Mistletoe Hero

Who was she to dole out unsolicited advice? She’d obviously confused herself with a self-help guru. And confused him with someone who cared. “Good night, Arianne.”

He stepped off the curb.

“Gabe?”

Against his better judgment he turned. “Yes?” The single syllable held fourteen years of weariness.

She stood on her toes, sacrificing balance for height and letting herself stumble against him. His arms went around her reflexively. She placed a quick kiss just to the left of his mouth—if he’d turned his head a fraction of an inch, his lips could have captured hers—and then stepped away.

“Thank you for a wonderful time,” she said breathlessly.

Dear Reader,

I first “met” the character of Arianne Waide when I wrote her as a supporting role in a Christmas novella several years ago. She has always been fun to write and has made cameo appearances throughout my 4 SEASONS IN MISTLETOE series (often when giving her older brothers a piece of her mind). Readers have asked if she would have her own book, and I knew Arianne deserved to find love with a special, unforgettable hero!

In the close-knit community of Mistletoe, Georgia, Gabe Sloan is an outsider. His family history and a long-ago mistake have never truly allowed him to belong. When a tiny yet stubborn blonde good-naturedly bullies him into lending his time to a local fundraiser, Gabe decides to make this favor a farewell gesture. He’s lived in Mistletoe without being a part of it for far too long, and he decides the best way to get closure from the past is to leave. But he didn’t count on Arianne Waide’s impulsive quest to help him mend fences with the town—and he certainly didn’t count on falling for her.

Authors aren’t supposed to have “favorite” characters from our books; we love them all, the same way moms appreciate their children’s unique personalities. Still, I have to admit that Arianne and Gabe are very special to me. Whether this is your first visit to Mistletoe or your fourth, I hope you enjoy watching their story unfold.

Happy reading!

Tanya

Mistletoe Hero

Tanya Michaels

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Tanya Michaels began telling stories almost as soon as she could talk…and started stealing her mom’s Harlequin romances less than a decade later. In 2003 Tanya was thrilled to have her first book, a romantic comedy, published by Harlequin Books. Since then, Tanya has sold nearly twenty books and is a two-time recipient of a Booksellers’ Best Award as well as a finalist for the Holt Medallion, National Readers’ Choice Award and Romance Writers of America’s prestigious RITA® Award. Tanya lives in Georgia with her husband, two preschoolers and an unpredictable cat, but you can visit Tanya online at www.tanyamichaels.com.

For Jarrad. I love you.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Epilogue

Chapter One

“I vote you seduce him,” Arianne Waide drawled.

“What?” Quinn Keller’s shock came through the phone as clearly as if she’d been standing right there in the store. “Ari, I talked to the guy for ten seconds at the faculty welcome mixer, along with about sixty other people introducing themselves. He probably doesn’t know I’m alive.”

He would if you seduced him. But Arianne had only been teasing about that—it was a strategy she’d cultivated during her adolescence to deal with her parents and overprotective older brothers. Start with something outrageous first so that when you asked for what you really wanted, they were relieved to give it to you.

“All right, so not a full-fledged seduction,” Arianne relented. “Why not just drop by his classroom tomorrow morning and ask if you can buy him lunch and answer any questions he has about the school or the town? Or, at the very least, recruit him to help you with the fall festival.”

Silence stretched across the line as Quinn considered. “I could do that.”

“Of course you could,” Arianne encouraged.

“It’s not that I’m shy,” Quinn said, a touch defensively. “It’s just…I’m so used to already knowing everyone in Mistletoe that I forget how to meet new people.”

“I understand.” In theory. Like Quinn, Arianne also grew up in the small north Georgia town of Mistletoe, but Arianne didn’t have a bashful bone in her body. The youngest of three siblings, she’d learned early how to vie for attention and how to stick up for herself, often going toe-to-toe with her brother Tanner, who’d been the family prankster in his misspent youth.

Quinn sighed. “I should let you get back to work.”

