Mistoletoe Surprise: An Older Man Younger Woman Christmas Romance

by Crowne, K. C.

  Mistoletoe Surprise

  An Older Man Younger Woman Christmas Romance

  K.C. Crowne

  Copyright © 2019 by K.C. Crowne

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Also by K.C. Crowne

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Epilogue

  Daddy’s Best Friend (Preview)

  About the Author

  Also by K.C. Crowne

  Knocked up by the Mountain Man Series :

  Knocked Up by the Mountain Man| Baby for the Mountain Man| Junior for the Mountain Man| Daddy’s Best Friend

  Bearded Brother’s Mountain Man Series

  Her Mountain Daddy| Beauty and the Beard| Bride and the Beard| Built and Bearded

  Firemen Fantasies Series

  His One Night| His Hose| His Baby

  Mountain Daddies Books:

  The Storm| Her Mountain Brothers| Mountain Man’s Treat|

  Surprise Daddies Series

  Doctor Daddy| Taboo Daddy| Royally Damaged| Boss Man| Knocked Up by My Brother’s Best Friend

  Triple Team Reverse Harem Series

  Men on a Mission| Christmas with Four Firemen| Dirty Cowboys

  Chapter 1

  Cindy

  If I hadn’t felt like a total failure already, the sight of the Manhattan skyline disappearing under the horizon would’ve done the job pretty damn well. I tilted the rear-view mirror to make the sight vanish from my view. Maybe a little bit of a safety hazard, but I didn’t care.

  I couldn’t believe I was leaving. It had been a year since I’d graduated with top honors from NYU, marketing degree in hand, dreams of taking over the city in my head. I’d been convinced that New York was mine for the taking. I had it all planned out – well-paying job within three months, studio apartment in Bushwick within a year after that, and by twenty-five I’d be easily pulling down six figures and trying to decide if I wanted the cute walk-up in the West Village or the hip loft in Chelsea.

  Well, a year had gone by alright. And I had none of those things to show for it. What I had instead was a wallet full of maxed-out credit cards and barely enough money in my account to cover the trip home to my dad’s ranch in Pennsylvania.

  How the hell did it all go so wrong? It was the question I’d been pondering ever since the night a few months ago when I’d crunched the numbers and realized, to my horror, there was simply no way I would be able to make life in New York work.

  It started with my shit luck finding a job. I thought it would be so easy – I’d graduated from a damn Ivy League school, after all. Employers should’ve been climbing all over one another for a chance to get me on their payroll. But I’d gone from interview to interview with not a shred of luck.

  Turns out I’d been caught in the trap of needing experience to have a job and needed a job to have experience. Sure, there’d been a couple offers for unpaid internships, but how the hell was I going to swing working a nine-to-five for no money?

  No, those kinds of situations were for rich kids whose parents could subsidize their New York lifestyles while they worked for free. Dad made decent money, but not “pay for his daughter’s apartment in Brooklyn” money. And besides, he’d already stretched himself thin getting me through four years in school. The last thing I wanted was for him to go to the poorhouse on my account.

  I kept on driving, the city in which I’d dreamed of making it big disappearing behind me. But about an hour out, I decided that the self-pitying had reached its limit. I needed to get my head right, and fast. I was not going to spend the entire six-hour drive home beating myself up.

  I adjusted the rear-view mirror, glancing at my reflection and inhaling deeply before speaking. “OK – this isn’t a big deal. Not even a little. You tried your luck in New York and it didn’t work out. But that’s only because you thought it’d be a walk in Central Park. You got your ass handed to you and got the humbling you deserve. It’s not like you got banned from the city or something. Just go back home, work with Dad for a little while, and get yourself ready to come back. Because you’re going to come back as many times as it takes until you’re the freaking success you know you’re destined to be.”

  Positive self-talk – it was a trick I’d picked up during one of the mental wellness seminars at NYU. I’d always been the confident sort, but even I had bouts of anxiety and doubt. And that drive was shaping up to definitely be one of them. Speaking out loud, saying positive, self-supportive things was evidently a way to stop anxiety spirals in their tracks. Did it work? Maybe a little. I’d always felt a little crazy looking in the mirror and talking to myself, though. Seemed like something a crazy person would do.

  As soon as I finished talking myself up, however, I caught a glimpse of the backseat of my car, which was stuffed with boxes that contained the few belongings I hadn’t sold in a desperate attempt to afford a few more months in the city. Mostly clothes, a few books, some framed art I no longer had a wall to hang on. It was beyond depressing. So much for a gorgeous one-bedroom appointed with the cutest furniture in the city. But at least I’d be home for the holidays.

  I shook my head, doing my best to banish the pointless, defeatist thinking. But it lingered. Thankfully, the phone rang at that moment, snapping me back to reality. I glanced at the screen and saw that it was Dad. A quick swipe of the screen and he was on speakerphone.

