“Don’t reach out to people because they deserve it—do it for yourself.”

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—”

“—loves you. Who does he thinks he is?”

“Is he blind?”

Arianne giggled. “Well, thanks for the outpouring of support, but I wasn’t losing sleep over it. Maybe I’m really not his type. He’s entitled to feel that way.”

“Huh.” Quinn rocked back in her chair, thoughtful. “For a guy who looks like a walking magnet for any female with a pulse, I can’t remember the last time I heard he was dating anyone. What do you suppose his type is?”

They were all silent for a moment, and Arianne wondered if her friends were also thinking about Shay Templeton. God, she would have been about my age when she died. Arianne was sure that, at some point in her childhood, she’d seen the woman, but she’d never had real reason to take notice.

Ari looked at Lilah, the oldest of the three of them. “Do you think the story is true?”

Lilah shrugged. “Depends on which version you mean.”

The Templetons had been a wealthy, tempestuous couple, known for loud fights in the dining room of the country club. One valet reported stumbling across them while they passionately made up in their parked car. Mr. Templeton had been nearly forty, a decade and a half older than his wife, and devoted to the law firm in which he was partner. Gossip ran that whenever Shay got to feeling neglected, she would shower affection on a chosen young man, playing to Templeton’s one insecurity to provoke his jealous attention. But, as far as Arianne knew, none of the men she’d flirted with had been as young as sixteen-year-old lawn boy Gabe Sloan. One story had Gabe shooting Mr. Templeton in a jealous rage, with Shay falling down the curved staircase to her death as she and her lover tried to flee. Other citizens scoffed that Gabe wasn’t even at the house at the time the gunshot was reported. The end result remained the same—Shay Templeton had a broken neck and Mr. Templeton had been shot with his own revolver.

It was rare for something so controversial to happen here in Mistletoe, and the whole sordid tale had grown into local legend. Making Gabe some sort of cross between Don Juan and a yeti.

“Why do you think he’s stayed all these years?” Arianne asked. She knew Gabe’s father still lived in Mistletoe, but she didn’t think she’d ever seen them together publicly. Were they close?

“Whatever the truth is, it’s a sad story.” Quinn rolled her shoulders back as if trying to shrug off impending gloom. “What made you ask him out, Ari?”

“Don’t know, really. Like you said, I’ve noticed how attractive he was. This just happened to be the first time I found myself alone with him. Why not ask him out? It’s how I’d approach any other guy who interested me.”

Lilah and Quinn shot her pointed looks. Gabe Sloan was so not “any other guy.” He was in a category unto himself.

“Will it be awkward next time he comes into the store?” Quinn asked. “That’s one of the reasons I’m hesitant about Patrick, or any man associated with the school. I have to be there every day, cheerful and patient for the kids, I can’t risk creating an uncomfortable work environment.”

“I don’t feel awkward about his rejection at all,” Ari insisted. “And I can prove it. You guys say we need some extra muscle to help with the festival? I know just the solution.”

Her friends gaped at her as if she’d lost her ever-loving mind.

“What? Haven’t you seen his biceps?” she demanded. “The festival is a community tradition. He’s part of the community.”

“Not in the strictest sense,” Lilah argued gently.

“Then, maybe it’s time he was.” Arianne’s natural determination had kicked in; there was little chance of anyone dissuading her now.

She thought of her large, close-knit family and the warm, nurturing sanctuary Mistletoe had always been for her. It pained her to think of her comforting hometown being something more sinister for Gabe. For whatever reason, he’d chosen to stay—maybe because of his family ties or maybe just because he, like her, was a stubborn cuss, refusing to be driven out by furtive speculation.

Whatever the reason, if he planned to remain, it only made sense that he’d eventually want to perform a role in their shared society besides supporting player in a fourteen-year-old tragedy.

Ari brightened. She’d been feeling a bit melancholy lately as the golden summer days shortened into the early darkness of fall. It was probably just the natural letdown now that all the activity surrounding Lilah’s wedding—Ari had been the maid of honor—and preparations for Rachel’s baby—Ari had helped repaint the nursery and had been the backup Lamaze coach—were behind them. For almost two years, it seemed as if her family had been frenzied with events, and she suddenly found herself at loose ends as she watched her brothers move on with their lives. They no longer needed her advice and help. But perhaps she’d stumbled across a new challenge worthy of her considerable energy.

Gabe Sloan didn’t know how lucky he was.

Chapter Three

“Hi. Mind if I sit here?”

Gabe choked on a bite of his pulled-pork sandwich. Where the devil had she come from? Glancing at Arianne Waide’s pixie features, he speculated that perhaps she’d used fairy dust to simply materialize here.

