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

by Sabrina York

  She laughed. “Why should he be? He knows if we get out and approach him, all he has to do is turn those big ugly teeth our direction and we’d high tail it back to this car. Besides, he’s sound asleep.”

  Mack opened his car door. “I’ve got to get a closer look. You coming?”

  “Uh—No! I’m better off with several thousand pounds of steel and four wheels between me and that prehistoric creature. Hurry before another vehicle comes along.”

  Mack took several cautious steps toward the gator, his phone in hand, camera app ready to get a picture. He’d taken several shots—then zoomed in close for some video when the animal opened its eyes. Its huge head turned slowly toward him. The gator let out a short, low grunt and whipped its long tail toward him.

  “Okay, big fella—I’ll leave you to your business.” Mack headed for the car, his gait unhurried until Natalie blew the horn, waving her hands frantically, and called out through her open window to “Run!”

  He sprinted to the car without looking back and jumped inside, his heart thundering in his chest.

  She placed her hand on his arm, her eyes wide with alarm. “That was so close, Mack—he nearly got you!”

  He craned his neck out of his passenger window trying to find the gator—eventually found it—in the exact same spot ahead of them. He turned slowly to face his chauffeur. Only then did Nat remove the hand she had clamped over her mouth, bursting into raucous laughter. He waited until her snorts transitioned into quiet chuckles. “You took five years off of my life, and don’t seem a bit sorry.”

  She wiped tears of laughter from her eyes. “If you’re crazy enough to get that close to a live gator for a picture, you had it coming. You could have taken the same shots from inside the car.”

  “That thing never moved from his spot,” he protested.

  “But he could have. Don’t let that log-like appearance fool you. Those things can move fast when they want to and people can trip over their own feet trying to get out of their way. Next thing you know, the gator’s got those jaws clamped around an ankle or leg and it’s performing that ‘death roll’ in the water with you as lunch.”

  He placed his hand over his chest, willing his heartbeat to return to normal. “I’ll give you that one. Lesson learned.”

  She put the car in drive. “It would have been a shame for you to come all the way down here just to become gator take-out.”

  She made a valid point, but Mack focused his gaze outside his window rather than admit it. “I recognize some of the same types of water plants that we have up in our own lakes and marshes—cattails, lilies, duckweed—I guess that stuff will grow anywhere.” They drove on with a large canal running parallel to the right side of the road. Marshland stretched out on both sides, some crowded with what Nat called salt grass.

  They got to an intersection and stopped in front of a small store. Mack sent a curious look Nat’s direction at the store’s name. “T-Boy’s?”

  “It’s a Cajun thing,” she explained. “When you see ‘T' in front of anything, it generally means little.”

  He nodded and they drove further south where the homes gradually transitioned to stilted structures, raised to avoid the inevitable storm surges. They took a left at the next intersection, passed South Cameron high school and several nice homes in the area. He waved at a young woman digging in a flower bed in one of the homes, a little boy with blond curls playing in the yard beside her.

  Mack checked his phone’s GPS. “We were supposed to turn right back there at that intersection.” They doubled back and eventually turned south at a Rutherford Beach road sign. An ever present canal accompanied the two lane paved road on one side. Mack stared out across the grassy marsh to the north, could see the school they’d just passed on the opposite side.

  A few winding turns later and Mack’s breath caught at his first glimpse of the gulf. “That’s beautiful.”

  Natalie parked near a small picnic area with a covered slab housing four concrete picnic tables and a couple of grills for public use. Four port-a-potties, aligned in a row like multicolored sentinels, stood to the north of the area, across a wide patch of sand.

  Mac exited the car first, stopped in front of a large post with several multi-colored wooden signs tacked vertically to the surface. Its message, reading from top to bottom over six rough pieces of wood—Please leave nothing but your footprints—a constant reminder to all visitors not to litter. He walked across a stretch of loose, dry sand to reach the compact wet sand at the water’s edge.

