Her Mistletoe Man. Carolyn Greene
back to Aunt Shirley. She pursed her bright peach-colored lips, making the lines around them form a miniature starburst pattern. “We have a Helen in our family, but I don’t remember any Bobs. Was Bob your mama’s second husband?”
“Huh?”
Oren called from the parlor. “Leave the boy alone, Shirley, and come in here so we can get this tree up.”
“Okay, okay. Just hold on to your knickers.”
Tucker shook his head, amazed by the easy familiarity the hotel staff had with most of the guests. He assumed some of the guests liked it here so much they had become regulars. It could be that after a while they started to feel like family. Must be something about this house, and the love that lingered here, that gave people a sense of belonging, he decided.
“Come on,” said Shirley. “I’ll show you to your room. I hope you don’t mind being on the third floor. I had considered putting in an elevator, but lately I’ve been thinking of more interesting ways to spend my money.”
“That’s okay, Aunt Shirley, I’ll show him the way.”
Although it would have been flattering to think the brunette’s interest matched his own, Tucker got the distinct impression that she had another reason for offering to show him to his room.
She led him up the mahogany staircase to the third floor, pausing a couple of times after the first level as if to give him an opportunity to catch his breath. But he had no trouble keeping up with her. With a view such as she offered, he much preferred to enjoy it from close range.
Upstairs, Tucker stepped into the room, and it felt as if he had retreated into the past. He set the duffel bag on the floor and let the sensations wash over him. The curtains, handmade patchwork quilt and scatter rugs were different from his childhood recollections, but they retained the flavor of the era. However, the curved sleigh bed and matching chifforobe had apparently been included in the sale of Willow Glen Plantation. Bending closer, he saw that the tiny carved initials, R.T.M., for Robert Tucker Maddock, had remained. Mrs. Newland had blown a gasket when she’d seen what he’d done, but after giving it some thought she’d promised to let it stay. At the time, Tucker didn’t understand his surrogate mother’s change of heart. In retrospect, he saw that she had kindly allowed a scared, lonely boy to make his mark in her home, on her family and in her heart.
Apparently unwilling to relinquish her hostess duties, Aunt Shirley joined them in the small room. “It is so good to have you join us for Christmas.”
The brunette responded with a tightening of her softly curved lips, walked past him and pushed open the white lace curtains to allow in the meager late-afternoon sunlight. When she was done she turned and scrutinized him thoroughly. After a long, uncomfortable moment, she reluctantly announced, “Yes, I suppose you do have the eyes.”
He had no idea what the young woman was talking about, but he supposed that his features may have stirred up a previously forgotten memory of having met his father. In a town this size, most people knew everyone else, even if only in passing. “People say I have the Maddock eyes,” he said.
If he’d had a choice in the matter, he would rather forgo the dark, devilish feature that attracted so much attention than have even that one small remaining link with his deceased father.
Aunt Shirley stepped forward, her arms open, and took him in a motherly hug. Pressing a light kiss to his cheek, she said, “We’re so glad to have you in our family.” Moving to the door, she added, “If there’s anything you need or want, just let one of us know, and we’ll see that you’re taken care of.”
With a wink and a wave, she exited the room and closed the door behind her.
The younger woman stayed where she was, arms across her chest, assessing him.
Still stunned by the older woman’s unexpected gesture, Tucker stood rooted to the faded blue throw rug, absentmindedly lifting a hand to his cheek where she had kissed him, and wondered if the woman before him might follow suit. He sure hoped so. He had heard that these bed-and-breakfast places sought to make their guests feel like members of the family, but in his estimation, the elderly woman took this home-and-hearth stuff a tad too far.
The door swung open again, and Aunt Shirley popped her head in. “I almost forgot…hurry and unpack. We’ll be waiting for you downstairs to help put up the Christmas tree.”
He’d better nip this in the bud. If he didn’t stop her now, she’d have him singing carols and baking Christmas cookies with the rest of the guests.
“Uh, Ms., I mean, Aunt Shirley, I’m not really up to trimming a Christmas tree this year.” Although he was finding comfort in returning to the memories in this house, the Christmas traditions only served to remind him of all the loved ones he’d lost at this time of the year.
“Oh. It would present a bit of a problem if you don’t join us. You see, Aunt Shirley isn’t up to having a big crowd here after this season, so I’m trying to make this last one our best Christmas ever. It would really mean a lot if everyone would participate.” The young woman looked thoughtful for a moment. “Would you rather put up the wreath or string Christmas lights instead?” The two of them seemed determined to have him participate in the festivities.
He sympathized with their business plan to cut back their tourist season. It must be difficult sacrificing their own Christmas activities in order to take care of a bunch of guests. But he still had no desire to change his plans in order to be with strangers. He solemnly shook his head.
Aunt Shirley grinned. “Holding out for hanging the mistletoe, eh? I figured you for a romantic, right from the start.”
At the word romantic, his gaze veered back to the pretty brunette. Impulsively, he asked, “Are you going to help?”
“Of course,” she said, as if the answer should have been obvious.
He scratched the whiskers on his chin and took in her fair, flawless complexion. “Maybe I can come down for a short while.”
“Good,” said Shirley. “I’ll tell everyone to wait for you.” This time when she left, the older woman hooked the brunette’s arm and steered her out of the room before her.
Downstairs, Ruth pulled out the dusty old Bible, her curious cousins, aunts and uncles gathering around her as they traced the family’s lineage.
“He’s cute,” said fourteen-year-old Brooke.
“He’s too old for you,” Vivian stated, as if it weren’t already apparent to everyone in the room. “I’m sure he’d prefer someone closer to his own age. Like me.”
Ruth drew a finger down the page, searching for the Maddock name in the birth and marriage listings. “You’re both being ridiculous,” she said without lifting her head. “If he’s a relative—which I doubt he is—he should be treated like any of our other cousins.”
Brooke giggled. “Maybe he’s a kissing cousin.”
Ruth pushed her hair behind her shoulders and tried unsuccessfully to ignore her young cousin’s remark. “Just as I thought. I don’t see a record of a Maddock anywhere in here.”
Oren nudged her aside with his cane and bent over the book that lay open on the coffee table. He turned a page to the crowded family tree. Lilly Babcock, now deceased, was the matriarch of their close-knit family. Although Lilly and her husband Clem’s daughters had married, introducing new surnames to the family tree, the subsequent generations still considered themselves Babcocks.
After a moment, Oren pressed his finger to a box with a line drawn from Ruth’s great-grandmother Lilly. “There’s a Helen in here who married a third cousin, but I don’t see any sign of a Maddock or her giving birth to a Tucker.”
Aunt Shirley joined them, leaning over the brittle pages. Her elderly boyfriend stood and moved beside her, taking her fingers in his own.
Ruth watched the exchange and was thankful once again that her aunt