Her Mistletoe Man

“Really?” Ruth said doubtfully. “I never heard of that tradition.”

“Neither did I,” he admitted. “I just made it up.”

He touched his mouth to hers then, the movement brief yet decisive. And more than a little pleasurable.

When their lips parted, she met his gaze. Her clear, golden-brown eyes appeared to be smiling, as if she had enjoyed the kiss as much as he had.

The first Christmas kiss under the mistletoe. As far as he was concerned, it was indeed a lucky kiss.

He lifted his head to thank his lucky stars—and the little green ball of leaves that dangled over their heads.

“Oops, I was mistaken,” he told her without a hint of remorse. “That’s not mistletoe…it’s holly.”

Her Mistletoe Man

Carolyn Greene

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To my agent, Ruth Kagle, who is beautiful on the inside as well as the outside. Thanks for believing in me.

Books by Carolyn Greene

Silhouette Romance

An Eligible Bachelor #1503

Her Mistletoe Man # 1556

Previously Published as Carolyn Monroe:

Silhouette Romance

Kiss of Bliss #847

A Lovin’ Spoonful #912

Help Wanted: Daddy #970

CAROLYN GREENE

has been married to a fire chief for more than twenty years. She laughingly introduces herself as the one who lights the fires and her husband as the one who puts them out. They are a true opposites-attract type of couple and, because of this, they and their two teenagers have learned a lot about the art of compromise.

Coming together…mentally, physically and spiritually. That’s what romance is all about, and that’s what Carolyn strives to portray in her highly entertaining novels. Says Carolyn, “I like to think that after someone has read one of my books, I’ve made her or his day a little brighter. You just can’t put a price tag on that kind of job satisfaction.”

Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Epilogue

Prologue

The flashing neon light from the sign outside Tucker Maddock’s Alexandria, Virginia, office window seemed to assault him in one-second intervals with its disgustingly cheery message.

Merry Christmas. Merry Christmas. Merry Christmas.

Yeah, right. He hadn’t had a merry Christmas since…well, there was no need rehashing all the losses he’d endured during what was supposed to be the happiest season of the year. The overtime work did little to ease the discomfort that gripped him lately. As a corporate executive, he was one of the best decision-makers in the business. His troubleshooting skills frequently attracted the attention of corporate headhunters who regularly approached him with employment offers at competing companies. He only wished he could clear away the troubles in his own life as effectively as he did on the job.

Last year had dealt him the final and most difficult holiday blow when a Christmas Eve tragedy had taken the lives of Chris, his best friend, and Chris’s parents. They’d been like his own family. And now he missed them. Wanted to be close to them. Wanted to fill the aching, gaping hole in his spirit with their memory.

Tucker stood and began clearing his desk. The flashing sign filled the semidarkened room with its alternating green-and-red eerie glow. The light seemed to pulsate within him, filling his mind and soul with its unwanted message. Filling his heart with an insatiable urge to be with the loving family who had opened their hearts and home to him.

The heck with this. If he couldn’t be with them, he could at least return to the place that held their memory. Tucker dashed off a note to his secretary, then opened a drawer and swept his forearm across the surface of the desk, effectively clearing it of papers, folders and scribbled notes. He would sort them out when he got back. But right now, he couldn’t bring himself to open another card, smile at another caroler or wallow in the home-and-hearth happiness that was supposed to pervade the season.

If he didn’t get away from all the tinsel and glitter and glad tidings in the city, he was going to go crazy. And at times like this, he’d found it was best to follow his heart…follow it back home to Willow Glen.

Chapter One

He’d have to sleep somewhere. It might as well be here.

Willow Glen Plantation had seemed like a mansion to him the first time he had visited the massive house. It still impressed him with its sprawling front lawn, welcoming circular driveway, broad veranda, cheerful turrets and dormer windows. After spending the happiest times of his life here from age ten until college, Tucker had been devastated when Chris’s parents sold the place shortly after he and his friend went off to college. Will Carlton, the county’s antiques dealer, had done some minor remodeling on the home and turned it into a charming bed-and-breakfast inn.

