Mistletoe Daddy

A big, plump gray mouse with a cowboy hat, enormous pink ears too large for his head and a big black wiggly nose. She chuckled at the thought.

“What’s so funny?” he demanded, tossing the rope back to Alexis as he took the steps off the platform two at a time. He threaded his fingers through his thick black hair before replacing his Stetson.

She followed him down the stairs. She imagined he wouldn’t appreciate being compared to a mouse, even one in a cowboy hat, so she made a different observation out loud.

“You could use a haircut. Did you know I’m a certified cosmetologist?”

“A cosmo-what?” His gaze widened on her, looking as appalled as if she’d just threatened to shave his head. He yanked the rim of his hat down lower over his eyes. “No, ma’am. Not gonna happen. I don’t care how much money you paid out for me back there. I’m drawing the line.”

Something in the way he said it stirred a challenge in Viv’s chest. He had no idea how nice he’d look if he’d give her the opportunity, and she was certain he would.

If he wanted a challenge, she would give him a challenge. She had her ways.

But she pushed the thought away. Cleaning him up wasn’t her goal, now that she’d won him. He could look like a bear all he wanted as long as he helped her build her salon. But she doubted that would be any comfort to him. Based on his reaction to even the suggestion of a haircut, she had a feeling he wasn’t much of a fan of beauty salons. And that meant he wasn’t going to like the project she was about to lay out for him one bit.

* * *

If Vivian Grainger thought for one second she was getting anywhere near him with a pair of shears, she was sadly mistaken. Nick liked his hair just the way it was, thank you very much. And even if he did decide to get a trim, he’d see a male barber, not a ditzy, beautiful blonde with a sharp pair of scissors.

Of course the old barbershop in town had closed two years ago when Old Man Baranski kicked the bucket. No one had stepped in to take his place, and the building had eventually been used by Emerson’s Hardware for their overstock. Now he had to drive for an hour just to get his hair cut—which is why he didn’t bother.

One of the reasons, anyway. If he had a special lady in his life, he might care more about how he looked. But that wasn’t the case right now—and it looked like it wouldn’t be for a good long while.

He supposed he ought to be grateful to Vivian for bidding on him. After his last—and very public—painful breakup, most of the town’s single ladies were avoiding him like the plague, as evidenced by the auction today. He supposed he wasn’t really all that surprised no one else bid on him.

Vivian hadn’t been back in Serendipity long enough to hear the latest rumors. She’d spent the last few years in Houston and wore Big City like a neon sign around her neck. He wasn’t sure getting picked up by a woman like her was going to do his reputation any good, but it couldn’t get any worse.

He’d really hoped to be bid on by some little old lady who needed help with a few odd jobs. He’d also been more than a little concerned that an ex-girlfriend with a grudge might see this as an opportunity to repay him for real or imagined wrongs.

He was the first to admit that his record with long-term relationships was less than stellar, and he knew it was his fault. He was just really, really not good at making things work in the dating department.

But circumstances being what they were, he might as well see what Vivian wanted and be done with it—as long as it didn’t involve cutting his hair. Who knew? Maybe he could mend some of those torn fences with his reputation if folks in town saw that he treated Vivian right.

Nick turned his attention to her, but he stood for a good five minutes while Vivian talked to her sister.

And talked. And talked.

His stomach growled, but he couldn’t do anything about it. This was a Bachelors and Baskets auction, with the winning bidders providing a picnic lunch for the men they’d won. Lunch wasn’t going to happen until Vivian led him to wherever she’d stashed her basket. He had to wait until she decided to grace him with her attention, which he guessed wasn’t going to happen soon, since her mind seemed to be on Alexis, the auction and anyone in speaking distance of her.

Except for him.

Vivian gave a new meaning to the words social butterfly, and she definitely had the gift of gab. With the possible exception of Jo Spencer, who owned Cup O’ Jo’s Café and was therefore the Queen of the Gossip Hive, Nick had never seen anybody flitter around as much as Vivian. Her high, tinkling giggle reminded Nick of a fairy in a cartoon.

