The Mistletoe Kiss - Part Three by Diane Burton

Part Three

Though dinner passed in a flurry of excitement, at least on Bethany’s and Flo’s part with George grinning happily, Sam watched Abby as she pasted a smile on her thinned lips. A smile that didn’t reach her eyes. Though she made a production out of moving the food around on her plate, he knew she’d eaten little.

When she started to get up, Bethany announced, “Mom, sit. You cooked. Grandma and I will clean up.”

“Me, too,” George added. “I’ll help, if you ladies don’t mind.”

As the others grabbed bowls and platters, Sam held up the bottle of wine to Abby. “There’s a little left. Would you like to finish it?”

She glanced around at the empty table. “Sure. I could use something stronger, though.”

“You aren’t pleased.” He poured the last of the wine into her glass.

“Surprised.” When her cell chirped, she pulled her phone out of her slacks’ pocket.

“I’ll get you a stronger drink.” As Sam scooted behind her, he glanced down at her phone.

George Watson checks out A-Okay. No worries for your mom. Report to follow via email. Merry Christmas! – Alex, O’Hara & Palzetti Investigators.

“What is that?” He pointed. “You had my dad investigated?”

“Shh.”

“Don’t you shush me.” Sam felt his blood pressure escalate. She’d sicced an investigator on his dad?

“Let’s go outside.” She rose and grabbed his hand. “Sam and I are going for a walk,” she called to those in the kitchen before hauling him to the front closet. “Please don’t make a scene.”

“Me? Make a scene? Why would you think that?”

When she rolled her eyes at him, he knew his sarcasm had gotten through. Bundled up in hats, gloves, coats, and boots, they headed outside. The snow had stopped and the sun, though low in the sky, made the trees sparkle. The fairy tale scene was lost on him.

“You had my dad investigated?” he repeated when they reached the sidewalk. He brushed aside a twinge of guilt.

“When I got home from the jail yesterday morning, all I knew about your dad was that he and my mother had been arrested and were spending Christmas in jail. At the time, I thought it was your father leading my mother astray.” As he sputtered at the unfair accusation, she added, “Note, I said thought he’d led her astray. I know better now. Anyway, I called my girlfriend Alex who is a PI. Can you blame me? I had to protect my mother. Father left her comfortably well off. For all I knew, your father could be a gold digger.”

Sam threw his head back and laughed. If she only knew. “Dad doesn’t look like much, but he’s pretty well off himself.”

More than well off. With several patents to his name and a smart attorney, Dad was a millionaire several times over. “I suppose I should tell you, I did the same.” Despite the cold, his ears burned.

They’d circled the block. At Sam’s announcement, she stopped in front of her mother’s house. “What do you mean you did the same? The same what?”

“When Dad started dating Flo, I had her investigated. Alex is quite thorough.”

“You what?” She stooped to retie the boot laces—although he couldn’t figure out why since they were going inside.

“You heard me. I hired Alex O’Hara. She does a good job.”

As Abby rose, she let loose a round, white ball. Smack into his chest.

“You know this means war.” With an evil laugh, Sam grabbed a handful of snow and packed it well. As he threw it, she dodged. The snowball clipped her shoulder.

“Bring it on.” She fired another ball and got his ear.

They flung a barrage of snowballs at each other. Finally, he lunged for her and brought her down. Her fall was well cushioned by the snow that had fallen two nights ago and that which had fallen since last night. “You will pay for that last one,” he said in a falsetto. “I plan to have children someday.”

She dumped a handful of cold stuff down the back of his collar. “Someday? You’d better hurry. Someday is about to pass you up. Ooh,” she shrieked as his handful of snow went down the V-neck of her holiday sweater.

With strength that surprised him, she managed to roll him over then sat astride him. “Did you say war? You ain’t seen nothing yet, mister.” With a girlish giggle, she rubbed a handful of snow in his face.

“What are you two doing?” Flo stood on the front porch, hands on her hips. “Get up before someone sees you acting like children. What will the neighbors say?”

Eyes twinkling, Abby scrambled to her feet then reached down to help him up. “Oh my, yes. What will the neighbors say?”

When he clasped her hand, he laughed softly. “Can’t have that.” He scooped her up in a fireman carry and headed for the backyard.

“You two behave yourselves,” Flo called out.

“You’d better let me down, Sam Watson, or you’ll be sorry.” She pounded on his back.

