by Taryn Quinn
Mistletoe Baby
a Crescent Cove Bite
Taryn Quinn
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This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
Mistletoe Baby
© 2021 Taryn Quinn
Rainbow Rage Publishing
Cover by: LateNite Designs
Photograph by: Lindee Robinson Photography
Models: Brian Boynton & Daria Rottenberk
All Rights Are Reserved.
No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
First ebook edition: January 2021
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Braking too fast when it’s snowing? Bad.
Crashing your new sports car? Worse.
Kissing a beautiful stranger with lips that taste like vanilla who flees without sharing her digits...or even her name? Worst of all.
But I was determined not to leave small town Crescent Cove before Christmas without finding my gorgeous mysterious woman.
And I succeeded.
I just didn’t expect our night of cider-scented passion—hey, we visited the holiday festival first—to lead to a gift that will keep on giving forever.
Now I have to convince her to take a chance on me, no matter the odds…and prove to her that our holiday romance won’t burn out before next Christmas.
Author’s note: Mistletoe Baby is a standalone accidental pregnancy romantic comedy set in our small town Crescent Cove. It has a happily-ever-after ending and no cliffhanger.
Contents
Acknowledgments
Playlist
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Ellie
CEO Daddy
Daddy Undercover
Other Holiday Stories
Crescent Cove World
Taryn Quinn
Quinn and Elliott
About Taryn Quinn
Acknowledgments
WE LOVE CHRISTMAS STORIES! Ahem.
We have a few more up our sleeve for Crescent Cove, too bad Christmas is only once a year! Hope you enjoy this little one.
Sometimes we make up fictional places that end up having the same names as actual places. These are our fictional interpretations only. Please grant us leeway if our creative vision isn't true to reality.
Playlist
Billie Eilish: everything i wanted
David Cook: I’m About to Come Alive
Michael Bublé: Christmas(Baby Please Come Home)
Bishop Briggs: Hi-Lo (Hollow)
Hozier: As It Was
Alexander Jean: Dreams
FULL PLAYLIST ON SPOTIFY
To mistletoe magic.
One
Blasting Michael Bublé’s version of “Silent Night” as I sped down the street in an icy winter wonderland probably seemed incongruous, but I was in an exceptionally good mood.
Who wouldn’t be when classes at the community college were officially finished for the semester? Finals were done. Grades submitted. Endless infernal staff meetings in the bag.
I was finally free—for a month or so, give or take some faculty enrichment days.
I’d cracked the windows on my wholly-inappropriate-for-this-climate Toyota Supra sports car to let in the cool late afternoon breeze, and I’d put the heat on low to offset the chill. I was driving a little too fast for the fat flakes streaming down from the sky and accumulating in frosty slush along the side of the roadway. Playing my music a bit too loud for the quaint small town I was headed toward full bore.
Crescent Cove, was it? I’d never been here before. Oh, I’d heard of it, considering I lived fifty-plus miles away. But this place was postcard bucolic, a speck on the map, and I tended to like to hit the highways where I could go faster.
Thirty miles an hour was not fast. Nor was my risky thirty-six.
I didn’t even know why I’d driven this far out today. I was all too used to Central New York’s changeable weather. Snowstorms didn’t usually slow me down, but the sleet gray clouds warned we might be in for a prolonged event.
So much for enjoying my freedom in my sweet impractical beauty. I’d just do a U-turn and head back—
Suddenly, a truck backed out of a driveway, and I hit the brakes far too hard. My tires shrieked as I aimed right for the curb—and the ditch hidden by the thick layer of white layered on top of it.
My horn rang out as did my particularly colorful stream of curses. Wheels spun. My knee jabbed hard into something, and for a second, my vision wavered.
Had I hit my head? Or had the belt tightened just enough to send my ribcage upward into my skull?
Could’ve been either one.
Michael kept singing as I shut my eyes against the pain in my leg. I could probably walk it off. All in all, I’d gotten off easy. My poor baby though. I didn’t want to see the damage.
Actually, I didn’t want to deal with any of the crap that was now in my immediate future.
Next time? I’d circle my own block when I wanted to get my jollies in my almost-new car during the winter.
A sharp rap on my window had me opening my eyes and biting off a sigh. A guy wearing one of those hats with buffalo plaid flaps over his ears pressed his face up against the glass as I turned down the volume on the music and then lowered the window halfway. “You okay, fella? I didn’t see you there as I was coming out.”
I cocked a brow. Considering the non-neutral color of my car, I completely believed that. “I’m okay, thanks. You?”
I didn’t know why I asked that. He hadn’t driven off the road, I had. Because of him. And also because I’d recklessly been doing thirty-six.
