Christmas at Mistletoe Lodge: New Holiday Romances to Benefit St. Jude Hospital

by Sabrina York

  Her response was, “Oh, could you have one of the servant people bring us some Doritos?”

  Servant people?

  “And sodas,” one of her posse reminded her.

  “Yes. And sodas please. Diet only. Cold. Nothing off-brand,” Farley clarified.

  “Certainly.”

  “Oh. Ask her for green M&Ms.” Again, from the peanut gallery, this time from the young nymph with the Chihuahua on her lap and a bad case of resting sneer.

  Farley’s brow wrinkled. “Why, Tressa? I don’t even like the green ones.”

  Tressa sniffed. “Because then they have to go separate them out. Wouldn’t that be hilarious?”

  “That’s just stupid.” Farley turned back to me. “Just the Doritos and soda.” She tipped her head to the side. “But you could also bring some M&Ms, I suppose. I can eat around the green ones.” I was humbled by her generosity.

  “Right away.” I hoped to God we had Doritos and M&Ms in the pantry.

  It went on like this for the rest of the afternoon. Running errand after errand—while trying to avoid the attention of an overly ardent Carlo and Coop’s snickers. Ugh.

  Thank God the masseurs packed up and left on time—taking Carlo with them (extra thank God) and the guests retreated to their rooms to get ready for dinner.

  I practically held my breath. Hoping, praying, nothing happened to change their plans.

  And yes. As soon as they left, the whole energy of the place changed. It was easy to pretend that this was our house for Christmas and we were the special ones.

  Of course, we didn’t dare eat dinner in the main house—not when we’d have to be the ones to clean it all up. We all gathered together in the tiny staff kitchen for the meal instead. It was warm, intimate, and surprisingly homey. Noel had made us a Mexican fiesta, for some reason. I wasn’t looking forward to it, but surprisingly, I enjoyed it. The conversation was quick and witty and I found myself laughing more than I intended. I got to know Mungo and Christie better—between whom I was sandwiched—which was nice, because I didn’t work much with Coop’s team.

  And Mason was there too. Apparently, he’d adopted me as his new best friend, setting his long wet snout on my jeans and drooling all over my leg while I ate. Coop laughed and said Mason just knew who the softie was, but I was pretty sure if there was a softie at the table, it sure wasn’t me.

  But I did give the hound some scraps because he seemed to really enjoy Mexican food. And then, when Coop asked me to stop because beans gave Mason the hot farts, I did it under the table.

  It was a wonderful break, and a really lovely meal, but we needed to get back to work. When I stood, nearly everyone groaned.

  “Party pooper,” Coop said.

  I gave him a reproving glance. “We need to do turndowns,” I reminded them all. In a house that large, with that many bedrooms and bathrooms, it could take a while to tidy everything up. Especially with this particular clientele. “Also, Whit mentioned the adults might want a nightcap when they return.”

  Olivia nodded and set down her napkin. “I’ll go set up the bar.”

  “Thank you,” I said. “And, Ben, can we make sure the hot tub is at 102°?”

  “Will do.”

  We all split up then to get back to work. Well, my team. Cooper and his people had work to do preparing for tomorrow’s events. I had no idea what they were doing, I just hoped all the guests went with him, or Ken, because the house was so nice with no one there.

  I was in the great room with Ben, trying to get the big screen TV to play YouTube, as Farley had asked, when Wren came into the room.

  “Excuse me, Victoria?”

  “Yes, Wren?”

  “I’m going through the bar and I can’t find the Don Julio tequila. The 1942? Jamison’s mother specifically asked for it.”

  I frowned. That particular bottle was over a hundred dollars a pop. Had one of the staff helped themselves? That was a huge no-no. “I thought we had two bottles in the bar?”

  She nodded. “We did.”

  Yikes. “Can you do another search? Just to make sure it hasn’t been mislaid?”

  “Sure. Uh…”

  I looked at her. “Yes?”

  “Should we search the guests’ rooms?”

  “Why don’t you go up now and do turndowns. Have a look around.” Honestly, the liquor was for the guests. If they wanted it, it was here for them. What I didn’t want was to have a guest ask for a specific thing, and not have it on hand. It wasn’t like there was a liquor store around the block.

