Love Finds You Under the Mistletoe

by Irene Brand

  He blew his nose into his hanky. “Thanks, Cricket.”

  The sun peeked out from behind the clouds like a child playing hide and seek, and the cheerful sounds of Tejano music floated in from someone’s backyard. Feeling warmer and lighter, they took turns pushing off on the swing. She remembered well the day she’d purchased her Victorian house. The first thing she did was to install an old-fashioned porch swing just like the one she’d grown up with. Didn’t seem right to have a porch without swing. “So tell me, what do you want me to cook for Thanksgiving dinner this year?”

  “Oh, the usual, I guess. Banana nut bread, apple pie, and those cinnamon spice cookies.”

  Holly grinned at her dad as a FedEx truck came to a squeaking halt in front of her house. A deliveryman slipped out of the vehicle, trotted up to the porch, and handed her a brown package. Before the man made it back to the sidewalk, Holly tore into the box.

  Her father watched over her shoulder as she opened the lid. “What is it?”

  Holly stared inside the box. The container was empty except for a sheet of floral notepaper. She held it up. “This is all there is.”

  “What does it say?”

  “It’s a note from Van.” She looked at the handwriting. Sort of swirly, but not feminine. “It says, ‘Please join me at the entrance of Big Sugar Creek State Park for a hike this Saturday at 9:00 a.m.’ And it’s signed, ‘Van Keaton.’”

  “Sounds like a date.”

  “A cheap date.” Holly laughed.

  “It’s still a date.” He wiggled his eyebrows. “Go tomorrow. Have fun. It’ll do you some good. I’ll watch the shop.”

  “Thanks, Dad.”

  “What a day.” He rested back on the swing. “Let’s see, if you add in those earlier dates with Van before he left for Houston, you two should be up to about nine. Am I right?”

  Holly pulled back, gaping at her father. “I can’t believe you’ve been counting my dates.”

  “Well, it’s my job. I do want grandkids, after all.”

  “Hey, no guarantees, Dad.”

  Her father grinned. “What may look like a cheap date on the outside may end up changing your life. I mean, what if you fall in love tomorrow?”

  Chapter Eleven

  Owen paced back and forth in front of the state park sign. He couldn’t believe he’d allowed Van Keaton to talk him into a blind date—even worse, a double date with Van and Holly. Huge error on his part. Right up there with his mistake in not selling before the tech bubble burst.

  Van had promised to introduce him to the perfect girl—Lindy, an author friend of his. But if she were perfect, why hadn’t Van married her? Maybe authors didn’t date other authors—too much competition. Owen had no idea how that system worked. He felt so out of his element that he’d broken out in a rash. But he knew the rash had little to do with his blind date and everything to do with Van’s date—Holly Goodnight.

  Owen kicked at a patch of grass but stubbed his toe on a rock instead. Great. Someone was coming up the road—Holly in her Smart Car. When she pulled up in the parking lot, he walked over to her.

  Her window rolled down.

  “Hey, Holl.”

  “Hey, Quig.”

  Owen opened her car door for her. “You feeling any better now—you know, about your mother?”

  “A little.” Holly nodded. “Thanks for asking.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

  “Van didn’t tell you?” Owen took hold of her hand and helped her out of the car.

  “Tell me what?”

  “That he set up a double date.”

  “No, he didn’t mention it.” Holly’s expression wilted, which made Owen’s heart constrict.

  “Van’s bringing an author friend of his to meet me. Lindy somebody. He thought we’d hit it right off. Can’t imagine that Keaton would know what kind of woman I want.”

  Holly laughed.

  He stared at her for a moment, taking pleasure in her mirth. “I’d like to know what’s so entertaining about that.” He tried to scowl, but it came out as a one-sided grin.

  They did their usual elbow-rub, shoulder-bump greeting. “And so what kind of woman would you want, Quig?”

