Carolyn Greene - Her Mistletoe Man

Stop that! she commanded herself. It was sick to lust like this over a family member, no matter how distant the ties might be. No matter how tall and broad shouldered he might be. No matter how touchable his collar-length brown hair was or how his dark eyes seemed to penetrate right into her and read her very thoughts. Dragging her gaze away from him, she looked across the room at her sister. Vivian hadn’t yet noticed the newest addition to their family reunion.

Ruth smiled and returned her attention to the handsome stranger. He smiled back. This was one hunk her older sister wouldn’t snag. Unfortunately, he was off-limits to Ruth, as well.

She considered getting up and joining her aunt in greeting the family members who came here from throughout the state to attend their Christmas reunion, a regular event since they’d bought the former hotel eight years ago. Though she’d grown up in Willow Glen, it wasn’t until she’d moved into the old plantation house that she’d finally felt truly at home.

Aunt Shirley seemed to be holding her own. Now that the preliminary cleaning and cooking were done, she was in her element, reacquainting herself with family members from near and far.

Aunt Shirley turned back to Tucker. “You have such a wonderful sense of humor. Of course we have room. And we’d make room if we didn’t.”

“Uh, thank you, ma’am.” He reached down and picked up his duffel bag. “If you’ll point the way and give me a key, I’ll just head on to my room.”

“Call me Aunt Shirley. Everyone else does.” She went behind the polished counter and refastened a paper Santa that adorned the wall. “As for keys, you don’t need them here, honey. Nobody will mess with your stuff. Oren sleepwalks sometimes, but you can latch your door from the inside while you sleep.”

Tucker frowned. He was familiar with mom-and-pop establishments, but this one beat all. However, room security shouldn’t be a problem since he intended to be there the entire time. If the room didn’t have a VCR, he could buy one and numb his brain with action-adventure movies for the holiday. Escape into the happiness of the past until the relentless false cheeriness of the season had subsided. As he faced his first Christmas alone, it would be just the medicine he needed to revisit the place that had given him so many happy memories.

“Maddock,” Aunt Shirley said, rubbing the pale coral rouge from her left cheek. “I don’t seem to recall any Maddocks.”

Maybe she was asking if he’d been a guest at the inn before. Either that or she assumed—correctly—that he was from Willow Glen. In a town this small, everyone was either related by blood or marriage, or they went to school with one another. He wasn’t surprised she didn’t know his name. His parents weren’t originally from here, having come to Willow Glen shortly before he was born. After his mother died twenty-some years ago, his father drank all their money away and they’d lived on public assistance.

But he wasn’t going to tell Shirley all that. “I grew up not far from here,” he said. “I haven’t been back in more than ten years.”

The brunette narrowed her eyes at this revelation and joined them in the foyer. The older woman’s questions had seemed born of curiosity, but the younger one appeared somewhat skeptical.

“What are your mama and daddy’s first names?”

He chalked the question up to her being a true Southerner. Tucker knew that many Virginians could be obsessive about knowing a person’s lineage. So he humored her, glad for the opportunity to get a closer look at the lovely, gentle-eyed brunette as they spoke. “Helen and Bob.”

He loosened the top few snaps on his jacket.

Oddly, as if she weren’t aware of copying his action, she lifted her hand to the vee of her shirt. Tucker’s gaze followed her movement and lingered on the dip in her throat. He didn’t remember this house being so warm.

Tucker forced his attention back to Aunt Shirley. She pursed her bright peach-colored lips, making the lines around them form a miniature starburst pattern. “We have a Helen in our family, but I don’t remember any Bobs. Was Bob your mama’s second husband?”

“Huh?”

Oren called from the parlor. “Leave the boy alone, Shirley, and come in here so we can get this tree up.”

“Okay, okay. Just hold on to your knickers.”

Tucker shook his head, amazed by the easy familiarity the hotel staff had with most of the guests. He assumed some of the guests liked it here so much they had become regulars. It could be that after a while they started to feel like family. Must be something about this house, and the love that lingered here, that gave people a sense of belonging, he decided.

“Come on,” said Shirley. “I’ll show you to your room. I hope you don’t mind being on the third floor. I had considered putting in an elevator, but lately I’ve been thinking of more interesting ways to spend my money.”

“That’s okay, Aunt Shirley, I’ll show him the way.”

Although it would have been flattering to think the brunette’s interest matched his own, Tucker got the distinct impression that she had another reason for offering to show him to his room.

She led him up the mahogany staircase to the third floor, pausing a couple of times after the first level as if to give him an opportunity to catch his breath. But he had no trouble keeping up with her. With a view such as she offered, he much preferred to enjoy it from close range.

