Mistletoe Hero

by Tanya Michaels

  “All right.” Seated on the couch, looking every bit the elementary school teacher with reading glasses perched on the end of her nose, Lilah tapped her pen on the clipboard she held. “Let’s look at the preparations, figure out where the gaping holes are and try to spackle them in.”

  The repair metaphor made Arianne think of Gabe. And last night’s encounter. If she’d used a more subtle approach, might he have accepted her invitation? Not that it mattered—Ari didn’t do subtle.

  Curled comfortably in a wicker-framed papasan chair that faced the huge back-wall window, fall festival cochair Quinn consulted her own clipboard. “Food is covered. Pete and Vonda and a few of their friends from the senior center are going to run the bingo tent for us. Vonda already went around town, getting people to donate prizes.”

  Arianne laughed at that. “She probably terrorized them until they gave her whatever she wanted.” It was impossible to say no to the fiery seventysomething who, like Arianne and Quinn, had been a bridesmaid at Lilah’s wedding last winter. Arianne adored the elderly woman.

  Lilah read from her list. “We have some kids from the high school taking care of music for us, and a lot of moms have volunteered this year. The difficult part will be organizing them all. The Kerrigans are setting up the tables and coordinating the judges for the jack-o-lantern contest. Brenna and Adam promised to be in charge of face-painting. Ari, can we put you down to work the kissing booth?”

  “Sure, why not? It’s for a good cause.” Most of the guys in Mistletoe were harmless. They’d donate their dollar to the school and give her a quick peck before disappearing into the festival crowd to try their hand at a skill game or purchase food. The fact that Arianne had two looming brothers—who had apparently used up all the good height genes in her family—dissuaded any wiseacres from trying anything inappropriate at the booth.

  Every year, Whiteberry Elementary, where both Quinn and Lilah taught, hosted a fall festival fundraiser. They held it downtown because the parking at the school itself was too limited, and local businesses helped sponsor the activities. Quinn and Lilah had agreed to cochair this year’s festival committee. They’d somehow dragged Arianne and their mutual friend Brenna Pierce along for the ride, although neither of them worked for the school or had kids enrolled there. Brenna, however, had been excused from this afternoon’s meeting. By Thanksgiving, her work schedule would be jam-packed with holiday pet-sitting, so she was taking advantage of a quiet few days now to go with her boyfriend to Tennessee and visit his three kids.

  “Honestly,” Lilah said as she scanned her sheet, “we have the majority of it covered. But there are some minor construction and wiring issues we’ll need help with. I’ve already drafted Tanner. I wish we had more active dads in my class this year. The mothers are great help when it comes to the bake sale and signing up for story circle, but there aren’t many who are comfortable with power tools. Or capable of heavy lifting. We’re shorthanded on muscle this year, especially since the PE coach broke his arm last weekend.”

  “I don’t know what he was thinking.” Quinn shook her head. “A man his age jumping at a skateboard park!”

  Arianne pinned Quinn with a gaze. “Weren’t you supposed to be getting us more muscle, in the form of the cute new teacher Mr. Flannery?”

  Quinn held up her hands. “I will, I swear. I just didn’t have the opportunity yet. He was out today with the stomach bug that’s been going around the classes.”

  “Patrick Flannery?” Lilah grinned. “He is cute. Maybe you should take him some soup and well-wishes.”

  “Nah,” Arianne said. “You can do the well-wishes over the phone without risking germs. Plus, if you ask him for a favor when he’s feverish, he may agree simply because he’s too delirious to come up with an excuse.”

  “Machiavellian,” Quinn said with admiration. “I bet you can get a guy to agree to anything!”

  “Not so. Just last night…” It occurred to Arianne that maybe she didn’t want to share the story of how Gabe Sloan had shot her down. Not because she was embarrassed—it wasn’t that big a deal—but because her friends might read too much into it. “Hey, why am I the only one without a clipboard here? I feel cheated.”