Before he could answer that he did mind—and that there were at least half a dozen unoccupied tables nearby—Arianne sat on the wooden bench opposite him. She impatiently moved aside the tabletop roll of paper towel between them. The restaurant didn’t boast impressive interior decor, but the barbecue was phenomenal.

If Gabe were a better person, he’d think it was a shame more people didn’t know about this hidden treasure. By all rights, it should be just as crowded as the Dixieland Diner. But he was selfishly glad he never had to wait in a long line during the lunch hour and that he wasn’t jostling elbows with locals like Arianne.

“I’ve come to ask you a favor,” she declared.

“What is wrong with you?” This time he knew he hadn’t done anything to encourage her attention. So what was she doing stalking him to the far side of town at his favorite hole-in-the-wall?

“Careful.” She wagged her index finger at him. “Last time we spoke, your manners were a bit rough, but I’m willing to overlook that and start fresh.”

“How nice.” Was she deranged? The explanation seemed likelier with each passing moment. “To what do I owe this magnanimous oversight?” Whatever he’d done to earn it, he’d make sure not to repeat.

“I’m naturally kindhearted,” she drawled.

Looking alarmingly as if she were settling in for a prolonged conversation, Arianne propped her elbows on the table and rested her cheek on her fists. It was the kind of posture that should have appeared youthful. Except that when she brought her arms together like that, it pushed together a surprising amount of cleavage in the scooped neckline of her fuzzy green sweater. He couldn’t recall what she’d been wearing Wednesday night, but he was sure it had been looser. And that it hadn’t seemed so damn touchable. Annoyed that he’d even noticed, he clenched his fingers into a fist on his thigh.

In spite of her small stature and wavy locks, she was definitely all woman. A woman whose company I didn’t ask for.

“Look, kid, I’m not kindhearted. I’m an ill-tempered misanthrope. Fancy word for someone who doesn’t like people.”

Most females would get huffy over his condescension and implied aspersions on their maturity. Arianne widened her smile.

“I understand,” she assured him. There was so much commiserating sincerity in her tone that it took him a moment to realize she was reflecting his patronization right back at him. “You’re a genuine ogre. Probably live in a swamp, hang out with a talking donkey—”

“You have an odd strategy for asking favors,” he informed her as he stood.

“You’re leaving?” She shot an incredulous glance toward his plate, which still held most of his onion rings, the last quarter of his sandwich and a pickle spear.

“Lost my appetite.”

“In that case.” She reached unabashedly for an onion ring, closing her eyes and making a near-purring sound in her throat. Once she’d swallowed, she beamed at him in approval. “Wow, those are good.”

“I know.”

“Why don’t I eat here more?” she wondered aloud, popping another hand-battered onion ring into her mouth. With a final resigned glance at the food, she stood, too.

Gabe had the terrible suspicion that she’d fall in step with him and trail him wherever he went. That if he went to the parking lot and drove away, she might actually follow; if he tried to evade her by going into the men’s room, she’d simply wait him out. He doubted he could squeeze through the window.

“I should have been clearer earlier,” she said, her voice suddenly brisk and businesslike. “When I said I came to ask a favor, that was true, but it’s not just how you can help me, it’s how we can help each other.”

The old cynicism burned in his gut. If she suggested in husky tones that she could scratch his back if he scratched hers, he would lose all respect for her. And it startled Gabe to realize that even though he barely knew her and had spent the majority of this encounter wishing she’d disappear in a puff of smoke, he did respect her. She had an…implacability that was commendable.

That slight admiration kept him from telling her point-blank to get lost. Instead, he crossed his arms over his chest. “I have a busy afternoon ahead of me—we don’t all work for our daddies. You have thirty seconds.”

“You remember Quinn Keller, the teacher who hired you to repair her roof last June?”

He nodded. Quinn was a decent sort. She’d tipped him for the work he’d done without winking over the check as though he was supposed to add some extra service—something more than one town matron had hinted in his younger years. Quinn would bring out freshly squeezed lemonade on hot days but seemed unnerved enough by him that she kept their conversations brief.

Unlike certain blondes who seemed determined to chat him up from now until the Second Coming.

The moment he’d inclined his head, Arianne hurriedly continued as if mentally counting down the time he’d allotted her. “Quinn’s cochairing the committee for Whiteberry’s fall festival and needs help with some of the labor—assembling booths, hooking up electrical equipment—but she doesn’t have much of a budget. After all, the whole point is to raise money for the school. So we wanted to ask you to do it for free.”

He snorted. The lady had a bottomless supply of gall. “And I’d be doing this out of the nonexistent goodness of my heart? You have a nice day, Miss Waide.”

