Mistletoe Inn

by Jacquie Biggar

  “It was,” Noah murmured, nudging Molly with his hip.

  She glanced up, startled, then sucked in a sharp breath. He’d recently showered and like a typical male, hand-brushed his tobacco-brown hair away from his face—the face he wasn’t hiding anymore. The reserve he’d worn like a cloak was gone, revealing chiseled features, high cheek bones, thick, dark brows, and eyes as dark as her coffee.

  “Are you letting me in?” he asked, lips quirking.

  “Hmm? Oh yeah, sorry.” Flustered, she slid over, allowing him room to settle beside her, thigh to thigh. Oh, boy.

  “Bay Furnace is on the National Registry of Historical Places,” he said. “In its heyday it produced twenty tons of pig iron a day.”

  “I was wondering what the dock was for. That thing must have handled some big ships.” Doug finished his breakfast and pushed his plate aside.

  Noah nodded. “Twelve-hundred feet. But then, it takes a good-sized barge to maneuver Lake Superior’s temperamental waters.”

  “Too bad we have to get home before Christmas,” Ruby said. “It would be fun to have Christmas at Christmas.”

  “The grandparents would never forgive us,” her husband answered. “Come on, honey, we better go and get packed. We have a long drive ahead of us in the morning.”

  Ruby sighed and lightly punched his arm. “Slave driver.” She stood then surprised Molly with a boisterous hug. “Thank you for the lovely vacation. We had a wonderful time and will be sure to tell all of our friends back home.”

  “Yes,” Sandy piped up. “That goes for us, too. I wish we could stay longer, but our parents want us home for our first holiday together as man and wife.” She giggled and made googly-eyes at Doug.

  He looked embarrassed and crazy in love at the same time. He smiled and reached out to shake Noah’s hand. “Maybe next year it will be your turn. We’ll be back.”

  Molly felt the warm stroke of Noah’s glance, then he was returning the handshake. “Your rooms will be here.”

  There was a flurry of goodbyes as the couples left to begin their last day of activities, leaving an uncomfortable silence in their wake. At least he’d moved to one of the vacated seats, so she could breathe again. Even if she missed his closeness. The other couples seemed so happy together, that’s all.

  She rose and began gathering the breakfast plates, anxious to escape the gloomy thoughts nipping at her emotions.

  The roar of an engine climbing the road to the inn stilled her hands. She met Noah’s carefully blank expression and her curiosity rose.

  “Who could that be?” She wiped her hands on a napkin, then turned for the hall leading to the front door, but he caught her hand. She looked at him, surprised. “Noah, what’s going on?”

  “I…,” he started, then shook his head as though he’d changed his mind. “Your car is done. I asked Artie to deliver it as soon as he could. You know, in case you wanted to leave before the holiday traffic rush.”

  Stunned, she stared into his eyes. Her heart melted at the loneliness she saw lurking in the shadows. She clasped his beloved face in her hands. “You’re not getting rid of us that easily, Noah Kincaid. We’re here to stay. That is, if you’ll have us?”

  She’d done it now. She’d gone and laid her feelings at his feet. Was he going to stomp them into the polished hardwood floor, or would he give their relationship a chance to flourish? She held her breath, waiting for his answer.

  Noah remembered watching How the Grinch Stole Christmas with his aunt as a boy. He’d been fascinated by the concept of a grumpy, lonely Grinch with a heart two sizes too small who terrorizes the village of Whoville on Christmas Eve, stealing all the trees and gifts. But when he learns love is the key to happiness his heart grows three sizes and he returns the gifts to the happy Whos and is invited to participate in the celebrations.

  Noah’s heart felt like that now. It was surely too big to remain confined within the walls of his chest. How could this beautiful, sweet woman care for him? He’d done nothing but make her life harder since she arrived, and yet… she’d forgiven him.

  He gazed into liquid blue eyes and sent a prayer of thanks to his aunt for delivering Molly and her son to a lonely old grouch in need of the gift of love.

  “Is that a yes?” she asked, her gorgeous smile wobbling.

  He wrapped his arms around her narrow waist and tugged her off her feet. She landed in his lap with a little squeal. “That’s a hell yeah,” he said just before taking her lips in a kiss guaranteed to steam the windows.

  For years the death of his parents had scarred his soul, inside and out, and acted as a brutal reminder of the pain he’d endured. His aunt’s death reinforced that belief. That is until one pint-sized boy and his beautiful, tenacious mother stepped in and proved love was a gamble worth taking.

  Epilogue

  Molly opened the oven and inhaled the fragrant scents of rosemary and sage emanating from the fifteen-pound turkey she’d started earlier in the afternoon. She fanned away the heat, then basted the browning bird before closing the range door. Good, dinner should be right on time.

  When she’d found out Artie, the collision shop guy, was on his own for Christmas she’d invited him to dinner, which in turn led to invitations to the Kringles and their niece Tammy, from the Roasted Chestnut Café, and Mrs. Nabors, the grocery store clerk. At first, she’d planned a quiet, intimate dinner, just Noah, Leo and herself, but on second thought, this was better. A way to give back to the community and a way for the community to learn about her and Noah.