  Lilah rolled her eyes at the non sequitur. “Fess up, Waide. We want the rest of the story.”

  “I asked Gabe Sloan if he wanted to have dinner with me,” Ari admitted as casually as she could.

  It was a good thing she had perspective on the matter. The same could not be said for her friends. Lilah’s eyes doubled in diameter, and Quinn flopped back in her chair so hard the wicker base wobbled.

  “Gabriel Sloan!” they chorused. It was hard to tell whether they were appalled or delighted. They definitely weren’t nonchalant.

  “Oh, fine.” Ari sighed. “Get it all out of your systems. Anyone want to gush about how dreamy he is? Someone prank dial him while I doodle our names together in a heart on my clipboard. Oh, wait, I don’t have one.”

  Lilah reached down to smack Ari lightly on the back of the head. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me you were interested in him. Do your brothers know about this?”

  Before Ari could explain that this had been a onetime invitation, not serious interest, Quinn protested, “It’s not like she kept it a secret. She’s been commenting since summer how sexy he is.”

  “I do recall mentioning that a couple of times,” Arianne admitted. And who could blame her? No one in town disputed his quietly wicked appeal—it was part of the basis of the scandal. Although, personally, Arianne felt Shay Templeton was more than equally to blame. Few ever voiced that opinion, though. Probably out of respect for the dead.

  “So why did he turn you down?” Lilah asked, dragging Arianne back to the present.

  “Said something about my not being his type.”

  The other two women looked outraged, talking over top of each other in their haste to stick up for her.

  “But you’re—”

  “A Waide! Everyone in this town—”

  “Beautiful. I couldn’t get my hair to look like that—”

  “—loves you. Who does he thinks he is?”

  “Is he blind?”

  Arianne giggled. “Well, thanks for the outpouring of support, but I wasn’t losing sleep over it. Maybe I’m really not his type. He’s entitled to feel that way.”

  “Huh.” Quinn rocked back in her chair, thoughtful. “For a guy who looks like a walking magnet for any female with a pulse, I can’t remember the last time I heard he was dating anyone. What do you suppose his type is?”

  They were all silent for a moment, and Arianne wondered if her friends were also thinking about Shay Templeton. God, she would have been about my age when she died. Arianne was sure that, at some point in her childhood, she’d seen the woman, but she’d never had real reason to take notice.

  Ari looked at Lilah, the oldest of the three of them. “Do you think the story is true?”

  Lilah shrugged. “Depends on which version you mean.”

  The Templetons had been a wealthy, tempestuous couple, known for loud fights in the dining room of the country club. One valet reported stumbling across them while they passionately made up in their parked car. Mr. Templeton had been nearly forty, a decade and a half older than his wife, and devoted to the law firm in which he was partner. Gossip ran that whenever Shay got to feeling neglected, she would shower affection on a chosen young man, playing to Templeton’s one insecurity to provoke his jealous attention. But, as far as Arianne knew, none of the men she’d flirted with had been as young as sixteen-year-old lawn boy Gabe Sloan. One story had Gabe shooting Mr. Templeton in a jealous rage, with Shay falling down the curved staircase to her death as she and her lover tried to flee. Other citizens scoffed that Gabe wasn’t even at the house at the time the gunshot was reported. The end result remained the same—Shay Templeton had a broken neck and Mr. Templeton had been shot with his own revolver.

  It was rare for something so controversial to happen here
in Mistletoe, and the whole sordid tale had grown into local legend. Making Gabe some sort of cross between Don Juan and a yeti.

  “Why do you think he’s stayed all these years?” Arianne asked. She knew Gabe’s father still lived in Mistletoe, but she didn’t think she’d ever seen them together publicly. Were they close?

  “Whatever the truth is, it’s a sad story.” Quinn rolled her shoulders back as if trying to shrug off impending gloom. “What made you ask him out, Ari?”

  “Don’t know, really. Like you said, I’ve noticed how attractive he was. This just happened to be the first time I found myself alone with him. Why not ask him out? It’s how I’d approach any other guy who interested me.”

