A Season For Romance Read online

  A Season For Romance

  A holiday short story collection from

  V.R. Marks

  Kimberly Hope

  Jay Keelan

  and Regan Black

  Meddling with Mistletoe

  By Kimberly Hope

  -One-

  December 1989

  "Today. I ask her today." Jack Heymore muttered as he commandeered a shrimp from a passing waiter.

  "Ask who, what?"

  Jack turned around and slapped his best friend on the shoulder. "I didn't think you were going to make it."

  "Neither did I, but I got done in DC earlier than expected and hit the road before the storm hit." Mark sipped his Scotch. "So, back to the question. Who are you asking today? And what are you asking?"

  The one time he mumbled out loud and he was busted. But better Mark than Jack's mother. "Trish Robbins. On a date. Don't tell anyone."

  "By anyone I assume you mean your mother."

  Mark surveyed the room, but Jack couldn't tell if he was looking for Trish or his mother. He pointed towards the buffet, and when Jack nodded, they headed over and picked up plates. "I mean anyone. Word spreads like kudzu down here and Mother would know before breakfast. She messed it up once."

  Mark stopped surveying and lasered in on Jack. "You're serious? Let me get this straight. You're going after the one woman in town who wants nothing to do with you?"

  "I'm going after the one woman in town who's stood up to my mother."

  "Too bad the reason she wants nothing to do with you is your mother. How are you planning on doing this?"

  Jack laughed. "Still being my wingman, huh? You know the drill. I dance with everyone at this thing. My duty as host. I'm going to make my case while we're dancing."

  Mark broke a piece of mistletoe off one of the centerpieces and tucked it into Jack's buttonhole. "For luck. You're gong to need it."

  Trish turned her back on the dancing and the man who typically drove her to distraction, and stared out at the breaking waves. Moonlight reflected on the water and she wondered if it was too early to go home.

  Meredith flounced up, pink ruffles everywhere. "Did you talk to them?"

  Trish smiled. Her friend had never been one to mince words. "Yeah. My mom is furious."

  "Because you want to go to law school?"

  "No, if there was a law school in Blakely, it would be fine. It's the fact that the closest school is over two hours drive that has her up in arms." Never mind the schools she'd applied to were much farther away. When the fireworks started in her living room that afternoon, she hadn't been willing to break that bit of news to her mother.

  Her father would come around. After all, it meant his practice would stay in the family when he retired. If he retired. She couldn't imagine him taking more than a week off, let alone quitting entirely. But he was nowhere near retirement age. Maybe in twenty years he'd feel differently. And she was only going to be gone for three.

  "Are you going to tell them?"

  "No point in going any farther in the conversation until I know if I've been accepted somewhere. And I won't learn that until the spring."

  "I can't imagine you in Massachusetts. You're going to freeze."

  "I'm going to live on my own for a while." She just wanted a couple of years outside of Blakely, North Carolina before she came back and settled down. She'd gone on vacations with her family all over the country over the years, and gone to Europe for high school graduation, but she hadn't lived outside the town limits. And never on her own.

  That had to change. She'd just graduated college and wanted some space to get to know herself without her mother hovering. She loved her mother dearly, and had no issue with settling down in Blakely. It was home. But first, she wanted some time to make her own decisions, find out who she really was without wondering what feathers she was going to ruffle in the process. A few years out of town would give her that opportunity. Even if she just went down the coast to Wilmington she would have the space she needed.

  Spring couldn't come fast enough. Taking the LSAT hadn't been that bad, but waiting to find out if she'd been accepted anywhere… That was misery. Freedom was so close. Just a few more months and she'd be gone.

  Violet sipped her champagne and watched her son work hard at not watching Patricia Robbins across the crowded ballroom. Trish was working equally hard to ignore her son, chatting with her friends while they looked out at the breakers hitting the beach. Really, this was beyond ridiculous. Anyone watching them could see they were in love, had been for years. But one misstep on her part when they were twelve and they'd fought it tooth and nail ever since.

  "Whatever you're plotting, just stop. Now," her husband said smoothly as he slipped his arm around her waist and pulled her into the fray of dancing couples in the ballroom.

  Their annual Christmas party, when they opened the house up to the town for an evening of holiday cheer was a local favorite, right up there with the Fall Festival. Pretty much everyone wandered through the house at some point during the evening in their holiday finest. Dress code ran from jeans and sweaters on the school-aged kids to evening gowns, with everything in-between. All that really mattered was their friends, family and neighbors were having a great time.

  "I don't know what you're talking about." She tried to look coy, something she'd never been in her life.

  He let out a bark of laughter and kissed her cheek. "Give it up. You meddled and those two will never get together. Which is no more than you deserve."

  "Hmph." There was always a way when love was involved. And Violet was so sure it was involved, she was betting a girl's reputation on a positive outcome. If she was wrong… She looked back at both of them. She wasn't wrong. Now she just had to get them to see reason.

