Mountain Mistletoe Christmas
Autore
Patricia Johns
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Capitoli
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CHAPTER ONE
WHEN UNCLE STU announced he was gay after thirty-five years of marriage, the entire family had been stunned. In Jen Taylor’s family, Uncle Stu and Aunt Gayle had been pillars of marital success—both with great careers, financial security and the sweetest way of toasting each other from across the room to a successfully served Thanksgiving dinner.
“Gayle’s the best!” Stu always said, raising his glass. “She’s a real pal. Couldn’t do it all without her.”
So, looking back on it, there had been...signs. But what woman wanted to face that unless she absolutely had to? Jen could sympathize. Divorce was the most painful experience of Jen’s life so far, too—almost like tearing off a limb. Trying it after thirty-five years of marriage was almost unfathomable.
But the tragedy for her aunt and uncle was more than just Gayle’s decades of marriage to a man who never truly desired her. It was Stu’s decades of repressing who he really was. Painful as it was for everyone in the family, that divorce was for the best.
So when her favorite aunt called with a verbal invitation for her second wedding, to a local retired real-estate lawyer named Matthew Pickard, how could Jen not attend? Just because Jen was recovering from her own painful divorce, and her twelve-year-old son was spending Christmas with her ex-husband, didn’t mean she couldn’t be happy for other people. Right? Her therapist had said so, at least, and she’d been repeating that mantra to herself for weeks. Besides, Jen had just moved back to Mountain Springs, Colorado, and she’d recently purchased the old mansion on South Avenue. It wasn’t like she couldn’t make it to the wedding...
So here she was at Mount Springs Lodge—a lakeside lodge styled like a log cabin that had been redone to some real luxury in the past few years. Jen scanned the name cards. She had been marooned at a corner table with an arguably gorgeous view of the lake, with a bunch of women she didn’t know. Renata Spivovich, Angelina Cunningham, Belle Villeneuve and a couple—Melanie and Logan McTavish. Or siblings? She had no idea. For being so eager to have Jen come to the wedding, Aunt Gayle could have at least put her at a table with family. Jen picked up her name card and glanced across the dining room to where her sister, Lisa, was already chatting with some cousins.
“Hi.”
Jen started and sheepishly put the card back when a short, plump woman with a sparkling smile came up beside her. She wore a black sequined dress and her short hair was done in a messy, spiky do that suited her round face.
“I’m Renata,” the woman said, holding out her hand. “Gayle’s told us all about you.”
“Has she?” That was strange. “How do you know my aunt?”
“We have a dinner club,” Renata replied. “She hasn’t told you about us?”
“I think she mentioned a dinner club.” And her aunt had stuck her with them? Jen was trying not to be insulted here, but...
“There’s Belle,” Renata said, looking past Jen’s shoulder, and Jen turned to see a lithe, brunette beauty sailing toward them in a formfitting silk sheath. Jen felt positively prepubescent next to her.
“Hey, girl,” Belle said, leaning down to give Renata a hug; then she turned to Jen. “Are you Jen Taylor?”
“Yeah—”
“Great to meet you,” Belle said, and she enclosed her in a perfume-scented hug. “Sorry, I’m a hugger. I wasn’t always, but I like it.”
Jen stared at her in mute surprise.
“You okay?” Belle asked with a coaxing smile. “The hug was too much?”
“No, I’m fine,” Jen chuckled. “Nice to meet you.”
“Sit, sit,” Renata said, pulling out her chair. “The food is going to be amazing. Angelina was supervising everything—she owns this place, you know.”
“Oh—” That Angelina Cunningham. Jen should have placed the name. Angelina had bought the old hunting lodge and absolutely transformed it, turning it from an old man’s hangout to a trendy tourist hub. Jen’s sister, Lisa, had sent her some articles. This lodge had been covered in several travel magazines, and it had turned into a real hot spot.
Jen sat down. Any escape after being hugged and chatted up was going to be incredibly rude. Besides, a chance to pick Angelina Cunningham’s brain about renovating an old building would be priceless. Perhaps Aunt Gayle had been looking out for her after all.
