by R. L. Syme
MONTANA
MISTLETOE
Granite Peak Series
Book One
by
R.L. Syme
**This book was first published in the Montana Christmas Anthology and is now available as a standalone novella for the first time!**
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Copyright © R.L. Syme, 2015
Published by Hummingbird Books.
All Rights Reserved.
This book may not be reproduced in part or in whole in any form without written permission from the author. This digital copy of this book cannot be sold, shared, or given away as this is an infringement of the copyright. This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.
E-Book Formatting by Dallas Hodge, Everything But The Book
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DEDICATION
This book is dedicated to Stacy Hostetter. Your talent and vision for producing quality actors and productions is unparalleled in the youth theater community. Working with you inspires me.
Proceeds from the sale of this novella will be donated to the
Kaleidoscope Youth Theater in Bozeman, Montana.
Granite Peak, Montana
“It looks like Santa Claus threw up all over this place.”
Mason Herrick cringed at his brother’s comment, but when he passed through the cramped side door of the Granite Peak Dramatics Academy for Youth and saw the tiny lobby for himself, he reserved his head smack. Not the classiest comment in the world, but accurate.
They’d done some Christmas parties in their time, and had seen everything from glow in the dark nativities to spinning evergreens. Never before had Mason seen anything so… saturated.
Every square inch of the lobby was covered in red, green, glitter, or mistletoe. Good God, so much mistletoe. There were six-foot modern art interpretations of mistletoe, gold and copper spray-painted three-foot sprigs, and Christmas trees covered in mistletoe.
“One guess what the theme is,” Cash whispered.
The two brothers, co-owners of the 406 Catering Company, stood in front of the giant holiday display with round eyes and mouths. A gagging festive elf was precisely what Mason thought of when he took in the whole space.
“Just don’t say that to the owner.” Mason hefted the box of chafing dishes over his shoulder and pushed his brother inside. “Now, let’s find the kitchen.”
“She said it was in the back.” Cash pointed toward a thick red curtain that covered a door in the back of the room.
The lobby was small and other than the decorations, empty. Exposed piping lined the ceiling and parallel to the pipes were vertical rows of costumes, hidden by green curtains, covered with mistletoe.
Variations on a theme had a limit and for Mason, they’d passed that line back at the door. Mason looked around for a place to set down the box that was heavy on his shoulder, but every available surface had been used.
The tables that weren’t jam packed with Christmas decorations, fake presents, or mini evergreens were covered in programs for the fundraiser. A Mistletoe Madrigal read in giant black letters on light green paper.
Cash picked up one of the copy-printed fliers. “Where are we supposed to put the food?”
“I was just thinking the same thing.”
“What about that room?” Cash pointed to a set of closed double doors back at the front of the lobby, near the hallway to the front entrance.
“No idea. I only talked to the secretary,” Mason said. “And she didn’t even call me back until this morning.”
“So their first caterer quit?”
Mason shook his head and his neck ached. The chafing dishes weren’t getting any lighter. “Died.”
“That’s morbid.”
“You’re telling me. I was the one who took the phone call.” Mason shivered at the memory. The theater’s secretary was practically a teenager and had cried through most of their conversation. He wasn’t even certain they were in the right place. Except for the mistletoe.
“They must have promised us a hella paycheck to entice you out of your rule-y deal with the 48 hours notice.”
Mason shrugged. Truth be told, they were barely covering costs. He found it hard to say no to a sobbing female. It could be his good deed for the year.
“We gotta find somebody, dude.” Cash’s blonde hair fell into his face and Mason grunted. Hairnets were invented for Cash Herrick, specifically. “They don’t have anywhere for us to put the buffet.”
“We should check in there.”
Mason followed Cash into the large, ornately-carved wooden doors and pulled them open. The interior of the theater was much larger than the lobby had been, although from outside, the building looked deceptively small.
Unlike the lobby, the theater was full of wow. Thin strings of lights wrapped around sparkling white trees along the outside of the room and simply decorated round tables dotted the space in place of audience chairs. Each table had an antique candelabra hung with glass and crystal snowflakes. A delicate and organic sprig of white-berried mistletoe wrapped around each centerpiece, affixed with a dark red bow.
Understated. Elegant. This room could have been decorated by any of the event planners he’d worked with in San Diego.
Cash let out a wolf whistle. “Look at these digs.”
Mason came in behind his brother, wishing they had opted for the black uniforms instead of the white chef’s coat and their typical jeans. The secretary hadn’t prepared him for elegant.
At the front of the room, a low stage carried the winter forest theme into the performance space and a group of white-waify and sparkling young performers stood in a tight circle.
Suddenly, a spotlight blossomed around the actors and music faded in, circling around Mason as though it came out of the walls.
“You can’t be in here, we’re closed to the public until tonight.” The voice that spoke cut through the lilting music and seemed somehow alienating and familiar at the same time.