An elderly gentleman, apparently just returning home from a Christmas shopping excursion, went in ahead of him and held the door for Tucker to follow him.

“If I were you, son, I wouldn’t wait out here too long. Dinner will be served soon, and believe me, you don’t want to miss it.”

Inside, garlands and running cedar were strewn from every conceivable surface: the front desk, the mahogany banister rail that led upstairs, even the chandelier that hung from the parlor ceiling.

Although modern fixtures and a front desk, complete with an antique cash register, had been added, the place hadn’t changed much over the years. It even smelled the same, like cranberries and pine and…what was that other smell? Tucker set his duffel bag down beside the curved-wood desk and closed his eyes while he inhaled the scent. In his mind, he could almost see Chris and Mr. and Mrs. Newland. He’d spent so much time in this house, sleeping here more than he’d slept at home, that he had become part of the family—so much a member of the family, in fact, that the elder Newlands had assigned him chores to perform. One Saturday a month, he and Chris were handed soft rags and a bottle of furniture polish to rub on the furniture, the banister and any other exposed wood, which constituted almost half the house.

He opened his eyes. That was the scent. Furniture polish. Maybe even the same brand.

An older woman, possibly more ancient than the gentleman who’d preceded him in, approached them. “Oren, dear,” she said, addressing the other guest, “it’s so good to see you again.” She kissed his cheek, leaving a peach lip print on the gray stubble. Nodding toward the parlor where a group of guests had gathered, she added, “Your wife has been anxiously waiting for you.”

The old man picked up his shopping bag and moved to join his wife.

Must be a regular, Tucker thought. The lady of the lip prints fixed her attention on him, scrutinizing him from head to toe and back again. “Well, aren’t you a fine-looking young man. I’m Aunt Shirley,” she declared.

That was a strange way to greet a guest, but he attributed the overfamiliarity to her advanced age. He gave her a warm smile. “Tucker Maddock, ma’am. I was hoping you’d have room at the inn for one more.”

Aunt Shirley opened her mouth and laughed, the infectious sound attracting the attention of the people in the parlor. “He wants to know if we have room at the inn,” she told them. They seemed to find it funny as well and laughed among themselves. One woman, a dark-haired beauty who appeared to be in her mid-twenties, caught his eye as she sat threading popcorn onto a string. Apparently feeling the heat of his perusal, she looked up. As they gazed openly at each other, Tucker felt the room grow suddenly warmer. He loosened the collar of his jacket.

A teenage girl followed the brunette’s gaze and peered around the arched doorway at him. When she caught a glimpse of him, she blushed and drew back.

The brunette seemed to be studying him curiously from her overstuffed chair, as if he looked familiar to her but she couldn’t place his face. But Tucker was sure they’d never met. If they had, he most certainly would have remembered her.

Her legs were drawn up beneath her in the chair. Long, slim limbs encased in charcoal-gray fabric that coordinated with the bulky gray-green top that seemed to swallow her small features. Her dark hair spilled in disarray over the plush material, bringing to mind an image of her cuddled in bed under piles of blankets.

Her brown eyes slanted downward at the outer edges, making her look as though she’d just awakened from a long, luxurious sleep, and her lips seemed to be made for kissing.

Tucker involuntarily drew the back of his hand across his mouth.

She watched his idle gesture and her chin came forward, causing her pale pink mouth to pucker invitingly.

Ruth pushed a wild and wavy strand of hair away from her face. She’d been working hard to make this—possibly their last— Christmas family reunion the best one ever. And this latest arrival, though unexpected, certainly promised to make it one of their most interesting family gatherings. The way the stranger’s gaze roamed over her made her feel almost intoxicated. She tried to still the crazy inner stirrings that made her feel decidedly light-headed.

Stop that! she commanded herself. It was sick to lust like this over a family member, no matter how distant the ties might be. No matter how tall and broad shouldered he might be. No matter how touchable his collar-length brown hair was or how his dark eyes seemed to penetrate right into her and read her very thoughts. Dragging her gaze away from him, she looked across the room at her sister. Vivian hadn’t yet noticed the newest addition to their family reunion.