With all her struggling, her jacket had pulled up as well as her sweater, exposing a delicious strip of skin. He couldn’t resist. Using his teeth to remove a glove, he scooped some snow off her jacket and, oh so carefully, trailed it along that strip.

She shrieked and wiggled so much, he had to drop her . . . in a big snowbank. This time, he straddled her. “Uncle?”

“Never. Soldiers never give up. Or in. We never cry uncle. We make war.” While she protested, she gathered two hands full of snow.

Before she could throw it, he stretched out on top of her. “I’d rather kiss than make war.”

He lowered his head, making sure his lips hovered over hers. “What do you say? Kiss or war?”

Her eyes darkened, not in anger. In anticipation. She wanted that kiss. Thank God. He brushed his lips against hers. A deep sigh ran through her as she raised her arms to loop them around his neck. Oh, yeah. Her lips softened, drawing him in.

Something wet and cold was shoved down the back of his neck. With a yelp, he scrambled off her. She lay in the snow mound, laughing, as he shook off the snow.

“You are a menace,” He groused. “A sneaky menace.”

“Poor baby.” She got up. “Want some help?”

He checked her hands. “I’d rather have another kiss.” When she hesitated, he added, “Only a kiss, Abby.”

After hesitating for another moment, she said, “I’m not sure if I’m ready for more than that.”

“I can wait until you are.”

Looking out the kitchen window, George turned to Flo. “They’re kissing again.”

“Wonderful.” Flo leaned against him.

“Gross,” Bethany said. “They’re too old for that stuff.”

George and Flo just laughed. “Never too old.”

I hope you enjoyed The Mistletoe Kiss. For more stories that take place in the fictional town of Far Haven, Michigan, read The Case of the Bygone Brother (An Alex O'Hara novel) and The Case of the Fabulous Fiancé, both available at online retailers. Coming soon: The Case of the Meddling Mama.

Please return tomorrow for Barbara Edwards’ story, The Magic of Mistletoe.

The Mistletoe Kiss - Part Two by Diane Burton

Part Two

From his father’s stories, Sam Watson knew more about Abby Ten Eyck than she probably wanted. Intense, driven. Abby had inherited much from her conservative, workaholic father. Sam knew all about being driven. Though his ulcers had healed, he remembered the consequences of his former life. Other than her brief marriage against her father’s wishes, she’d toed the straight and narrow, running her gift shop as if it were a Fortune 500 company—the same approach she applied to cooking Christmas dinner. The woman rarely laughed. He’d hoped a quick kiss under the mistletoe would help her ease up, maybe even make her laugh. Instead, he’d made things worse.

“Do you feel your mother is betraying your father by loving mine?”

She started beneath his hands. He’d kept them on her shoulders when he wanted to wrap them around her. He’d never fallen so hard for a woman. Especially a woman he’d formally met yesterday. Or maybe learning about her from his dad and her mother over the past two months had drawn him in. Meeting her in person, wearing a sleepshirt over faded jeans and her bare feet stuffed into flannel-lined clogs, had clinched it. Or maybe it had been her wildly-tousled brown hair. Not the usual tightly-bound bun or French twist she wore at the store. Even today, she’d scraped back her hair into a clasp at the base of her neck.

“Not really. Father has been gone for over five years.” She turned beneath his hands to look up at him, surprise and sadness in her deep blue eyes that reminded him of Lake Michigan on a summer’s day. “Everything has happened too fast. She never told me she was dating. I guess she wasn’t playing bingo all those nights.” She ended with a bitter laugh.

Sam had to chuckle. “Nope. Unless ‘playing bingo’ is a euphemism for the horizontal mambo.”

“Oh, please.” She shivered. “That’s an image I could do without. Thanks for the coat. We should go in. You must be freezing, and I need to check on Christmas dinner or we’re all be going to Denny’s or the Chinese Buffet.”

“Hang on a minute.” He stopped her from opening the back door. “My father loves your mother very much. I’m glad he found someone who makes him happy. Mom’s Alzheimer’s took a lot out of him. Out of both of us.”

She reached up and touched his cheek. “I am so sorry. I didn’t know.”

Sam captured her hand. “How would you? We hardly know each other. I’d like to remedy that.” He searched her gorgeous blue eyes.

When she jerked her hand away and averted his eyes, disappointment raced through him. He had a long way to go before she stopped being so skittish. Before she trusted him. Damn that ex-husband.