“So sorry, ma’am.” Cash held up his hands and lowered his voice. “We’re just looking for the kitchen.”
“Oh, you must be the caterers.” A hand extended in front of Mason, but the woman’s figure was hidden by the giant box on his right shoulder.
Mason shifted the box and turned, ready to extend his hand. But the box clattered toward the ground when he realized why the voice sounded so familiar. It belonged to the girl who broke his heart.
Jill Potter stood in front of him, recognition in her eyes. Even though he’d shaved his beard and cut his hair, maybe lost a little weight, and changed his look she obviously still recognized him.
And he couldn’t help his eyes doing the up and down, almost of their own will. But dayum, she looked great. Even in her close-hugging jeans and the drapey white sweater, she had an air of class. Her dark, straight hair was longer, almost halfway down her back now.
How was it possible she’d gotten hotter?
Cash stepped between them and put his aw-shucks-ma’am act to work. “We’re awful glad we could help.” His eyes circled the room. “This looks like a beautiful event.”
But Jill’s eyes hadn’t left Mason’s. She obviously didn’t see his brother’s attempt at a handshake, and she most certainly hadn’t heard a word he’d said, which left Cash hanging awkwardly between them like the coyote who’d run off the cliff but not fallen yet.
The lines of anger began to slowly overtake her pretty features. First,
her eyes hardened. Then, that lovely nose scrunched up. Then, her mouth wilted into a line. If she’d have been a cartoon, she would be boiling and about to whistle steam from the top of her head.
“You!” The word was accusatory, full of shock and desperation. Jill always could produce the most complex outbursts known to mankind. The drama queen in her just couldn’t resist.
She couldn’t be an adult about this.
“I had no idea, Jill.”
Her mouth puckered. “Do not call me that. Ever.”
Cash laughed nervously. “So, you two know each other.”
Jill shook her head. “No. Absolutely not.” She turned back to the production booth and raised her hand. “Willa! Come with me at once. Shonna! Keep rehearsing the dream sequence.” She pointed a long, well-manicured finger at Mason. “You! Out of my theater.”
With typical flare, Jill marched out of the room and expected everyone to follow her. While it itched that she would still treat him this way, he couldn’t help his curiosity. This didn’t feel like the same woman, not his Jill.
Mason followed her swinging hips into the lobby, with Cash behind him. The big double doors shut with a thud.
Jill rounded on him. “How dare you! How could you even show your face here?”
Mason stepped back to dodge her pointing finger. “What? You called me. Remember, you had a crisis?”
“My secretary went through the phone book. It’s not like I… well, I didn’t know it would be you.” She crossed her arms. “I can’t have this kind of stress on me tonight. Willa!”
A short, pleasant-faced, grey-haired woman stepped around Mason and went to Jill’s side. If they thought they were being secretive, they were delusional. Even in their whispering, Jill couldn’t hide her anger.
“I can’t believe you would call him of all people.”
“I didn’t. Cordy handled all that. I had no idea, Jilly.” Willa put a wrinkled hand on Jill’s shoulder, but the tension didn’t leave her body. If possible, it doubled.
“Don’t call me that.” She shuddered and turned her shoulders toward the wall. “I can’t do this today. You know Arthur is on his last sane brain cell about this fundraiser. I can’t have Mason Herrick here in the midst of all this.”
Mason’s heart twisted. Sure, he hadn’t seen Jill since they broke up, and he probably could have called her after he moved to San Diego, but he wasn’t some kind of jerky player who broke hearts professionally. Her anger surprised him. Stung him.
“Look, I know we’re all on high alert.” Mason stepped toward Jill and her little friend, extending a hand in a calming gesture. But Jill tightened her grip around herself and cinched her mouth closed.
“You’re not helping.” Willa gave him a pointed glare.
“I’m just here to cook. You don’t have to talk to me at all. But I’ve got a hundred pounds of food coming in about ten minutes and if you’re planning to hire another caterer, I’d like the chance to store this food before it goes bad.”
Jill pinned him with her dark brown eyes. “You. Follow me.”
Mason’s hackles were up. Frankly, he was sick of being treated like a criminal, and ready to be free of having to deal with Jill Potter.
She stalked over to the wall and turned her back on the room. Mason stepped in front of her and was surprised at the sudden well of emotion in her eyes.
What the hell had he done to her?
“I can’t help this, now,” she said, not meeting his gaze, and speaking more to herself than to him. “You’re here and there’s nothing I can do about it.”
“Look, I don’t know what you think—”
“Please, just let me finish.” Her face was softer, more vulnerable. This was the Jill he’d fallen in love with. A fist closed over his heart as he watched her nerves overtake her. She was practically shaking.
“Go ahead.”
She sighed. “My job is on the line tonight. This meal has to go off without a hitch or I’m… well, I don’t think I owe you any explanation about that. But I need to set some ground rules.”
Mason cocked his head to one side. “Jill, I’m not here to pull some big stunt or to ruin anything for you. I’m here to do a job. Make a paycheck.”
