Her Mistletoe Magic
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About the Authors
USA TODAY bestselling author KRISTINE ROLOFSON has written more than forty books for Mills & Boon. She and her husband of many years call Rhode Island, Idaho and Texas home depending upon the time of year. When not writing, Kristine quilts, bakes peach pies, plays the fiddle and sings in a country blues band. She collects vintage cowboy boots and will not tell you how many are in her closet.
CHRISTINE FLYNN is a regular voice in Mills & Boon True Love and has written nearly forty books for the line.
APRIL ARRINGTON grew up in a small southern town and developed a love for films and books at an early age. Emotionally moving stories have always held a special place in her heart. During the day, she enjoys sharing classic literature and popular fiction with students. At night, she spends her time writing stories of her own. April enjoys collecting pottery and soaking up the Georgia sun on her front porch. You can follow her on Twitter at https://twitter.com/april_arrington
Her Mistletoe Magic
The Wish
Kristine Rolofson
Her Holiday Prince Charming
Christine Flynn
The Rancher’s Wife
April Arrington
www.millsandboon.co.uk
ISBN: 978-1-474-09767-3
HER MISTLETOE MAGIC
The Wish © 2015 Kristine Rolofson Her Holiday Prince Charming © 2013 Christine Flynn The Rancher’s Wife © 2016 April Standard
Published in Great Britain 2019
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF
All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.
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www.millsandboon.co.uk
Version: 2020-03-02
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Table of Contents
Cover
About the Authors
Title Page
Copyright
Note to Readers
The Wish
Dedication
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
Her Holiday Prince Charming
Back Cover Text
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Epilogue
The Rancher’s Wife
Back Cover Text
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Epilogue
About the Publisher
The Wish
Kristine Rolofson
With thanks and love to my husband,
who makes every Christmas fun.
CHAPTER ONE
“IS IT TRUE? The Barrett wedding is canceled?”
Grace Clarke looked up from her phone. “Yes.”
“Wow.” Patsy McLean, Mirror Lake Lodge’s longtime business manager, entered Grace’s office and plopped down in one of the overstuffed burgundy chairs that fronted her glass desk. “This is not good.”
“No. It’s not.” She tossed her phone aside and eyed her friend. “I’m trying not to hyperventilate.”
“You never hyperventilate. Not even during the clown reunion. Remember that?”
Grace shuddered. “I still have nightmares.”
“The big curly-haired clown had a crush on you,” Patsy reminded her. “He wanted you to wear polka dots and learn to play the harmonica.”
“And the one with all the tattoos thought you should join the circus and live happily ever after with a man who turns balloons into animals.”
Patsy sighed. “There are times when I think I should have gone with him.” Her daughter was in the middle of a nasty divorce and had returned home six months ago, her twin toddlers in tow, while she and her cheating ex worked out the details. Patsy and her recently retired husband were still reeling from the chaos.
“It’s too late,” Grace declared. “No circus clowns for us.”
“Speak for yourself, sweetie. You’re still ridiculously young and so pretty. You could have all the clowns you want.”
“I guess that’s a compliment?”
“It is. I wish I had your figure, your skin, your age.” Patsy sighed. “Please tell me you’re going out with that real-estate agent who found the condo for you. What is his name?”
“Brad.”
“Did he ask you out?”
“Not exactly. I believe his exact words were, ‘If you ever get, like, really lonely, give me a call and maybe we can hook up.’”
“I’m sorry I asked.” Patsy eyed the various cardboard boxes lining the walls of Grace’s small office. “So, what happened with the wedding? Did the groom get cold feet? Did the bride run away with the best man?”
“I’m not sure. Right now it’s a mystery.” She leaned forward and took a sip of very cold coffee from a mug that said Fail To Plan, Plan To Fail.
“Who told you?”
“Both of them, actually. It was pretty grim. Julie did the talking. And the poor groom just looked stunned. Like he didn’t know what hit him.”
“So she’s the one who has the cold feet? Or another lover? Or her parents hate the groom. Or she found out he was cheating on her. Or all of the above.”