Warmth and cooking aromas greeted them as they went inside. At the stove, George turned from stirring something and raised his eyebrow at Sam. “Everything okay?”

“Abby needed some fresh air,” Sam said before she spoke. “She’s been working in the kitchen too long, while we were all goofing off.”

“Oh, Mom.” Bethany hugged her. “I’m sorry I didn’t come out and help you.”

When Flo chimed in, Abby snorted. “You all offered, but you know me. I like being in charge.”

And that was the crux of her problems. Sam knew exactly how that felt.

“Now, where are we?” Abby lifted lids on pots and gave the turkey—at least a twenty-five pounder—sitting on the counter next to the stove a long look. “I take it Tom is done?”

“Yep,” Bethany said. “The little thingee popped up right before the timer rang. Before you ask, ten minutes ago. I scooped out the stuffing, and Grandma started the potatoes. After Mr. Watson took out the turkey, he said it has to rest.”

“George, dear. You can call me George.”

The five of them in a one-butt kitchen kept running into each other. Still, they managed to bring all the food—enough for three times as many people—out to the formal dining room. A cheery red tablecloth covered with white lace held five place settings of Spode Christmas Tree dishes. Sam swallowed hard. His mother had the same set. He wondered if his dad had the same feeling of loss. Even though, physically Mom had been gone for four years, she’d mentally left them two years before that—the reason Alzheimer’s was called the long good-by.

As he set the large turkey-laden platter in the middle of the table, he glanced up at his dad. Unshed tears swam in his eyes. He remembered.

Sam had taken a step toward his dad, when Flo bustled out with a crystal cut-glass bowl of cranberry salad in one hand and a pale green fluffy one in her other. “George, please take this before I drop it.” She held out the glass bowl of green fluff. “Wait until you taste my Watergate Salad. It is so refreshing.”

“Watergate? As in Nixon’s Watergate?” George exclaimed, to which Flo replied, “Yes, silly. It’s a salad they serve there.”

“Coming through. Hot gravy. C’mon, Mom,” Bethany called over her shoulder. “We only need the rolls.”

Abby followed with a holiday towel-covered red basket. “I’m coming, I’m coming.”

“Oh, my goodness.” George shook his head. “What a feast.”

A feast was right. So different from the last four Christmases when he and Dad grazed an assortment of appetizers all day rather than make a traditional meal. The holidays always hit them hard. Sam was surprised that Dad had accepted Flo’s invitation to dinner. He’d never accepted Aunt Grace’s invitations.

As soon as everyone sat, Flo insisted they hold hands for the blessing. Sam clasped Abby’s while she held George’s. Sam liked that she sat between them, as if she belonged in their family. If his dad had his way, she would. Soon.

“Heavenly Father, bless my loved ones gathered together at this table.” Flo gave George a big smile, before sharing it with the rest of them. “Two families about to become one. Bless this food and the hands that prepared it. Amen.”

Everyone echoed the “Amen.” For several moments, as the food was passed, nobody spoke. Then, Abby said, “Mother, what did you mean about two families becoming one?”

“Last night, George asked me to marry him.”

Please return tomorrow for Part Three.

The Mistletoe Kiss by Diane Burton

I was thrilled the Roses decided to use this first sentence for our stories. Last year, my story ended with a kiss under the mistletoe. Here’s what happened next.

Part One

This was the absolute last time she kissed anyone under the mistletoe. As she and Sam broke apart, Abby’s cheeks burned hotter than the steam-filled kitchen.

First Bethany gasped “Mo-ther!” with all the exasperation seventeen-year-olds could muster. Then Mother and her boyfriend—could you really call a seventy-year-old a boyfriend?—George showed up, both grinning widely.

George slapped Sam on the back. “Hehehe, son. Better watch out for those Ten Eyck women. Just ask me. Now get out of the way and let me have some fun.”

With a playful poke, George elbowed Sam out of the doorway and took his place. With a move straight out of a 1940’s flick, he dipped Mother over his arm and planted a steamy kiss on her. Abby hoped she hadn’t had that dopey look on her face when Sam finished their kiss.

“Go, Grandma!” Bethany cheered.

Abby fumed. It was okay for her grandmother to kiss under the mistletoe but not her mother? She would have words with her daughter when they got home. Strengthening her resolve, Abby repeated her vow not to let anything spoil their last Christmas in the home she’d grown up in.

