by Debra Fisk
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Text copyright ©2017 by the Author.
This work was made possible by a special license through the Kindle Worlds publishing program and has not necessarily been reviewed by Roxanne St. Claire. All characters, scenes, events, plots and related elements appearing in the original Barefoot Bay remain the exclusive copyrighted and/or trademarked property of Roxanne St. Claire, or their affiliates or licensors.
For more information on Kindle Worlds: http://www.amazon.com/kindleworlds
Table of Contents
The Magic of Mistletoe
About the Book
A Message from Roxanne St. Claire
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Meet the Author
Books by Debra Fisk
The Magic of Mistletoe
Debra Fisk
About the Book
The last thing Christie Winters has time to deal with during the Christmas rush at her store, the Vermont Sugar Shack, is her mother’s impulsive wedding to a younger man she met on vacation. Determined to end their two-week romance, she flies to Florida. But before she can convince her mother to call off the wedding, an unexpected kiss and the tropical holiday wonder of Barefoot Bay begin to change Christie’s cynical beliefs about romance.
Chase Barrington would do anything for Troy Hughes, his best pal since childhood, even stand up as best man, despite his own skeptical views on marriage. When he discovers Troy’s fiancée is several years older and they’ve only known each other a few days, he knows he has to change Troy’s mind before he makes the biggest mistake of his life. An impulsive moment with a tall, beautiful blonde under the mistletoe changes everything—just not the way Chase had planned.
Can the magic of mistletoe inspire a cynic and a skeptic to believe in the reality of love?
A Message from Roxanne St. Claire
Dear Reader,
Welcome to Barefoot Bay Kindle World, a place for authors to write their own stories set in the tropical paradise that I created! For these books, I have only provided the setting of Mimosa Key and a cast of characters from my popular Barefoot Bay series. That’s it! I haven’t contributed to the plotting, writing, or editing of The Magic of Mistletoe. This book is entirely the work of Debra Fisk, an author and dear friend who is no stranger to Barefoot Bay.
What could be better than Christmas on the beach? A Christmas wedding on the beach! When two strangers arrive in Barefoot Bay for the same wedding and with the same goal – to stop the mismatch before it happens – it only takes a little magic for them to realize how wrong they are about marriage…and how right they are for each other.
Roxanne St. Claire
P.S. If you love this island paradise, be sure to pick up one eighteen titles I’ve written set in Barefoot Bay. And there are more than sixty novellas in the Barefoot Bay Kindle World penned by other authors in the same setting. Come for a short visit or lose yourself on the beautiful beach and fall in love over and over again! All the books are listed at www.roxannestclaire.com.
Dedication
For my grandmother Alma.
I treasure our conversations and your wisdom.
I love you so.
Chapter One
Christie Winters stood and gazed out the window of her office at the snow falling on the pretty downtown street. The town was trimmed in green garlands, red bows and lights for Christmas, but all she could see was numbers.
She turned back to the report on the desk in front of her. “Sales increased forty-seven percent compared with this time last year. When you think of how far we’ve come since my father passed—well, let’s just say I think he would be proud.”
She dabbed a tear forming in the corner of her eye, leaned over the desk and reached for a tissue. She gave it a quick yank. The tissue popped free, while the box hit the floor. Her cousin Libby looked up at her with concern.
“I learned from the master.” Christie turned to the portrait of her father, John Winters—rugged chin, chestnut hair with light eyes. There was a kindness that showed in his features; the artist had captured the very essence of the man she admired and missed.
“Ten years and his presence still vibrates in this very office.” Most of the decor had remained intact, as if he would return to work in the morning. But the Vermont Sugar Shack had survived, even thrived, as time went on under Christie’s management.
The office—his office—was filled with rich dark woods, photographs of the two of them together and the history of their family business. Her eyes filled with tears as she stared at her favorite picture on the wall of her father tapping maple trees as a small boy. She sighed. This meeting with Libby Anderson was lasting longer than anticipated, and the list of things she needed to do was growing by the minute.
“Our hard work is paying off.” Christie smiled at Libby, who had relocated to their small town of Waterbury, Vermont, and joined the family business. The maple syrup and honey industries were on the rise with the national health movement to return back to nature. “Naturally made” was the slogan most of the local sugarhouses used. Why not capitalize on the free advertising?
Libby paused from taking notes, tapped her phone screen, then pulled up a document. “And the two retail accounts you landed last summer have just doubled their latest order!” she squealed with a wide, pink-lipped grin. Her blue eyes twinkled with excitement.
“Really? We need to increase production to meet the demand in the upcoming season.” Christie had worked hard to gain the trust of two major retail chains in the northeast, with the prospect of a national ad campaign.
December in Vermont was when products flew off store shelves, depleting company storage until the next maple syrup season at the beginning of the year. Honey production lasted a little bit longer, and with orders doubling, they were going to have to expand the processing and packaging plant much sooner than anticipated.
“There’s so much work to be done,” Christie continued. “It looks like I can’t afford to take off a day from now until January.”
Libby raised her eyebrows. “You’re not planning on working during Christmas, are you?”