The string quartet was warming up across the room, and people were mingling, talking and laughing, finding their seats. Just then the McTavishes joined them. Definitely a couple. They were smiling and his arm was draped around her shoulder. His tie even matched her midnight blue dress.
“This is Melanie,” Renata said, nudging Jen’s arm. “And her husband, Logan. They’re pretty newly married themselves. Mel, this is Jen.”
“Jen?” Melanie raised her eyebrows. “Oh, Jen! Great to meet you.”
Melanie put her hand out and they shook before the two took their seats.
Jen was getting the distinct impression that everyone had heard a whole lot about her. Was it her divorce that had garnered all this attention, or what?
“Good. You’re all here.” Gayle glided up to the table with a sparkling smile. “You’ve all met my niece, then?”
Gayle had chosen a floor-length lace gown with three-quarter-length sleeves and a bateau neckline. Her silver hair was swept into an updo, and she oozed old Hollywood glamour. She’d told Jen how she’d been nervous about this dress choice, convinced that a second wedding for a woman over sixty should stay “understated,” but Jen had convinced her otherwise. Looking at her aunt now, she was glad she’d managed it.
“We have met,” Renata replied with an equally brilliant smile of her own. “She’s delightful.”
“These are my particular friends,” Gayle said, leaning down next to Jen. “They’ve been here for me through some tough times, and I really think you’re going to like them.”
“The dinner club, right?” Jen said uncertainly, and she leaned closer and lowered her voice. “What about Lisa and my cousins? I kind of expected to be seated with family—”
“Just meet these women first,” Gayle whispered. “Then go pull a chair up with the family. This wasn’t meant to be an insult, I promise. It’s just that they were all going to be here, and so were you, and I really wanted you to meet them properly—”
Someone called Gayle’s name and she straightened and smiled as a flash went off. Gayle gave Jen’s arm a squeeze and moved off to another table, leaving Jen with the women, who were looking at her with smiles and undisguised curiosity. Another woman slid into the remaining chair—an elegant, curvy woman with sleek blond hair and an ageless face. She wore crimson lipstick on plump lips and rivaled Belle for model status. Next to them, Jen was feeling just a little bit frumpy in her own knee-length red dress. She pasted on a smile. She’d make the best of this, and then escape to the family table.
“Is this Jen Taylor?” The blonde woman held out her hand. “I’m Angelina Cunningham.”
“Pleasure.” Jen shook her hand. “I’m happy to meet you. I understand you redid the lodge.”
“Well, me and a small army,” Angelina said, brushing off the compliment. “And you’ve purchased that old mansion that went up for sale. I had half a mind to buy it myself.”
“Glad to have beaten you to it,” Jen said with a chuckle.
“But getting to the point,” Angelina said. “We understand that you’ve recently gone through a nasty divorce.”
Jen swallowed and felt the blood drain from her face. “Right.” That was the point? Her divorce? She was doing her best to press forward into her new life. Since when was a woman’s marital status her defining quality?
“I’m just going to get us some drinks,” Logan said, rising to his feet and slipping away. Melanie didn’t even bat an eye. She leaned forward.
“I know how this sounds,” Melanie said. “I’m sorry. It’s a bit of an attack, isn’t it?”
“A bit,” Jen agreed.
“The thing is, we all know each other because we’ve all been through it. We’ve all had painful divorces and we get together for a dinner club with other women who understand. It’s hard being the divorced one in your group of friends. There’s always some level of judgment, so when we get together, we skip all that.”
“Get together for dinner,” Jen clarified.
“Right here,” Angelina said, spreading her hands. “We deserve a nice dinner out with good wine and good conversation. It helps.”
“Oh...” Jen smiled hesitantly, glancing around the table. “So you’re all divorced, then?”
“I’m remarried,” Melanie said. “But yes.”
“And my aunt figured I could use this dinner group, did she?” Jen asked.
“Girl, we all need this dinner group,” Belle replied. “For me, I was married to my agent. I was modeling at the time, and when I put on a little healthy weight, he replaced me with a younger woman.”