  Waves crashed around him as far as he could see, white with froth. The call of a gull pierced the air, a sharp punctuation to the constant batter of waves and surf. He followed the bird’s flight across the beach, watched its graceful glide and flawless landing several yards away.

  Mack scanned the deserted beach to the east. The not quite white sand littered only with occasional pieces of driftwood and thousands of small colorful shells. Beach houses of different colors, shapes, and sizes dotted the beach westward as far as he could see, their common factors being elevation and stilts.

  Natalie appeared at his side. “It’s not quite clear enough to see all of them, but I bet there are dozens of oil drilling platforms out there.” She pointed to a couple of the closest rigs, barely visible through the mist and cloudy conditions. “Still, it’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

  “It is,” he agreed.

  “I never get tired of looking at it.” She took a step forward and picked up a seashell, the perfectly shaped surface a blend of purples and pinks. “Here, a souvenir from your trip south.”

  Mack and Nat spent the next hour walking the deserted strip of beach slowly, from one end to the other. Head to head, they stood in one spot and compared their cache of seashells. A child’s laughter cut through the air, drawing their attention to a couple walking with a toddler.

  “Aw, look at that beautiful little girl, Mack. I wonder if this is her first trip to the beach.”

  Her tone, a strange combination of joy and sadness, prodded his curiosity. “I’ve never been married, Nat, so no children for me. But you were, for eight years. I bet you’d make a great mom, so why don’t you have any?”

  She sucked in her lips and closed her eyes. “We tried. For years we tried. Tests determined I was okay.” She took a deep breath, as though fortifying herself for the rest of her speech. “Craig would have been fine with no children, but I wanted them so badly. So …” She paused to swallow. “He—he was on his way to a clinic to have tests run when—when it happened.” She blinked several times and wiped at her eyes. “There’s this small part of me that feels—I don’t know—if I hadn’t wanted children …”

  He grasped at her hand, clutched it between both of his. Her fingers had already turned icy in the chill of the moist gulf breeze whipping off the water. “Don’t do that to yourself, Nat. You have no way of knowing what would have happened. My dad would have died from his stroke whether I’d been there or not. People leave us when it’s their time.”

  Natalie placed her free hand on his chest and looked up into his face, her green eyes sparkling with unshed tears. “I do know that in my heart. I know Craig wouldn’t have wanted me to feel any kind of guilt over what happened. It sill creeps in.”

  Mack waited until she lowered her head before wrapping his arms around her. He held her there, hugging, swaying slowly in the breeze, surrounded by the mesmerizing sounds of wind and surf. They parted eventually, and began the slow walk back toward the car, their fingers linked lightly. They reached the car and broke the contact, each retreating to their own side.

  Mack closed the door on the sounds of the gulf waters. The absence left him with an empty feeling, had him missing both the sound and the touch of her fingers linked in his. They drove back to the lodge with the radio tuned low to a country station, each too wrapped up in their own thoughts to carry on any kind of meaningful conversation.

  They arrived back at the lodge by noon, and joined the Brunson’s in fr
ont of the living area’s 70” flat screen to watch the Saints play at Titans. Drew Brees, the Saints quarterback, had fully recuperated from his hand surgery earlier that season and played. The three Saints fans had made it easy for Mack to get wrapped up in their enthusiasm—he found himself pulling for their team.

  Mack retreated to his room afterwards, sat alone in silent reflection of the day. Images of Natalie at the beach replayed in his mind. Had he done the right thing by prodding her the way he had—when clearly he’d reopened old wounds, brought her to tears? Maybe he should have apologized. He could next time he saw her, but that would bring it all back and he didn’t want her revisiting that pain.

  How would Nat have reacted if he’d taken his impulse to hold her a single step further? What would she have done if he’d kissed her on that beach? He’d wanted to—had resisted the urge. He dropped his head heavily on the back of the overstuffed chair, wondering if he’d been a fool to let the opportunity pass him by.

  6

  By 4:00 p.m., the skies darkened with ominous black clouds, heavy with the promise of rain. Alone in her room, Natalie flipped the bedside lamp’s on switch, flooding the area with light. She tried to concentrate on her book club’s read of the month but images from the day replaced the words on her screen. She tossed the reader aside after several more unengaged flips of the page, rose from the bed to inspect her cache of seashells.