  Lilah and Quinn shot her pointed looks. Gabe Sloan was so not “any other guy.” He was in a category unto himself.

  “Will it be awkward next time he comes into the store?” Quinn asked. “That’s one of the reasons I’m hesitant about Patrick, or any man associated with the school. I have to be there every day, cheerful and patient for the kids, I can’t risk creating an uncomfortable work environment.”

  “I don’t feel awkward about his rejection at all,” Ari insisted. “And I can prove it. You guys say we need some extra muscle to help with the festival? I know just the solution.”

  Her friends gaped at her as if she’d lost her ever-loving mind.

  “What? Haven’t you seen his biceps?” she demanded. “The festival is a community tradition. He’s part of the community.”

  “Not in the strictest sense,” Lilah argued gently.

  “Then, maybe it’s time he was.” Arianne’s natural determination had kicked in; there was little chance of anyone dissuading her now.

  She thought of her large, close-knit family and the warm, nurturing sanctuary Mistletoe had always been for her. It pained her to think of her comforting hometown being something more sinister for Gabe. For whatever reason, he’d chosen to stay—maybe because of his family ties or maybe just because he, like her, was a stubborn cuss, refusing to be driven out by furtive speculation.

  Whatever the reason, if he planned to remain, it only made sense that he’d eventually want to perform a role in their shared society besides supporting player in a fourteen-year-old tragedy.

  Ari brightened. She’d been feeling a bit melancholy lately as the golden summer days shortened into the early darkness of fall. It was probably just the natural letdown now that all the activity surrounding Lilah’s wedding—Ari had been the maid of honor—and preparations for Rachel’s baby—Ari had helped repaint the nursery and had been the backup Lamaze coach—were behind them. For almost two years, it seemed as if her family had been frenzied with events, and she suddenly found herself at loose ends as she watched her brothers move on with their lives. They no longer needed her advice and help. But perhaps she’d stumbled across a new challenge worthy of her considerable energy.

  Gabe Sloan didn’t know how lucky he was.

  Chapter Three

  “Hi. Mind if I sit here?”

  Gabe choked on a bite of his pulled-pork sandwich. Where the devil had she come from? Glancing at Arianne Waide’s pixie features, he speculated that perhaps she’d used fairy dust to simply materialize here.

  Before he could answer that he did mind—and that there were at least half a dozen unoccupied tables nearby—Arianne sat on the wooden bench opposite him. She impatiently moved aside the tabletop roll of paper towel between them. The restaurant didn’t boast impressive interior decor, but the barbecue was phenomenal.

  If Gabe were a better person, he’d think it was a shame more people didn’t know about this hidden treasure. By all rights, it should be just as crowded as the Dixieland Diner. But he was selfishly glad he never had to wait in a long line during the lunch hour and that he wasn’t jostling elbows with locals like Arianne.

  “I’ve come to ask you a favor,” she declared.

  “What is wrong with you?” This time he knew he hadn’t done anything to encourage her attention. So what was she doing stalking him to the far side of town at his favorite hole-in-the-wall?

  “Careful.” She wagged her index finger at him. “Last time we spoke, your manners were a bit rough, but I’m willing to overlook that and start fresh.”

  “How nice.” Was she deranged? The explanation seemed likelier with each passing moment. “To what do I owe this magnanimous oversight?” Whatever he’d done to earn it, he’d make sure not to repeat.

  “I’m naturally kindhearted,” she drawled.

  Looking alarmingly as if she were settling in for a prolonged conversation, Arianne propped her elbows on the table and rested her cheek on her fists. It was the kind of posture that should have appeared youthful. Except that when she brought her arms together like that, it pushed together a surprising amount of cleavage in the scooped neckline of her fuzzy green sweater. He couldn’t recall what she’d been wearing Wednesday night, but he was sure it had been looser. And that it hadn’t seemed so damn touchable. Annoyed that he’d even noticed, he clenched his fingers into a fist on his thigh.