She narrowed her eyes. “I don’t know if I can trust that.”
“Well, you’ll have to.” He held out his hand and she stared at the open handshake for a good minute.
“I need you to stay in the kitchen. Don’t come in the theater. Don’t talk to me. Just do your job well and everybody wins.”
He kept his hand out. “I’m here to do a job.”
She glanced back at Willa and shrugged her shoulders. “I guess I can’t find anyone else on such short notice. As long as you stick to the rules, we’ll be fine.”
Jill took his hand to shake it, but as soon as their skin touched, all the memories of her with him flooded over him, knocking his senses out like a tidal wave.
All he could remember was kissing her, touching her skin, feeling her pressed against him. His blood pounded in his ears and his hand clenched around hers.
He tried to speak, but couldn’t breathe. He wanted to assure her that he was just here to do his job. But at the memory of her touch, all he could think about was finding a dark closet and reminding her of the moments that had just washed over him.
Because she’d obviously forgotten every one.
“Yeah,” he finally managed, his voice deep and affected. “We’ll be fine.”
She shouldn’t have let him touch her.
As soon as she’d seen Mason Herrick in her theater, she knew that he had to go. Too much was riding on tonight and he was volatile. Dangerous.
Gillian stood with Willa by the door to the ticket office, watching Mason and apparently his brother—whom she’d never met—unload their equipment. She’d had to hold on to Willa for a good five minutes after Mason released her hand.
Dammit. Why did she let him touch her?
Now, all she could think about were his hands. Although she occasionally spared some time for his lips… his eyes… his thighs… and she was out of rhymes. And sanity.
“I should have cancelled the show.” She gazed out the large window of the ticket office, onto the wide, darkening street. Grey clouds hung ominously low and the chill from having the door open was starting to get to her.
Not to mention Frenchie’s lobby decorations. Good God. She’d been avoiding the lobby all day because the mistletoe explosion bothered her so much.
If she hadn’t been fixing costumes and setting lighting and re-recording music and doing make-up, she would have spent all afternoon re-decorating the lobby after Arthur’s wife had her way with it. Thankfully, she’d been able to put her foot down at the theater doors.
No tacky crap in my theater, although she hadn’t been able to say that out loud to Frenchie. She didn’t want to get fired.
“We may still have to, dear.” Willa’s voice cracked at the end of her sentence. They’d all been on the verge of the winter crud that got passed around Granite Peak every year. She coughed and put her hand on Gillian’s shoulder. “Excuse me. I can’t seem to shake this.”
“We’re not cancelling the show.” Saying it out loud made Gillian believe it. Not Mason Herrick, not low ticket sales, not even the hand of God himself would make her close this show. Too much rode on the success of The Mistletoe Madrigal.
“I’ve had a call from the Reed’s personal assistant,” Willa finally managed, through the dry coughing.
Gillian shuddered. Each time their biggest donors called, it was typically a bad sign. Seat requests cancelled, food allergies… they’d gone from sponsoring four tables and bringing twenty-eight guests to just the four of them and their entourage—whatever that meant. The two young girls were vegan, wheat-free, nut-free, dairy-free.
“I wasn’t sure I would tell you until the curtains opened,” Willa said. “But since we’re dealing out bad news, might as well have it all at once.”
Gillian steeled herself. “Let’s have it.”
“They’re stuck in weather in Salt Lake.” Willa grimaced. “They’re not certain they’ll make the show at all, given that the snowstorm is keeping everyone on the ground.”
If she’d been punched in the stomach, Gillian couldn’t have been any more breathless. She bit her lip and looked up at the ceiling, trying to hold back the tears.
Rocky Reed was one of the richest men in Granite Peak and the biggest donor to the Academy every year. They had yet to come to a show, but this year, Gillian had talked Rocky’s wife, Temecula, into the singular Christmas experience of their holiday show.
Bring the family, she’d encouraged.
And now they might not show up at all. Arthur was going to have her hide.
When she brought her eyes back to the door, she unfortunately met Mason Herrick’s gaze as he stepped inside with another box. He quirked an eyebrow and it was all Gillian could do to keep her feet.
She turned to Willa. “Keep me updated if you hear from them again.”
“I gave his assistant my cell number.” Willa patted the pocket of her black, sensible pants. That reminded Gillian… she was still in jeans and her sweater. It wouldn’t be long before parents and guests would begin to arrive.
“Hey, can I borrow you for just a sec?” The California skater voice of Mason’s brother cut into Gillian’s fantasy of going home to change clothes. And maybe just staying there.
Gillian nodded curtly and pointed Willa toward the theater. “Make sure they run the scene change from the forest to the house interior and keep Dillon from bumping that tree in the corner. I just finished glitter-painting it and it’s probably still wet.”
Willa scurried for the theater doors. Gillian went to Cordy’s desk for a quick pump of hand sanitizer. The last thing she could afford now was to start getting sick.