Arianne looked around the empty store her family had owned for three generations. Outside, parking lot lights reflected off the relentless drizzle that had made it such a chilly October day. “I promised Dad I’d finish the inventory report tonight, but I’m glad you called. This place is deserted. David bolted right at five so he could rush home and coo over the baby, and Dad’s eating dinner with Mom and won’t be back for another hour. I was getting tired of my own company.”

Quinn laughed. “That’s hard to imagine. Your company’s always so…interesting.”

“If I didn’t know what a sweet woman you are, Quinn Keller, I’d have the sneaking suspicion I’d just been zinged.”

“No comment.”

“I’m hanging up on you now,” Arianne said. “But promise you’ll take my advice to heart?”

“I always do.”

Quinn wasn’t the only one. As Arianne put the phone back in its cradle, she indulged in a moment of self-satisfaction. She’d given romantic counsel to everyone from her older brothers to her brothers’ wives to town pet-sitter Brenna Pierce. And she did so with enough confidence and wisdom that people listened, rarely questioning why they were taking suggestions from a woman who’d never actually had a serious relationship herself. She’d had opportunities, but had skirted any lasting, exclusive commitments.

The copper bell over the door jarred her from her thoughts and she turned with an automatic “Welcome to Waide Supply,” even though she knew it was probably her father bringing takeout for her.

Nope. Her breath caught. Definitely not dear old dad. Instead, it was Gabe Sloan.

Her body trembled from the cool draft that swept inside, and she huddled deeper into her oversize cranberry sweater. “Hi.”

Without breaking stride, Gabe nodded a hello in her direction, playing the strong, silent stereotype to the hilt. He was in here two or three times a week, but Arianne doubted he’d said a cumulative dozen words to her. Quinn characterized him as a mysterious loner. Having grown up with brothers, Arianne was less inclined to romanticize a guy.

Still, she had no trouble admitting that Gabe was one sexy man. At least six feet tall, he was well-muscled from continuous hours of manual labor. He’d let his jet-black hair grow shaggy so that it tempted a woman to brush his bangs away from his clear gray eyes. Physically, everything about him invited contact: silky, collar-length hair just right for running your fingers through, broad shoulders that looked perfect for leaning against. His self-contained manner, however, projected a different message.

If Arianne had been busy with other customers, or if her brother and father were here with her, it would have been easier to ignore Gabe’s presence. But the two of them alone on a rainy night created an almost intimate atmosphere. She put the inventory report on the counter in front of her, but couldn’t help tracking Gabe down the aisle where hoses and spigots were kept.

Because shopping opportunities in Mistletoe were limited, Waide Supply provided a wide assortment of merchandise, serving as sort of a catch-all retailer for townspeople, but it was primarily a hardware store. Gabe, who earned his living as a self-employed handyman, was one of their best customers. As far as Arianne knew, he didn’t advertise beyond a magnetic truck sign that read Sloan Carpentry and Odd Jobs. In Mistletoe, word of mouth went a long way, but still…Didn’t the guy know how much a few well-applied business techniques could help him? The familiar urge to give unsolicited advice bubbled within her.

Smiling wryly, Arianne imagined his reaction. Somehow she doubted that Gabe was as persuadable as Quinn or even Arianne’s stubborn father, Zachariah Waide. Then again, Arianne liked challenges. Her smile grew as she contemplated tactics. For starters, she had to engage him in actual conversation.

She got her chance when Gabe approached the counter with a few items that represented the variety of work he did—a coil of “soaker” hose, an adjustable wrench and a triangular-edged paintbrush. In flagrant disregard of the damp night, he wore a black T-shirt with no jacket.

Gazing appreciatively at his arms, she asked, “Aren’t you cold?”

“No.”

Progress! They’d moved from nonverbal gestures to a monosyllabic response.

Arianne rang up the hose on the cash register, then glanced toward the rain-streaked window. “Depressing weather. Has the rain been slowing down your work?” He had the natural, year-round tan of someone who worked outside on a near-daily basis.

“Not really.” Rocking back on his heels, he regarded her with something like caution. It would probably look incongruous to an observer—a guy his size unnerved by her—but Arianne had grown accustomed to similar reactions from the men in her family.