It was downright grating on his nerves and was practically curling the hair on his chest. Nick crossed his arms and grumbled under his breath, berating the entire chain of events that had led him to this particularly annoying set of circumstances.

She was supposed to be feeding him. That was the deal. She had the picnic basket.

Somewhere.

If she ever got around to acknowledging him again, he might ask where it was. He didn’t mind eating alone and leaving her to her myriad conversations.

“Hey, Viv,” Alexis called, nudging her sister’s shoulder. When Vivian turned, Alexis gestured toward Nick. “You need to feed your man. He looks ravenous over there.”

Nick bristled. While he appreciated Alexis’s thoughtfulness, he was not Vivian’s man. Not in any way, shape or form.

Except, unfortunately, that in a way he was. She’d bought him. With money. For a purpose as yet unknown to him. Unfortunately, she was very possibly expecting a date out of this. He knew perfectly well that many of the single ladies in the crowd were bidding on men for just such a reason. It was enough to make a single man shudder.

“Oh, Nick, I am so sorry,” Viv apologized, laying a familiar hand on his forearm. “I completely forgot about you.”

“Yeah. No kidding.” His arm trembled as he fought the urge to jerk it out of her reach.

She’d forgotten about him? Ouch. He didn’t want to admit it, but her words stung his ego. Even if it was Vivian Grainger. Even if he shouldn’t really care whether she was thinking about him or not.

She ignored his attitude, if she even noticed it, apparently choosing to take the high road and stay cheerful instead of descending into bickering. Typical of what he knew of Vivian Grainger—her glass was always, annoyingly, half-full.

“I packed my basket with all kinds of goodies,” she informed him. “Turkey and Swiss sandwiches and BLTs. Potato chips, a couple of deli salads and one of Phoebe’s delicious cherry pies for dessert. I hope you like cherry.”

Cherry happened to be his favorite. But as hungry as he was, he would have eaten it even if he didn’t care for it.

“And I packed a special surprise.”

In general, he didn’t like surprises—but this one sounded like it was something to eat. His mouth watered at the possibilities.

“You’ll be happy to know that everything I’ve packed today is legitimately store-bought,” she continued, without letting him get a word in edgewise, were he inclined to do so.

Which he wasn’t.

“I know the whole point of this was to serve the best of Serendipity’s down-home country cooking, but trust me when I say you would definitely not want to eat my cooking. I can’t even boil soup.”

“Water,” he corrected absently, wondering when, if ever, they were going to get around to actually eating the food she was yammering about.

“What?” she asked, confused. She folded her arms over her stomach and swayed slightly, as if she was unsteady on her feet. Instinctively, he pressed a palm to the small of her back to support her.

“Water,” he clarified. “The saying is, ‘You can’t boil water.’”

“Oh.” She straightened her shoulders and waved him off, seeming to recover from the dizziness that had come over her moments before. “Whatever. But I do have bottled water.” She paused, giggling. “To drink. Not to boil.”

He was having trouble following her train of thought, if there was one. Once again he thought of a butterfly, flittering from flower to flower.

Only this particular flying insect was revved up on caffeine or something.

“And your basket is—where?” he finally asked, hoping for a straight answer but not really expecting one.

To his astonishment, she grabbed his hand and tugged him across the green.

“We’re right in the middle.”

Smack in the middle of the chaos. Now, why was he not surprised?

“It’s not that I’ve never cooked before,” she said earnestly, as if she thought he really wanted to know, while spreading a fuzzy purple blanket on the plush green lawn and flopping down on it. She reached into her ribbon-and-plume-decorated picnic basket, which Nick thought resembled an exotic bird, and withdrew two sandwiches. Her gaze turned distant and her lips bowed into a frown. “It’s just that I’m not very good at it. Let’s just say the whole experiment was a failure.”

She paused and her voice made a distressed hiccupping sound. In one blink of an eye her expression filled with deep sadness. Nick’s gut clenched and his natural protective male instinct started blaring five alarms.

Her response seemed a bit of an overreaction for a burned roast or whatever she’d had. What could have possibly happened to make her that upset? Had someone yelled at her? Hurt her feelings? If so, that hardly seemed fair. Cooking wasn’t everyone’s forte.