  Someone like you. A Lexus turned into the parking area, absorbing their attention. It was Van, and the passenger had to be Lindy, his blind date. Owen took in a deep breath and readied himself for change. New people always made an impression on one’s life, even if it was only a small one. They fused themselves forever in one’s memories, therefore altering that person’s life. In other words, Owen wasn’t big on Van tampering with his life. Or maybe he just didn’t want Van tampering with Holly’s life.

  After Van got out of his car and knocked a few invisible specks off the hood, he gave them all a Charlie Chaplin stance with a twirl of an invisible cane.

  What a goofball. Owen put on a happy face, but he really felt like kicking himself for encouraging Holly to spend time with Van. This had all been his doing. It had been such an innocent act of benevolence born of the desire to help Holly find healing about her past. And yet in the process he’d opened the henhouse so the fox could stroll right in! What was the old saying—no kind deed ever went unpunished. He was living proof.

  Lindy eased out of the car, almost in slow motion, looking thirty-something and meadow fresh. She had Bambi eyes, and her skin was as creamy as whole milk. He reminded himself that he was lactose intolerant. But it was impossible not to notice that God had blessed her with an ample supply of femininity. All those soft curves were hidden not so successfully under a clingy pink sweater. He blinked and looked away, knowing he’d have to bear the burden of being a gentleman with his eyes. He’d never had a problem with this before, but a hundred victories suddenly threatened to dissolve like a bad investment. Talk about distracting.

  “Hi.” The un-introduced woman slipped on a coat and then walked right up to him and gasped. “Look at you. Just look at you.”

  Owen glanced around, wondering whom she was addressing.

  Lindy laced her fingers around her throat. “Why, you must be Owen Quigly.”

  “Yup. That’s the who of it.” What a moronic thing to say. He shook Lindy’s hand.

  “I’m Lindy. Van’s description of you was perfect.” She tilted her chin. “You are dashing.”

  Owen nearly choked on his salvia. Dashing? Who was she kidding?

  “Jeans and flannel always says outdoorsy and adventuresome.” Lindy said the words with conviction, as though she expected no further argument.

  Was she waiting for a compliment in return? “And you seem very pastel. Sort of mother-of-pearl…ish.” He dropped his gaze. The breeze released a groan through the woods, as if nature, too, cringed at his ridiculous comment. Unfortunately he was left breathing.

  Lindy giggled but said no more about his quirky compliment.

  Holly gave him a look that said, “Don’t use up all your charm in one pass, eh, old friend?”

  Van motioned toward the hiking trail. “Shall we proceed?”

  “Yes, let’s go,” Owen chimed in. Before the rest of my foot takes up residence in my mouth.

  Holly allowed Van to lead the way even though she’d been through the park many times. The morning was clear and cold and would provide good hiking weather. The sky flaunted a few silky clouds, but nothing foreboding. The trees had lost their leaves, so they were no longer dressed to the nines in autumn’s jewels, but the woods still welcomed her. And as always, the park was framed by the rocky bluffs she’d loved since childhood. She took in a deep breath, feeling glad she’d come with Van. Even pleased to see Owen having a good time with his date. Well, trying to have a good time.

  Lindy stumbled, letting out the flimsiest of yelps. Owen reached out to her, but Holly squelched a grin when she saw him steady the woman as if she were his grandmother. No wonder he’d never married. But what about Owen’s new determination to snag a woman? Maybe she’d have to help h
im along.

  Their little gathering fell into a hush as they walked along.

  Holly allowed the woods to envelop her. Just above them the trees linked branches like lovers lacing their hands. The sounds of the woods intensified—the jubilant trills of birds, the rush of water over stones and logs, and the rustling of small creatures under the leaves.

  Van pointed to the ground and said, “‘A little noiseless noise among the leaves, born of the very sigh that silence heaves.’”

  “How lovely. Who wrote that?” Holly asked.

  Van looked at her, his eyes glistening with what appeared to be pure delight. “It was Keats.”

  It was no surprise to Holly that Van could quote the work of famous poets, but it was a surprise that they both rejoiced over the same works of nature.

  Lindy caught up to Holly. “Van told me about his new project, and I want you to know you’re in good hands. He’ll write your story with the utmost devotion. And his readers will love it.”