This was why I so rarely colored outside the lines. It never ended well.
“Fine, fine. You got yourself some trouble here.” He edged back to look at my crumpled fender, nose down in the ditch. “Want me to call Dare at Kramer and Burns Custom? He’ll get you fixed right up in a jif.”
This far out, my towing company would charge me a mint to come to my assistance. “Sure. I can call him.” I tugged out my cell. “Kramer and Burns Custom, you said?”
“Have to turn down that loud music if you’re going to call.”
I ignored him as I searched Google and called. If he considered “Holly Jolly Christmas” set on low to be too loud, I couldn’t help him.
And surprise, my good mood had fled at the same moment I’d crashed my freaking car.
“Good evening, Kramer speaking.”
“Is this Dare?”
“No, this is his brother, Gage. Whatcha need?”
“Are all of you named like romance heroes?” Shockingly, he didn’t respond. I cleared my throat. “I need a tow. I was referred by—”
I glanced at the window. The man and his ridiculous hat had disappeared. However, a cop was doing a U-turn to pull up beside me.
Fabulous.
“Anyway, can you come tow me?”
“Where are you?” His voice was appreciably cooler t
han when he’d answered the phone.
No one would accuse me of being wise, that was for sure. Made total sense to piss off the cavalry when I was well and truly stuck.
And I didn’t know where I was.
I squinted through the snowy windshield. There was a street sign at the end of the block, but it was snowing too hard for me to make it out. Luckily, I could ask Officer Friendly.
He knocked on the window with his bare knuckles. “Had some trouble, I see.”
“So everyone sees.” When he frowned beneath the brim of his standard issue hat, I forced my shoulders to relax. “I’m on the phone with the tow place right now.”
“Tell Dare Sheriff Brooks is on scene.”
“Dare, Sheriff Brooks is on scene,” I repeated into the phone, knowing I’d aggravate the guy on the end even more. I’d probably annoyed the sheriff too.
“Gage,” the guy on the phone said testily. “Since you sound like an out-of-towner, ask Brooks where you are, and I’ll send the truck out.”
What had happened to that old adage that people in small towns were so easygoing? Probably required me not being a dick to them, but in my defense, my unscratched two-month-old car was now a mess.
My younger brother, Lennox, had warned me not to buy something that would depreciate so quickly.
Cars aren’t an investment, Cal. Especially ones with a tawdry finish like yours.
Yeah, well, I’d clearly not listened. I’d loved my “tawdry” paint job that now would need to be retouched. And hey, bright side, with this accident, I’d done all the depreciating at once.
At least it had been minor. Shouldn’t take long to fix.
“”You still there, tourist?”
I frowned. Charming guy. “Why don’t you just talk to the sheriff, rather than me playing telephone?” I attempted to hand the phone to the cop, but he shook his head and made a gimme gesture with his fingers.
I unclicked my belt and wrenched open the door, thankful that it seemed to be working correctly. The car was tilted at an angle, but with some finagling and shifting, I placed my boot on the cracked upper edge of the ditch and stepped out with assistance from the sheriff. I shut my door as the sheriff gave me my next orders.
“Tell Dare you’re near the corner of East Lake Road and Grange.”
I repeated the information into the phone and managed a “thank you” before Gage hung up on me.
Wasn’t hospitality supposed to be a thing in small towns? I was beginning to think I’d been lied to.
First, Santa Claus was real. Then, small towns are wonderful, cozy places filled with lovely people.
The sheriff stepped back and eyed me up and down as he dipped his thumbs into the pockets of his trousers. “You’re not from here.”
Before I could reply to that incriminating statement—why it was incriminating, I wasn’t sure, but there was no mistaking his tone—a float on the back of a flatbed truck rolled by, complete with a inflated bouncy house-style Santa’s Workshop festooned with twinkling Christmas lights and little animated elves climbing up and down ladders. The truck’s driver blew the horn at the sheriff, and he waved, calling out a “Hey, Red, looking good,” as the vehicle continued down the street at a speed approaching my own pre-crash.
Falling snow wasn’t much of a deterrent around here. He’d better hope he didn’t encounter Buffalo Plaid Hat Guy.
I looked around. Said guy and his truck were long gone.
“So?”
I pocketed my phone. “So what?”
“You’re not from here,” he repeated. “What’s your business in Crescent Cove?”
“What, am I not allowed to drive through without a laminated pass? You should’ve asked the guy who pulled out in front of me why he couldn’t watch where he was going.”
The sheriff glanced at my awkwardly angled car, already gathering a healthy coating of snow. “Looks like you can’t either.”
I balled up my fists in the pockets of my long tweed coat. I shouldn’t flip off the sheriff in a town I wasn’t familiar with.