He headed for the door with a deliberately long stride, but what she lacked in long legs she made up for in unholy tenacity. No sooner had he stepped into the cool afternoon air than that voice once again sounded at his ear—or rather, six inches below it. With her nonstop chirping, he would have expected her to have a shrill tone or maybe something nasal, with a hint of whine. She actually had a low, melodic pitch. It wasn’t hard to imagine that she’d used that voice to convince plenty of people to do her bidding.

“Gabe,” she chided, “don’t you think it’s silly to run away? It’s not like you can hide from me in a town this size.”

She had a point. After all, he periodically crossed paths with Shay’s parents and heaven knew they weren’t actively seeking him out the way Arianne was threatening. “No reason to hide when I can outdistance you, short stuff.”

“You can try. I’ll get a scooter and keep up. Ask my brothers if you don’t believe me.”

Oh, he did. He just wasn’t sure how he’d become the object of her persistence. For months she’d simply been the checkout girl at the most reliable place in town to get hardware supplies. Then she’d dropped that bombshell of a dinner date on him, and suddenly he had a smiling thorn in his side who smelled like raspberries.

“Miss Waide, just so we’re clear, you know I was serious when I said you weren’t my type? I’m not playing hard to get or something.”

For a moment, her blue eyes glinted, darkening with some unnamed emotion. Had he angered her? Hurt her?

He refused to feel bad, not if the end result was her staying away from him. In the long run, he’d be doing her a favor.

Her tone cooled. “My proposition today wasn’t of a romantic nature, trust me. Let’s just forget about the other night. It was an isolated incident, prompted solely by—by…” Here she stumbled.

Without meaning to, he took a step closer to her. “Yes? Why did you ask me out?”

“Well.” She squared her shoulders, trying to look as composed as she had been inside the barbecue house. Yet the pulse in the hollow of her throat beat more rapidly. She reflexively licked her lips, a movement that might have seemed calculated in another woman, but seemed like genuine nervousness in Arianne’s case. “You’re an attractive man, and I’m an attractive woman. Dinner together didn’t seem that crazy when I suggested it.”

An attractive man. For years, women—those his own age to those slightly younger on up to those far older who should know better—had looked at him as if, on the outside, he was near flawless. Inside he was a mess, but too few seemed to care about that.

“You think you’re attractive?” He gave Arianne a deliberate once-over, letting his gaze slowly drop down her body.

She swallowed, standing stock-still as the wind whipped her hair around her face. “You’re trying to intimidate me.”

“It’s working. And it’s probably a lesson you need. Bite-size morsels like you shouldn’t chase after the big bad wolf.”

She surprised him by taking a sudden step forward, nearly erasing the remaining gap between them. “I grew up with two older brothers who taught me not to back down in the face of bullies, so save your bluster for someone else. I don’t think you’re that big or that bad.”

You’re wrong. But her clear gaze was so piercing that for a second he almost couldn’t find his voice. “Arianne, you’re a Mistletoe native. I know you’ve…Whatever you’ve heard about me, it’s probably true.”

It was a minor victory that she looked away first.

But she regrouped, meeting his eyes as she asked softly, “Why do you stay?”

He stiffened. “None of your damn business.”

“Because if you feel like you, I don’t know, maybe owe something to—”

“Drop it.” The words came out in a low growl.

Her eyes widened and, for a change, she listened. She kept her mouth shut as he crossed the few feet of asphalt from where he’d stood to his truck.

He should’ve known it was too good to last.

“Will you at least think about helping with the festival? For the good of the town?” she implored.

“No.” He unlocked his door.

“How about this?” She played her ace. “You help Quinn slap together a couple of booths, and I promise never to disturb you again.”

When you put it like that…Feeling unfairly beleaguered and somehow years older than when he’d arrived for lunch half an hour ago, he slapped his hand on the side of the truck and looked back at her.

Arianne offered him a beatific smile.

Against his better judgment, he heard himself say, “I’ll think about it.”

SUNDAYS WERE THE ONLY DAY of the week Gabe didn’t work, so it was the perfect time to catch up on mundane errands. Like grocery shopping. Surveying his barren kitchen pantry, he mentally cursed himself for not remembering to pick up coffee sooner. He debated whether there was enough left to make a full two cups, then opted instead for one really strong mug to kick-start his morning.

Twenty minutes later, he got in the pickup truck and headed for town. There was only one main grocery store in Mistletoe, and it had a huge parking lot to accommodate as many citizens as possible. Right now the lot was nearly empty. Most people were either taking advantage of the weekend to sleep in or at church.