  “I think readers are going to fall in love with Holly,” Van added.

  “Are you finished with the rough draft yet?” Lindy asked him.

  “No. I can’t figure out how the story should end.” Van picked up a pebble, dried it off, and studied it.

  “So, Van, will you make up your own ending?” Holly hadn’t spent much time thinking about a closure to her story, but suddenly it seemed important.

  “I just meant I’m including the present. And since the story is continuing even as we speak, I’m not sure where to cut it off.” Van tossed the stone back into the stream.

  “Really?” Holly felt compelled to follow the rabbit trail of Van’s disclosure. “So whatever I choose to say and do right now, this minute, could end up in the book and be read by thousands of people?” The idea was exhilarating but also surreal. She wondered if that was how reality TV stars felt, being followed around everywhere with cameras. Humans didn’t do well under those conditions; they were invariably too human.

  “In Van’s case, tens of thousands of readers,” Lindy corrected.

  Van glanced back at Holly. “I’ll only use these moments if I feel they’re significant to the main story.”

  Holly picked up a stick and swiped at the grass as she strolled along. “What if I do the wrong thing?”

  “Whatever you choose to do will be the way the story should be.” Van smiled.

  Holly stopped on the path. It meant that their date would be included in the story. How strange. The stick in her hands snapped in two. “I have a question. What needs to happen today to make you want to incorporate this hiking scene in the book? Does it need to be funny or memorable or life-threatening?”

  Van stroked his chin. “Well, I’d ask myself questions like, ‘Does this scene today add movement or substance to the plot?’ Bottom line, would it keep readers turning the pages?”

  Holly dropped her sticks and mulled over Van’s words. She felt clueless about how to translate real life into a readable story. Good thing Van’s the writer and not me. “So Van Keaton, the author, may show up in his own book?” She moved a tree branch out of the way a second before it would have whacked Van in the head and then steered him around the stream before his shoe landed in a water hole.

  Van kept hiking, cheerfully unaware of these tiny perils and Holly’s efforts to divert them.

  She kept up with him, curious to hear his reply. Even Owen and Lindy hovered near them as if they, too, wanted to know what Van would say next.

  “It looks like I’m going to show up in your story.” Van grinned at Holly. “I hope you don’t mind.”

  Owen let out a lungful of air. Van would only include himself in Holly’s story if he were getting serious about her.

  Holly touched her cheek to her shoulder in a girlish kind of gesture. “Well then, welcome to my story.”

  “I think your work will be a tour de force.” Lindy let her hands run along the lower branches. “I only wish I’d thought of it first.”

  Holly had never acted this way with any of her other dates. The whole scene made Owen’s stomach feel tense. Made his shoes feel too tight. He hated himself for what he was about to do but felt compelled beyond reason. “Uh, Van.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Have you ever been snipe hunting?” Owen knew it wasn’t his finest hour.

  Holly whirled around and gave Owen her surliest expression. “Owen Quigly. You’re kidding. You wouldn’t really do that to Van.”

  “Do what to me?” Van’s expression was as goofy as the concept of snipe hunting.

  Holly rolled her eyes at Owen and then said to Van, “He intends to send you on a wild goose chase. You know, send you out with a bag and a stick to find a furry creature in the brush that doesn’t really exist.”

  Van chuckled. “I wouldn’t mind being on a wild goose chase looking for furry creatures if you were with me.” He blew Holly a kiss.

  Oh, brother. If most humans were puzzles with a few missing pieces, Van Keaton was an empty box. The couple moseyed on ahead, whispering things back and forth. Owen couldn’t make out any of it. Maybe he could stir things up a bit—slip a grass snake into Van’s backpack. Naw, too infantile. Maybe Van’s real Achilles’ heel was his writing. “Hey, Van, I’ll bet Holly would love to read what you’ve written so far.”

  “Oh, it’s not ready. Not by any means. Not even readable. Full of notes and unpolished passages. Some of it’s tripe, in fact. I couldn’t possibly allow anyone to see it right now in such an embryonic stage.” Van gave a violent shake to his head as if it were the most abhorrent thought he’d ever had.