Ruth smiled and returned her attention to the handsome stranger. He smiled back. This was one hunk her older sister wouldn’t snag. Unfortunately, he was off-limits to Ruth, as well.

She considered getting up and joining her aunt in greeting the family members who came here from throughout the state to attend their Christmas reunion, a regular event since they’d bought the former hotel eight years ago. Though she’d grown up in Willow Glen, it wasn’t until she’d moved into the old plantation house that she’d finally felt truly at home.

Aunt Shirley seemed to be holding her own. Now that the preliminary cleaning and cooking were done, she was in her element, reacquainting herself with family members from near and far.

Aunt Shirley turned back to Tucker. “You have such a wonderful sense of humor. Of course we have room. And we’d make room if we didn’t.”

“Uh, thank you, ma’am.” He reached down and picked up his duffel bag. “If you’ll point the way and give me a key, I’ll just head on to my room.”

“Call me Aunt Shirley. Everyone else does.” She went behind the polished counter and refastened a paper Santa that adorned the wall. “As for keys, you don’t need them here, honey. Nobody will mess with your stuff. Oren sleepwalks sometimes, but you can latch your door from the inside while you sleep.”

Tucker frowned. He was familiar with mom-and-pop establishments, but this one beat all. However, room security shouldn’t be a problem since he intended to be there the entire time. If the room didn’t have a VCR, he could buy one and numb his brain with action-adventure movies for the holiday. Escape into the happiness of the past until the relentless false cheeriness of the season had subsided. As he faced his first Christmas alone, it would be just the medicine he needed to revisit the place that had given him so many happy memories.

“Maddock,” Aunt Shirley said, rubbing the pale coral rouge from her left cheek. “I don’t seem to recall any Maddocks.”

Maybe she was asking if he’d been a guest at the inn before. Either that or she assumed—correctly—that he was from Willow Glen. In a town this small, everyone was either related by blood or marriage, or they went to school with one another. He wasn’t surprised she didn’t know his name. His parents weren’t originally from here, having come to Willow Glen shortly before he was born. After his mother died twenty-some years ago, his father drank all their money away and they’d lived on public assistance.

But he wasn’t going to tell Shirley all that. “I grew up not far from here,” he said. “I haven’t been back in more than ten years.”

The brunette narrowed her eyes at this revelation and joined them in the foyer. The older woman’s questions had seemed born of curiosity, but the younger one appeared somewhat skeptical.

“What are your mama and daddy’s first names?”

He chalked the question up to her being a true Southerner. Tucker knew that many Virginians could be obsessive about knowing a person’s lineage. So he humored her, glad for the opportunity to get a closer look at the lovely, gentle-eyed brunette as they spoke. “Helen and Bob.”

He loosened the top few snaps on his jacket.

Oddly, as if she weren’t aware of copying his action, she lifted her hand to the vee of her shirt. Tucker’s gaze followed her movement and lingered on the dip in her throat. He didn’t remember this house being so warm.

Tucker forced his attention back to Aunt Shirley. She pursed her bright peach-colored lips, making the lines around them form a miniature starburst pattern. “We have a Helen in our family, but I don’t remember any Bobs. Was Bob your mama’s second husband?”

“Huh?”

Oren called from the parlor. “Leave the boy alone, Shirley, and come in here so we can get this tree up.”

“Okay, okay. Just hold on to your knickers.”

Tucker shook his head, amazed by the easy familiarity the hotel staff had with most of the guests. He assumed some of the guests liked it here so much they had become regulars. It could be that after a while they started to feel like family. Must be something about this house, and the love that lingered here, that gave people a sense of belonging, he decided.

“Come on,” said Shirley. “I’ll show you to your room. I hope you don’t mind being on the third floor. I had considered putting in an elevator, but lately I’ve been thinking of more interesting ways to spend my money.”