  A short while later, Wren returned with our two bottles of Don Julio 1942— bone dry. Her brows arched into her dark bangs. “I found these in Jamison’s room. I guess he drank all of it.”

  Awesome. “Okay. Double check in the storage shed. It’s a popular vintage. We might have a bottle or two in there.”

  She grimaced. “The storage shed? It’s creepy.” Gosh. I thought all Goths liked creepy stuff. Kids. I’ll never understand them.

  “Then take someone with you.”

  My mind spun. How could I get my hands on more Don Julio 1942 by the time Carmella came back from dinner? I knew she was going to ask for it. Did they deliver tequila by drone? “Do we have other tequila?”

  Wren snorted a laugh. “Loads.”

  Okay. There was that. If push came to shove, at least we had tequila.

  I’ll admit, it flashed through my mind to refill the bottles with a different tequila. I mean, I would never do that to a guest—lie or make up facts—unless the alternative was worse. In this case, the alternative was worse: Not having something in a Don Julio bottle when it was specifically requested.

  My only other option was telling Carmella her son drank all her tequila—and I really didn’t want to ruin that poor boy’s Christmas.

  I never wanted to ruin anybody’s Christmas. It was kind of my rule of thumb. Only, every day is Christmas. But especially Christmas, Christmas.

  Thank God Wren found another bottle of Don Julio 1942 in the (creepy) storage shed. I was so relieved because, frankly, I was well aware of what could happen, should Carmella have a sophisticated tequila palate and call us on our little ploy.

  Please God, no. The stuff of which nightmares are made.

  “All right.” I stiffened my spine. “We have tequila. Let’s keep that bottle under lock and key from now on. Oh, and when you serve this, treat it as though this is the most expensive tequila you’ve ever poured. Right?”

  “Small servings?” She grinned at me. I realized this was the first time I’d seen her smile. I suspected, maybe, this would be her favorite thing that happened all week. “Very small.” I winked, and she winked back.

  Bottom line…we were collaborators, and somehow, for some reason, that created a bond. It was nice.

  When the guests returned from dinner, it was late, and most of the staff had gone to bed in preparation for the big snow day tomorrow. Only Wren, Ben, and I were still awake to greet them.

  It seemed, somehow, that their numbers had swelled.

  The teens, as always, plowed past us into the great room to the TV—which was playing—hoorah!—YouTube. I tried to do a quick head count but got lost at ten.

  “Did you have a nice dinner?” I asked Whit.

  “Shore did.” He patted his stomach. “We ran into some friends. I hope it’s okay that we brought them back.”

  Back?

  Yikes.

  “How many?”

  “Five. Two adults and three kids.”

  Egads. Five more beds? We had extra bunks, but they were in the (creepy) storage shed, which would require schlepping them over—probably not a job for Wren, all things considered. And then, of course, we’d have to make the beds. How long would all that take?

  “Sure. No problem. When do you all think you’ll want to turn in?”

  He grinned sheepishly. “We’re pretty tuckered.”

  So, now. Great. Awesome. “No worries.” I turned to Ben and let him know what we ne
eded. He nodded and headed to the staff lodge to get Jed to help him. Wren and I headed upstairs to determine where the beds would be set and to find five extra sets of clean sheets. She didn’t need supervising once we decided which rooms could accommodate other beds, so I headed back down to see if anyone else needed anything.

  Other than Carmella, and her Don Julio, there were no taxing requests. Still, my heart thudded as I watched her take the first shot, as everyone looked on. Her expression tightened. Her mouth puckered, and she gusted a deep, satisfied sigh. “Ah, Don Julio 1942,” she said. “Always the best.”

  “Would you like some more?” I asked, and had the sudden feeling I was her new best friend.

  “Oh, please.”

  Once Carmella started drinking, the other adults joined in—thank God not asking for the precious nectar of agave. Pretty soon it was a full blown cocktail party. If by cocktail party you mean adults boozing it up on one end of the room while the kids fought over the remote on the other.

  The early night Whit had so teasingly promised never materialized.