She flashed him her most disarming grin and gave in to sheer impulse. “Gabe, would you like to have dinner with me sometime? Maybe this weekend?”

His jaw dropped, and Arianne experienced a rush of satisfaction. She’d penetrated that stoic exterior. How many women in Mistletoe could say the same?

But he’d already masked his surprise with a coolly assessing gaze beneath a raised eyebrow. “Dinner with you? Just how old are you, little girl?”

“Midtwenties. You do know that it’s considered rude to ask a lady her age?” she asked playfully.

“Never claimed to be polite.” Or playful apparently.

“So is this your way of turning down my dinner invitation?”

“Sorry. You aren’t my type.”

A less secure woman would be stung by this. She drew herself up to her full five-foot-two inches. “You don’t like pretty blondes?”

Both his eyebrows went up this time; she’d caught him off guard again. His lips twitched, as if he might—wonder of wonders—smile. Be still my beating heart.

But his expression was annoyingly neutral when he replied, “Not really.”

Arianne thought about telling him it was his loss, but that would be petty. When you asked someone on a date, you accepted refusal as a possibility and you were gracious about it. So she gave him a smile as sweet as her mama’s peach cobbler and thrust his purchases at him. “You have a nice night, Gabe.”

He hesitated as if uncertain he wanted to take the bag from her. “You, too.” Then he left, the jangling bell punctuating his exit.

She watched him go. Arianne had caught herself watching him more frequently ever since this summer, when Quinn had hired Gabe to do some roofing repairs. As it turned out, seeing his muscular form while he dabbed away sweat with the hem of his T-shirt had been far different than Arianne’s peripheral awareness of his being in the store while she was helping other customers. But what struck Arianne the most about Gabe wasn’t his sculpted forearms or made-a-pact-with-the-devil abs. It was that she couldn’t recall ever having seen him smile. His expression might have softened once or twice, when Quinn offered him something cold to drink or nervously tripped over her words, but a real, honest-to-goodness smile?

When the door opened again, Arianne whipped her head around, illogically expecting to see Gabe reappear.

“Brought you some dinner,” Zachariah Waide said.

“Thanks, Dad.” She sighed. “But you know you don’t always have to come back for me. I’m just as capable as David of locking up the store by myself.”

Her father frowned. “I don’t like the idea of an attractive young woman being here late by herself. Especially when she’s my daughter.”

Arianne shook her head at his hypervigilance. This was Mistletoe, after all, hardly a hotbed of violent crime. The last time there’d been a…Abruptly she thought of the dark rumors once surrounding Gabe Sloan. Could they have anything to do with why she couldn’t remember ever seeing him grin or hearing him laugh?

But that scandal was more than a decade ago. Then again, small towns had long memories.

Arianne found herself transported to that moment earlier when the corners of Gabe’s eyes had crinkled and it had looked as if he might smile at her. For that heartbeat of time, she’d teetered on the edge of intoxicating potential. Coaxing a smile from him would be a victory on par with winning a critical play-off game.

And Arianne loved to win.

EXCLUDING PERIODIC PTA meetings and potluck church suppers, Wednesday nights in Mistletoe were not a flurry of social activity. During the summer, with kids out of school and tourists in town, the situation had been different, but when Gabe Sloan walked into On Tap now, he found the pool hall and local watering hole nearly empty. Aside from Nick Zeth throwing darts with a few firemen buddies and a lone couple circling lazily on the tiny dance floor, the only person present was the bartender.

Perfect. Gabe would be left alone without actually being alone.

“Usual?” the bartender asked.

“Yeah. Thanks.” Gabe only ever ordered sodas, which he could have just as easily purchased at the Dixieland Diner on his way home. But the diner was too bright, too crowded, filled with chatty patrons and flirtatious waitresses he didn’t want to encourage.

Had he done anything unintentional to encourage David Waide’s little sister? Arianne. Gabe threw a couple of bills on the counter and reached for his soft drink, perplexed by the bizarre conversation back at the store. “Would you like to have dinner with me?” He wouldn’t have been any more surprised if she’d announced that space aliens were landing on Main Street.