  The flush that climbed from chest to cheeks had zero to do with the oven and everything to do with the man in the next room. He chuckled at something Leo said and her pulse fluttered. They were getting along so well—it made her heart happy.

  “Mom, are you coming?” Leo called.

  Smiling, she untied the apron she’d put on to protect her party dress, draped it on the hook by the door, and made her way toward the den. “Hold your horses,” she answered, laughing. She entered the room and froze. Noah stood on a ladder, his back to her as he leaned over to wrap a string of multi-colored lights around the misshapen tree. He looks really good in jeans.

  “Isn’t it beautiful? I’ve been helping lots. Right, Noah?” Her lusty thoughts were interrupted by her son. He jumped up from the array of ornaments spread out across the coffee table, ran to her side and tugged on her arm.

  The ladder wobbled, but Noah quickly redistributed his weight and it straightened out. He glanced over his shoulder and gave her a boyish grin. “You didn’t see that.” He nodded toward the wall switch. “Want to see how they look? Can you reach, buddy?”

  Leo broke away and ran for the light switch. He stretched for the lever. “Ready?” he gasped.

  “Ready,” Noah and Molly said at the same time. The overhead lights went out and the tree was illuminated in all its multi-hued glory. Twinkling prisms of blue, red, green, and white turned the pauper of a tree into a prince. But it was missing an important element.

  Molly reached behind the corner chair where she’d hid the repaired angel and handed it to Leo. “Take this to Noah, son.”

  Leo cradled the ornament in his arms and waited for Noah to descend the ladder. “Mommy fixed this so you could have a happy Christmas, too.”

  Noah accepted the gift. “Oh, I am,” he said, his voice gruff. His eyes shone bright as he looked at Molly. “Thank you.”

  She smiled and watched him climb back up and carefully set the topper on the tree revealing the glowing figure of an angel, an aura of light radiating from her head. It was the most beautiful tree Molly had ever seen.

  Noah descended the ladder and strolled to her side, his head tipped quizzically. “Why the tears?”

  She dabbed them away and smiled. “I’m happy, that’s all. The angel looks perfect. No wonder your aunt loved her so much.”

  He opened his arms and she walked right in, contentment warming her belly. “I have a surprise,” he murmured.

  She tipp
ed her head back and received a lingering kiss that curled her toes. “I like your surprises,” she sighed.

  He laughed, and that was a gift, too. She loved to see this side of him, handsome and relaxed.

  “Another surprise,” he clarified. “Hey, Leo. There’s a box with your name under the tree. Do you want to open it?”

  “Can I?” Leo jumped up and down. “Please, Mom?”

  Dumbfounded that Noah had come up with a gift for her son, Molly nodded. “Just the one. The rest are for Christmas morning.”

  “Yee-ha,” Leo shouted, running across the room to drop down beside a big box wrapped in red paper. He started to rip at the paper, then stopped. A weird expression crossed his face and he backed away from the present. “There’s somethin’ making noise in there,” he whispered.

  Noah chuckled and kissed Molly on the nose before moving to crouch beside the box. “C’mere, buddy. I’ll help you.”

  Leo looked nervously at Molly, then edged closer to Noah. “So you know what’s in there?” he asked.

  Noah grinned. “I’d better. I wrapped it. Come on, kid. You’re going to love it, trust me.” He lifted one edge of the loosely wrapped top and a paw appeared.

  Leo’s jaw dropped. “It’s a puppy,” he cried. Now that he knew what was waiting, he tore into the box with enthusiasm and soon a fluffy white head with floppy ears appeared. Happy he was free, the pup bounded out of his temporary cage and raced around the room, bumping into chairs and tables in his excitement. Leo laughed and clapped his hands before throwing himself into an unsuspecting Noah’s arms. “Thank you. Oh, thank you. This is the bestest gift ever.” Then he jumped up and took off chasing the puppy while Blaze looked on from his place near the fire with lazy interest.

  Molly would have laughed at the befuddled look on Noah’s face, but she was too busy doing the same thing her son had done—running into the arms of the man who’d given her the bestest gift of all—love.

  Preview Silver Bells

  Jacquie Biggar

  Chapter One

  Christy Taylor smiled at the teens performing skateboard tricks on a set of iron rails, the screech-scrape of their wheels a musical accompaniment to the slap-slap of her sneakers hitting the pavement as she jogged past. Though it was early December on Vancouver Island the sun sat like a warm treat on her shoulders. Snowberries lined the pathway on the Goose Walking Trail, crunching beneath her feet. The unparalleled beauty of the Pacific Ocean lay off to her right. A salty breeze carried the scents of wood, brine, and soil to clear the fog from her brain. The past couple of years had been tough. Between Jill’s illness and the increasing costs in rent it was a never-ending battle to keep everything afloat.

  She followed the snaky course through Beacon Hill Park, dodging dogs and children and couples holding hands. At the boat pond a father patiently taught his young son how to run the remote control for a jaunty red sailboat, while Mallard ducks paddled nearby searching for scraps.