Jen grimaced. “I’m sorry.”
“It is what it is,” Belle replied.
“My husband was cheating on me for some time when he finally confessed,” Renata said. “He asked if he could move his mistress into the family home with our three children and we’d just...stay married.”
Jen swallowed. “Ouch.”
“So yeah...divorced,” Renata said, some bitterness in her tone.
“I don’t blame you,” Jen said.
“My first husband had been a serial cheater for years,” Melanie added. “I had no idea. When I figured it out, I left him, and everything I’d worked for, behind. It was the hardest thing I ever did. I’m still sorting out my relationship with my ex-stepkids.”
“And I’m the one who was divorced with no cheating involved,” Angelina added. “It was nearly a decade ago. We had a whirlwind romance, got married and only after the vows did I find out the kind of money he came from. The family didn’t approve, and we didn’t last the year.”
“I’m sorry...” Jen murmured.
“We did hear a little bit from your aunt,” Angelina said. “She said you married your prof at college?”
Whatever. She might as well tell the story. The rest of them had told the worst, hadn’t they?
“He was my political science professor,” Jen said after a beat of silence. “We were married for fourteen years and we have a twelve-year-old son together.”
“What went wrong?” Belle asked softly.
Jen felt tears mist her eyes and she blinked them back. It must be the season and the fact that her son, Drew, was in Denver for the holidays. She was both childless and husbandless this Christmas.
“I don’t know. We just started fighting more and more. He had all these academic friends, and I only have my master’s degree in art history, so I was trailing behind all those PhDs. He wanted me to be something I couldn’t be, and...there comes a point when being his cute, young student runs its course, you know? I’m neither cute nor young anymore, and I’m not about to pretend otherwise.”
“You’re beautiful,” Renata replied. “Don’t sell yourself short.”
“I’m also thirty-eight,” Jen replied.
The women all nodded at that. They got it, it seemed. Jen was a grown woman, and she wasn’t going to be wide-eyed and in awe of her brilliant husband in the same way she used to be. Besides, Samuel wasn’t exactly as brilliant as he liked people to think.
“Come to dinner,” Angelina said quietly. “We dress up, we look fantastic and we enjoy each other’s company.”
It did sound nice. “Thanks. I think I’d like that.”
Angelina smiled, then leaned forward, elbows on the table and a diamond bracelet glittering in the low light. “Now...what’s the plan for that old mansion?”
Jen could feel herself relaxing now. “I want to turn it into an art gallery. I grew up here, you know, and I’ve loved that house ever since I was a little kid staring at it from the sidewalk. I’m putting everything I got from my divorce into this—but I really think it’ll be amazing. With tourists year-round, and local people who might enjoy some art in their lives...it’s what I wish we had when I was growing up.”
“It sounds amazing,” Mel said.
Jen smiled. “I hope so. The house is gorgeous. It has really good bones. The kitchen has servants’ stairs going up from the back, so I can put a wall up blocking off the kitchen so that the rest of the ground floor can be used for the gallery. The first floor is just mammoth. I was thinking the second floor could be used for another showroom and some offices, and the third floor could be our living space. There’s already two bedrooms up there, and a sitting room. And a bathroom, but I’m not sure it’s functional right now. Anyway, my son and I don’t need a lot of space to start. Presumably, once the gallery started supporting itself, I could buy another place to live in and expand the gallery. That might take a little while, though.”
Jen stopped when she realized she’d been prattling on, the only one talking. Heat hit her cheeks. She tended to talk too much when she was uncomfortable, and she no longer had a surly husband to give her flat stares when she was doing it.
Logan reappeared just then with a platter of filled punch glasses, and he passed the glasses around with an easy smile.
“Sounds like you need a contractor,” Angelina said once she’d taken her glass, smiling her thanks at Logan.
“I do,” she agreed. “Do you have anyone you could recommend for a job this big?”
“Absolutely. He’s at the wedding tonight, actually.” Angelina straightened and looked out into the crowded room. “Hold on. I’ll be back.”
The quartet started up just as Angelina left the table, a strings edition of a popular love song.