Upstairs, Tucker stepped into the room, and it felt as if he had retreated into the past. He set the duffel bag on the floor and let the sensations wash over him. The curtains, handmade patchwork quilt and scatter rugs were different from his childhood recollections, but they retained the flavor of the era. However, the curved sleigh bed and matching chifforobe had apparently been included in the sale of Willow Glen Plantation. Bending closer, he saw that the tiny carved initials, R.T.M., for Robert Tucker Maddock, had remained. Mrs. Newland had blown a gasket when she’d seen what he’d done, but after giving it some thought she’d promised to let it stay. At the time, Tucker didn’t understand his surrogate mother’s change of heart. In retrospect, he saw that she had kindly allowed a scared, lonely boy to make his mark in her home, on her family and in her heart.

Apparently unwilling to relinquish her hostess duties, Aunt Shirley joined them in the small room. “It is so good to have you join us for Christmas.”

The brunette responded with a tightening of her softly curved lips, walked past him and pushed open the white lace curtains to allow in the meager late-afternoon sunlight. When she was done she turned and scrutinized him thoroughly. After a long, uncomfortable moment, she reluctantly announced, “Yes, I suppose you do have the eyes.”

He had no idea what the young woman was talking about, but he supposed that his features may have stirred up a previously forgotten memory of having met his father. In a town this size, most people knew everyone else, even if only in passing. “People say I have the Maddock eyes,” he said.

If he’d had a choice in the matter, he would rather forgo the dark, devilish feature that attracted so much attention than have even that one small remaining link with his deceased father.

Aunt Shirley stepped forward, her arms open, and took him in a motherly hug. Pressing a light kiss to his cheek, she said, “We’re so glad to have you in our family.” Moving to the door, she added, “If there’s anything you need or want, just let one of us know, and we’ll see that you’re taken care of.”

With a wink and a wave, she exited the room and closed the door behind her.

The younger woman stayed where she was, arms across her chest, assessing him.

Still stunned by the older woman’s unexpected gesture, Tucker stood rooted to the faded blue throw rug, absentmindedly lifting a hand to his cheek where she had kissed him, and wondered if the woman before him might follow suit. He sure hoped so. He had heard that these bed-and-breakfast places sought to make their guests feel like members of the family, but in his estimation, the elderly woman took this home-and-hearth stuff a tad too far.

The door swung open again, and Aunt Shirley popped her head in. “I almost forgot…hurry and unpack. We’ll be waiting for you downstairs to help put up the Christmas tree.”

He’d better nip this in the bud. If he didn’t stop her now, she’d have him singing carols and baking Christmas cookies with the rest of the guests.

“Uh, Ms., I mean, Aunt Shirley, I’m not really up to trimming a Christmas tree this year.” Although he was finding comfort in returning to the memories in this house, the Christmas traditions only served to remind him of all the loved ones he’d lost at this time of the year.

“Oh. It would present a bit of a problem if you don’t join us. You see, Aunt Shirley isn’t up to having a big crowd here after this season, so I’m trying to make this last one our best Christmas ever. It would really mean a lot if everyone would participate.” The young woman looked thoughtful for a moment. “Would you rather put up the wreath or string Christmas lights instead?” The two of them seemed determined to have him participate in the festivities.

He sympathized with their business plan to cut back their tourist season. It must be difficult sacrificing their own Christmas activities in order to take care of a bunch of guests. But he still had no desire to change his plans in order to be with strangers. He solemnly shook his head.

Aunt Shirley grinned. “Holding out for hanging the mistletoe, eh? I figured you for a romantic, right from the start.”

At the word romantic, his gaze veered back to the pretty brunette. Impulsively, he asked, “Are you going to help?”

“Of course,” she said, as if the answer should have been obvious.

He scratched the whiskers on his chin and took in her fair, flawless complexion. “Maybe I can come down for a short while.”

“Good,” said Shirley. “I’ll tell everyone to wait for you.” This time when she left, the older woman hooked the brunette’s arm and steered her out of the room before her.

Downstairs, Ruth pulled out the dusty old Bible, her curious cousins, aunts and uncles gathering around her as they traced the family’s lineage.

“He’s cute,” said fourteen-year-old Brooke.

“He’s too old for you,” Vivian stated, as if it weren’t already apparent to everyone in the room. “I’m sure he’d prefer someone closer to his own age. Like me.”

Ruth drew a finger down the page, searching for the Maddock name in the birth and marriage listings. “You’re both being ridiculous,” she said without lifting her head. “If he’s a relative—which I doubt he is—he should be treated like any of our other cousins.”

Brooke giggled. “Maybe he’s a kissing cousin.”

Ruth pushed her hair behind her shoulders and tried unsuccessfully to ignore her young cousin’s remark. “Just as I thought. I don’t see a record of a Maddock anywhere in here.”

Oren nudged her aside with his cane and bent over the book that lay open on the coffee table. He turned a page to the crowded family tree. Lilly Babcock, now deceased, was the matriarch of their close-knit family. Although Lilly and her husband Clem’s daughters had married, introducing new surnames to the family tree, the subsequent generations still considered themselves Babcocks.

After a moment, Oren pressed his finger to a box with a line drawn from Ruth’s great-grandmother Lilly. “There’s a Helen in here who married a third cousin, but I don’t see any sign of a Maddock or her giving birth to a Tucker.”