’s case. “You’re an attractive man, and I’m an attractive woman. Dinner together didn’t seem that crazy when I suggested it.”

An attractive man. For years, women—those his own age to those slightly younger on up to those far older who should know better—had looked at him as if, on the outside, he was near flawless. Inside he was a mess, but too few seemed to care about that.

“You think you’re attractive?” He gave Arianne a deliberate once-over, letting his gaze slowly drop down her body.

She swallowed, standing stock-still as the wind whipped her hair around her face. “You’re trying to intimidate me.”

“It’s working. And it’s probably a lesson you need. Bite-size morsels like you shouldn’t chase after the big bad wolf.”

She surprised him by taking a sudden step forward, nearly erasing the remaining gap between them. “I grew up with two older brothers who taught me not to back down in the face of bullies, so save your bluster for someone else. I don’t think you’re that big or that bad.”

You’re wrong. But her clear gaze was so piercing that for a second he almost couldn’t find his voice. “Arianne, you’re a Mistletoe native. I know you’ve…Whatever you’ve heard about me, it’s probably true.”

It was a minor victory that she looked away first.

But she regrouped, meeting his eyes as she asked softly, “Why do you stay?”

He stiffened. “None of your damn business.”

“Because if you feel like you, I don’t know, maybe owe something to—”

“Drop it.” The words came out in a low growl.

Her eyes widened and, for a change, she listened. She kept her mouth shut as he crossed the few feet of asphalt from where he’d stood to his truck.

He should’ve known it was too good to last.

“Will you at least think about helping with the festival? For the good of the town?” she implored.

“No.” He unlocked his door.

“How about this?” She played her ace. “You help Quinn slap together a couple of booths, and I promise never to disturb you again.”

When you put it like that…Feeling unfairly beleaguered and somehow years older than when he’d arrived for lunch half an hour ago, he slapped his hand on the side of the truck and looked back at her.

Arianne offered him a beatific smile.

Against his better judgment, he heard himself say, “I’ll think about it.”

SUNDAYS WERE THE ONLY DAY of the week Gabe didn’t work, so it was the perfect time to catch up on mundane errands. Like grocery shopping. Surveying his barren kitchen pantry, he mentally cursed himself for not remembering to pick up coffee sooner. He debated whether there was enough left to make a full two cups, then opted instead for one really strong mug to kick-start his morning.

Twenty minutes later, he got in the pickup truck and headed for town. There was only one main grocery store in Mistletoe, and it had a huge parking lot to accommodate as many citizens as possible. Right now the lot was nearly empty. Most people were either taking advantage of the weekend to sleep in or at church.

Gabe had once considered visiting one of the town’s houses of worship, wondering if he could find…what, redemption? But he’d decided to spare both himself and the good folks of Mistletoe the discomfort. Shay’s parents were both Sunday school teachers at the Baptist church; the Methodist church was where Gabe’s own parents had been married. He’d been told his mother had been a soprano in the choir, and as a boy, Gabe had liked to imagine she’d once sung to him, even though there’d been little more than a week between his birth and her death.

He grabbed a cart on the sidewalk and propelled it toward the automatic entrance doors. First stop, coffee aisle. Moving purposely through the store, he piled staples into the cart: ground beans, filters, steaks, juice, cereal, new razor blades, eggs and cheese. He was en route to the freezers and his one major vice—besides coffee, of course—when he had the unpleasant prickling sensation of being watched. Slowly he turned, half expecting Arianne Waide to wave at him from a soft drink display. If that were the case, he vowed he’d put an end once and for all to—

His stomach tightened, then dropped about ten feet. “Sir.” Gabe swallowed, hating the arctic glare of Jeremy Sloan’s pale eyes, but unable to look away.

What is he doing here? Gabe’s father should have been in some congregation pew among his righteous brethren, not skulking the aisles of the Mistletoe Mart.

“Gabriel.” The older man spoke without the banked anger Gabe remembered. Instead his tone was flat.

Gabe floundered for a response.

How’ve you been, Pops?

I see you’re eating the same brand of cereal after all these years.

Still hate me?

Gabe had shifted his gaze to the contents of his father’s cart because it seemed far more innocuous than looking at the man who’d dutifully raised him but never warmed to him. Yet now that Gabe took a closer look, the groceries he saw sent a ripple of foreboding through him. Cereal, a large can of coffee, some ground round, dairy, orange juice and shaving supplies. So what? We both drink coffee and eat red meat. I’m nothing like him.

Not in the ways that mattered anyway. Their physical, superficial resemblances were undeniable. The same icy eyes, too devoid of color to be called blue; the same tall, muscular frames. Though Jeremy was fast approaching sixty—and showed it in every bitter line on his face—he was undoubtedly stronger than a lot of men in their forties.

Jeremy cleared his throat. “Need to get this milk and cheese home. Into the fridge.”