  -Two-

  "Patricia, darlin', come with me. Bring a few friends. We need more wine from the cellar."

  "Um, yes ma'am." Trish set her wine glass on a passing tray and squashed any thoughts about this being why you hired party wait staff. In fact, Mrs. Heymore had plenty of staff. But you didn't cross Violet Heymore's path. If the hostess wanted a bunch of college kids carrying wine up from the basement, who was she to question it. "Come on Mer, let's go."

  Her friend shot her a mutinous look, which Trish blew off. "I've been on the receiving end of her wrath for years. Do you really want a taste of that?"

  Meredith blanched and stood. "Thanks, but I'll let you continue to enjoy that all by yourself. What'd you do, anyway?"

  Trish tried to ignore the dread that washed over her. Meredith had moved to Blakely after the disaster. "I wouldn't marry her son."

  "You turned down Blakely's favored son? And I'm just now hearing about it?"

  "I was twelve." Cornered. Dumbest decision of her life. As a pre-teen she hadn't understood the feelings that were just beginning to surface for the boy she'd known all her life. But she'd known exactly how she felt about Mrs. Heymore trying to force her into something. Anything. With a strong streak of stubborn all her own, she'd told the woman exactly when that was likely to happen. Her timeframe had involved a summertime snowball.

  "I'm guessing he didn't look like that then?" She pointed at Jack.

  "I don't remember." But she did. And he hadn't looked anything like that when he was a kid. He'd been tall and gangly. He may have been born into the role of town golden boy but it was several more years before he grew into it. Once he had…

  She glanced across the room. His 6'4" frame was easy to find. Dark hair brushed his forehead and broad shoulders. The length must be driving his mother crazy, although he wore it well. Just then his slate blue gaze found hers. Caught in the act of d
rooling over him, she turned away and fought the blush that stained her cheeks, avoiding both his and Meredith's inquiring glances.

  "Let's go," she said and she and Meredith grabbed some other friends home for the holidays and tramped down the back stairs, following the town matriarch.

  "Can anyone join this parade?"

  Jack. She glanced down as she navigated the stone steps, ignoring the ripple of dread that washed over her. Who had a basement this close to the ocean? Didn't the stupid things flood? Taking a deep breath to steady herself, she replied, "Your mother believes she's running out of wine. We've been put into service to carry some upstairs for her."

  "There is no way we ran out of wine already."

  "She seems to think you're about to. Maybe she needs more champagne?"

  "She's up to something."

  Trish snorted in a way both her mother and Jack's would have been mortified to hear. "Isn't she always?"

  Jack and Trish brought up the rear, entering the cellar as his mother started walking down the rows, selecting bottles and sending people back to the kitchen.

  "Mother, what are you up to?" Jack leaned against one of the thick, oak racks that ran the length of the basement. His back to her, Trish was able to focus on his strong shoulders, and ignore the shrinking space of the room.

  "Isn't it obvious? I'm getting people drunk so they'll act on what's been in front of them all along." She shot him a sharp look before wandering down the next row, clearly looking for something. "Where did the champagne get to?"

  He pushed himself off the rack with the grace of a cat. "It's over in the far corner."

  "Oh, I don't think so dear. Why would I have put it there?" She walked in the opposite direction of where he pointed.

  "That was my question when you had me put it there last week, but that's where you wanted it." He wandered down the back aisle "See," he said, holding up a bottle.

  Trish headed in his direction, anxious to get the bottles in question and get back upstairs while she was still breathing. She'd managed to keep herself together this long, she could manage it for another two minutes.

  Click.

  Crap.

  "Mother!" Jack raced through the rows back to the door and shook the handle. Just as he suspected, she'd locked them in. "Dammit, Mother. Whatever you're thinking, it's not going to work, so open the door."

  No reply except for the faint music drifting over them.

  "I'm going to kill her."

  Trish just kept staring, first at him, then at the door, her mouth hanging open in shock. She rushed forward and rattled the door handle. "You're kidding, right?"

  He shot her a scathing look. "I told you she was up to something."

  She looked at a shelf next to the door. "You keep emergency candles in here, but not a key?"

  "I never noticed candles down here before." In fact, he knew they'd never been there before. The wine cellar had been an incredible place to play pirates as a child. If there had been candles, he'd have burned the house down.

  The lights went out.

  "No. No way is this happening." Her voice broke, surprising him.

  "This is heavy-handed, even for her." He moved slowly forward in the darkness, stopping when he brushed against Trish's skirt.

  She jumped back, bounced into him, and immediately slipped away. He could hear her strained breathing. Afraid of the dark? Hard to believe. She'd taken on his dragon of a mother when she was twelve. After that, he'd assumed she wasn't scared of anything.