Gabe had once considered visiting one of the town’s houses of worship, wondering if he could find…what, redemption? But he’d decided to spare both himself and the good folks of Mistletoe the discomfort. Shay’s parents were both Sunday school teachers at the Baptist church; the Methodist church was where Gabe’s own parents had been married. He’d been told his mother had been a soprano in the choir, and as a boy, Gabe had liked to imagine she’d once sung to him, even though there’d been little more than a week between his birth and her death.

He grabbed a cart on the sidewalk and propelled it toward the automatic entrance doors. First stop, coffee aisle. Moving purposely through the store, he piled staples into the cart: ground beans, filters, steaks, juice, cereal, new razor blades, eggs and cheese. He was en route to the freezers and his one major vice—besides coffee, of course—when he had the unpleasant prickling sensation of being watched. Slowly he turned, half expecting Arianne Waide to wave at him from a soft drink display. If that were the case, he vowed he’d put an end once and for all to—

His stomach tightened, then dropped about ten feet. “Sir.” Gabe swallowed, hating the arctic glare of Jeremy Sloan’s pale eyes, but unable to look away.

What is he doing here? Gabe’s father should have been in some congregation pew among his righteous brethren, not skulking the aisles of the Mistletoe Mart.

“Gabriel.” The older man spoke without the banked anger Gabe remembered. Instead his tone was flat.

Gabe floundered for a response.

How’ve you been, Pops?

I see you’re eating the same brand of cereal after all these years.

Still hate me?

Gabe had shifted his gaze to the contents of his father’s cart because it seemed far more innocuous than looking at the man who’d dutifully raised him but never warmed to him. Yet now that Gabe took a closer look, the groceries he saw sent a ripple of foreboding through him. Cereal, a large can of coffee, some ground round, dairy, orange juice and shaving supplies. So what? We both drink coffee and eat red meat. I’m nothing like him.

Not in the ways that mattered anyway. Their physical, superficial resemblances were undeniable. The same icy eyes, too devoid of color to be called blue; the same tall, muscular frames. Though Jeremy was fast approaching sixty—and showed it in every bitter line on his face—he was undoubtedly stronger than a lot of men in their forties.

Jeremy cleared his throat. “Need to get this milk and cheese home. Into the fridge.”

Gabe nodded, feeling both relief and anger when his father turned to go. But the anger was more of a remembered, phantom emotion—a holdover from the past—than what he was experiencing now. The truth was, encounters with his own parent were in some ways more painful than the times Gabe ran into Shay’s parents. Gabe was grateful the awkward moment had passed so quickly.

He progressed to the frozen-foods section and grabbed a gallon of Breckfield Banana Crème ice cream. With effort he managed not to look over his shoulder. Even if he caught you buying it, so what?Gabe was no longer a child who could be scolded for smuggling sweets into the house.

I don’t want to see you dishonoring your mother’s memory by eating that sugary garbage, boy. Diabetes is hereditary.

Beth Ann Sloan’s diabetes had fatally complicated her post-Cesarean infection. Gabe had grown up unsure whether his father blamed the disease or the baby who’d been brought into the world from that C-section.

A surge of negative emotions rose in him, and Gabe added a half gallon of chocolate ice cream to his buggy. He was reaching for a pint of home-style vanilla when he stopped himself with a sigh. Was he going to let seeing his father reduce him to the level of a rebellious twelve-year-old, or finally grow a pair and decide not to care that his own flesh and blood couldn’t stand the sight of him?

He put back the chocolate and moved on to the next row.

Moving on. Now there was an idea. It wouldn’t have to be fleeing Mistletoe with his tail tucked between his legs—no one’s opinion here mattered enough to run him out of town—but simply leaving for a fresh start. As early as middle school, he’d started dreaming of college. Going somewhere, anywhere, away from his father.

Arianne Waide appeared in his mind just as abruptly as she’d materialized at the barbecue house earlier this week. Why do you stay? she’d asked. Good question. Granted, college scholarships had ceased to be an option after the deaths of Shay and Roger Templeton. Gabe had graduated by the skin of his teeth, but high school had been a long time ago.

Gabe told himself that he didn’t care about the past. Could he let himself care about a future?

Chapter Four

“I hate to say this because you’ll probably let it go to your head,” Quinn teased, “but your advice was absolutely spot-on.”

“That’s because I’m wise beyond my years.” In the crowded lot outside the Dixieland Diner, Arianne narrowly squeezed her car into a space between an oversize truck and a sedan that had parked crookedly. “I should run for mayor.”

Quinn unfastened her seat belt with a chuckle. “This is sort of what I meant by letting it go to your head.”

