Carolyn Greene - Her Mistletoe Man

Aunt Shirley joined them, leaning over the brittle pages. Her elderly boyfriend stood and moved beside her, taking her fingers in his own.

Ruth watched the exchange and was thankful once again that her aunt had found someone to love and who loved her so much in return. She hoped that someday she’d find a special man who made her as happy as Boris made Shirley.

The thought occurred to her that perhaps Boris was the reason Aunt Shirley had decided not to hold the Christmas family reunion again after this year. Such an event was an awful lot of work and planning, and it was understandable that her aunt would want to spend her time and energy on her personal pursuits. And that was why Ruth had stepped in and shouldered most of the hostessing duties this year. By making this their most perfect Christmas ever, she would relieve her aunt of much of the work while convincing her to give it a go again next year.

Their yearly reunion helped solidify Ruth’s sense of family togetherness. Having lost her parents at a very young age, it was important to preserve and nurture her family ties. And someday she hoped to marry and add lots more names to their Bible.

Turning her attention back to the book, she recalled her great-aunt’s earlier questioning of their handsome guest. “Do you suppose Helen remarried, Aunt Shirley, and you lost track of her?”

“If so, that would mean Tucker Maddock is only vaguely—and very distantly—related by marriage,” Vivian said with interest. “A step-cousin, of sorts.”

Ruth didn’t know why this possibility should please her so much. Or why it should bother her that her sister was so quick to pick up on their nonexistent blood ties.

“I don’t know.” Aunt Shirley idly rubbed the wattle of skin under her left arm. “I think Helen and her first husband are still together. But I could be wrong. I haven’t heard from them since right after Brooke was born, which would be about fourteen years ago.”

A trickle of concern flowed down Ruth’s spine, leaving goose bumps in its wake. Even if Helen had divorced and remarried a Maddock after that time, there was no way she could have a son who, by Ruth’s best estimate, was about thirty years old.

Ruth smelled a rat, albeit the best-looking one she’d ever laid eyes on. Although Ruth Marsh was normally an easygoing person—so easygoing, in fact, that her fourth-grade students had nicknamed her “Miss Marshmallow”—she could not sit idly by while some stranger with an ulterior motive invaded their home. Right in the midst of their Christmas celebrations, no less!

Like the rest of the Babcock family members, Aunt Shirley was a trusting soul, welcoming anyone and everyone into her life. In fact, it was that very generosity of spirit that had led the older woman to raise Ruth and her older sister after their parents had died.

Aunt Shirley had protected her when Ruth was a child, and now it was Ruth’s turn to repay the favor. She would not let this situation unfold like that roofing repair sham her family had fallen for. Or the unsecured-bond investment scheme Aunt Shirley had naively bought into.

“I don’t know, Aunt Shirley,” Ruth said. “Something doesn’t seem right about this particular long-lost relative. For all we know, he could be another shyster, or even an ax murderer.”

“Nonsense.” Aunt Shirley disengaged her hand from Boris’s grasp and closed the musty book. “I won’t have you talking about your own cousin that way. In every family there are three horse thieves for every prince. Regardless of whether his branch of the family tree is represented on a coat of arms or has a noose hanging from it, he’s still family.”

She straightened and addressed Ruth with an expression that made it clear she hadn’t learned the lesson taught by the roofer and investment crook. “I’m sure that nice young man has a perfectly reasonable explanation for his name not appearing in our Bible.”

Ruth shook her head at her aunt’s complete trust in other people. The older woman had a reputation around Willow Glen as being wealthy and more than a little eccentric. She hated to think that another unscrupulous person might try to take advantage of that trust.

“Cousin Tucker is a fine fellow,” Aunt Shirley said, trying to reassure her. “Just give him a chance.”

Give him a chance to do what? Rob them blind? Murder them in their sleep? It was clear she would get nowhere with her family, so she let the subject rest for now. With a few well-chosen questions, she would soon ascertain the newcomer’s genealogical background as well as his intentions.

As Tucker came down the curved staircase, he saw the group huddled over a large Bible. They were probably reading the nativity story. He had serious doubts about his own sanity, agreeing to join in the Christmas celebrations when that was specifically what he’d been trying to avoid this year. If it weren’t for the brown-eyed brunette, he’d be in his room reveling in a game of solitaire right now.

If he’d been a suspicious man, he would conclude that certain women have the ability to zap men with a mysterious pheromone that robs them of their reasoning powers. If that were the case, he must have been hit with a double dose of the stuff.

By the time he entered the parlor, the group had finished their discussion or prayer or whatever, and all turned as one to face him. Discomfited by their scrutiny, Tucker glanced down to make a quick assessment of his appearance: turtleneck tucked neatly into jeans, zipper up, and both socks matched. Nope, nothing wrong there.

When he looked up, they were still staring at him. Especially the brunette. Only she seemed to be studying him harder than the others.

The sandy-haired teenager with too much makeup spoke first. “Hey, cuz.”

Tucker wrinkled his eyebrows. Cuz? He wasn’t up on teen slang, but he hoped it was a compliment.