Frowning, Christie responded slowly, “Yes, I’m going to have to. The Vermont Sugar Shack is my responsibility. I can’t ask my employees to work on a holiday.”
Maintaining the Vermont Sugar Shack and her father’s reputation was at stake with these new orders.
By taking full responsibility for the family business, she allowed her mother, Barbara, to enjoy her semi-retirement. Right now her mother was spending two fabulous weeks in Barefoot Bay at the Casa Blanca Resort & Spa with her Aunt Fiona, enjoying a few weeks of well-deserved Florida sunshine and a full pampering with spa treatments.
“I think you need a break to recharge,” Libby said. “I mean, after this batch of last orders has shipped, there’s no need for you to work over the holidays. Live a little, maybe pick up a bottle of your favorite dessert wine.”
Oh, Black Ice. She could use a glass right now, or maybe she’d drink the entire bottle. “I appreciate what you are saying, but things haven’t been the same since I lost my father.” Or Justin. Her lying, cheating fiancé. A sick knot formed in the pit of her stomach. She squelched that painful memory and refused to entertain any thoughts of that louse now. There was no time in her life for that. Besides, that was years ago. “My mother and I will share a Christmas breakfast, then I’ll be b
ack to work. I can’t afford to miss a day.”
“We could hire more help,” Libby suggested, making her way over to the Keurig in the corner of the room. “Do you need a refill?”
“Please!” Her cell phone buzzed. Christie looked at the screen. A picture of her mother flashed up, and she answered. “Hi, Mom, how’s your vacation go—”
“Hi, honey, I have a surprise for you,” her mother cooed.
Ugh. “Mom, you know how I hate surprises.” And it had been that way ever since she was a child when her parents had thrown her a surprise party for her tenth birthday. Which turned out to be a disaster.
Barbara Winters sang into the phone, “I’m getting married!”
Christie’s mind screeched to a halt at the words getting married. Her mother continued to speak, but the words didn’t register. Did she say getting married? No. Impossible. Christie’s stomach ached like she’d been punched a few times.
“Excuse me. Did you say married?” She pressed, “How? You’re not even dating anyone.” This had to be some sort of prank. “Have you been out in the sun too long?” She glanced at the calendar. “You’ve been there, what—all of ten days! Who is this person?” And why did he want to marry her mother?
“Married?” Libby handed Christie a cup of coffee and sat back down. “Aunt Barbara’s getting remarried? Wow.”
Christie fired a keep-quiet glance in Libby’s direction. Her mother never mentioned she was lonely. How could she replace her father? Ten years was a long time, but Barbara Winters said she’d never marry again, and Christie never gave it a second thought. She never even hinted she wanted to date. When her mother returned from Florida, she would talk her out of it. She put her cell phone on speaker and set it down on the desktop.
“His name is Troy, and he’s ten years younger than me.” Her mother carried on like a giddy schoolgirl. “We met under the mistletoe, and it was magic.”
“You’re joking, right?”
Sickening.
Christie’s head was spinning, and the center of her back ached from the tension of holding her breath. Breathe—breathe deep. She hoped the stabbing pain would subside as she exhaled.
“Have you been drinking?” It was a little early in the day for that, but hey, her mother was on vacation with Aunt Fiona. Libby’s mother was known to enjoy her morning cocktails on occasion.
Her mother laughed. “No, silly.”
Christie tried to pacify her. “Mother, when you get back we can talk about it.” Clearly, her mother had had too much sun or mimosas at breakfast, or both.
“Christie, you don’t understand—I’m getting married next week—here at Barefoot Bay. How soon do you think you can fly down?”
Never!
“Ugh, next week? What’s the rush?” Christie’s mouth went dry, and a bad taste formed in her mouth. She reached for her coffee. Her brain kicked into full throttle. With a spontaneous trip in her future, the window of opportunity evaporated for her expansion plans in an already overloaded schedule.
“Wait until you meet him, honey. It’s all magically fallen into place. Casa Blanca is the perfect location for a wedding. Why—”
Christie pressed her eyes shut. Please don’t say it. Please don’t say it.
Her mother continued, “If you ever decide to marry, this is the perfect location for your wedding.”
Ugh, she said it. Christie rolled her eyes at Libby and pursed her lips. “It’s not like I’m rejecting offers, mother. I’m far too busy—marriage isn’t even remotely on my radar.” Justin had made sure of that. Anyway, how could it be? Twelve hours day, seven days a week doing the job of three people because she didn’t want to turn over some of the responsibilities to someone else. Someone who didn’t have their heart invested in the company would only make mistakes or cut down on quality. No way.
“Wait until you sink your toes into the white sandy beach, then dive in the turquoise water,” her mother chuckled, “or take a stroll about the resort and admire the manicured grounds. It rejuvenates your spirit. I feel like a new woman.”
Maybe it was too much of Libby’s coffee, the side effect of the caffeine, but her hands trembled while she listened. Life had a way of throwing curveballs when you least expected it. “To be honest, I wanted you to feel like a new woman, not turn into one myself.” The words came out a bit sharper than intended.