Meeting for Sunday brunch was a semiregular tradition for the two friends, and Arianne had known as soon as she’d seen the other woman’s bright smile that Quinn had finally talked to Patrick Flannery. On the drive to the diner, Quinn had said he’d agreed to help with the festival; he’d even admitted that he’d been looking for a way to get more involved and meet people in the community but hadn’t known where to start. Quinn had casually mentioned that they could discuss the festival more over dinner this week.

As they got out of the car, Arianne asked, “So are you grateful enough for my suggestion that you’re buying?”

“On a teacher’s salary?” Quinn snorted. “Dream on.”

“When I become mayor, I’ll see what I can do about getting you guys pay raises.”

“I’d laugh, except part of me thinks you’ll actually run someday and probably talk me into being your campaign manager.”

Grinning, Arianne turned to look at her friend, but she forgot what she was going to say when she noticed the red pickup truck driving past the diner. Gabe. Her heart beat faster, and she had one of those annoying flashback moments she’d been experiencing for the past few days. In random moments—as she drifted to sleep, or when the shop bell rang and she thought it might be him coming into the store—she would relive their last conversation, when they’d been toe-to-toe and she could feel the heat coming off his body. When she’d been deliciously uncertain whether he’d been about to shake her or kiss her.

All right, that last part might have been a fanciful embellishment. Gabe showed no signs of wanting to kiss her, and he was too aloof to shake anyone. If he’d once been swept away with passion over a married woman, he’d learned from his mistakes.

Quinn followed her gaze. “Isn’t that—”

A squeal of tires interrupted her question. Although the pickup hadn’t been going that fast, Gabe had apparently decided at the last minute to make the left-hand turn.

“He’s coming toward us,” Quinn whispered.

Arianne nodded, watching wide-eyed as he navigated the crowded parking lot and finally rolled to a stop a few feet away from them.

He crooked his finger out the open window and beckoned toward them. Under other circumstances, Arianne might have scoffed that she wasn’t the type who could be summoned like that, but there was no chance she would deny her raging curiosity. Both women exchanged puzzled glances and walked forward.

After Arianne’s last meeting with Gabe, he’d seemed more likely to peel out in the opposite direction than pursue her. Unless he’d deduced her plans to follow up with him later in the week and was making a preemptive strike, she couldn’t imagine what he wanted to discuss.

“Hi, Quinn.” Gabe called out a relaxed greeting that ignored Arianne entirely. Except that his gaze was locked with hers.

“H-hi.”

He continued in that same easy tone that didn’t match the banked intensity of his eyes. “Your friend tells me that you could use a hand. With the fair.”

Quinn couldn’t quite mask her surprise; Arianne didn’t bother trying. Her mouth fell open. She’d planned to wear him down, but she hadn’t expected it to happen so quickly. Damn, I’m good.

“That’s right,” Quinn said. “The fair’s October 24, and we would appreciate any help you can give us getting ready.”

“Two weeks,” Gabe muttered, almost to himself. Then he nodded. “I should be able to make that work.”

Make it work? Was he still talking about the festival?

Recalling the times her mom had used a good meal to coax conversation from reluctant men, Arianne invited, “Why don’t you join us for breakfast and we can talk about the fair some more?”

“No. Thank you,” he added with a polite nod toward Quinn. “Got groceries in the back.”

“We won’t keep you then,” Quinn said.

Speak for yourself. “Quinn, would you mind putting our names down for a table? I’ll be there in just a second,” Arianne promised.

Quinn nodded without hesitation, but Arianne knew her friend would be full of questions once they were alone. As soon as Quinn walked away, Arianne’s gaze snapped back to Gabe, his pull on her practically tangible. She sighed inwardly. Why are the hot ones emotionally unavailable?

“I’m glad you’ve changed your mind about the fair,” she said. “When did you decide to help?”

“About three minutes ago,” he said. “I was on my way home, thinking about something you said the other day.”

“Yeah?” She went tingly and warm with pride.

He stared through his windshield. “You asked why I stayed.”

She’d suggested that maybe he felt, deep down, as if he owed something to the town. Maybe he was ready to extend an olive branch. Naturally Arianne would help. It was far past time for Gabe Sloan and the citizens of Mistletoe to—

“So I’m leaving,” he said on an exhale.

“What?”

He nodded, his expression calm and inching closer to happy than she’d ever seen. Even if he still hadn’t smiled.

“I’ll help with this fair—why not? It’ll be like my parting gift,” he said wryly. “And then I’m getting the hell out of Dodge.”

“SO WHAT’S THIS I HEAR about Gabe Sloan trying to run down my sister in the Dixieland parking lot?” Tanner Waide mock-growled as he stepped inside the supply store on Monday morning.