  “Hey, Dad!” I did my best to sound cheery and upbeat – the exact opposite of how I felt.

  “Hey, Sprout! You on the road yet?” Sprout had been his nickname for me since I was a kid, a crack about how fast I’d grown into my 5’9” height, mixed with some Dad-suitable corny farm humor.

  I glanced in the rearview mirror again; the city was long, long gone behind me. “Yeah, I’m on the road. Should be there sometime around late afternoon.”

  “Perfect. Can’t wait to see you, kid. What do you think you’re gonna want to do tonight?”

  A tinge of sadness ran through me. Really, I would probably spend the evening in my old room recounting the failures that had brought me to that point. But there was no doubt Dad felt the total opposite. If anything, he was probably beaming with joy that his daughter would be safe back home, away from the big, scary city.

  While I’d always dreamed of a life in New York, all Dad had wanted for me was a little house down the road not too far from him, a nice husband who worked in town, and maybe even a few grandkids he could horse around with. He’d always pulled for me, but there was definite relief in his voice when I’d made the call telling him I was coming back home.

  So, my arriving was something like a celebration…for him. Hardly felt like that for me, of course.

  “Um, I don’t know. Maybe just chill. Probably be tired from the drive.”

  �
�Sure, sure. You’ve had a busy week of moving and getting ready to come back, I know. But I was thinking if you were up to it, we could go out to the Tea Kettle and grab a bite to eat, maybe have some of that famous Dutch apple pie afterwards. My treat, of course.”

  I could almost hear his smile through the phone, and damn if it wasn’t infectious. I was an only child, and after Mom had passed, I was all he had other than the ranch. Sometimes I bristled at his attempts to keep me close and safe, but I’d have been lying if I said that his love for me didn’t get me through some rough times.

  “Yeah, that sounds good. We’ll have to see how I feel, though. Might want to take it easy.”

  “Whatever the sprout wants, the sprout gets. But you’ve got everything you need for the drive? Good night’s sleep, gas money, all that?”

  Truth be told, last night’s sleep had been hell. I’d tossed and turned, trying to fight the tears as I looked around my darkened room, the walls bare and everything packed into boxes. All I could think about was the fact that it was my last night in town, how the next day I’d be leaving the city on my drive of shame back home.

  But Dad didn’t need to know that. He worried about me enough already.

  “Yeah!” I pumped all the enthusiasm I could muster into the word. “Slept well, money for the road, weather’s looking good. Drive should be just fine.”

  “Perfect. Still wish you would’ve let me come get you. Don’t like going to New York, but I’d sure feel a hell of a lot better if I was the one doing the driving.”

  Dad had proposed the idea and I’d shot it down as quickly as I could without sounding rude. I appreciated the offer, but something about my dad coming to pick me up from New York to take me home would’ve made me feel even more like a little girl who’d made a stupid mistake her parent needed to save her from.

  No – as silly as it might’ve sounded, I would at least make the drive by myself.

  “Thanks, but I got it.”

  “Always the independent one.” A beat of silence passed. “Kid, I know your time in the city didn’t work out like you wanted. But you’re gonna see that it’s for the best. Everything happens for a reason, you know?”

  “I know. But it sure doesn’t feel that way.”

  “Trust me. You’re gonna be back home soon wondering why you were so dead-set on New York in the first place.”

  “Maybe.” My voice trailed off, sadness washing over me.

  “Ah, anyway,” he continued, sensing my emotions. “I’ll let you get back to it – don’t wanna distract you too much. But promise you’ll call if you need anything, or if you want me to meet you and drive with, OK?”

  I smiled, knowing Dad would drop everything to join me on the highway if that’s what I wanted.

  “Nah, don’t need to do that. I’ll be fine. Call you when I’m about a half-hour away, OK?”

  “Sounds great. Love you, kid.”

  “Love you too.”

  I ended the call. Silence returned to the car, and as much as I hated to admit it, tears formed in my eyes. I felt hopeless and silly and like a total failure. And hearing Dad’s words made me wonder if he was right, if New York had been some stupid dream and it was better to have it ruined sooner than later.

  What if I was wrong? What if a successful New York life wasn’t what I was meant to have? I’d been so sure of it, ever since I was a kid watching Woody Allen movies, my jaw slacked at the sight of the sweeping shots of the Manhattan skyline. To me, the city was romance and adventure and style and everything I could ever want in a life.

  But now it was a memory.

  “Ugh!” My voice filled the car, tinged with frustration. I needed something to fill the silence and took my eyes off the road for long enough to fiddle with my phone and get some music going. Moments later, David Bowie was pumping through the speakers and making me feel a little less crappy.