The laughter was gone, replaced by a moment of awkward silence. “This doesn’t mean I love your father’s memory any less.” She lowered her voice. “It’s just different—a way to pass the second phase of my life.” Her mother’s cheerful tone was replaced by a hollow sadness.
Christie’s shoulders slumped. She regretted her harsh words. “I’m sorry. You have to admit this is a bit of a shock, and I’m tired, overworked. Sales have skyrocketed. Libby and I can barely keep up.”
“It’s true, Aunt Barbara,” Libby yelled at full volume, even though she was sitting in the chair across from Christie. She opened a tin of shortbread cookies that rested on the corner of the desk, offered one to Christie and whispered, “You need some sugar to help make your words a little sweeter.”
“Thank you, Libby—feed your cousin a few of them. Christie, I want you to meet Troy before the wedding so we can spend some quality time together, you know, before we officially become family. The best man is arriving soon, and of course, you’re my maid of honor.” Her mother had switched off the loving tone she used with Libby and turned on her business voice.
A family? Things were becoming stranger by the minute. She wasn’t a little girl in search of the security of a family unit. At thirty-two, she wasn’t interested in the whole family thing, really. No husband, and certainly not children. She could barely manage to find an occasional date. To be honest, she didn’t want to. Running the Vermont Sugar Shack filled her days 24/7. She didn’t want to complicate her life with a relationship.
“I’m drowning in work. Orders are piling up. I’ll email you. I gotta go. Love you, Mom. Bye.” She tapped the screen and disconnected before her mother had a chance to protest, turning her attention to Libby. “Your mother didn’t mention a thing about this?”
Libby shook her head. “No.”
Christie flung herself back in her high-backed leather chair. “Real nice. I’m stunned. Mom never mentioned she met someone or was dating, let alone getting married, when I spoke to her a few days ago. I don’t understand. What’s the rush?”
“What are you going to do?” Libby questioned. “I mean, we have orders, and the new advertising campaigns kick in next week—I expect an explosion in sales then—but you have to go to Florida for the wedding.”
Christie bolted up out of the chair. “What I need to do is stop this wedding.”
“Stop the wedding?”
“Exactly! I’m going to fly down tomorrow, check into a private villa like the one I booked for my mother at Casa Blanca, and spy on them.”
“You’re doing what? Are you crazy?” Libby knitted her eyebrows together and twirled a piece of her auburn hair.
“Just for a few days, then I’ll announce I arrived to surprise them.” As she spoke it out loud, the ridiculousness level seemed off the charts, but desperation had set in, and rationality had vacated the building. “I’ll get there, talk some sense into my mother and be back before the new ad campaign.” Life might have thrown her a curveball, but Christie could hit it right out of the park.
“There goes my trip to a tropical climate.” Libby frowned.
Christie spun around in her seat, her fingers moved like lightning along the keyboard, and in minutes, a rental car and flight were booked. She breathed a sigh of relief. If her plan went well, she’d stop her mother from making the biggest mistake of her life.
Chapter Two
Chase Barrington was on a rescue mission for a man who wasn’t aware he needed to be saved. He arrived in Barefoot Bay after midnight to prevent a college buddy from making the biggest mistake of his life. Getting married to a woman who had a
kid was not in either of the life plans they had laid out in college. Marriage was for the type of guy who needed a woman on his arm to make him feel like a real man. Not Chase. He didn’t need anyone. He could take care of himself. He didn’t need a doting wife or a high-maintenance woman. Relationships were a lot of work—hard work—and Chase wondered what this woman could have done to influence his friend to take on an instant family. He’d shot his friend a text, On my way, and now he was here at Casa Blanca, about to prevent a tragedy.
He’d checked in late last night and had a nice view of the Gulf of Mexico from his room on the top floor of the main building. Before dawn, he jogged along the beach, refreshed, since the weather had been colder than usual back home in New Hampshire this season. Chase could get used to this real easy, at least in the winter. The summer had to be a scorcher. After all, Barrington Winery was practically running itself these days. He deserved a little time off now and then.
He showered, changed and had a quick breakfast of a croissant and coffee before taking a stroll through the decorated lobby. The owners had spared no expense. Someone really liked, correction, loved Christmas. The lobby had a beautiful Fraser fir decorated with translucent ribbon the color of the ocean, white strands of pearls, seashell ornaments, and clear, blown-glass teardrops with metallic pearl glitter that looked like snow suspended inside. There was a large, plush sea turtle wearing a Santa hat resting underneath the tree with his fin on a sign that read, “Merry Christmas.” And dangling in every archway was mistletoe.
He was about to leave when he turned and noticed a tall, willowy blonde standing directly under a full, round bunch of mistletoe with a large red bow on top.
She was dressed like she’d dropped in from the North Pole: black boots, black leggings, lavender turtleneck, purple down vest with a matching scarf. Her big blue eyes met his, and he felt himself pulled in her direction by an imaginary force. His breathing picked up, and he felt his pulse rise. She licked her full, pink lips. She looked off into the distance as he approached from an angle. “Did you know you’re standing under the mistletoe?”