  I sent Wren and Ben to bed at midnight and stayed up with the guests until slowly, one by one, they drifted upstairs, leaving the kids alone.

  At that point, I had the blood-curdling realization that I was suddenly a chaperone for someone else’s children, which was a job I did not want. I also felt decidedly out of place. The kids kept looking over their shoulder at me, as though waiting for me to leave, or maybe grow a second nose. But I couldn’t leave. Not until they went to bed. It was my job to stay up in case they needed anything.

  Yay. I love my job!

  Finally, they all decided it was time for bed, and headed up the stairs. I’m not gonna lie and say I wasn’t relieved. It had been a long day, and I was bushed. I did a quick tidy up of the great room and the bar, and then headed for bed, where I dropped, fully clothed.

  “Wake up.”

  “G’way,” I responded. I didn’t want to wake up.

  “Oh, please wake up, Victoria.” Olivia’s voice was like fingernails on a chalkboard.

  I cracked open a lid. It was still dark so I closed it again. “What is it?”

  “It’s the boys. They’re all sick.”

  I sat up in a shot. “Sick?”

  As horrible as it was, my first thought was, thank God we hadn’t fed them dinner. Someone else had made these very rich people sick. Not very charitable of me, I know, but there you have it.

  When I got up there, to Jamison’s room, I knew it wasn’t food that had made them all sick. The smell of it hung on the air. It was a smell I knew well, from my youthful stupidity.

  They must have gone back downstairs after I’d left and drank themselves stupid. I mean, really stupid. There were four boys in Jamison’s suite. Four very drunk boys and only one toilet. Need I say more?

  It was a mess.

  I decided to start with the root of the problem, rather than the still-erupting symptoms, and had Wren make four doses of my famous hangover cocktail. I knew it worked from personal experience.

  And then, once I had determined no one had alcohol poisoning—which was a very real thing and had happened before more than once during my career—I went and woke up Carmella. Because, seriously? This was her circus. And her monkeys.

  She chattered at the miserable boys while Wren and I bravely tackled the bathroom. I won’t go into detail. You’re welcome.

  After that was done, I felt the need to take a shower. And after that, I dropped back into bed, wondering what on earth I had been thinking, when I thought this job was exciting and fun.

  6

  I woke up way too early the next morning, considering the delights of the night before. One might assume that I was so enthusiastic about my life, I couldn’t bear to sleep through a moment, but it wasn’t that. It was a bone-chilling scream that woke me up.

  My eyes snapped open and I stared into the darkness, quivering, waiting for another sound to give me some insight on what had just happened. And yeah, another shrill scream reverberated from the room next to mine. I leaped out of bed and padded into the living room and to the bunkroom door, from which these sounds were emanating. I was about to knock, when another scream ensued.

  So I opened the door.

  Jed sat on his bunk watching a movie on his tablet. He was glued to the screen, his mouth agape.

  “Hey, Jed?”

  He shrieked and bounded off the bed, then whirled around to face me. He slapped his hand to his chest. “Oh, Vic. You scared me. Don’t do that!”

  “Um, sorry? Would you mind turning that down? It’s early.”

  “Oh. Sure.” He gaped at me as though he’d only just worked out the fact that other people lived in this tiny cabin too. Then he grunted and complied.

  Realizing I was not going back to sleep anytime soon, I headed to the kitchen, grabbed a cup of coffee and sat next to Ben at the table. He looked sleepy, but determined to finish his coffee. “Does it creep you out that Jed likes to watch murdery movies at a remote mountain lodge in the wilderness? Or is it just me?” I asked, taking a sip.

  He laughed. “Probably just you.”

  “Of course.”

  “Hey, Vic.” He shot a look at me. “I’ve been meaning to ask.”

  “Yeah?”

  “So, you and Rocky?”

  “You mean Cooper?”

  “Right. Are you a thing?”

  I took a snort of my java. “Ancient history.”

  “Yeah. But…history.”

  “We’re talking crumbling-mummy history. As in dead.”

  “Okay.”

  I frowned at him. “What do you mean by that?”