“I don’t know what happened. They’ve been an easy couple to work with. But I guess you can never tell what’s going on under the surface.” She looked at the shipping boxes that represented months of planning. Red glass Christmas ornaments embellished with the bride’s and groom’s names and the date of the wedding, pinecones for place-card holders, fat ivory candles, canning jars to be filled with battery-operated fairy lights—all destined for a seven o’clock wedding on Christmas Eve.
“True. But it does seem pretty dramatic, calling off a wedding so close to the ceremony.”
“I’m going to have to look up an easy way to remove glitter-glued names from a hundred ornaments. Julie said she didn’t want any of the decorations and I hate to throw them away.” The wedding would have been absolutely gorgeous. Grace had planned on taking lots of photos to use as inspiration for other brides considering the Mirror Lake Lodge for their wedding.
“There’s always eBay, I guess. Maybe another Mason and Julie will be getting married next Christmas.” Patsy peered at the boxes—one of the open ones was stuffed with pinecones. “What about the pinecones? I thought they were cute.”
“I’ll save them. I can use them for something else. But the little canning jars are my favorite.” She had planned on taping the battery packs to the underside of the jar lids. “Festive Country Elegance” was her theme for this particular wedding.
“If you still want to assemble them, we can put some on the mantels. Or maybe the restaurant will want to use them for the Christmas buffet.”
“Okay.”
“Speaking of the restaurant,” Patsy drawled. “Who’s going to tell Nico?”
Grace shot her a pointed look.
“Oh no,” Patsy said, her silver-and-red curls bouncing around her face. She threw up her hands. “That is so not part of my job description.”
Grace wished it wasn’t part of hers, but as the events coordinator for the lodge she had no choice but to discuss the cancellation with the lodge’s most famous employee. The smoldering Italian chef would not be pleased. He’d worked on the menu for over a month, combining classic and elegant dishes to the delight of the bride, the groom and the bride’s quiet mother. They had all been thrilled with his creative ideas, particularly when he incorporated his now-famous cheese bar.
Nico loved parties.
He was not going to love this news.
“He’s going to throw a fit.” Or worse, ask her to join him for a glass of wine while he flirted shamelessly.
“No, he isn’t.” Patsy frowned. “Well, maybe a little fit. Did you see the episode when he got really angry with that actor, the one who was the villain in that time-travel movie, I think.”
“The tall guy,” Grace said. “He thought it was funny to keep adding extra salt and pepper to the food whenever Nico turned his back.”
“I thought Nico was going to punch him.”
“He came close,” Grace recalled. The YouTube video of those fifteen minutes of television time had gone viral.
“And the time the chicken wasn’t cooked properly in that restaurant he was trying to help. He told the cook to leave and never come back. In Italian, I think.”
“‘Raw chicken kills’,” he said. Remember? And then he threw those pans out the back door and two of the waitresses were crying—and then they went to a commercial.”
“I wonder what happened to that restaurant. I should look it up.”
“He’s never thrown anything here, has he?” Grace had heard he was a perfectionist and an exacting employer, but nothing about violence. Still, he had a reputation in the tabloids for his passionate nature.
“Well, just some utensils. But not at anyone directly,” Patsy replied. “I think he just cooks with gusto.”
“Gusto,” Grace repeated, thinking of Nico’s enormous energy. She wondered if he ever slept—he always seemed to be in the lodge’s kitchen.
“He loves weddings,” Patsy reminded her. “The bigger the better, he says.”
“Well, everything has been paid for. The bride understood it was too late for refunds. Flowers, food, music, cake, everything. I hate to think of it going to waste.”
“There’s always the food bank. We’ve done that before with leftovers.”
“I’ll make some phone calls in the morning,” Grace said, wondering if anyone would want ruby-red wedding decorations with pinecone placeholders and fairy lights.
“Ask Brian or one of the interns to take these boxes to the back room. Don’t do it yourself.” Patsy looked at her watch. “I’d better get back to the desk. I said I’d help Noelle with the tour group’s arrival at one o’clock.”
“But they’re only here overnight, is that right?”