  Antsy with restlessness, she approached the window and watched several guests loading up their cars to leave. The sight of Mack hauling a case of something from Drew’s pickup truck got her attention. Her curiosity piqued, she headed downstairs.

  She paused inside the kitchen door at a full-on assault of delectable aromas, both savory and sweet. “Mercy me, it smells good in here. What are you cooking up now?”

  Beth turned from stirring a large pot on the stovetop, her face wreathed with the usual smile. “Nobody should be out driving around searching for supper in this ugly weather. So, I whipped up a batch of vegetable beef soup. I’ll serve it with thick slices of homemade bread and crackers.”

  Nat lifted her nose to the air and sniffed. “I smell vanilla.”

  “That would be my buttermilk pies in the oven. It’s an egg custard pie that always goes over big with guests.” She checked her timer and spun around, her fingers clasped tightly together. “This weather’s got me as jittery as a mouse in roomful of hungry tomcats. When I’m nervous, I bake.”

  Nat strolled over to several platters of cookies set out on the length of counter top. “You must be plenty nervous. What do we have here—chocolate chip, oatmeal raisin, more of those yummy peppermint ones—and hold up—are these what I think they are?”

  Beth approached, reached for a cookie and handed it to her. “These are my weakness.”

  Nat bit into the crunchy decadence, her eyes closed, as the flavors exploded and rolled around in her mouth. “White chocolate-macadamia is my favorite cookie—I thought I’d tasted the best, but …” She faced Beth. “There’s something extra in these. What’s your secret ingredient?”

  Beth put her finger to her lips and winked. “For your ears and eyes only, because something tells me I can trust you to keep it to yourself.” She reached into a canister and pulled out a storage bag of candy bars—all of them chocolate covered toffee. “I process a few of these babies into fine pieces and mix it into the batter. I find it adds so much to the flavor.”

  Nat finished off the rest of the cookie and wiped the crumbs from her fingers before crossing her heart. “I’ll never tell. Now, in thanks, what can I do to help?”

  The air rang with Beth’s laughter. “You and Mack—the two of you are a pair. Everyone else is grumbling about the approaching weather, as though we could prevent it from disrupting anyone’s plans. But you two are offering to help rather than asking for refunds.”

  As if the mention of his name conjured him up, the back door swung open and Mack appeared, trailed by Drew, each carrying cases of water. Mack glanced up, caught her eye for the briefest of seconds before both men deposited the water in the large pantry area.

  Drew exited the pantry, wiping his hands on his jeans. “That’s the last of it, Beth. There’s enough water there to bathe half the city of Lake Charles.” He winked at Natalie. “It won’t hurt the other half to stink for a bit.”

  Beth stared at the boxes piled in neat stacks inside her pantry. “I suppose it’ll do.”

  Natalie stood beside the proprietress. “I thought you had a generator if the electricity to the water well cut off.”

  “We do,” Drew insisted. “I like to prepare for the unexpected.” He looked toward the back porch as the wind picked up, knocking over one of Beth’s plant stands. “We better get those plants to the back shed if you don’t want to lose ‘em, honey. Gotta take care of the three P’s in freezing weather—plants, pipes, and pets.”

  Natalie followed the two men onto the back porch. “I’ll help carry some plants for you, Drew.”

  Drew pointed out a potted fern. “Grab that one, and we’ll get the others. Thanks for helping, Natalie. You and Mack are two in a million.”

  “No problem.” Nat grabbed the fern then looked around. “Speaking of protecting pets, where’s Duke?”

  “Old Duke took a trip to the groomers earlier today. He got a bath and a good combing, so he gets to sleep inside for however long it takes the temps to get back to normal. He’s too old to be out in the cold.”

  They arranged the half-dozen potted plants in two neat rows in a shed every bit as organized as Beth’s pantry. Natalie pointed to laminated labels tacked onto wooden shelving. “Is this your handiwork?”