  She turned left and took the path that led her to the seawall, her favorite part of the run.

  And there he was.

  Every time she’d come by here for the past two months the same man crouched on the furthest edge of the breakwater, staring out to sea.

  He captivated her.

  She’d sit on the little spit of sand several feet away and create stories in her head about him. Maybe he was a Russian prince cast out of his homeland. Or a spy waiting on a boat bringing him information meant to save the world. Or maybe even a merman cast upon the shore and unable to find his way back to his watery home. The last brought a wry smile to her lips. Her mom always said she had a writer’s imagination.

  She opened her fanny pack and drew out a bottle of water, a strip of homemade peach fruit leather, and her drawing supplies. She loved capturing nature on paper with nothing more than a few graphite pencils in varying grades and Caran d’Ache Luminance colors for shading. Her art was slowly gaining recognition, though it was taking more time than she could afford.

  Sunset gradually lightened the horizon from chilly winter’s grey-blue to neon orange, brilliant fuchsia, and canary yellow. Nimble fingers flew over the page, eager to catch every nuance as it occurred. Her unsuspecting model never moved, his silhouette perfectly captured by the dying rays of the sun.

  When it became too dark to draw, Christy set the pad aside and twisted the cap off her water bottle. The liquid was a benediction going down her parched throat. She drank most of it before replacing the lid with a satisfied sigh. The day hadn’t begun well, but at least it was ending on a high note. She felt good about the work she’d just produced. It would be easier to tell after she returned to the shop and finished the shading of course, but she was off to a decent start.

  Shivering a little now the sun had gone down, she returned everything to the bag and zipped it closed, then stood and brushed the sand from her butt and thighs before bending to pick up the fanny pack. Time to head home, her daughter would be waiting.

  A pair of dark brown hiking boots—size enormous—came into her line of sight. Her heart skipped a beat. Most people on the island were friendly, but she was a woman on her own, and it was rapidly becoming dark. How stupid.

  She tightened her grip on the bag and cursing the fact she’d been so irresponsible, slowly rose to her feet, her gaze following the long, clean line of jean-clad legs, dark cotton shirt, tucked in and belted at the waist, open leather jacket, and chiseled jawline covered in a day’s worth of stubble. Glittering eyes stared at her from a deeply tanned, aloof-looking face.

  “Quit following me.” The voice matched his visage, cold, harsh, and unforgiving.

  So much for her fantasy hero. Christy stiffened and glared. “Kind of full of yourself, aren’t you?”

  He leaned back and crossed his arms, his stance unforgiving. And to think she’d found him intriguing. Ha, more like infuriating.

  “So it’s just a coincidence every time I turn around, there you are?” He lifted a hand and rubbed the back of his neck. The rasping sound along with the backdrop of the swishing waves made her—restless.

  “Look, I don’t do interviews, okay? Not even for cute little pixies. Tell your boss, next time I’ll call the cops.”

  Incredulity overrode her apprehension. “Are you serious? I have as much right to be on this beach as you do, buddy. Trust me, you’re not half as fascinating as you seem to think you are.”

  In between one breath and the next, Mr. Personality seized the bag out of her grip and delved inside.

  “Hey, give that back,” she cried, trying to wrestle it out of his grasp.

  “If you have nothing to hide…” He pulled the drawings free and turned his wall of a back on her.

  Christy couldn’t believe this was happening. Adrenaline zipped through her body, leaving her feeling more alive than she had in a long while. And it was all due to this… this jerk ripping pages out of her workbook while she stood by helpless to do anything about it. All that work—gone.

  “Please,” she begged, her throat husky. “I meant no harm. I draw for a living. That’s all they are, drawings.”

  At least the shredding stopped.

  He leveled his gaze on her again, as though deciding whether to throw the whole bag out to sea or not. She really hoped not. It had taken months to save for those pencils. They were the very best and made a huge difference to the level of her workmanship.

  “Please,” she said again.

  He hesitated, then folded the sheets of paper he’d taken and shoved them into his jacket pocket before handing over her bag.

  “Next time you might try asking,” he said dryly.

  As he clumped away in those heavy boots his voice floated back to her on the breeze. “The answer would’ve been no, by the way.”

  Was it too much to ask that he trip over his enormous—arrogance?

  Afterword

  Reviews are the lifeblood of any successful author. Without you, we can’t be heard.

  If you enjoy the
story, please consider sharing on your favorite social media sites, as well as GoodReads and from wherever you’ve bought the book.

  Thank you,

  Jacquie Biggar

  Jacqbiggar.com

  About the Author

  JACQUIE BIGGAR is a USA Today bestselling author of Romantic Suspense who loves to write about tough, alpha males and strong, contemporary women willing to show their men that true power comes from love.

  She is the author of the popular Wounded Hearts series and has just started a new series in paranormal suspense, Mended Souls.

  She has been blessed with a long, happy marriage and enjoys writing romance novels that end with happily-ever-afters.

  Jacquie lives in paradise along the west coast of Canada with her family and loves reading, writing, and flower gardening. She swears she can't function without coffee, preferably at the beach with her sweetheart. :)

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