  The drive dragged on, and I didn’t bother stopping except when the car needed a fill-up. The hours ticked by, and I spent most of the time trying not to dwell on the situation I’d found myself in. But one of the things about long drives is having nothing to do but think.

  And on top of everything, my dating life had been a disaster. Well, to be fair, it needed to exist to be a disaster. I’d been so wrapped up trying to scrape by that I hadn’t managed to go on a single date since graduating. Not that I was really looking for love or anything like that –still a virgin, after all, with no intention of giving that away to just anyone— but still. Didn’t every girl in New York dream of some dashing, handsome man sweeping her off her feet?

  I went back and forth, the miles slowly ticking down until I passed Pittsburgh and spotted the first sign for Springford Valley, my hometown. And home again, evidently.

  The traces of urban landscape from the outskirts of Pittsburgh dwindled away until I was surrounded by nothing but rural vistas, only the occasional farmhouse in the distance breaking up the scenery.

  And soon I was home, driving through the small but bustling downtown of Springford Valley, population fifteen thousand. A few turns later and I was in my neighborhood, then on my street. Before too long I was pulling up to the small ranch house where I’d grown up, the sights and smells of the animals and crops wafting in through the cracked window.

  For better or worse, I was back. Home again.

  Chapter 2

  Cindy

  Dad stepped out at the moment I killed the engine. He was all smiles, his hands in his faded blue jeans, the thumbs hooked onto the sides of the pockets, a pair of dark brown work boots and yellow and black checkered flannel completing the look. It didn’t matter how cold it got, I’d hardly ever seen my father in anything more than flannel. The Pennsylvania winters had “thickened his blood” as he’d like to say.

  I had Dad’s genes all the way. We had the same ink-black, straight hair, shimmering blue eyes, fair skin, and sharp features. He was a tall guy too, standing at over six feet. I wasn’t quite at that height, but I was definitely tall for a woman. But while Dad had the ruddy, rough look of a man who’d spent his life working outdoors and with his hands, I had an urban softness to me, a college girl all the way.

  Was this my fate? Was I going to move back home and work on the farm? Dad was a hard worker and I’d always respected his job, but I couldn’t imagine it being for me. I’d always imagined myself in an office in a high rise, dressed in professional and stylish clothes as I managed important affairs and attended meetings with high-powered New Yorkers. Had I been deluding myself?

  “Hey, Sprout!” Dad took his hands out of his pockets and stretched his arms wide for a big hug.

  “Hey, Da—” I didn’t even manage to get the word out before I was in his embrace.

  It felt good, not going to lie. Dad loved me to pieces, and I felt the same way. Despite everything that had brought me back here, being in his arms made me feel good, safe, like somehow everything was going to be OK.

  Whether it was, that would remain to be seen.

  The bear hug lasted for several seconds before Dad finally let me go. When he did, his hands went right to my shoulders, holding me in place as if I might vanish at any moment. “My baby girl’s back.” He shook his head like he couldn’t believe it. “Back home.”

  Back home. I knew it was going to be a while before I could even begin to figure out how I felt about that whole prospect. The sight of Manhattan vanishing in the distance was still fresh in my mind.

  Dad glanced at my car over my shoulder. “So glad you didn’t sell that thing like you wanted.”

  “Not so sure about that,” I said. “You ever paid car insurance in New York City? I had to move coming back a month or two ahead just because of how much that thing was costing me.”

  The warm, beaming smile stayed on his face. “In that case, I’m glad as hell you kept it. Anything that gets my girl back to me sooner.”

  I appreciated the sentiment and loved Dad for it, but it reminded me that he still viewed me as his baby girl. I love
d the man with all my heart, but he’d always had a hard time with the idea of letting me go. Sure, with Mom gone it made sense. But still…

  “Anyway, let me help you with your bags.”

  “More than bags,” I reminded him. “Bags and boxes and everything else I own. Which isn’t much.”

  He waved his hand through the air. “Well, why don’t we worry about that later. Come on in – I put on some coffee a little bit ago.”

  Dad pulled me in for one more tight hug before wrapping his arm around my shoulders and leading me up the stairs. He opened the screen door and I stepped into my house.

  Home. I’d stopped growing – at least physically-- a while back. But somehow the place managed to seem ever smaller than before. It wasn’t a big house, but Dad made it cozy. And it was decorated about the same as it had been since Mom had passed a few years ago. I knew he didn’t have the heart to change how she’d done up the place. And not only that, but interior décor wasn’t exactly his thing.

  Moments later we were in the kitchen, the early evening light coming in on beams that caught the bits of dust floating through the air. The scent of coffee was warm and inviting, and I was happy to drop into one of the open chairs at the long farmer’s table that dominated the room.

  “Let me get you your coffee, kiddo. Light on the cream, heavy on the sugar, right?”