“Yes. A quick in and out—a celebratory dinner, a sleigh ride to the cabin, and then they’re on to Boston in the morning after a leisurely brunch. Nico has planned some kind of decadent French toast for them.” She mock shuddered. “The man’s food is so good just the thought of it gives me chills.”
Grace eyed the half of a protein bar she was saving for a late-afternoon snack. It sat on her desk next to her now empty coffee cup, mocking her and her perpetual diet, daring her to throw it in the trash. “Eating his food would make me gain ten pounds in one day.”
“It wouldn’t show,” Patsy responded loyally, but Grace knew better. At five feet two inches tall, she had to watch every calorie in order to fit into her clothes, like the size eight petite red sheath dress she’d worn to match the lodge’s decorations today. Tomorrow she thought an ivory sweater and matching pencil skirt with dark gold suede boots would be appropriate, especially for the staff’s Secret Santa breakfast. She planned to wear her new dark burgundy lace dress for Christmas Eve. Grace believed that blending in, looking as if she belonged to the lodge, was a necessary part of her job.
“Keep me posted on the wedding,” Patsy said, heading toward the door. “If there’s anything I can do—”
“I’ll let you know,” Grace promised. But she didn’t intend to keep her friend away from her busy family and excited grandchildren during the holidays, no matter how many events were canceled. Patsy had already volunteered to work the desk on Christmas Eve so Noelle, who had a young son, could take the day off.
It wouldn’t last forever.
Five more days until Christmas craziness was behind her.
Grace Clarke eyed the oversize calendar on her glass-topped desk and took a deep breath. She stayed organized using cell phone reminders and sticky notes, but she relied on her old-fashioned paper calendar to help her keep track of the Big Picture.
And the Big Picture had just shrunk.
Today was Monday, December 21. Yesterday Grace had overseen an intimate wedding between two eighty-year-olds and their immediate families, a Christmas party for the local chamber of commerce and a special family dinner for the resident bride and groom and their families.
The dinner was to have kicked off the wedding festivities, which would culminate in a Christmas Eve ceremony for a couple who appeared to be made for each other. The bride had been cooperative throughout the entire year they’d spent making arrangements and, despite some strange behavior during a dress fitting yesterday, she’d been a joy to work with. The groom, a physician, had been agreeable and patient.
In other words, he’d behaved the way a perfect groom should.
Until he’d been dumped.
Grace empathized.
She consulted her agenda on the iPad. She needed to make sure that the twenty-six people from the tour bus would be seated in the dining room for dinner at five thirty. Their sleigh rides had been confirmed for eight o’clock, with a return between eleven and twelve. There were the shuttle buses to Santa’s Village to oversee—the guests’ children loved that particular tradition. She’d had some luck helping the manager of the Village fill a Santa vacancy for tomorrow—one of the wedding guests turned out to be familiar with the role. The much-anticipated and very casual staff party would be held tomorrow morning, but she had nothing left to do for that event.
As far as she knew, the lodge was full, though Grace was pretty sure the groom and his family would be leaving the hotel and heading home. She made a note to check with Patsy on that. The maid of honor had arrived today, so either she hadn’t known about the cancellation of the wedding or she was here to support the bride. Or maybe she loved to ski. After all, the bride and her mother had decided to stay for a few days and turn the visit into a vacation.
A vacation without lace, flowers, rings or promises of enduring love.
Grace couldn’t understand it, but what Julie Barrett did or did not do was her own business. It was up to Grace to pick up the pieces.
She stalled for another two hours, making phone calls and going over the week’s events. Finally she emerged from her office, which was conveniently tucked along a hallway next to the front desk in the main building. The double-door entrance facing the lake was decorated with the customary greenery and white lights. Each wreath was adorned with a red velvet bow and a set of tiny dangling sleigh bells. Patsy had Perry Como crooning through the stereo system.
“I will get even,” she murmured as she passed the front desk where Patsy and Noelle huddled over the computer monitor. “I just downloaded ‘Boogie Woogie Santa Claus’ from Amazon.”
“Bring it on,” Patsy said. “You can’t possibly compete. I have forty-seven easy-listening Christmas albums on my iPod, including Elvis.”
“Kill me now.”
Noelle looked up and smiled. “I heard that Nico loves Andrea Bocelli.”