  In spite of her small stature and wavy locks, she was definitely all woman. A woman whose company I didn’t ask for.

  “Look, kid, I’m not kindhearted. I’m an ill-tempered misanthrope. Fancy word for someone who doesn’t like people.”

  Most females would get huffy over his condescension and implied aspersions on their maturity. Arianne widened her smile.

  “I understand,” she assured him. There was so much commiserating sincerity in her tone that it took him a moment to realize she was reflecting his patronization right back at him. “You’re a genuine ogre. Probably live in a swamp, hang out with a talking donkey—”

  “You have an odd strategy for asking favors,” he informed her as he stood.

  “You’re leaving?” She shot an incredulous glance toward his plate, which still held most of his onion rings, the last quarter of his sandwich and a pickle spear.

  “Lost my appetite.”

  “In that case.” She reached unabashedly for an onion ring, closing her eyes and making a near-purring sound in her throat. Once she’d swallowed, she beamed at him in approval. “Wow, those are good.”

  “I know.”

  “Why don’t I eat here more?” she wondered aloud, popping another hand-battered onion ring into her mouth. With a final resigned glance at the food, she stood, too.

  Gabe had the terrible suspicion that she’d fall in step with him and trail him wherever he went. That if he went to the parking lot and drove away, she might actually follow; if he tried to evade her by going into the men’s room, she’d simply wait him out. He doubted he could squeeze through the window.

  “I should have been clearer earlier,” she said, her voice suddenly brisk and businesslike. “When I said I came to ask a favor, that was true, but it’s not just how you can help me, it’s how we can help each other.”

  The old cynicism burned in his gut. If she suggested in husky tones that she could scratch his back if he scratched hers, he would lose all respect for her. And it startled Gabe to realize that even though he barely knew her and had spent the majority of this encounter wishing she’d disappear in a puff of smoke, he did respect her. She had an…implacability that was commendable.

  That slight admiration kept him from telling her point-blank to get lost. Instead, he crossed his arms over his chest. “I have a busy afternoon ahead of me—we don’t all work for our daddies. You have thirty seconds.”

  “You remember Quinn Keller, the teacher who hired you to repair her roof last June?”

  He nodded. Quinn was a decent sort. She’d tipped him for the work he’d done without winking over the check as though he was supposed to add some extra service—something more than one town matron had hinted in his younger years. Quinn would bring out freshly squeezed lemonade on hot days but seemed unnerved enough by him that she kept their conversations brief.

  Unlike certain blondes who seemed determined to chat him up from no
w until the Second Coming.

  The moment he’d inclined his head, Arianne hurriedly continued as if mentally counting down the time he’d allotted her. “Quinn’s cochairing the committee for Whiteberry’s fall festival and needs help with some of the labor—assembling booths, hooking up electrical equipment—but she doesn’t have much of a budget. After all, the whole point is to raise money for the school. So we wanted to ask you to do it for free.”

  He snorted. The lady had a bottomless supply of gall. “And I’d be doing this out of the nonexistent goodness of my heart? You have a nice day, Miss Waide.”

  He headed for the door with a deliberately long stride, but what she lacked in long legs she made up for in unholy tenacity. No sooner had he stepped into the cool afternoon air than that voice once again sounded at his ear—or rather, six inches below it. With her nonstop chirping, he would have expected her to have a shrill tone or maybe something nasal, with a hint of whine. She actually had a low, melodic pitch. It wasn’t hard to imagine that she’d used that voice to convince plenty of people to do her bidding.

  “Gabe,” she chided, “don’t you think it’s silly to run away? It’s not like you can hide from me in a town this size.”

  She had a point. After all, he periodically crossed paths with Shay’s parents and heaven knew they weren’t actively seeking him out the way Arianne was threatening. “No reason to hide when I can outdistance you, short stuff.”

  “You can try. I’ll get a scooter and keep up. Ask my brothers if you don’t believe me.”