  Holly was full of puppy-dog woe. “I realize it’s a rough draft, but is there any part of it I can read? I’d love to see even the first chapter. Please, please.”

  Van held up his hands in surrender. “Okay. A compromise. I will pick a chapter, edit it, and then let you read it. How’s that?”

  “More than fair.” Holly touched Van’s cheek. “Thank you.”

  Owen jammed his fists into his pockets. He’d only made things worse with his asinine strategies. He’d better give up before he had Van proposing marriage.

  “Isn’t it precious?” Lindy moved in closer to Owen. “Van and Holly look sooo sweet.”

  Owen rubbed the back of his neck for comfort, but there was no relief. For some reason his hands were covered with Lindy’s perfume. All this is my fault. If he hadn’t been such a coward over the years—if he’d just told Holly how he felt years earlier—maybe everything would have worked out. He wouldn’t still be single, resorting to blind dates with impossibly drop-dead gorgeous females he wasn’t interested in, or lowering himself to such juvenile behavior. He’d spent way too many years masking his romantic feelings for Holly, and now she was going to slip through his fingers. No more pretending. No more excuses.

  Van and Holly laughed, and their laughter suddenly compelled Owen to make his position known. Desperation overtook him until he bore no resemblance to the phlegmatic man of the past. His feelings for Holly, whether laughed at or not, were nothing akin to the affection between siblings. He longed for so much more than friendship. I should just say it out loud. “Holly?”

  Owen stopped on the trail, which made the others slow down, stop, and then stare at him.

  “Holly.” Owen would say what needed to be said right in the middle of a double date, in the presence of God, and in the name of all that was honest and good. “Holly, I love you.” There it was. Out there. For all the world to hear, especially for the one who mattered the most. He had officially leaped out of the plane and was in the middle of an emotional free fall.

  Chapter Twelve

  Stares from Holly, Van, and Lindy put a quiver in Owen’s smile. Perhaps he’d picked a bad time to make his announcement after all. Maybe he should just run the other way. Or play dead.

  “Okay, I know what’s wrong.” Holly tilted her head at Owen. “I forgive you for the snipe-hunting thing. I know you didn’t really want to send Van off into the bush
es where he might get a tick.”

  “Oh, isn’t that precious?” Lindy asked. “I love it when friends make up.”

  “Ticks?” Van dusted off a boulder and perched himself on top. “You have ticks here?”

  Holly chuckled, offered some soothing words to Van about it being off-season for ticks, and then sat down next to him.

  Owen took a seat on a fallen log opposite the couple and sighed. Good thing he wasn’t in charge of the universe. Apparently he couldn’t even handle a simple declaration of love. On the other hand. If Holly had latched onto the real meaning of his words, what would have happened? Would she have seen him in a new and favorable light, or would she have given him a snap on the head with a sharp stick like they were ten again? He had no idea what Holly’s reaction would be, and the not knowing was driving him crazy. Somewhere amid all the frustration and helplessness, though, he’d never felt more alive than when he said those three words to Holly.

  Lindy sat down next to Owen and wiggled her feet over the side of the log. “Van, I wanted to tell you I ran into one of your fans the other day. She raved about your last novel, Land of Dreams and Drawbridges.”

  Holly tugged on Van’s sleeve. “Tell us about it.”

  Van splayed his hand over his heart. “Well, I’m sure you’ve heard of the butterfly effect—the theory that the tiniest air flow generated by the beat of a butterfly’s wings can affect air currents enough to eventually create a hurricane. Well, my novel relates those same effects to humans—that whatever we do and say, whatever movement we make toward good or evil, can have a powerful rippling effect around the world.”

  “Nicely said.” Lindy clapped her hands.

  “That was lovely,” Holly added.

  Owen endured the moment. What was it with writer types? Why did they have to turn everything into a metaphor? Couldn’t a rock just be a rock? If Holly was in awe of this guy—this Cyrano de Bergerac—then Owen was in serious trouble. He had no way to compete with such panache.