“Gosh, really?” Grace feigned surprise, which made both women grin, and she headed up the polished wooden stairs to the restaurant. She loved the lodge, with its elegant white exterior and porches, stone fireplaces and pine walls. She loved the views of the lake, piles of snow framing ice perfect for skating, and the Oriental rugs on the polished wooden floors.
She did not love Christmas, not this year. This year it was merely a holiday to be endured. Her father was on a cruise with his latest fiancée and Grace’s only other relative, Aunt Ellen, was in Arizona with her daughter’s family and a new grandchild. It wasn’t the holiday she’d envisioned eighteen months ago when she’d been planning her own Christmas wedding, but she would make the best of it. On January 4, when the lodge’s many Christmas trees were stripped of their sparkly decorations and Patsy’s CDs were returned to the drawer labeled Boring Holiday Music, Grace would breathe a sigh of relief and look forward to a lovely, hectic ski season.
Grace stepped into the restaurant and waved to one of the waiters.
“He’s in the back,” the young man called out.
“Thanks, Tom.” She made her way past the elegant linen-covered tables and white chairs, the empty tables set with the lodge’s trademark white linen napkins and December’s emerald tablecloths. She approved of the holiday flower arrangements, shades of cream and white dotted with silvery jingle bells, all very elegant and tasteful, as sophisticated as the chef himself.
The restaurant was a spacious room, much longer than it was wide, with windows along the wall that faced the lake. The far end could be enclosed for private events, something Grace had done many times in the past four years. Tonight’s tour group had opted to sit in the main area of the dining room, and she saw that a table for twenty-six stretched along the windows across from the stone fireplace. Eight or so tables held the last of the lunch crowd and, as usual, the long room was immaculate.
Mirror Lake Lodge was known for its many stone fireplaces. Not every venue in the Lake Placid area could boast so many beautiful public rooms, which made her job booking events easier. All she had to do was show potential brides the Wildwood Room, a private dining room and wedding venue separated from the main restaurant with a view of the lake and, of course, its own massive fireplace. Then there was the Mirror Lakeview Ballroom, just a few steps up from the Wildwood Room through a set of French doors. Floor-to-ceiling windows highlighted a huge room designed in the Victorian summer-home style, with wooden walls painted white and dark wood floors. It boasted two rustic stone fireplaces, one on each end of the rectangular room. Since its construction ten years ago, the Mirror Lakeview Ballroom had been the setting for many weddings, reunions, fashion shows, civic functions and “celebrations of life.”
Julie Barrett’s wedding ceremony was to have taken place in front of the fireplace in the Wildwood Room, with her reception for eighty-five people up half a flight of stairs in the ballroom. She’d wanted room for dancing, and had been thrilled that the two large Christmas trees would be decorated and lit. She’d even requested Grace’s specialty, the hot-chocolate bar, to add to the cozy winter atmosphere. So, what had happened?
It was none of her business, she reminded herself as she weaved through the tables toward the kitchen. But still, what made love start and stop? She found it all a little sad.
A young waiter carrying two silver platters of homemade cookies burst out of the kitchen and headed her way.
“Teatime,” Brian announced, stopping to lower one of the gaily decorated platters in front of Grace. “Want one?”
“No thanks.” Tea and cookies were provided in the lobby each afternoon, much to Patsy’s delight. Their guests loved the tradition, of course, which added to the lodge’s popularity. “Is he in?”
“Of course.” The boy grinned. “He’s training two more interns.”
“Uh-oh.” She inhaled. “Those smell so good.”
“Hey, you know baking cookies is the highlight of Maria’s day,” he called, hurrying out of the room.
Maria had been the lodge’s pastry chef for thirty-one years. Her cookie recipes were highly guarded secrets, though Patsy swore she’d replicated the almond cookies once. Maria was a sweet, quiet woman in her fifties who rarely spoke, but she had a gift for baking, if not for conversation. She made a different kind of cookie for each day of the week and Mondays were oatmeal raisin.
“Grace! You are looking for me?” Dominic “Nico” Vitelli stepped out of the kitchen and smiled. “Finally!”