Gabe nodded, feeling both relief and anger when his father turned to go. But the anger was more of a remembered, phantom emotion—a holdover from the past—than what he was experiencing now. The truth was, encounters with his own parent were in some ways more painful than the times Gabe ran into Shay’s parents. Gabe was grateful the awkward moment had passed so quickly.

He progressed to the frozen-foods section and grabbed a gallon of Breckfield Banana Crème ice cream. With effort he managed not to look over his shoulder. Even if he caught you buying it, so what?Gabe was no longer a child who could be scolded for smuggling sweets into the house.

I don’t want to see you dishonoring your mother’s memory by eating that sugary garbage, boy. Diabetes is hereditary.

Beth Ann Sloan’s diabetes had fatally complicated her post-Cesarean infection. Gabe had grown up unsure whether his father blamed the disease or the baby who’d been brought into the world from that C-section.

A surge of negative emotions rose in him, and Gabe added a half gallon of chocolate ice cream to his buggy. He was reaching for a pint of home-style vanilla when he stopped himself with a sigh. Was he going to let seeing his father reduce him to the level of a rebellious twelve-year-old, or finally grow a pair and decide not to care that his own flesh and blood couldn’t stand the sight of him?

He put back the chocolate and moved on to the next row.

Moving on. Now there was an idea. It wouldn’t have to be fleeing Mistletoe with his tail tucked between his legs—no one’s opinion here mattered enough to run him out of town—but simply leaving for a fresh start. As early as middle school, he’d started dreaming of college. Going somewhere, anywhere, away from his father.

Arianne Waide appeared in his mind just as abruptly as she’d materialized at the barbecue house earlier this week. Why do you stay? she’d asked. Good question. Granted, college scholarships had ceased to be an option after the deaths of Shay and Roger Templeton. Gabe had graduated by the skin of his teeth, but high school had been a long time ago.

Gabe told himself that he didn’t care about the past. Could he let himself care about a future?

Chapter Four

“I hate to say this because you’ll probably let it go to your head,” Quinn teased, “but your advice was absolutely spot-on.”

“That’s because I’m wise beyond my years.” In the crowded lot outside the Dixieland Diner, Arianne narrowly squeezed her car into a space between an oversize truck and a sedan that had parked crookedly. “I should run for mayor.”

Quinn unfastened her seat belt with a chuckle. “This is sort of what I meant by letting it go to your head.”

Meeting for Sunday brunch was a semiregular tradition for the two friends, and Arianne had known as soon as she’d seen the other woman’s bright smile that Quinn had finally talked to Patrick Flannery. On the drive to the diner, Quinn had said he’d agreed to help with the festival; he’d even admitted that he’d been looking for a way to get more involved and meet people in the community but hadn’t known where to start. Quinn had casually mentioned that they could discuss the festival more over dinner this week.

As they got out of the car, Arianne asked, “So are you grateful enough for my suggestion that you’re buying?”

“On a teacher’s salary?” Quinn snorted. “Dream on.”

“When I become mayor, I’ll see what I can do about getting you guys pay raises.”

“I’d laugh, except part of me thinks you’ll actually run someday and probably talk me into being your campaign manager.”

Grinning, Arianne turned to look at her friend, but she forgot what she was going to say when she noticed the red pickup truck driving past the diner. Gabe. Her heart beat faster, and she had one of those annoying flashback moments she’d been experiencing for the past few days. In random moments—as she drifted to sleep, or when the shop bell rang and she thought it might be him coming into the store—she would relive their last conversation, when they’d been toe-to-toe and she could feel the heat coming off his body. When she’d been deliciously uncertain whether he’d been about to shake her or kiss her.

All right, that last part might have been a fanciful embellishment. Gabe showed no signs of wanting to kiss her, and he was too aloof to shake anyone. If he’d once been swept away with passion over a married woman, he’d learned from his mistakes.

Quinn followed her gaze. “Isn’t that—”

A squeal of tires interrupted her question. Although the pickup hadn’t been going that fast, Gabe had apparently decided at the last minute to make the left-hand turn.

“He’s coming toward us,” Quinn whispered.

Arianne nodded, watching wide-eyed as he navigated the crowded parking lot and finally rolled to a stop a few feet away from them.

He crooked his finger out the open window and beckoned toward them. Under other circumstances, Arianne might have scoffed that she wasn’t the type who could be summoned like that, but there was no chance she would deny her raging curiosity. Both women exchanged puzzled glances and walked forward.

After Arianne’s last meeting with Gabe, he’d seemed more likely to peel out in the opposite direction than pursue her. Unless he’d deduced her plans to follow up with him later in the week and was making a preemptive strike, she couldn’t imagine what he wanted to discuss.

“Hi, Quinn.” Gabe called out a relaxed greeting that ignored Arianne entirely. Except that his gaze was locked with hers.

“H-hi.”

He continued in that same easy tone that didn’t match the banked intensity of his eyes. “Your friend tells me that you could use a hand. With the fair.”