His instinct was to probe further, but then, just as quickly as the pain in her eyes had appeared, it was gone. She shook her head and cheerfully went on as if she’d never faltered.

“Would you like turkey and Swiss or BLT?” She punctuated the question with a laugh that wasn’t really a laugh.

She held out both sandwiches to him and he gratefully accepted a turkey and Swiss, which was tightly wrapped in cellophane and marked Sam’s Grocery. She unwrapped her own sandwich, shook two packets of mayonnaise and globbed it onto her BLT.

“A little sandwich with your mayo?” he teased between bites of his own meal.

She grinned. There was a lot of sunshine in that smile, so much so that it occurred to Nick that he ought to be wearing aviator shades.

“How sad the world would be without mayonnaise.” The black clouds of her past had definitely lifted and her disposition could easily have rivaled Mary Poppins and her spoonful of sugar.

It was hard to keep up with her.

Her eyes glowed with excitement as she reached back into the basket. “Ready to see your surprise?”

He nodded in anticipation, hoping it was food and not tickets to the opera.

He nearly cheered when she pulled out a bucket of hot wings. He was sure he was gaping. How could she possibly have known they were his favorite? What kind of a coincidence was that? The deli counter in Sam’s Grocery only carried hot wings on special occasions and they sold out fast. She would have had to put her order in early to get this batch.

“How—how did you guess?” he stammered.

She wriggled her fingers at him and spoke in a Dracula voice. “I r-r-read your mind.”

“You sure did,” he agreed, reaching for a hot wing. “Or my belly.”

“If you want the truth, after I decided you were the guy I was going to bid on, I called your mother.”

“You did what?” He choked on the hot wing and nearly spit it out. He didn’t know if he was more shocked that she’d planned in advance to bid on him or that she’d been in contact with his mom.

“To find out what your favorite food was. I figured that was the least I could do. Alice was very helpful.”

He groaned and swallowed. He could only imagine just how helpful his mother had been. Next thing he knew, his mom would be inviting Vivian over for dessert and toting out the baby pictures.

He felt a slight guilty twinge for thinking like that. Ever since his dad had died, it had been a struggle to get their mom to show enthusiasm about much of anything. He should be glad that Vivian’s call seemed to have sparked some of that old matchmaking excitement in her. Yet that didn’t make the thought of anyone pushing him and Vivian together any less off-putting. He decided to put aside his worries for now and focus on the food. Buffalo wings were too delicious to be spoiled by aggravation or dread.

“Mmm,” he groaned. “Best Buffalo wings I’ve ever had. Bar none.”

“I’ve never really understood that part,” Vivian admitted. She’d taken a piece of chicken for herself, but took little more than a nibble before putting it back on her plate. “Buffalo don’t have wings. And anyways, I don’t think I’d like to eat a buffalo.”

Nick barked out a laugh. Somehow taking a detour through Viv’s head and picturing buffalo with wings lightened his heart more than anything else in—well, ages.

He reached for another chicken wing. While he polished off several hot wings, two sandwiches and the deli salads, Viv talked. Apparently she didn’t need much feedback other than the occasional grunt or nod from him, which was a good thing, since his mouth was always full of food.

Vivian, on the other hand, hardly touched the food on her plate. She’d nibble here and there on her mayonnaise-laden sandwich and then her expression would turn a little green in the gills and she’d put it down again. He wondered if maybe she wasn’t feeling well.

He was just about to ask when he stopped himself short, deciding it was none of his business. Maybe it was just his imagination and she always ate like a rabbit. She certainly had the figure for it. It would be rude of him to ask. Besides, whatever was bothering her, it wasn’t affecting her soliloquy.

She told him about attending cosmetology school in Houston, how much she loved her work and the city and how her brother-in-law, Alexis’s husband, Griff, had helped her finance her first salon and spa. Apparently it had been quite successful, to hear her tell it, at least until the economy tanked. Then everyone’s business had taken a big hit.

“So what brought you back to Serendipity?” he asked, wiping his hands on a paper towel. Clearly she liked living in the city well enough and it sounded as if the business world was finally recovering from the economic downturn. “Or are you just visiting?”