Until this evening, he and the youngest Waide had barely spoken. So why on earth would she suddenly ask him out? Had she lost a bet? Was she trying to make another guy jealous?

His blood chilled at the stray possibility. He’d been a pawn in that particular game before, allowing himself to be manipulated when he was sixteen and stupid. Arianne had no doubt heard the story, even if it was an exaggerated version told by someone with no firsthand account of events. It made her offer even more bewildering. Me and her? She was the sunny only daughter of upstanding citizens, whereas Gabe’s classmates his senior year had snickered and called him Gabriel the Angel of Death—though they’d snickered less audibly after the fistfight between him and Duke Allen.

Gabe couldn’t imagine anyone who would make a more incongruous companion for him than Arianne. Before tonight, he hadn’t given her appearance much thought, but she could be the poster child for wholesome cheer—fair-skinned, always smiling, with long wavy hair and big blue eyes. If he studied her closely, he might even have glimpsed a smattering of freckles above her pert nose. She looked like she should be having afternoon tea with Tinker Bell, not hitting on men nearly a foot taller than her.

Or was he reading too much into her overture? He frowned into his drink. Maybe her invitation hadn’t been romantic in nature at all. Perhaps Arianne, whose family was well-known in Mistletoe and who had grown up among a throng of friends, simply felt sorry for him. Gabriel Sloan, outcast and sinner. He grimaced, the idea of her pity more distasteful than the idea of her romantic interest.

Normally Gabe shopped after sunset to make the most of daylight hours for his outside jobs, but he could change his schedule for a couple of weeks. If he’d been over at Waide Supply around noon, with more people in the store, Arianne wouldn’t have singled him out. Gabe could—

Get a grip. Was he really planning to run from a five-foot blonde he could probably bench-press? No. Now that he’d refused her dinner invitation—rather bluntly, as a matter of fact—she’d probably prefer that they pretend it never happened.

Situation resolved.

Chapter Two

Arianne had grown up with no sisters and was ecstatic that she now had two. It was great to see both her brothers happily wed, especially since she thoroughly approved of the women they’d chosen to marry. Currently Arianne sat on the floor of Lilah Waide’s living room. While David and Rachel Waide, proud parents of three-and-a-half-month-old Bailey, lived in a suburb closer to downtown Mistletoe, Tanner and Lilah lived in a gorgeous, oversize cottage-style home they’d built on the outskirts of town. Lilah said that her favorite parts of the day were the twenty-five-minute ride to and from Whiteberry Elementary; Tanner drove her and picked her up, so they had time at the beginning and end of each day to make each other laugh or privately vent frustrations.

“All right.” Seated on the couch, looking every bit the elementary school teacher with reading glasses perched on the end of her nose, Lilah tapped her pen on the clipboard she held. “Let’s look at the preparations, figure out where the gaping holes are and try to spackle them in.”

The repair metaphor made Arianne think of Gabe. And last night’s encounter. If she’d used a more subtle approach, might he have accepted her invitation? Not that it mattered—Ari didn’t do subtle.

Curled comfortably in a wicker-framed papasan chair that faced the huge back-wall window, fall festival cochair Quinn consulted her own clipboard. “Food is covered. Pete and Vonda and a few of their friends from the senior center are going to run the bingo tent for us. Vonda already went around town, getting people to donate prizes.”

Arianne laughed at that. “She probably terrorized them until they gave her whatever she wanted.” It was impossible to say no to the fiery seventysomething who, like Arianne and Quinn, had been a bridesmaid at Lilah’s wedding last winter. Arianne adored the elderly woman.

Lilah read from her list. “We have some kids from the high school taking care of music for us, and a lot of moms have volunteered this year. The difficult part will be organizing them all. The Kerrigans are setting up the tables and coordinating the judges for the jack-o-lantern contest. Brenna and Adam promised to be in charge of face-painting. Ari, can we put you down to work the kissing booth?”