“Glad you could join us,” said Aunt Shirley.

Oren spoke next. “She didn’t twist your arm, did she? Shirley is the bossiest woman I’ve ever had the misfortune to know.”

Rather than coming to her defense, the others smiled and nodded their agreement. Aunt Shirley smiled, too, as if she were proud of the distinction.

“No,” Tucker said, “my arms are just fine.” It was his brain he had to work on. He had come here to be alone, so why on earth was he standing amid ten strangers with the intent of celebrating the very holiday he’d been trying to avoid?

“Good,” said Aunt Shirley, “then you can climb that ladder and use those arms to string the electric lights on the tree.”

“There she goes again,” Oren griped. Turning to the proprietress of the inn, he added, “The least you could do is introduce him to everybody before you start bossing him around.”

The brunette stepped closer to Tucker. “That’s okay, I’ll take care of it.” Then she rattled off their names, pointing to each as she did so.

Aunt Shirley, he already knew, and her boyfriend Boris Schmidt. Then Oren Cooper and his wife Ada May. And their son, Dewey, who appeared to be in his fifties. Eldon and Rosemary Givens, and Brooke, their teenage daughter. The brunette’s sister, Vivian Marsh, with blue eyes so enormous she reminded him of a Siamese cat.

And, finally, the brunette.

“I’m Ruth,” she said, extending her hand.

Her hand was small yet strong. Just like the rest of her, he suspected. He couldn’t help wanting to get to know her better. Much better.

“Any of these names ring a bell?” she asked, sweeping a hand to indicate the people she’d just introduced.

Schmidt, Cooper, Givens, Marsh. He didn’t recognize the family names, but it had been a long time since he’d been home to Willow Glen. Even so, most of these people were older than his own thirty-one years, save the Marsh sisters, who appeared to be about his age or a little younger. And Brooke. Tucker shrugged, giving a gentle shake of his head.

A question niggled at the back of his mind. Assuming these people were all from Willow Glen, which was what Ruth had led him to believe by her implication that he should know them, why were they here instead of celebrating Christmas in their own homes?

Well, they’d been grilling him about his family. Now it was his turn to ask a question or two. “I’ve heard of people whose Thanksgiving tradition is to drive to the Checkered Tablecloth on the other side of town for a turkey dinner with all the trimmings. Is gathering at Willow Glen Plantation a new Christmas tradition around here?”

Ruth quirked her mouth, her lips pressing firmly together as if she weren’t satisfied with his negative response. Or the question he’d lobbed at her. “Something like that,” she said as if he should have known.

In the next few minutes, the previously tidy parlor was strewn with ornaments, bows, lights and tinsel. Ruth reeled out the seemingly endless strings of lights as he attached them to the tree. The task threatened to overwhelm him with memories of the Newland family decorating a fresh-cut tree in this room so many years ago. Stringing the lights had been Mr. Newland’s job, and he and Chris had hung the ornaments while Mrs. Newland stood back and pointed out bare spots. The only thing that kept him from bolting from the room was the woman who stood at his elbow, patiently handing up lights. And every time their hands touched, he had to fight the urge to pull her to him and kiss her breathless.

All the while, she kept firing questions at him. The only explanation he could imagine was that she thought he looked familiar and was trying to establish how they may have first met.

He could have come right out and told her they’d never seen each other before this evening, but he liked the sound of her voice. Despite his earlier need for solitude, he found himself enjoying the company of the tiny woman with the giant curiosity.

When he claimed no knowledge of the various names she threw at him, her attitude seemed to change from curiosity to misgiving. Maybe she was finally figuring out that, although he might look familiar, they’d never met before today.

By the time they finished the tree, they’d settled into an uneasy silence. Tucker didn’t know what had derailed their conversation. He didn’t think he’d said anything out of the way. He’d tried asking her a few questions, like what part of Willow Glen she was from, but that seemed to make her even more edgy. So he turned his attention to the other guests and surprised himself by having a good time. For a brief while, the laughter and joking made him forget why he’d come to Willow Glen…and Willow Glen Plantation in particular. After the tree was finished and he’d helped put away the excess decorations, he excused himself and returned to his room.

Ruth watched him go up the stairs.

“The rear view is just as interesting as the front, eh?” Vivian teased.

“Yeah, but he has no business being here.”

“Are you still on that?” Vivian put a hand to her perfectly styled bottle-blond hair. “Why can’t you just leave the guy alone? He seems really nice. Very charming, if you ask me.”

“So did Ted Bundy, but I wouldn’t want him crashing my family reunion.”

“Who’s crashing our family reunion?” Brooke demanded. “Cousin Tucker?”

“He’s not our cousin,” Ruth insisted.

Brooke smiled broadly. “Cool. I call dibsies on him.”

Ruth rolled her eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous. For all we know, he could be an escaped convict.”

“Or maybe he’s with the Internal Revenue Service, and he’s snooping around for unreported income,” Vivian suggested. She smoothed her soft red sweater over her slim hips. “I wouldn’t mind him looking over my form. In fact, he can audit me anytime.”