Meet Me Under the Mistletoe
Autore
Brenda Harlen
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Capitoli
20
Chapter One
Haylee Gilmore kicked aside her work boots as she hung her coveralls on the hook beside the door, aware that her roommate, who also happened to be her sister, would curse a blue streak if she tripped over them. Finley’s shoes, half a dozen pairs of three-inch heels in various styles and colors—and not even a fraction of the number to be found in her bedroom closet, were neatly lined up beneath the deacon’s bench on the other side of the door.
“Fin? Are you home?”
“In the kitchen.”
Haylee followed her voice—and the mouthwatering scents of tomato and basil—to the kitchen.
When the sisters decided to move out of their parents’ Victorian home and into the carriage house apartment together, they agreed to divide the domestic chores equally, alternating cooking duties and sharing the housecleaning and laundry responsibilities. But it was quickly apparent to both that Finley was the much better cook (though Haylee was indisputably the master of baking), so now the younger sister spent more time in the kitchen and less scrubbing toilets.
“Something smells good,” Haylee noted.
“I’m making deconstructed lasagna.”
Apparently Finley had been listening when Haylee grumbled the night before that it would be nice to eat something other than raw vegetables every once in a while. Yes, it was early June and salad was refreshing, but it wasn’t, in her opinion, a meal—even when her sister dressed it up with nuts and berries.
Lasagna was a meal.
Opening the refrigerator to snag a can of Coke, she asked, “Do you want one?”
Finley made a face. “You know I only drink diet.”
“Fake sugar isn’t good for you,” Haylee said, even as she returned to the fridge to grab a can of diet cola for her sister.
“I know.” Finley took the proffered can and popped the tab. “But real sugar won’t help me squeeze into the Donna Karan dress I’m wearing for the Krieghoff wedding Friday night.”
“You’ll look fabulous no matter what you wear.”
“Says the sister who could wear anything and yet chooses to live in jeans and T-shirts.”
“Jeans and T-shirts are comfortable,” Haylee pointed out in her own defense. “Not to mention appropriate for my job.”
“For your job,” Finley agreed. “But there’s more to life than work—or there should be.”
It was a familiar topic of conversation between them, because Finley was social and outgoing and, despite living with Haylee for her whole life, couldn’t understand that her older-by-eleven-months sister was not.
Haylee ignored the comment and lowered herself into a seat at the table to riffle through the mail. She paused when she found a thick envelope with her name and address handwritten in fancy script. “What’s this?”
Finley glanced over as she mixed ricotta in with the meat, noodles and sauce already in the skillet. “An invitation to Caleb and Brielle’s wedding. I got one, too.”
Caleb was a paternal cousin who lived in Haven, Nevada—along with most of the rest of the Gilmore family—and Brielle was the girl he’d been in love with since high school—and had apparently eloped with not long after their high school graduation eight years earlier.
“I thought they were already married,” Haylee remarked, sliding a finger under the flap to open the envelope.
“They are, but they never actually had a wedding, so Brielle’s grandfather is hosting a big reception to make things more official, show off their new baby and prove that the feud is over.”
Haylee swallowed another mouthful of Coke. Though their father had left Haven, Nevada, some forty years earlier, he’d told his children about the Gilmore-Blake feud that dated back more than one hundred and fifty years to when Everett Gilmore, his great-great grandfather, discovered that the exact parcel of land he’d bought had also been sold to a man by the name of Samuel Blake. Rather than risk taking the matter to court and having one of them end up with nothing, the two men had decided to split the property down the middle, using Eighteen-Mile Creek—or Crooked Creek, as it was referred to by the locals—as the east and west dividing line between the two ranches.
Because the Gilmores had already started to build their home in the valley—on the west side of the creek, the Blakes were relegated to the higher elevation on the east—where the land was mostly comprised of rocky hills and ridges. The Gilmores’ cattle immediately benefited from grazing on more hospitable terrain, while the Blakes struggled for a lot of years to keep their herd viable—until silver and gold were found in the hills on their side of the creek and they gave up ranching in favor of mining.
In addition, there was an ill-fated love affair between Everett Gilmore’s daughter, Maggie, and Samuel Blake’s youngest son, James, that ended with a stillborn child and further soured the relationship between the two families.
Haylee pulled the invitation out of the envelope and skimmed the details. “The wedding’s in less than three weeks.”
“A surefire way to keep the guest list down,” Finley remarked, “is to wait until people have other plans to invite them.”
“Obviously you have other plans,” she noted.
“I’m an event planner—I always have other plans.”
“And yet, you still manage to have a social life.”
“You could have one, too, if you wanted one,” her sister said.
It was true that Haylee had never worried too much about filling her after-work and weekend hours with parties and events. She was mostly content with her own company—and even happier with a good book in hand. It was enough for her to get together with a friend for lunch or meet a coworker for drinks every now and again. And for several years, that had been her routine. But over the past few months, she’d noticed an unsettling trend beginning to disrupt her comfortable routine.