Our last Christmas.

Damn. Tears gathered behind her eyelids. She had to get out of there before she embarrassed herself further. Ignoring her mother’s giggles, Bethany’s cheers, and George’s antics, Abby raced to the back door and yanked it open. Blessedly cool—make that cold—air hit her along with a spray of snow. She stepped out onto the wide back porch, pulling the door closed behind her. God, what a mess. And she didn’t mean the blizzard blanketing Far Haven and most of West Michigan. Starting last night, the winds howled off Lake Michigan. Though the winds had diminished that morning, the snow kept falling. At least ten inches, according to the weather report that morning. More by now, eight hours later.

She wrapped her arms around herself, holding in her grief. If she let the tears fall, they’d freeze on her cheeks. Tears for a house. How ridiculous. Grief for her childhood home? A tear escaped. With freezing fingers, she swiped at it.

For the past month, she’d tried to convince her mother not to sell the old Victorian in Far Haven’s historic district. Did her mother listen? Of course not. Did her mother ever listen to her? Yeah, right.

A blast of heat enveloped her. Someone had opened the door.

“Go back inside, Bethany. I’m fine.”

“Not Bethany.” The deep baritone rumbled behind her.

Sam Watson. The man she’d met at the jail when they’d come to rescue her mother and his father, neither of whom wanted rescuing. That’s when Abby discovered her mother had a boyfriend. And met his son, aka Mr. Tall, Dark, and Sexy, according to Bethany.

“Same message. Go back inside.” Abby didn’t bother to hide her displeasure at Sam’s presence.

A heavy coat landed on her shoulders. “Flo is worried about you. So is Bethany.”

Nobody called her mother Flo . . . until George and Sam came along. Father thought nicknames inappropriate. He certainly didn’t approve of her nickname. “If we wanted you to be called Abby, we would have named you that.”

“I’ll bet they’re worried. Mother is more anxious that dinner will burn.”

“I think the three of them will make sure it doesn’t. Dad isn’t too bad in the kitchen.” Sam kept his hands on her shoulders, on top of the coat, generating a different kind of heat. “Did I upset you with that kiss?”

Upset her? Hell, yes. She’d liked it. More than liked it. His kiss that started out playful had turned into something more intense and awakened long-buried wanting inside her. A longing that embarrassed her more than Bethany’s exasperation or George’s teasing. What had she been thinking to succumb to a kiss under the mistletoe? From a guy she’d met in the wee hours yesterday morning?

When she turned her head to tell him to leave her alone, she realized it wasn’t her coat around her shoulders. She should have known since it was so long the cuffs covered her hands. The rich leather felt buttery smooth against her cheek. Besides the smell of leather, she caught a hint of sandalwood and outdoors. Like a forest. Not pine but something—

“I’m sorry.” Sam rubbed the top of her shoulders. “Not for kissing you, which I liked very much. I embarrassed you. And for that I am sorry.”

“I should go back inside.”

His hands held her still. “It’s beautiful out here. The first time Flo invited me over, I fell in love with the gardens.” He scoffed. “Me. A condo guy. I didn’t realize how soothing a beautifully-designed garden could be.”

“Mother has a green thumb. That is such a cliché, but it’s true.”

Mother’s pride and joy had always been her flower beds. As a Master Gardener, she’d arranged the flowers so something bloomed from early spring to late fall. Although she had a lawn-mowing service, Mother never let anyone touch her garden. The new owners would probably destroy the garden. Too much work.

“I can’t believe she wants to sell this.” Abby waved her hand to include the backyard plus the huge garage. At one time, it had been a carriage house, large enough for two coaches and four horses to pull them. Now the garage held her mother’s red Mustang convertible, the outdoor furniture, and Father’s workshop, with room to spare.

“That bothers you. A lot.” He stated the obvious. “She’s starting a new life, with my father. I think that bothers you more.”

She nodded. “She kept saying the house and property were too much to keep up. I didn’t know about your father until the two of them were arrested.”

Sam laughed. The way he was holding her, back against his chest, she felt the rumble of his amusement vibrating behind her. She wished he would let her go. She didn’t like the feelings provoked by a man holding her. A man kissing here. Fifteen years of going without holding and kissing. Without longing for more.

Ferret Face had killed that part of her.

Please return tomorrow for Part Two.