“Sure, why not? It’s for a good cause.” Most of the guys in Mistletoe were harmless. They’d donate their dollar to the school and give her a quick peck before disappearing into the festival crowd to try their hand at a skill game or purchase food. The fact that Arianne had two looming brothers—who had apparently used up all the good height genes in her family—dissuaded any wiseacres from trying anything inappropriate at the booth.

Every year, Whiteberry Elementary, where both Quinn and Lilah taught, hosted a fall festival fundraiser. They held it downtown because the parking at the school itself was too limited, and local businesses helped sponsor the activities. Quinn and Lilah had agreed to cochair this year’s festival committee. They’d somehow dragged Arianne and their mutual friend Brenna Pierce along for the ride, although neither of them worked for the school or had kids enrolled there. Brenna, however, had been excused from this afternoon’s meeting. By Thanksgiving, her work schedule would be jam-packed with holiday pet-sitting, so she was taking advantage of a quiet few days now to go with her boyfriend to Tennessee and visit his three kids.

“Honestly,” Lilah said as she scanned her sheet, “we have the majority of it covered. But there are some minor construction and wiring issues we’ll need help with. I’ve already drafted Tanner. I wish we had more active dads in my class this year. The mothers are great help when it comes to the bake sale and signing up for story circle, but there aren’t many who are comfortable with power tools. Or capable of heavy lifting. We’re shorthanded on muscle this year, especially since the PE coach broke his arm last weekend.”

“I don’t know what he was thinking.” Quinn shook her head. “A man his age jumping at a skateboard park!”

Arianne pinned Quinn with a gaze. “Weren’t you supposed to be getting us more muscle, in the form of the cute new teacher Mr. Flannery?”

Quinn held up her hands. “I will, I swear. I just didn’t have the opportunity yet. He was out today with the stomach bug that’s been going around the classes.”

“Patrick Flannery?” Lilah grinned. “He is cute. Maybe you should take him some soup and well-wishes.”

“Nah,” Arianne said. “You can do the well-wishes over the phone without risking germs. Plus, if you ask him for a favor when he’s feverish, he may agree simply because he’s too delirious to come up with an excuse.”

“Machiavellian,” Quinn said with admiration. “I bet you can get a guy to agree to anything!”

“Not so. Just last night…” It occurred to Arianne that maybe she didn’t want to share the story of how Gabe Sloan had shot her down. Not because she was embarrassed—it wasn’t that big a deal—but because her friends might read too much into it. “Hey, why am I the only one without a clipboard here? I feel cheated.”

Lilah rolled her eyes at the non sequitur. “Fess up, Waide. We want the rest of the story.”

“I asked Gabe Sloan if he wanted to have dinner with me,” Ari admitted as casually as she could.

It was a good thing she had perspective on the matter. The same could not be said for her friends. Lilah’s eyes doubled in diameter, and Quinn flopped back in her chair so hard the wicker base wobbled.

“Gabriel Sloan!” they chorused. It was hard to tell whether they were appalled or delighted. They definitely weren’t nonchalant.

“Oh, fine.” Ari sighed. “Get it all out of your systems. Anyone want to gush about how dreamy he is? Someone prank dial him while I doodle our names together in a heart on my clipboard. Oh, wait, I don’t have one.”

Lilah reached down to smack Ari lightly on the back of the head. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me you were interested in him. Do your brothers know about this?”

Before Ari could explain that this had been a onetime invitation, not serious interest, Quinn protested, “It’s not like she kept it a secret. She’s been commenting since summer how sexy he is.”

“I do recall mentioning that a couple of times,” Arianne admitted. And who could blame her? No one in town disputed his quietly wicked appeal—it was part of the basis of the scandal. Although, personally, Arianne felt Shay Templeton was more than equally to blame. Few ever voiced that opinion, though. Probably out of respect for the dead.

“So why did he turn you down?” Lilah asked, dragging Arianne back to the present.

“Said something about my not being his type.”

The other two women looked outraged, talking over top of each other in their haste to stick up for her.

“But you’re—”

“A Waide! Everyone in this town—”

“Beautiful. I couldn’t get my hair to look like that—”