The Merriest Magnolia

by Michelle Major

  Meredith cocked a brow. “You like rabbits?”

  “Don’t even think about it,” he warned.

  “I think you’re placing the blame on the wrong sister. Carrie invited you here for Thanksgiving and brought Barnaby to your house. She’s the reason you’ve opened your house.”

  And your heart, a little voice inside him said. He mentally choked that voice until it was silent. She didn’t have his heart. Hell, no. He was a grown-ass man, more than capable of understanding the difference between love and sex.

  He sure wasn’t interested in setting himself up for a good kick in the heart again.

  “She’s sneaky,” he said instead, “but we’re full up now. No more rescues or lost causes.”

  Meredith didn’t answer but her eyes narrowed slightly as she studied him, like he was some kind of puzzle she was trying to solve.

  “I didn’t peg you for an unsung hero sort of guy,” she said, rising and handing him a manila envelope.

  He shrugged. “You were too busy casting me as the villain.”

  “Not exactly a villain, but maybe a second-rate bad guy,” she admitted. “Remember I have two older brothers. I heard plenty of stories about you.”

  “All of them true, I’m sure.” He took the envelope from her hand as heat prickled along the back of his neck. He hadn’t thought much about the stupid choices and monumental mistakes he’d made as a teenager until he’d taken responsibility for Sam. Then all the ways he had no business caring for another human came rushing back to him. “By the way, I’m not a hero of any kind. I could give a damn if every single person in this town considers me the bad guy.”

  “Even Carrie?” Meredith asked. He hated the way her gaze gentled when she looked at him, like he was some kind of wounded animal who needed rescuing.

  Which was absurd.

  “We both know how she feels about me,” he said instead of answering the question. Because never in a million years would he admit that he wanted Carrie to look at him the way she used to, as if he hung the moon and the stars. Not when he could walk outside on a sleepless night and count his faults like a million spots of light across a clear sky.

  “Do we?” Meredith walked around the desk, bending to scoop up a hulking black cat. “I heard that you told Carrie to focus more on her art.”

  “Yeah. You might not remember her from high school, but her paintings were everything to her. At least until her parents divorced and her dad...” He cleared his throat. “Your dad,” he amended but Meredith held up a hand.

  “The man who raised me is my father. Niall Reed is the jerk who screwed around with my mom.”

  There were so many levels of anger and betrayal in those words, Dylan didn’t even know how to formulate an answer. He nodded, hoping Meredith didn’t expect more than that.

  “Niall put the three of you in a horrible situation. He also did a number on Carrie’s confidence. She’s had too many excuses over the years to put her talent aside.”

  “Excuses like bailing out the town from the financial mess he caused?” Meredith asked with a humorless laugh.

  “Among others.” He gave a pointed look to the fluffy feline in her arms. “She helps you out quite a bit with fostering, right?”

  “Are you blaming me?”

  “I’m not blaming anyone,” he corrected. “But if the people in her life continue to give her a pass for not pursuing her art because it’s scary or hard, that isn’t going to help her. She needs to be painting.”

  Meredith’s mouth thinned and he thought she was going to physically kick him out of her office. But she closed her eyes for several moments—maybe even to the count of ten—and when she opened them again, she nodded.

  “Avery and I will talk to her.” She dropped the fluffy cat onto her desk where the animal immediately stretched out like some kind of feline centerfold showing off its private bits. “Again.”

  He pointed to the cat. “Is that what I have to look forward to with Barnaby?”

  Meredith flashed a cheeky grin. “He’s a kitten so you have tons of fun ahead of you. Unwound toilet paper rolls...shredded curtains...being climbed like a jungle gym.”

  “Fantastic,” Dylan muttered. “Can’t wait. I’ll see you at his next vet appointment.”

  He turned to go but Meredith stopped him with a hand on his arm. He looked down at her fingers, noticing that they were the same elegant shape as Carrie’s. Did Avery have the same hands as her two sisters? Was this a trait they shared from their father’s DNA?

  She quickly pulled away her hand. “I’m joking about the bad behavior. Get a scratching post and some interactive cat toys. Call if you run into an issue. I just want you to know you’re doing a good thing with the animals. Not just for them but for Sam, too. Studies have shown that pet ownership is good for a person’s emotional and physical health. Daisy and Barnaby will give him something to think about other than himself and what he’s been through. And unconditional love. Everyone needs love.”

  “I don’t,” Dylan answered automatically. He’d learned too many hard lessons about how love led to pain. “But I get what you’re saying about the kid. Just no more animals.”

  “Fish are easy,” Meredith said, tapping one finger against her chin.

  “No more,” he repeated with an eye roll and she laughed.

  He left the rescue with a feeling of lightness in his chest that he didn’t understand or appreciate. He had no desire to make friends with people in Magnolia, and certainly not Carrie’s sister. He might not consider himself the enemy, but it was better if other people did. Then there would be no surprises if and when he hurt them.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CARRIE RUSHED DOWN the stairs into the conference room of the town hall building, where the business owners’ meeting was already underway.

  First, she’d totally blown off last week’s dinner with her sisters and the two town council members, and tonight she was twenty minutes late. As a rule, Carrie was never late but she’d been painting for hours and lost track of the time. Again.