Problem was, I really, really wanted to.
“I was just out for a drive,” I said defensively.
“Did you have a drink before you got behind the wheel?”
“No, but I wish I had.” Okay, that definitely wasn’t the right thing to say. It wasn’t even what I’d meant. Exactly. “I mean, I should’ve had a drink and stayed home, rather than venturing out in this weather.”
The sheriff crossed his arms over his quilted vest, pinned with some badge-looking thing he probably could’ve gotten at any dollar store. “Let’s see some ID.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake. How about ticketing the guy who caused me to slide?”
“Do you see him?” He made a show of looking around. “I don’t.”
“He stopped to talk to me, and then he left. How is that my fault?”
“Plate number?”
“I didn’t see his plate.”
“Description of the vehicle?”
“A big brown truck.”
“UPS?”
“No, a SUV.”
“Make and model?”
“I didn’t have time to see all that. Big and boxy.”
“Oh, well, now I can find him, no problem.” He stared at me. “ID? Take it out, nice and slow.”
“It’s like I’m in an episode of Law and Order, if it was set in not-quite Mayberry.” Shaking my head, I withdrew my wallet, took out my college ID, and handed it over.
He tipped back his hat. “Professor?”
“Yes.”
“What do you teach?”
“Mythology and Applied Lessons in—”
“Good enough.” Clearly disinterested, he returned my ID and nodded at my car. “Explains the bright yellow.”
I tucked my ID away. “It does, does it?”
“License?”
“Are you kidding me? If I was out joyriding, I wouldn’t have come here.”
“I’ll have you know Crescent Cove is known the state over. At this rate, we’ll be known throughout the world.”
I pulled out my license and gave it to him. “For what? Obnoxious floats?”
His jaw clicked as he studied my license. “Small-town charm and…”
“And what?”
“Procreation,” he said in such a low voice I almost didn’t hear him.
I didn’t have time to ponder that inexplicable statement because a tow truck pulled up beside my car. A tall, bearded man in a baseball cap hopped down and flashed me a friendly smile that indicated he was not Gage Kramer and possible not even from this “quaint” Cove at all. “Hey there, I’m Dare Kramer. You are?”
“Callum MacGregor,” I said as we shook hands. “Thanks for coming out so fast.”
“In this weather, I figured you didn’t want to be standing around. Hi, Brooks. How’s that baby of yours?”
Brooks narrowed his eyes and said nothing. He was a charmer, this one.
Dare didn’t seem deterred. “Caught the short straw today, huh?” He clapped the sheriff on the back. “Last I saw, Christian was on patrol.”
“He’s out too. All kinds of yahoos around tonight with the festival, and some of them can’t stay on the road.” With a narrowed-eyed stare for me, the sheriff returned my license. “I should give you a Breathalyzer.”
I shrugged and put it away. “Do what you wish. It’d be a waste of your time, as I haven’t had a drink since, at best guess, June sixteenth.”
The night Hudson, my youngest brother—by seven and five minutes respectively from the other two triplets—had celebrated getting his degree in graphic design. He was considered the free-spirited one among my brothers, other than my own edgy sideline in drawing and painting.
Drawing and painting itself wasn’t edgy, ignoring the whole starving artist thing. And I definitely was not starving after some of my recent commissions. But my choice of subject occasionally skirted the line for some.
Or unskirted, depending on my
subject’s state of undress.
Unusual faces and locations captured the bulk of my attention, so those were what I painted most often. It just seemed more notable the few times I’d painted a woman’s form in a more natural way.
Well, notable to my family. The public at large didn’t know who I was. I did my work, cashed my checks, and enjoyed my anonymity.
“We’ll skip the Breathalyzer for now,” the sheriff said, although he didn’t seem happy about it.
Dare rubbed his gloved fingers over his bearded jaw. “She’s a beaut. Shame she got scuffed up, but we’ll get her in and out quick for you, with the holidays and all.”
“Oh, thanks. I really appreciate that.”
“Our shop does custom work. We’ll fix her up so she looks better than brand new. Later on, how do you feel about racing stripes? My brother and Tish and their team do some damn fine work.”
“Hmm. That might be an idea.” Since I hadn’t gotten off on the best foot with his brother, I’d probably end up with a middle finger painted on the fender, but why not give it a shot? “I’d like custom rims too.”
“They’d look sweet with a ride like this. Tell you what, I’ll bring it in and see what Gage and Tish think before we write you up a quote. We’ll set you up with an appointment for the custom work in the new year. Or we can—” Dare broke off as yet another ginormous float went by, this one consisting of a huge gazebo decorated with Christmas lights. A sign proclaimed it courtesy of August and Kinleigh’s Attic.