“Is Angelina talking about Nick Bryant?” Logan asked his wife.
“I think so,” Melanie replied. “He’s the one who worked on the lodge, so...”
“He’s a nice guy,” Logan said with a nod. “And he’s good.”
So this contractor came recommended by Angelina Cunningham and approved by a relative stranger’s husband. Well, Jen didn’t have a lot of time to be picky right now. She had to get this house into a livable condition so that when Drew came back after being spoiled by his father for the holidays, she could provide him with a proper home. It was the least she could do.
THE QUARTET WAS playing something classical but Nick couldn’t quite place it. When he’d been married, his wife had tried to give him an appreciation for classical music, but it never stuck. He glanced down at his watch. He knew Matthew Pickard, the groom, from years ago when Matthew had been Nick’s ex-wife’s boss. They’d worked on a couple of charity projects together after the divorce, so they’d kept up a semiprofessional friendship since. That was how Nick had nabbed an invite to the wedding of the season. It was a gorgeous affair—Nick couldn’t deny that. But he was ready to go home to his dog.
Nick’s daughter, Amelia, was due to arrive in town tomorrow evening from college. While they had a tense relationship, he was looking forward to Christmas with his daughter. Amelia was brash, smart, opinionated and going places. She was in her third year of pre-law at Harvard, and her stepdad was footing the bill. That alone was a source of irritation for Nick—Chris, Nick’s ex-wife’s second husband, having the money to give Nick’s daughter everything she ever wanted...not that he begrudged Amelia her dream college.
This year Nick had convinced Amelia to come see him for Christmas, since Shari and Chris were going to Europe. It had been a few years since he’d spent more than a few hours with his daughter, and he was nervous.
Nick glanced at his watch again, then rubbed a hand through his gray-flecked beard. He didn’t feel like making nice and chatting with people, and he wasn’t up to dancing, either. He wanted to head home and be alone with his thoughts. He turned toward the exit.
“Leaving so soon?”
Angelina Cunningham came up beside him. She was also an old friend, and he shot her a tired smile.
“Yeah, I—” Any excuse was going to sound flimsy. “I’m tired.”
“Well, before you head out, there’s someone I wanted to introduce you to,” Angelina said. “It’s Gayle’s niece, actually, and she needs a contractor. She just bought the mansion across the street from you.”
The petite woman with the sandy-blond hair. He’d only seen a glimpse of her when she was moving in—slim, beautiful, well-dressed. But that was it—just a glimpse. He’d had no idea she was Gayle’s niece. But there were always unknown connections in a place the size of Mountain Springs. When you took out the tourists, the town was pretty tiny.
Nick raised his eyebrows. “And she’s renovating?”
“She is.”
His first client of the New Year had canceled on him, so it wasn’t like he couldn’t take on another project. Besides, that old mansion was gorgeous, and he’d love the chance to work on it. He did feel a twinge of guilt at considering this, since Amelia was coming for the holidays, but when he’d made plans with her, he thought he’d be working on another project anyway... What did it say about him that he’d rather work than face his own daughter?
“Just come say hello,” Angelina said. “Then I’ll even help you escape, if that’s what you want.”
Nick exchanged an amused look with Angelina. “Fine. A quick hello.”
He followed Angelina between the tables toward the far side of the room. The sun had already set, leaving a glow of crimson along the mountains’ jagged silhouette—visible through the bank of tall windows that flanked the room. He’d helped install every single one of those windows when he’d renovated this lodge, and he was proud of the work. The lodge was better than an advertisement—it showed anyone who’d seen it just what kind of work he and his team were capable of.
The table she led him toward was in the back corner, and when he approached he saw her, elbows on the table, her hands folded elegantly in front of her, and the low light sparkling in her blue eyes. She was wearing a sleeveless black dress, some lace around the collarbone that looked effortlessly sophisticated. She was stunning—not that it should even matter right now. He swallowed and arranged a professional smile on his face.
“Jen Taylor, this is Nick Bryant, the one who helped me renovate this lodge,” Angelina said, and Nick leaned forward to shake her hand.