Arianne paused in the act of stocking the register drawer with bills and coins, glancing toward the door that led to the private office in back. “Shh! You know better than to make dumb comments like that with Mr. Overprotective on the premises.”

Tanner approached the counter, chuckling. “Please. You actively seek out opportunities to provoke Dad into worrying so that you can argue with him about how capable you are.”

“Hey.” She shot him an indignant look. “You forget, I matured during the years you were away from Mistletoe. I don’t intentionally pick fights.” Sometimes they just happened to occur in her vicinity, usually because others were having a hard time seeing reason.

Her older brother raised an eyebrow, skeptical.

“Did you stop by just to harass me?” she wanted to know.

“No, I promised David I’d come by to go over some first-quarter projections.” Although Tanner, who’d formerly worked as a financial bigwig in Atlanta, wasn’t a full-time employee of the family store, he did help with their books.

“David’s running late,” Arianne said. “Apparently the baby had a very fussy night.”

Tanner set down his briefcase. “Guess I’ll have a cup of coffee while I wait and harass you after all. So…anything going on between you and Gabe Sloan?”

“Yes, I asked him to help set up the fall festival and he agreed.” She rolled her eyes. “It’s all very tantalizing. Are people still so suspicious of him that they’re paying attention to his every conversation? Because we spoke at a public place in broad daylight. I can’t imagine that makes for very interesting gossip.”

Cocking his head to the side, Tanner regarded her thoughtfully. “Actually, I heard about it when I ran into Shane McIntyre at the gas station this morning, and I’m pretty sure his interest was in you, not Sloan—but your wildly defensive attitude is intriguing.”

“Oh.” She looked down, not sure what to say. Maybe it would be better to keep your mouth shut for a change of pace.

“It’s funny,” Tanner added, “but when you got angry about people being ‘suspicious’ of him, you sounded almost as overprotective as you accuse Dad of being.”

Could Gabe use someone to speak up in his defense? Her parents had tried to shield her young ears from the initial gossip, so other than being peripherally aware of the Templetons’ deaths and Gabe’s rumored connection, Arianne was vague on details. Who had Gabe been friends with when he was in high school? Had anyone stuck up for him? Had Mr. Sloan tried to shield his only child?

“Ari?”

“Sorry, not a morning person.” She pointed toward the back office. “Better bring me some of that coffee, too.”

He gave her a knowing, lopsided grin. “Was that your way of dismissing me?”

“I always said you were the smart brother.”

“What’s that make me?” David asked, once the copper bell above the door had heralded his arrival. “The good-looking one?”

Tanner snorted. “Out of sympathy for your rough night, I won’t even point out how ridiculous that statement is.”

As their older sibling got closer, Arianne saw just how uncharacteristically rumpled he was. David had tucked his wrinkled shirt into khaki slacks but had forgotten his belt. His brown hair, while still shorter than Tanner’s, had outgrown its normal cut and there were dark circles under his Waide-blue eyes. But even the lines of fatigue on his face couldn’t erase his obvious joy at being a parent.

“Got new pictures of my niece?” Arianne asked. It had become their morning ritual.

He tossed her his cell phone, which she caught one-handed. “Took one right before I left. She looked…Angelic is the only word for it.”

Studying the photo on the small screen, Arianne had to agree. Still, she laughed at his assessment. “Angelic? That would be the same child who cried all night?”

“Not her fault,” the proud papa insisted. “She’s cutting her first teeth. We tried everything mentioned in Rach’s parenting books, but none of the solutions worked for very long.”

“You want me to stop by this afternoon?” Arianne offered. “Give Rachel a break, or at least a hand?”

“Thank you.” David tousled her hair affectionately. “For that, I’m willing to overlook that you called this bonehead ‘the smart brother.’”

“Don’t take that personally,” Tanner said. “She was only sucking up to me to distract me from asking about Gabe Sloan.”

“Gabe Sloan?” David narrowed his eyes at Arianne. “What’s going on with you and Sloan?”

“Nothing! As I already explained to Tanner.”

The two men exchanged irritatingly brotherly glances. Then, in unison, they swiveled their gazes back to her.

She sighed in exasperation. “All right, you caught me. Last week, I sold him some soaker hose, and yesterday he said he’d help Quinn and Lilah with their festival preparations.”

And, in between, she also might have stalked him at a barbecue house, but why bore her brothers with every minuscule detail of her personal life? The gist was sufficient.

Tanner held up his hands in defeat. “Obviously Shane read too much into yesterday’s encounter. He said that Sloan seemed anxious to talk to you and you looked—”

The door on the far side of the store creaked open, and their father smiled at them, counteracting his gruff tone when he demanded, “Am I paying the three of you to stand around yakking?”