Nick was positive he saw her blanch, and then her cheeks turned as red as the cherries in the slice of pie he was about to wolf down.

“I’m here for the long tow,” she said with a sigh.

He knew what she meant.

Her blond eyebrows lowered. “I sold my spa in Houston and bought a little shop here in town.” She gave a self-deprecating laugh. “I guess you could say that I’m downsizing.”

“Why?”

“If you don’t mind, I’d rather not talk about it.”

Nick tried to catch her gaze but she wouldn’t quite look at him. Here was a woman who normally couldn’t stop talking. He’d clearly hit on a nerve. And she sounded so sad. It hit him right in the gut.

He rapidly backtracked out of the territory that made her uncomfortable. Anyway, he didn’t want to know the specifics. It wasn’t as if they were going to start hanging out together. Since he was stuck with her until he finished whatever task she had for him, he’d rather deal with the happy social butterfly, if given the choice, for as long as he had to be around her, even if her perky personality drove him half-crazy. These bipolar emotions of hers were creeping him out.

What he needed to do was focus on whatever she required of him. Clearly she had a reason for buying him, or she wouldn’t have approached his mother. And he suddenly realized that whatever it was she wanted from him hadn’t been addressed at all. It was the only thing she hadn’t talked about.

It probably had something to do with the shop she’d just bought. Hopefully she was just looking for a little remodeling help or something.

He hoped. That would be safe territory. And happily, nothing to do with dating. Even if his poor mother hoped otherwise.

Sorry, Mom.

“Where is the building located where you plan to build your new spa?”

For some reason he had trouble with the word spa leaving his lips. One little syllable and his tongue was tripping all over it. He supposed it was because he was picturing snowy white bathrobes and massages and people laying out in the sunshine with cucumbers over their eyes.

A spa in Serendipity?

The town had one grocery store. One café. What would it do with a spa?

“Two doors east of Emerson’s Hardware,” she answered, excitement seeping into her voice. “The red building. It used to be a barbershop, but it’s been vacant for a while, I think. I imagine it’s going to take a little work to get it back into usable condition.”

“A little work?” he asked, unable to smother an amused grin. Had she even seen the building since she’d bought it? “Lady, Emerson’s has been using the building as extra storage space for their feed. I doubt very much they worried about keeping up with internal appearances. And you’re looking to make it into some kind of fancy spa?”

“A beauty salon and spa isn’t that big of a stretch from a barbershop.”

Only night and day.

He snorted. It might have the plumbing and wiring setup she needed, but the interior was going to need a complete redesign—and that was after she cleaned out the mess that came from two years of being used as a storage facility. “It’s not going to take some work. We’re talking about a pretty major overhaul here. You’re going to have to gut the whole thing out and start from scratch.”

She tilted her chin up and smiled at him with a twinkle in her eye. His throat tightened. They might be as different as a tomcat and a spaniel, but he was a guy and she was an extraordinarily pretty woman, whether or not a man preferred blondes. And he’d always been partial to blondes.

“You mean you’re going to have to gut it,” she corrected, a giggle escaping from between her lips. Her impossibly blue eyes were alight with mischief. “That’s why I bought you. So I guess now my spa is your...challenge.” She reached over and playfully tipped his hat down over his eyes.

“And mine,” she continued, as usual not letting him get a word in edgewise, “is going to be trying to work with you every day without coming after you with a pair of scissors in order to trim that thick dark bird’s nest of yours.”

He pushed his hat back up and grinned.

“You can try, lady. You can try.”

Chapter Two

From the first second Jo had pounded the gavel and declared that Nick was sold to Viv, she’d been wondering if she had made an enormous mistake in bidding on him.

Now she was sure of it.

For one thing, Nick had stopped eating when she’d told him her plans, a chicken wing halfway to his lips. He’d actually had the nerve to gape at her like she was crazy—and then he’d practically laughed her off the community green for making the choice to buy the little barbershop. He hadn’t even bothered to ask if she had good reasons for it.

Which she did.

“We can start work as soon as you’re ready,” she told him, hoping for sooner rather than later. “I don’t know how much time you’re willing to give me on this project, but I’ll take whatever you offer. I’m anticipating maybe together we can do it in—what? A week? Two weeks?”