  Drew’s chuckle rumbled like an old boat motor in the small space. “That’s all Beth. She couldn’t stand my method of organization. I generally just stand at the door and toss whatever it is as far as I can until it lands. It was a real mess until she came in and worked her magic.”

  Mack stood next to Nat, perusing the shelves. “You’re keeping it up nicely.”

  Drew grinned, his eyes crinkled in amusement. “She said I’d better if I didn’t want to face the consequences. I don’t have the nerve to push her on it. My girl thrives on organization.”

  Natalie trailed Mack back toward the house while Drew closed up the shed. She stopped beside him as he pointed upward.

  “Look at that cloud formation, would you, Nat?”

  “I love winter storms. This one’s nearly on top of us.” She turned, caught him staring at her. “What?”

  “I would have taken you more for a fun in the sun beach girl than a winter storm type.”

  She pointed at her fair cheeks. “I’ll burn and freckle in thirty minutes flat without sunblock—thank you great-grandmother MacBride.” She turned toward the darkening skies, released a sigh. “But I love watching storms roll in—any kind of storm.”

  They stood in silence for a full minute, watched the clouds swirl, growing ominously dark and heavy with the promise of precipitation of some kind. The touch of his hand on hers, seeking, reaching out, had her facing him again. They stood there, gazes locked, his hand clutching hers. “What is this, Mack?”

  “I’m not sure what it is now, but I have this sense of what it could be. There’s something so…familiar…so easy about it.”

  Just for a moment she let herself hope. And then she remembered why she couldn’t and stepped back, trying to pull her hand from his. “This can’t happen.”

  He extended his arm, his gentle grip tightening, refusing to release her. “I know.”

  “I only lost my husband a year ago,” she reminded him.

  His head bobbed slightly in acknowledgement. “And I live four states away. I know. It makes no sense.”

  She nodded in return, needed him to release her hand—willed him to hold on tightly. Nothing about this made sense. Seconds later, the wind changed, and she shivered from its chill. “That front’s here and we’ll get drenched if we stay put much longer.”

  “I know.
”

  A single, fat raindrop hit her face and Natalie freed her hand to wipe it off. She turned and walked away, his presence behind her a constant reminder of what couldn’t—shouldn’t happen.

  The temperature dropped a full forty degrees by 7:00 p.m., prompting Drew to light the fireplace. After an evening meal of Beth’s savory soup and fresh-baked bread, Natalie retreated upstairs. Mack had no desire to be alone and remained downstairs with his hosts, playing several rounds of Crazy Eights and Spades.

  Natalie ambled downstairs around 9:00, make-up free, hair damp, and wearing red flannel pajamas. She grabbed an afghan off the leather couch and plopped herself down on one end with her e-reader tablet. Duke appeared at her feet, rested his head on her thigh while Nat tunneled her fingers through his coat. The animal responded with a series of satisfied grunts.

  Irrationally envious of the dog, Mack watched until stomping on the porch drew his attention to the door. The only other couple remaining at the lodge stumbled inside, slammed the door behind them.

  The Cooper’s turned down Beth’s offer of hot cocoa, claiming they’d had a long day visiting nearby family. With more of the same planned for tomorrow, they headed upstairs.

  Drew stood as well, stretched his back and groaned. “I’m about done for. Hauling that water in took a toll on this old back of mine.” He looked at Mack and Nat. “Can I trust one of you to watch that fire?”

  Mack waved him off. “I’ve got it, don’t worry.”

  Drew’s gaze fell on his dog. “You coming, Duke?”

  Duke lifted his head lazily from Natalie’s thigh, stared at Drew for a second before returning to his position.

  Drew chuckled. “Smartest dog we’ve ever owned—there’s your proof.”

  Natalie smiled. “He’s good where he is.”

  Drew dismissed his dog with a final wave and headed toward the back end of the first floor, the space filled with his grumbling. “I miss the good old days—when I could put in a day of hard work and not collapse from exhaustion.”