Jen’s handshake was firm and strong, and after he gave a quick nod and smile to the others at the table, Jen rose and stepped to the side with him.
“It’s nice to meet you,” she said.
“Likewise,” he replied. “Angelina said you need a contractor.”
“Yeah...” She sucked in a slow breath. “I made an emotional purchase, I’m afraid. I have some good ideas for it, but it’s probably going to be more work than I’d anticipated.”
“The old mansion,” he said.
“You know it?” she asked.
“I live across the street,” he replied.
Her eyes widened at that, and he laughed softly. “You might not want to hire someone that close. I can understand if you don’t want to see your contractor walking his dog in the morning.”
“No, no...” But there was something in her voice that suggested otherwise.
“What do you need done?” he asked.
“Immediately, I need to get the kitchen renovated and the bathroom upstairs made functional again. Once those are done, it can be livable.”
“When do you need that done by?” he asked.
“Christmas?”
He let out a low whistle.
She shrugged. “I know that’s a lot to ask.”
By Christmas...it would really depend on how much work would be required.
“I know that’s probably wishful thinking,” she went on. “The thing is, I’m newly divorced, and my son is spending Christmas with his dad, and then he’s coming back to live with me right after. I wanted to have something decent for him, and when I bought this place, it was based on this huge idealized plan to open an art gallery in Mountain Springs, and I sank a lot of my divorce settlement into it.”
A painful divorce and a kid in the mix. He knew that feeling all too well, and in spite of his better instincts, he found himself softening toward her situation.
“If we can have your attention, everyone,” a woman’s voice rang from the front of the room. “We’re going to kick off the evening with the first dance! May I introduce to you Mr. and Mrs. Matthew and Gayle Pickard!”
Nick turned toward the dance floor, where Matthew and Gayle stood in the center of the room for the very first time as husband and wife. They both looked completely smitten, smiling into each other’s eyes as they danced to a romantic ballad. Now was not the time to talk business.
“They’re lucky,” Jen said at his side, and he looked down at her. “I’m not sure a second marriage is that ideal for other people.”
“How fresh is your divorce?” he asked with a rueful smile.
“Six months,” she replied.
He nodded. That was a painful time. He remembered that first year post-divorce well. It wasn’t easy. His best friend, Bert, who worked with him now, had dragged him out for a few beers weekend after weekend. Bert had even brought him along to a book club for one very long month that spring before Nick had been able to politely extricate himself from the situation.
“For me, it’s been eight years,” he replied. “Since we signed the papers, at least. Ten since we split up.”
“And you’re more optimistic about second marriages now?” she asked.
“A bit. I’ve had time to figure out what I did wrong the first time,” he replied.
She eyed him for a moment, but she didn’t ask him to elaborate, which was just as well. The music changed and the woman at the mic invited everyone else to join the couple, and there was a rustling of dresses as people stood up to dance.
“Are you two dancing?” Logan asked as he and Melanie walked by, and Nick looked down at Jen with a half smile. He’d been meaning to escape before the dancing started, but now faced with Jen’s clear blue gaze, it seemed rude not to ask... They were at a wedding, after all.
“Did you...want to dance?” he asked.
“Sure.”
It had been a long time since he’d danced with a woman, and he was mildly worried he’d step on her toes. But the song was a slow one, and as they got to the dance floor and he tugged her into his arms, the music seemed to do most of the work. She was petite, and he could see a touch of gray mingling with her sandy-blond waves now that he was close enough to smell the sweet fragrance of her perfume.
She fit against him perfectly, and her fingers felt cool in his palm. She was beautiful, but not in the model-perfect kind of way. There was something about her, almost girl-next-door. Or girl-across-the-street, in their case.
“So what did you do before deciding to open an art gallery?” Nick asked, mostly to make conversation and distract himself from thinking too much about the type of pretty she was. She was a potential client, and Nick never did mix business with pleasure.
“I was a buyer for an elderly man’s art collection. It wasn’t full-time, but I did love what I did.”
“Wow...” That was definitely out of his realm of experience.