“Sorry, Dad,” Tanner said cheerfully. “We got preoccupied quizzing Ari about who she’s dating.”

Zachariah Waide zeroed in on his daughter. “You’re seeing someone?”

“You’d better sleep with one eye open,” she muttered in Tanner’s direction.

He laughed. “Luckily Lilah’s a light sleeper. She’ll protect me.”

Arianne walked around the edge of the counter. “I am going to get my coffee now. Ya’ll don’t need me for this conversation. No one believes me anyway.”

The bell over the entrance rang again, signaling their first customer of the day, and Arianne glanced reflexively in that direction, assuming that the newcomer would permanently end discussion of her nonexistent love life. Unfortunately, the person who’d just stepped in was Shane McIntyre. She’d always considered him a buddy, like a third brother, and had enjoyed weekend fishing with him and accompanying him to random events like bowling tournaments and Coach Burton’s retirement dinner last spring. But those hadn’t been dates.

Had they?

Instead of making conversation with any of the Waide men watching, Shane was looking at her as if she were the only one in the room.

Arianne cleared her throat and forced a smile. “Morning, Shane. I was just about to take a coffee break, but I’m sure David would be happy to help you find anything you need.”

She resumed her retreat, but didn’t get very far.

“Actually, Arianne, I came to talk to you. If you have a minute?”

She stifled a prickle of foreboding. Tanner’s erroneous assertion that Shane was interested in her had merely kicked her imagination into overdrive. “Sure, come on back.”

Shane followed, waiting until they’d passed into the interior hallway before he said, “Thanks. I didn’t really want to have this talk in front of your brothers and dad.”

“What talk is that?” With a sidelong glance, Arianne tried to assess the expression on his ruddy face. Shane was handsome in a boyish kind of way, but she’d never been attracted to him.

“Did Tanner happen to mention we ran into each other this morning?”

She nodded, stopping at the recessed alcove where they kept the coffeemaker. “Sugar? Cream?” she asked.

He shook his head. “Just black, thanks. I saw you yesterday, as I was leaving the diner after breakfast. Chatting with Gabriel Sloan.”

“Yeah. He wanted to discuss the fall festival.”

She reexperienced the triumphant surprise she’d felt when Gabe agreed to help with the fair and the stab of unexpected disappointment when he’d admitted that he’d be leaving Mistletoe soon after. Her instinct had been to protest that leaving was a mistake, but how could she? She’d been the one to question his being here in the first place! If she wanted to make an argument for his staying, she’d have to be patient and bide her time. She’d ended their conversation by promising to be in touch soon. There’d been a smirk in his voice when he replied, “I don’t doubt it.”

“The fall festival?” Shane echoed.

Arianne handed him his coffee and poured a second cup. “That’s right. Why, what did you think?” She wasn’t sure it was a good idea, but she was curious to view the encounter through someone else’s eyes. What had Shane seen that would make enough of an impression for him to tattle to her big brother?

“I…I don’t know. My sister, Ruthie—you remember her?—she lives in South Carolina now, but back in the day, she was friends with Shay Ortz.”

Shay Ortz Templeton.

“Sloan makes me wary,” he admitted. “His reputation with women…”

“What reputation?” Arianne asked. “The man barely dates.”

He gave her a fond smile that somehow set her teeth on edge. “Just because he’s not buying ladies nice dinners doesn’t mean he doesn’t get around. I heard kitchen tile wasn’t all he laid for Nicole Jones. Tara Hunaker hired him to refinish her basement and likes to giggle to anyone who’ll listen that the room never did get done, but that Gabriel was worth every penny.”

Arianne’s stomach lurched. “Tara Hunaker is a floozy reputed to have hit on her husband’s attorney in the middle of her divorce proceedings. I’m not putting a lot of stock in what she has to say about Gabe. And I don’t see what any of this has to do with me.”

Shane shoved his free hand through his hair. “Nothing, really. Except that after I talked to Tanner this morning, I realized that I’d sounded…jealous.”

Some of the starch went out of her spine. “So did you come over here to set the record straight?” she asked hopefully. “Make sure Tanner didn’t give me the wrong idea?”

“No.” Shane swallowed, suddenly making Arianne wish she could add a belt of Irish whiskey to her coffee. “I came because I forced myself to admit I was jealous. Irrationally so—I’m not suggesting there’s anything between you and Sloan. Even if he’s sleeping with all his female clients—”

“Like Quinn?” Arianne asked, her tone ice. “Or Barb Echols?”