“That’s okay, Aunt Shirley, I’ll show him the way.”

Although it would have been flattering to think the brunette’s interest matched his own, Tucker got the distinct impression that she had another reason for offering to show him to his room.

She led him up the mahogany staircase to the third floor, pausing a couple of times after the first level as if to give him an opportunity to catch his breath. But he had no trouble keeping up with her. With a view such as she offered, he much preferred to enjoy it from close range.

Upstairs, Tucker stepped into the room, and it felt as if he had retreated into the past. He set the duffel bag on the floor and let the sensations wash over him. The curtains, handmade patchwork quilt and scatter rugs were different from his childhood recollections, but they retained the flavor of the era. However, the curved sleigh bed and matching chifforobe had apparently been included in the sale of Willow Glen Plantation. Bending closer, he saw that the tiny carved initials, R.T.M., for Robert Tucker Maddock, had remained. Mrs. Newland had blown a gasket when she’d seen what he’d done, but after giving it some thought she’d promised to let it stay. At the time, Tucker didn’t understand his surrogate mother’s change of heart. In retrospect, he saw that she had kindly allowed a scared, lonely boy to make his mark in her home, on her family and in her heart.

Apparently unwilling to relinquish her hostess duties, Aunt Shirley joined them in the small room. “It is so good to have you join us for Christmas.”

The brunette responded with a tightening of her softly curved lips, walked past him and pushed open the white lace curtains to allow in the meager late-afternoon sunlight. When she was done she turned and scrutinized him thoroughly. After a long, uncomfortable moment, she reluctantly announced, “Yes, I suppose you do have the eyes.”

He had no idea what the young woman was talking about, but he supposed that his features may have stirred up a previously forgotten memory of having met his father. In a town this size, most people knew everyone else, even if only in passing. “People say I have the Maddock eyes,” he said.

If he’d had a choice in the matter, he would rather forgo the dark, devilish feature that attracted so much attention than have even that one small remaining link with his deceased father.

Aunt Shirley stepped forward, her arms open, and took him in a motherly hug. Pressing a light kiss to his cheek, she said, “We’re so glad to have you in our family.” Moving to the door, she added, “If there’s anything you need or want, just let one of us know, and we’ll see that you’re taken care of.”

With a wink and a wave, she exited the room and closed the door behind her.

The younger woman stayed where she was, arms across her chest, assessing him.

Still stunned by the older woman’s unexpected gesture, Tucker stood rooted to the faded blue throw rug, absentmindedly lifting a hand to his cheek where she had kissed him, and wondered if the woman before him might follow suit. He sure hoped so. He had heard that these bed-and-breakfast places sought to make their guests feel like members of the family, but in his estimation, the elderly woman took this home-and-hearth stuff a tad too far.

The door swung open again, and Aunt Shirley popped her head in. “I almost forgot…hurry and unpack. We’ll be waiting for you downstairs to help put up the Christmas tree.”

He’d better nip this in the bud. If he didn’t stop her now, she’d have him singing carols and baking Christmas cookies with the rest of the guests.

“Uh, Ms., I mean, Aunt Shirley, I’m not really up to trimming a Christmas tree this year.” Although he was finding comfort in returning to the memories in this house, the Christmas traditions only served to remind him of all the loved ones he’d lost at this time of the year.

“Oh. It would present a bit of a problem if you don’t join us. You see, Aunt Shirley isn’t up to having a big crowd here after this season, so I’m trying to make this last one our best Christmas ever. It would really mean a lot if everyone would participate.” The young woman looked thoughtful for a moment. “Would you rather put up the wreath or string Christmas lights instead?” The two of them seemed determined to have him participate in the festivities.

He sympathized with their business plan to cut back their tourist season. It must be difficult sacrificing their own Christmas activities in order to take care of a bunch of guests. But he still had no desire to change his plans in order to be with strangers. He solemnly shook his head.

Aunt Shirley grinned. “Holding out for hanging the mistletoe, eh? I figured you for a romantic, right from the start.”