  Returning from Dylan’s house, she’d only managed a few fitful hours of sleep before giving up. In the second bedroom of her rental, she’d picked up a paintbrush and put it to the canvas set up on her easel without much conscious thought. Years ago art had been both her escape and a path to emotional freedom. It was strange that it played the same role for her now, like slipping back into a comfortable pair of shoes.

  She’d continued to paint as the light from the window went from shades of gray and pink to the bright morning sunshine and throughout the day. She hadn’t stopped for food or to go to the bathroom, propelled by some force she barely understood.

  “I’m here,” she announced as if her arrival wasn’t obvious.

  “Nice to see you, Carrie,” the mayor announced from where he stood at the podium in the front of the room. “We were about to adjourn to the square to test the lights before things really get rolling tomorrow.”

  Tomorrow. The biggest weekend of the festival—her festival—kicked off in earnest tomorrow with the elaborate LED and twinkle light displays she’d installed to be synchronized with a soundtrack of holiday carols, along with a twenty-minute snow show. And she’d blown off her entire to-do list in order to spend the day working on a new canvas. What was wrong with her?

  She smiled and kept her head held high as the members of the committee filed past her on their way out the door, ignoring the strange looks she got from almost every person, including her sisters. She hadn’t seen Dylan yet but the way the little hairs on the back of her neck stood on end told her he was in the room.

  “Is everything all right, dear?” Josie Trumbell seemed genuinely worried as she looked Carrie over from head to toe.

  “I’m fine,” Carrie answered and tried not to cringe as she glanced down at herself. The faded sweatshirt she wore was wrinkled
and splattered with paint specks and the bulky boots she’d shoved her feet into were a glaring contrast to the patterned leggings she wore. She smiled at Josie and swiped a hand at the front of her shirt.

  “Don’t bother,” Avery said, coming to stand next to her. “Your cheeks are streaked, as well. Embrace the eccentric artist mantle, sis. It looks good on you.”

  “I’ve been painting, but I’m not what anyone would consider an artist,” Carrie protested automatically. “Eccentric or otherwise.”

  “Then you do a great impersonation of one,” a deep voice said from behind her. She turned to find Dylan smiling at her, and not the smug grin she would have expected. He looked genuinely happy to see her and somehow satisfied that she was in such a state of disarray. “People who paint are generally known as artists,” he said, his voice pitched low.

  “Captain Obvious strikes again,” Meredith said with a laugh as she joined them.

  “I’m sorry,” Carrie murmured. “I lost track of time today and—”

  “Don’t apologize,” Meredith interrupted. “We’ve got things under control for the festival.”

  “Your sisters have your back,” Malcolm added as he approached.

  “Carrie’s done the heavy lifting,” Avery said, and Carrie wasn’t sure whether to be grateful for the loyalty or embarrassed how clear it must be to everyone that she was shirking her responsibilities.

  Maybe she had more in common with her father than she wanted to admit. He’d always professed his good intentions with regard to the town. At least he’d talked a good game about his commitment. But when push came to shove, Niall had been in it for himself. Carrie didn’t think of herself that way, but she couldn’t deny the tinge of resentment that had colored her mood as she’d finally put away her paint supplies in order to rush to this meeting.

  No one had forced her to devote herself to making the holidays in Magnolia the biggest and best the region had ever seen. But how else would she prove that she wasn’t like her dad? That she hadn’t allowed herself to ignore how bad things had gotten, just as he had, because it was easier that way.

  Dylan’s warm hand on her back snapped her out of her meandering thoughts. She darted a glance at him and then to the cluster of family and friends surrounding them. Her sisters and Malcolm watched her with the same curious expressions. Like they were questioning whether she’d lost her mind.

  “Let’s go see the lights,” she said with a purposefully bright smile. “It’s going to be amazing.”

  The mayor let out a relieved breath. “It sure is,” he agreed and led the way toward the staircase.

  Avery and Meredith shared a look that Carrie didn’t bother to try to interpret.

  “I’m fine,” she insisted, stepping away from Dylan’s touch even though her first instinct was to move closer to him. There was no reason why he should feel like her ally at the moment. For all she knew, his insistence that she needed to devote more time to her art was a ploy to distract her from her duties on the festival committee. The number of visitors in town for the holiday events had been impressive so far, but they needed even bigger crowds to show up the next two weekends for the down-home holiday celebration she’d planned. A lack of visitors would help prove Dylan’s point that Magnolia needed an image overhaul instead of a simple enhancement.

  “You should have kept painting,” Avery said over her shoulder. “Meredith and I could have handled this.”

  “You both have enough going on in your own lives,” Carrie argued. “The town is my responsibility.”

  “No, it’s not,” Dylan said, leaning closer.

  “I hate to agree with him,” Meredith said, “but he’s right. Your dreams and goals are just as important as the ones that involve the town.”

  Annoyance pricked along Carrie’s spine. “My goal is to see Magnolia thrive again.”

  “But you’re painting.” Avery held the door open as Carrie walked through. “And not just silly sip-and-paint-themed canvases. That should be your priority.”