Starting with Lisa, who’d had to reschedule their lunch date three times in order to squeeze it in between dress fittings and cake tastings and other appointments in preparation for her upcoming wedding; followed by Candace, who’d bailed on drinks one weekend because she hadn’t been feeling well—and then confided that drinks would be out for the foreseeable future because she was pregnant; and, most recently, by Nancy, who’d simply been a no-show for Sunday brunch because her boyfriend had surprised her with a weekend getaway to Lake Tahoe, and she’d been so excited about the trip she hadn’t thought to even send a quick text message to Haylee about the change of plans.
Haylee was sincerely happy for her friends, but she was also suddenly aware of the emptiness of her own life. Especially in light of the fact that get-togethers with Josslin had already dropped off her calendar because the first-time mom was understandably preoccupied with her new baby.
“It might be fun to catch up with the Haven relatives,” she said now, thinking specifically of her cousin Katelyn—an attorney married to the sheriff and mother to an adorable toddler—and Katelyn’s sister, Skylar—who worked as a counselor with at-risk kids and tended bar at the local watering hole.
“It might be,” Finley agreed.
“Do you know if Dad and Colleen are going to the wedding?”
“I doubt it, especially considering that they’ve already committed to making the trip at the end of August for Grandma and Grandpa’s sixtieth anniversary.”
“What about Logan?” she asked, naming their younger brother, a junior architect at a local firm.
Finley shook her head. “I called him yesterday, hoping to snag him as a plus-one for a recently jilted bridesmaid in the Krieghoff wedding party, but he said he’s going to be working around the clock until the end of the month on a major design project.”
“Well, I’m not going by myself,” Haylee decided, tossing the invitation aside.
“Why not?” Finley scooped pasta into two bowls.
“Because I’d feel pathetic.”
“More pathetic than sitting home alone?” her sister asked, not unkindly.
Haylee pushed away from the table to get cutlery and napkins. “I won’t be alone. I’ll be with Simon.”
“Giving him a man’s name doesn’t change the fact that he’s a cat—and if hanging out with your cat is the extent of your plans, that is pathetic.”
“I know,” she admitted.
And the truth was, she’d gone to the local SPCA and adopted Simon because, after numerous unsuccessful—and perhaps half-hearted—efforts to find companionship through online dating, she’d finally given up and acknowledged that if she didn’t want to be alone, she was going to have to get a pet.
Finley sat at the table, across from her sister, and pulled her cell phone out of her pocket. “What’s the email address on the invitation? I want to RSVP before I forget.”
Her sister’s thumbs flew over the keypad as Haylee read out the requested information.
“Thanks.” Finley set her phone beside her can of soda. “Now Patrick at the Silver Star Vacation Ranch knows that I cannot attend, but my sister Haylee is very much looking forward to the event.”
“What? You didn’t—”
“I did,” Finley confirmed, picking up her fork.
“But I never said I would go,” she protested.
“No, you didn’t,” her sister agreed. “But I don’t want you spending another Saturday night alone at home.”
Haylee sighed. “Can I take Simon as my plus-one?”
“No.” Finley pushed her noodles around in her bowl. “You’re going to go with a mind open to the possibility that you might actually meet somebody.”
“In Haven, Nevada?” She scooped up a forkful of pasta. “A town of...what? Maybe two hundred people?”
Finley tapped the screen of her phone again, performing a quick Google search. “Twenty-two hundred.”
“Because I can’t find a man in a city of half a million, but Mr. Right is going to be waiting for me in a town of twenty-two hundred,” she remarked dryly.
“I don’t expect you to find Mr. Right at the wedding—although Mr. Right Now would be a good start,” her sister said with a wink.
Haylee sighed again. “I guess I’d better look into flights.”
Because she had no intention of driving for seven hours in each direction when she was only going for a weekend.
“And hotels.”
Was there even a hotel in Haven?
She thought she remembered hearing something about her cousin Liam renovating an old inn in town and made a mental note to look it up...after dinner. Because she’d worked through lunch and was starving.
“And you’re going to need something to wear,” Finley said.
“I’m sure I’ve got something in my closet that will work.”
“I’m sure you don’t,” her sister countered. “Even a country wedding requires something dressier than steel-toed boots and a hard hat.”
“How about Converse high-tops and a baseball cap?” she asked, joking.
Mostly.
Finley shook her head despairingly. “There are times when I sincerely question how we’re related.”
There were times when Haylee wondered the same thing.
And because there was no denying that her sister had much better fashion sense than Haylee, she swallowed her pride and said, “Will you go shopping with me?”
Now Finley grinned. “I thought you’d never ask.”
Of course, it wasn’t enough for her sister to ensure that Haylee had a new dress for the occasion. Finley had insisted that she also needed new shoes to go with the new dress, a purse to match the shoes and suitable undergarments to wear under the dress.
Now Haylee was standing in front of the mirror of her ground floor room at the Stagecoach Inn—the local boutique hotel indeed owned by her cousin Liam and managed by his wife, Macy—wearing a tiny pair of pink bikini panties and a matching lace bra that she had to concede was nothing less than an engineering marvel, as the garment somehow lifted and enhanced her body in a way that made it appear as if she actually had breasts.