“I miss it, actually,” she said with a smile that lit up her face. “It was a good job and I got to use my master’s in art history. Part of me wishes I’d just stayed in Denver and continued, but it wasn’t full-time and I wanted to make sure that my part of the divorce settlement set me up for a life I could sustain.”
“That makes sense,” he agreed.
He kept his hand respectfully in the middle of her back, but even so, he liked the way she moved—without any thought seeming to go into it, their rhythm was in sync.
“I did do some research into people’s interest in an art gallery around here,” she said.
He turned on the balls of his feet, leading her into an open space and away from the other couples crowding in. She laughed softly as he swept her past Logan and Melanie, and he gave her a grin.
“You can dance,” she said, giving him an impressed look.
“Yeah. I’m a surprising guy.”
Her cheeks pinked. He hadn’t exactly meant to start flirting, but he knew that he had. He’d have to rein that in.
“How old is your son?” he asked in an attempt to get things back on track.
“Drew’s twelve,” she said.
That was the same age his daughter had been when he’d gotten divorced, too.
“Is he...into art?” he asked hesitantly. It was possible.
“No.” She laughed. “He’s into science fiction, mostly. And video games.”
“How’s he handling it all?”
“He’s really sad,” she replied, sobering. “He loves his dad a lot, and he just wanted us to patch it up. For him.”
“That’s tough,” he said. His daughter had wanted that, once upon a time, and he’d figured it wouldn’t change. It had, though. Now Amelia didn’t seem to have much use for him at all.
“But life goes on, right?” she said.
“It does,” he replied. And while the divorce part got easier, parenting didn’t.
Nick glanced up to see Logan McTavish and his wife dancing a few yards off. Logan held Melanie close, his hand moving slowly up and down her back, and it was like the air almost sizzled around them. Nick pulled his gaze away.
“I’m going to be honest with you,” Jen said. “Drew is old enough to choose where he lives, and I really don’t want him to choose to live with his dad instead of me.” She stepped away from him, tears sparkling in her eyes. Cool air flooded between them, and he felt awkward standing there on the dance floor with empty arms.
“I’m really sorry,” he said, following her off the dance floor. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“It isn’t that,” she said with a quick shake of her head as they got to the edge. She crossed her arms. “I’m more professional than this, I promise you. But I really need something comfortable by the time my son gets here. I need a home for him. You know?”
She didn’t want to lose her son in this divorce. He could understand that, because it could happen when you weren’t looking.
“I can’t promise that I can finish it that quickly,” he said.
“Just enough to make if comfortable?” she asked hopefully.
“I can take a look and give you an estimate.”
A relieved smile spread over her face. “Thank you. I’d appreciate that. And if you can’t do it, maybe you could recommend someone.”
He wasn’t in a hurry to just hand this off to someone else, but he wasn’t going to say that. “I could come by in the morning, if you want. Say around nine?”
That was a nice professional hour, and he could see her when he was wearing a tool belt and he could get his balance again. He wasn’t used to talking business with a woman while slow dancing. They needed to reboot this professional relationship.
“Nine would be perfect,” she said. “Thank you. I do appreciate it.”
His mind went to his daughter again, and he felt that pang of guilt. But Amelia had already told him that she was looking forward to catching up with some old friends, and she knew he’d be busy. Maybe he was running away from the inevitable with his daughter—that mutual acknowledgment that whatever fatherly relationship he’d been hoping for was too far in the past to resuscitate.
“I’m going to let you enjoy your aunt’s wedding,” Nick said.
“Of course. Thanks again.”
He needed to get out of here, away from his beautiful potential client, away from the romance of a December wedding. Because he knew exactly what he’d done wrong with his first marriage—he’d followed his wayward heart and married a woman much higher on the social ladder than he was. And this Jen Taylor was beautiful, educated and had a passion for art. She was on a whole different level than he’d ever be, and that should be enough for Nick to shut down any kind of attraction he might be feeling.
Nick knew what he needed, and that was to stay solidly on his own level. He’d made that mistake once already, and he was no glutton for punishment.