  “Those silly parties were your idea,” Carrie reminded her half sister, not bothering to hide her annoyance.

  “You should stage another show with your new works,” Meredith suggested. “Bring in some other artists and do a showcase of local talent.”

  Carrie crossed her hands over her chest. “I’m not selling my new paintings.”

  “We could put it on the town calendar for late January.” Malcolm tapped a finger on his chin, gazing at Carrie with those too knowing chocolate-brown eyes. “You’d be a great midwinter draw.”

  “I’ll make fliers to hand out at the festival this weekend and next,” Josie offered. “My granddaughter is teaching me how to use templates on my computer. I’m very high-tech now.”

  “I’m not a draw.” Carrie tried to keep the panic out of her voice when she realized every member of the festival committee—people she’d known her entire life—stared at her like she was some kind of second coming. “I doubt anyone wants to see my current art.”

  “Yes, they do,” Avery argued. “Especially if we market the event the right way.”

  “Your dad might have been a critical hack most of his career,” Phil Wainright from the hardware store said, “but he’s still famous. People will be curious to know whether you’re going to carry on the family tradition. Think of the publicity you got from the show of your old stuff, and we hardly did anything to market that but announce it on the town Facebook page.” His words earned nods of agreement from the group, making Carrie unsure of whether to laugh or cry.

  Without thinking about it, she shifted nearer to Dylan. She should be angry with him. His encouragement had inspired her to begin painting for real again. She hadn’t even realized she missed it before he came back into her life. She hadn’t realized she missed a lot of things before his return.

  “We need to keep our attention focused on the task in front of us,” he told the group as he stepped in front of her like some kind of buffer against a storm. “Let’s get these lights going and show the crowds who attend the festival a great time and then we’ll focus on what comes next.”

  Carrie appreciated the reprieve from being the center of attention, even if something about the way he spoke about the future made her hackles rise. She ignored the clang of warning bells sounding in her brain. Dylan was here. True to his word, it felt like he was giving her and the other volunteers a chance to prove they had Magnolia on the right track.

  If they stayed the course, things would keep moving forward with tourism and, hopefully, they’d forget about the idea of her doing a show. She should want to embrace the opportunity, but as much as painting filled her heart, the thought of putting her work out for public consumption remained a terrifying prospect. Her old high school paintings had been easy enough to display, especially when the sales had helped raise the money to pay off a few overdue bills and buy supplies for the paint-and-sip business.

  But her new work felt different, more personal. In truth, it terrified her to think of sharing it publicly. There would be no way to prevent comparisons to her father, and Carrie had watched him struggle for years dealing with his career. The constant pressure to do more, sell more, be more to everyone. It was one thing to give her all to help Magnolia succeed. She imagined putting that much effort into a career as an artist might feel like constantly walking around with no clothes on.

  Tamping down the panic that threatened to overtake her, she followed as Malcolm led the group across the street toward the center of the town square. She’d deal with the harsh reality of what it meant to truly embrace her art after the holidays. Carrie held her breath as he placed a hand on the control panel the electricians had set up behind the main bandstand.

  He flipped the switch and for a moment the entire square was flooded with light. Thousands of light strands twinkled from where they’d been strung across the wide expanse of park, around
the trunks of trees and along the perimeter of the square. Every building that bordered the park was lit in festive colors. Overhead there was a canopy of light in the shape of Santa in his sleigh, complete with reindeer and a giant bag of toys.

  Tears sprang to Carrie’s eyes as the lights danced like stars overhead and all around them. She heard the rumble of the snowmaking machine and seconds later flurries gathered in the air around them. The effect was everything she’d imagined and more.

  A collective gasp went up from their group. It was like a holiday fairy tale for a few seconds. Then it all went dark.

  * * *

  “THE LIGHTS WERE overkill anyway,” Stuart Moore, the crotchety owner of the bookstore, told Carrie as he awkwardly patted her shoulder. “People don’t want to be wearing sunglasses at night.”

  She gave a halfhearted laugh at his attempt to make her feel better. Even to her own ears it sounded just this side of hysterical.

  “We’ll fix this,” Avery assured her.

  “It’s a disaster,” Carrie murmured, pressing two fingers to her pounding heart. “I shouldn’t have gone so crazy with the lights.”

  Her plan for the biggest light display on the coast seemed to have overloaded the main circuit, plunging the entire town into darkness, or maybe it was the whole county. Shae had called Meredith from the rescue to report they’d lost power and ask about any possible electrical storms.

  No storm on the horizon other than the tornado blowing apart Carrie’s confidence.

  Even now all she could seem to do was stand in place as people moved around her, putting in calls to the utility company and unplugging cords to ease the pressure on the system.

  “I saw this on an episode of that Christmas light fight show,” Josie reported. “But they only knocked out the block.”

  “It was beautiful while it worked,” Mary Ellen offered. “At least we tried it before the entire festival was ruined.”

  “It was too much anyway,” Stuart said, shaking his head. “Should have listened to Dylan in the first place. Who would have thought he’d be the rational one in all of this?” He gave a long look at Carrie, Avery and Meredith. “I guess we should have expected it with you three.”