The expression that crossed his face was indescribable. The closest thing she could come up with was that he looked like he’d just swallowed a toad. His mouth moved but no words came out.

“What?” she asked, her guard rising. “Did I grow an extra eyeball on my chin?”

His lips twitched. “The expression is ‘forehead.’”

She ignored him. “Do you have a problem with my—our—new endeavor?”

He groaned and polished off the chicken wing he’d been holding, tossing it into the bucket of empty bones. He’d eaten half the bucket when she’d first offered it to him and was now finishing it off, and that was after having eaten a full lunch and an enormous slice of pie. Hot wings as an after-dessert snack was just plain weird, as was the fact that he’d polished off almost the entire bucket of chicken literally on his own.

And he thought she was crazy? Whatever.

In contrast to Nick, she hadn’t eaten much at all. Her morning sickness was catching up with her. She’d thought she was over the worst of it, but she suspected her nerves weren’t helping.

“Do I—er, we—have problems? Where do I begin?” he asked sardonically.

“Is this too big of a challenge for you? Because if it is, tell me now. There are a few men left on the auction docket I can bid on if you think this project is more than you can handle.”

He snorted. “I can handle it.”

She narrowed her gaze. She’d pricked at his ego on purpose to see what he’d do. But it wasn’t an idle threat. As far as she was concerned, if he was going to be a jerk to her, she’d follow through with her words and toss him out on his elbow.

She’d had just about enough of dealing with thickheaded men, and she definitely didn’t need his guff. She was resourceful and could always figure out another way to renovate her spa. With or without Nick McKenna. Worst-case scenario, she would hire a general contractor. Better than putting up with Nick’s less-than-stellar attitude. Talk about a glass-half-empty kind of guy.

“If you can handle the job, then what’s the problem?” she jabbed.

He wiped his sleeve across his chin.

Neanderthal.

“I’m not the one with the problem, lady, because I’m not the one who picked up a piece of property that’s bound to be more trouble than it’s worth. Remodel it in a week? Yeah, not so much.”

“You don’t know that for sure.” Though she had a sinking feeling that he knew more about it than she did. Was one week a totally crazy estimate? She honestly had no idea how long these things usually took.

Heat rose to her face. He must think she was a complete idiot. She wasn’t—more like a wishful thinker. Her tendency toward always believing in the best-case scenario had gotten her into trouble more times than she could count, but Nick didn’t need to know that.

“No. I don’t.” He shook his head, his brow lowering. “But I can make an educated guess. Did you buy the shop at below market price?”

Now, how had he guessed that? Alexis and Griff were the only ones who knew the details of her own private financial affairs.

“I might have,” she hedged.

He chuckled. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

“So it’s not in as good a shape as it could be. What does that matter? When it’s finished, it’ll be amazing. You’ll see. I have an exciting vision for it.”

She’d made her decision the moment she’d seen the cute little red storefront standing empty in the middle of Main Street, especially when she’d noticed that it used to be a barbershop, no less, right down to the now-cracked twirling peppermint sign. It was locked so she hadn’t gone in, and the windows had been too dusty to see much more than shadows inside, but she was sure she could make it into something amazing. She didn’t care that it needed work. She’d made the right decision, and now she would stand by it.

Yes, the once-red exterior paint was peeling and the sign hanging from the outside eaves was dangling by a mere thread, but that would have had to have been replaced anyway, with a bright yellow sign declaring her new spa was open for business. When she was finished remodeling, it would be the most sparkling, eye-catching property in all of Serendipity. She’d have customers lined out the door, all excited to take advantage of her many services.

For the ladies of Serendipity, the blessing of being able to pamper themselves without the hassle of a long drive to the nearest city would finally have come. Full hair services and mani/pedi’s. Eventually she hoped to be able to hire a licensed masseuse so she could add massage to her list of services.

And it was her special blessing as well, her opportunity to prove herself, to turn her life around and make her world right again.

Her life—and her precious baby’s. She needed to be able to provide for her child, but it was more than that. She wanted her son or daughter to have a mother he or she could be proud of.