  “Okay? I mean, okay. It’s just that…”

  “What?”

  He winked at me. “It doesn’t seem like it’s dead. Whatever that is. You know?”

  I could only think of one response. “Humph.”

  He leaned closer. “So, give me some dirt. Why do they call him Rocky?”

  “They do not call him Rocky.” I gusted a breath. “No one ever calls him Rocky. He calls himself Rocky.”

  “I just want to know why. Why the nickname?”

  “It’s stupid.”

  “All the more reason to tell me.”

  “Okay. But it’s dumb.”

  “Spill.”

  “Ugh. I hate this story. Okay. When we were kids he used to get drunk and sing to the moon.”

  Ben chuckled. “That sounds about normal.”

  “But he always sang the same stupid song.”

  “Rocky’s theme song, right?”

  “Yeah. You’d think that. But no. Rocky Raccoon. By John Lennon? How many times did I have to listen to that song? And he sings off key.”

  “I most certainly do not.”

  I should have known he’d be lurking somewhere.

  “Oooh. Rocky Raccoon!” Ben sang as he pointed at Coop, whose hair was slicked back from his shower. Damn, he looked good.

  “Do you even know the song?” Coop asked him.

  Ben laughed. “Before my time, old man.”

  Coop rolled his eyes. “Shut up, pup. It’s a great song.”

  “Anyway, that’s why we started calling him Rocky.”

  “She called me Rocky too,” Coop said, dropping an arm around my shoulder. “She loved calling me Rocky.”

  I stiffened my upper lip. “All lies. Anyway, there you have it. From the Diary of the Young and Stupid.”

  “Eh,” Coop said. “We weren’t that stupid.”

  “We were very stupid. Some of us ran off and joined the Navy for no reason.” I took a slurp of coffee to show my nonchalance, despite the fact that my cup was empty.

  “I had a good reason to join the Navy.”

  “Such as?”

  “I wanted to join the Navy.”

  “And what about Barbie Malone?”

  I flinched. Oh, God. I wish I hadn’t brought her up. I didn’t want to know what happened between him and Barbie Malone.


  He smiled. Widely. “Barbie, who?”

  “You know who.”

  “Gosh, Vic. That was years ago. I didn’t know that was still bugging you.”

  “It’s not bugging me.” It wasn’t.

  “No? Then why did you bring her up?”

  Why? Because the two of them went together, didn’t they? Coop leaving me, and Coop leaving me for Barbie? Couldn’t he see that?

  “Just forget I said anything.”

  “Is that why you thought I left?” God, he was persistent.

  Ben cleared his throat. “Maybe I should leave?”

  “No.” I bounded to my feet. “No need. Coop and I have worked all this out. We’re friends and coworkers. Right?” I speared him with a look.

  He did that little thing where he stroked his lower lip for a minute. “Right. That’s the plan for the week. Friends and coworkers.” Something in his smile sent a shimmer of…something down my spine. But, I had work to do and employees to supervise and all that shit. I didn’t have time for this. Without a word, I left. The guests would be waking up any minute for their fun snow day—those who weren’t hungover, at least. All I had to do was get them out the door and then, I could relax.

  “Vic—” Coop called as I left. But I didn’t turn back.

  Naturally, he followed. He caught up with me on the porch of the back entrance to the big house. I didn’t want to have this confrontation in front of the guests, so I refused to open the door.

  He didn’t seem to care where we had this out. He was simply determined to do so. Which I found a little nerve-wracking, although I had no idea why.

  Maybe because he took my arm and turned me to face him. “Do you really think I left you for Barbie Malone?”

  I pulled away. “Are we still discussing this?”

  “Oh, you better believe we are.” He put a hand on each of my shoulders, gently, of course, or I would have smacked him. “Seriously. You think I left you because I had the hots for Barbie Malone?”

  “Isn’t that what happened?” Because in my version of history, it did.

  “I left you because you told me to go.”

  “And you hooked right up with Barbie.”

  “I didn’t hook up with her. I ended up with her because you didn’t want me anymore. And I was miserable. With her. Without you. That’s when I joined the Navy.” He crossed his arms and humphed. “They wanted me.”