“Well, n-no.” Shane’s complexion flushed dark red as he tried to regroup. “Obviously not them. They’re decent women. Like you! You’re the one I wanted to talk about, not him. Arianne, I think…I think there could be something special between us.”

Arianne had seen “special.” She witnessed it firsthand every day. Even after all these years, her parents’ faces still lit up when they saw each other across a room. Tanner had given up life in Atlanta and came home to Mistletoe because he’d never been able to forget Lilah Baum. And David had experienced love at first sight when he met Rachel, the wife for whom he would gladly move heaven and earth.

“Shane.” She kept her voice gentle, biting her tongue against every bad cliché she’d ever heard. What was she supposed to do, tell him she treasured his friendship? That she loved him like a brother?

When the only words she could think of seemed trite to the point of insulting, she simply shook her head. “I don’t feel that way.”

He blinked. “But would you be willing to give it a shot? Maybe go on a real date sometime and see—”

“No, thank you. But I’m flattered that you asked.” She started to pat his arm then checked herself, not wanting to be condescending. “I should get back to work now.”

“Yeah.” He didn’t meet her eyes. “I don’t want to hold you up. Thanks for the coffee.”

He fled as if his jeans were on fire.

Damn. She bit the inside of her cheek, but couldn’t think how to make this any less awkward for him. Maybe she could let a few days go by to ease the sting, then have lunch with him. Or a movie. A decidedly nonromantic movie with a group of friends.

“Is it safe for us to come back now?” she heard Tanner ask from the doorway. His voice was sympathetic. “We didn’t want to interrupt.”

“I appreciate that,” she said. Her brothers were pains in the butt, but she adored them.

“Everything okay?” David asked.

“Just peachy.” She smiled at them, then rejoined her father in the main part of the store. He was busy helping bald Mr. Jebson compare camping equipment.

Business picked up over the next hour, and Arianne was grateful to stay busy. She answered gardening questions for two little old ladies, ordered a new shipment of saws, rang up purchases for four customers and told a woman over the phone that while they didn’t officially have gift cards for purchase, Arianne would print some sort of certificate for her husband’s birthday and have Zachariah sign it.

Eventually she hit a lull and couldn’t help thinking about Shane’s unanticipated confession, his optimism that they could build something special. Arianne knew instinctively that she would never reciprocate the sentiment. In fact, one of the reasons she’d always felt so at ease in his company was because he was so…safe. There’d never been any sexual tension.

Arianne was known among family and friends as being cheerfully fearless—which was mostly true—but Waides didn’t mess around when it came to love. They fell hard, and Arianne had never been one for half measures. She dated, but with the exception of some high school heartbreaks, she’d guarded her heart.

She hated to think what could happen if she carelessly gave it to the wrong guy.

Chapter Five

Gabe had just started cooking dinner—which, tonight, involved dumping a can of soup into a pot—when his cell phone buzzed and vibrated across the countertop. He saw Waide Supply on the caller ID and considered not answering. What had he been thinking yesterday? He’d been in a strange mood after encountering his father. When he’d seen Arianne, it had been as if something clicked in his brain—help her with the festival, make that his casual farewell after thirty years in this town.

By the time he’d arrived home with his groceries, the idea had begun to seem like more damn trouble than it was worth. There wasn’t anyone here to whom he owed a farewell. Still, he’d given his word.

With a sigh, he snatched up the phone. “Gabe Sloan.”

“You know, for a guy whose living is dependent on paying customers being able to contact you, you’re not that easy to track down,” Arianne scolded lightly.

“Yet you managed.”

“Ever thought about getting business cards? If you need help creating them—”

“Don’t tell me. When you’re not managing the store or drafting community volunteers, you design business cards.”

“Me? No. But Chloe Malcolm does some great marketing work. She put together our Web site for the store.” She paused. “I don’t suppose you have a Web site?”

“Miss Waide, as much as I appreciate your helpful advice—”

She guffawed, an unfeminine but admirably unselfconscious sound.

“—now’s not really the time for me to be building business. I’m leaving soon,” he reminded her, the words warming him. Every time he said it, he felt stronger. Freer.

Arianne was silent a moment. “Do you know where you’re going?”

Even if he did, he wouldn’t give that information to his would-be stalker. Perhaps that wasn’t fair—Arianne had never shown much interest in him before now. After he helped her and Quinn with this festival, she’d go on with her sheltered life and forget all about him.

But just to be on the safe side, he wasn’t leaving her a forwarding address.

He redirected the conversation. “I assume you’re calling about the fair?”

“A bunch of the volunteers are meeting at Whiteberry tomorrow evening. Six-thirty, in the cafeteria. Think you can join us?”

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