At the word romantic, his gaze veered back to the pretty brunette. Impulsively, he asked, “Are you going to help?”

“Of course,” she said, as if the answer should have been obvious.

He scratched the whiskers on his chin and took in her fair, flawless complexion. “Maybe I can come down for a short while.”

“Good,” said Shirley. “I’ll tell everyone to wait for you.” This time when she left, the older woman hooked the brunette’s arm and steered her out of the room before her.

Downstairs, Ruth pulled out the dusty old Bible, her curious cousins, aunts and uncles gathering around her as they traced the family’s lineage.

“He’s cute,” said fourteen-year-old Brooke.

“He’s too old for you,” Vivian stated, as if it weren’t already apparent to everyone in the room. “I’m sure he’d prefer someone closer to his own age. Like me.”

Ruth drew a finger down the page, searching for the Maddock name in the birth and marriage listings. “You’re both being ridiculous,” she said without lifting her head. “If he’s a relative—which I doubt he is—he should be treated like any of our other cousins.”

Brooke giggled. “Maybe he’s a kissing cousin.”

Ruth pushed her hair behind her shoulders and tried unsuccessfully to ignore her young cousin’s remark. “Just as I thought. I don’t see a record of a Maddock anywhere in here.”

Oren nudged her aside with his cane and bent over the book that lay open on the coffee table. He turned a page to the crowded family tree. Lilly Babcock, now deceased, was the matriarch of their close-knit family. Although Lilly and her husband Clem’s daughters had married, introducing new surnames to the family tree, the subsequent generations still considered themselves Babcocks.

After a moment, Oren pressed his finger to a box with a line drawn from Ruth’s great-grandmother Lilly. “There’s a Helen in here who married a third cousin, but I don’t see any sign of a Maddock or her giving birth to a Tucker.”

Aunt Shirley joined them, leaning over the brittle pages. Her elderly boyfriend stood and moved beside her, taking her fingers in his own.

Ruth watched the exchange and was thankful once again that her aunt had found someone to love and who loved her so much in return. She hoped that someday she’d find a special man who made her as happy as Boris made Shirley.

The thought occurred to her that perhaps Boris was the reason Aunt Shirley had decided not to hold the Christmas family reunion again after this year. Such an event was an awful lot of work and planning, and it was understandable that her aunt would want to spend her time and energy on her personal pursuits. And that was why Ruth had stepped in and shouldered most of the hostessing duties this year. By making this their most perfect Christmas ever, she would relieve her aunt of much of the work while convincing her to give it a go again next year.

Their yearly reunion helped solidify Ruth’s sense of family togetherness. Having lost her parents at a very young age, it was important to preserve and nurture her family ties. And someday she hoped to marry and add lots more names to their Bible.

Turning her attention back to the book, she recalled her great-aunt’s earlier questioning of their handsome guest. “Do you suppose Helen remarried, Aunt Shirley, and you lost track of her?”

“If so, that would mean Tucker Maddock is only vaguely—and very distantly—related by marriage,” Vivian said with interest. “A step-cousin, of sorts.”

Ruth didn’t know why this possibility should please her so much. Or why it should bother her that her sister was so quick to pick up on their nonexistent blood ties.

“I don’t know.” Aunt Shirley idly rubbed the wattle of skin under her left arm. “I think Helen and her first husband are still together. But I could be wrong. I haven’t heard from them since right after Brooke was born, which would be about fourteen years ago.”

A trickle of concern flowed down Ruth’s spine, leaving goose bumps in its wake. Even if Helen had divorced and remarried a Maddock after that time, there was no way she could have a son who, by Ruth’s best estimate, was about thirty years old.

Ruth smelled a rat, albeit the best-looking one she’d ever laid eyes on. Although Ruth Marsh was normally an easygoing person—so easygoing, in fact, that her fourth-grade students had nicknamed her “Miss Marshmallow”—she could not sit idly by while some stranger with an ulterior motive invaded their home. Right in the midst of their Christmas celebrations, no less!