Maybe Finley was right, she acknowledged, as she wiggled into the simple sheath-style dress in a pale shade of peachy-pink that her sister had called “coral.” Maybe she’d never felt sexy because plain cotton wasn’t sexy.
Or maybe she was deluding herself into thinking that some pretty clothes and pricey makeup could turn her into a different woman—a confident woman.
You’ve always been beautiful, even if you’ve never seen yourself that way, Finley had said. But this outfit should give you a better understanding of the power that goes hand in hand with being a woman.
With her sister’s words echoing in her head, Haylee smoothed the front of her dress and reassessed.
Beautiful was a stretch, she decided.
On the other hand, she wasn’t unattractive.
The sweep of mascara on her lashes made them look longer and thicker—and she didn’t think anyone would guess that she’d needed three Q-tips to clean up around her eyes because putting mascara on her own lashes was a lot more challenging than letting Finley do it. The bronzer on her cheekbones added definition and just a hint of color, and the peach-colored gloss on her lips made them shine.
Peering into the mirror, she thought the overall result was pretty close to the transformation Finley had effected.
So much so that Haylee doubted any of her coworkers would recognize her if they saw her now.
She slid her feet into the high-heeled sandals her sister had insisted were perfect for the dress, then picked up the wristlet that coordinated with the shoes and would hold her ID and keys (and the single condom that she’d tucked inside, because even if she was skeptical about her odds of meeting someone, she didn’t believe in taking chances). Honestly, Haylee had spent more money during that one shopping trip with her sister than she usually spent on clothes in a year—which Finley assured her was not something she should be proud of—and that was before they’d hit the cosmetics department at Saks.
Trust me, it will all be worthwhile, Finley had promised.
So Haylee took a few cautious turns around her hotel room, practicing so that she’d be steady on her feet. The skinny heels did take some getting used to, but she figured she’d be okay as long as she didn’t overindulge.
Although Haven didn’t have an actual taxi service and Uber hadn’t yet found its way to the town, Jesse Blake had hired a couple drivers so that none of the wedding guests would need to worry about transportation to and from the event, especially if they had a few drinks. The exaggerated wolf whistle of the driver who came for Haylee was more flattering than offensive—but maybe that was because the man was seventy years old if he was a day. Still, his reaction bolstered her confidence a little more and his steady chatter on the drive to the Silver Star helped loosen the knots of trepidation in her belly.
She arrived just as the guests were being ushered toward an outdoor seating area facing a gazebo decorated with vines and flowers. Haylee slipped into a vacant seat at the back and watched through misty eyes as Brielle and Caleb walked down the aisle hand in hand.
The bride wore a floor-length vintage lace wedding dress with cap sleeves, a wreath of flowers on her head and cowboy boots on her feet. Her groom was in a Western-style tux complete with cowboy hat and boots. As they renewed their vows in front of their families and friends—including their adorable infant son—there was no doubt in Haylee’s mind that love had finally triumphed over the age-old feud between their respective families.
After the ceremony, she made her way through the crowd, stopping to chat with various relatives along the way, assuring her grandparents—who expressed pleasure at seeing Haylee but disappointment that her siblings and parents weren’t in attendance—that the whole family would be making the trip in August for Jack and Evelyn’s big anniversary party, and snapping photos of the decorations with her iPhone to share with her sister, who was always eager for new ideas that she might incorporate into her own events.
Everywhere Haylee looked, there were barrels and buckets overflowing with greenery and white blooms. Fence rails had been draped with evergreen boughs trimmed with satin bows. Bistro lights were strung above the temporary dance floor, and the nearby food tent was filled with long tables heavy under the weight of hot and cold food servers, layered trays of sweets and cookies, a champagne fountain, kegs of beer, and coolers filled with sodas and juice pouches.
She lifted a glass of champagne from the tray of a passing waiter and sipped the cool, bubbly liquid as she made her way back outside again. Her gaze moved through the crowd, searching for someone—anyone—to talk to so she didn’t look like the complete wallflower that she was.
Still, she was surprised when she caught the eye of a guy near the entrance of the tent—a guy so hot that her heart actually skipped a beat.
The chinos and button-down shirt he wore were appropriate for a country wedding; the cowboy hat and boots emphasized the country part. She guessed his height to be over six feet, though it was hard to be certain at a distance. Shaded somewhat by the brim of his Stetson were dark eyes, a narrow nose and perfectly shaped lips that, even as she watched, curved into a slow smile.
It was the kind of smile that a guy bestowed upon a girl to express his interest. Just because Haylee couldn’t ever recall being the recipient of such a smile didn’t prevent her from recognizing its meaning, and she wondered, with a small tug of envy, which lucky girl in the crowd was the subject of his attention.
Then her gaze lifted to his again—and she found his eyes focused on her!
No way, she decided, locking knees that had gone weak at the mere possibility. He had to be looking at someone else, someone standing close by or even behind her.
Usually that someone was Finley, but her sister was at home in Oakland, so Haylee turned her head to look. But her back was against the split-rail fence, and there was no one else around.
Which meant that he was looking at her.
Smiling at her.
And so she did what any self-respecting, socially inept girl would do when confronted by the attention of an incredibly hot guy.
She fled.