  Still, her scorn of his touch burned. "Sorry. I was trying to get to the candles. How about you stay where you are and I'll try to get some light going."

  She nodded, but realized he couldn't see her. "Fine." Her voice broke.

  The tension in his voice was the only clear thing in the pitch black of the room. She hadn't meant to hurt his feelings, but she was doing her best to keep it together. And it was a battle she was quickly losing as all her worst nightmares became reality.

  She heard him shuffling forward, presumably with his hand in front of him so he didn't smack into the wall. A minute later there was a scrape followed by the tiny flare of light as the match caught. Trish held in her sigh of relief, terrified it would blow out the tenuous flame.

  Jack lit two of the candles and passed one to her with a smile.

  His gaze caught hers and she realized he knew. Not the extent of it, of course, but he'd figured out it wasn't just irritation she was feeling. His look softened and she felt herself relax slightly and take a small step forward. Her breath caught and she looked away. What was she doing? By tacit agreement, they'd ignored each other for years.

  He reached out for her hand. "Let's see what she left us, shall we?"

  She balked. Going farther away from the door sent ice through her veins. "Shouldn't we be trying to get out of here? Yelling or something?"

  "The walls of this house are a foot thick, and in case you missed it, there's a party going on upstairs. We're not going to be found until she wants us to be. But it doesn't suit her purpose for us to be uncomfortable, so let's see what we have."

  "Excuse me?"

  "Obviously you're in shock, or you'd see her plan," he said with a wink.

  Trish shook lightly, too busy fighting her demons to puzzle out what he meant.

  "OK, I was kidding, but you're not. You're terrified. What's wrong?"

  "Um, I'm not a fan of being underground. In the dark. In a small room."

  He laughed. "Trish, the dining room is smaller than the wine cellar, and it seats 25."

  She glared at him and rubbed her shoulder with her free hand, the chill and fear finally seeping through her silk gown. "The dining room isn't underground. With the weight of the house suspended over…"

  She closed her eyes again and tried to keep from hyperventilating. In. Out. If she didn't think about it… She was just in a room. A very large, very dark room. With a very handsome man. If anything was affecting her breathing, it should be the nearness of him, not irrational fears from her childhood.

  "It's okay," he said softly, sliding his arm over her shoulder and bringing her into his warmth like a small child. "Safest place to be in a tornado," he offered.

  "Worst place to be in a hurricane," she countered.

  "Good thing hurricane season is over." He stepped away and she felt the loss until he took her hand again and nodded toward the other side of the cellar. "Come on, let's investigate."

  "The wine cellar," she said dumbly.

  "Yep. I guarantee we'll find something interesting in here."

  Trish couldn't think of what he thought they would find. She was too busy trying not to think about the weight of the house above them and the ground surrounding them. She knew it was stupid. Irrational. But that was the thing about fears. They were usually irrational. So she wasn't at all prepared when they stumbled across a daybed in an alcove of the cellar.

  "Thought so."

  "Y-y-you thought we'd find a bed?" Her teeth were chattering and she wasn't that cold. OK, this wasn't good at all. She had to pull it together. And ignore the bed. But she couldn't stop staring at it with its satin comforter, throw pillows and a lightweight blanket at the foot.

  Jack took her candle, and held it up with his, throwing weak light around the area. A small side table was next to the bed. Two empty, brass candlesticks reflected the light. After securing the candles and grabbing a grape from the convenient selection of food on the table, he walked over and pulled the throw off bed. He carefully tucked it around her shoulders, concern etching his face. "It's going to be fine. Well, sort of. You're safe down here."

  "Why does your mother have a bed in her wine cellar?" She was so surprised by the bed, she'd forgotten to be scared. It was so out of place. The frame was something you'd find in a guest bedroom, ready to double as a couch, but the linens were something out of a harem. Rich garnet shot through with gold thread, they screamed seduction.

  "Because she only has your comfort in mind when she's
destroying your reputation."

  She couldn't have heard him right. Destroying her reputation. In 1989? "My…You've got to be kidding. She locked us in because if we spend the night together alone, you'll have to do the noble thing and marry me?" Trish giggled, which quickly turned into all out laughter. She wiped a tear away, knowing part of her reaction was stress from the situation, but thankful for the release nonetheless. "Your mother is nuts. And she's read too many Regency romance novels. Does she really think that matters in this day and age?"

  Jack wasn't laughing. "She's banking on the idea it matters to your parents. Will it?"

  Her laughter died as she felt the color drain from her face. Normally it wouldn't matter at all. But with her mother looking for any possible reason to keep her in town… "We need to get out of here."

  -Three-

  Trish rushed back to the door and leaned over to look at the lock, careful to keep the candle away from her hair. Jack was fairly certain that under that mess of emerald fabric was a body he would very much like to get to know better. He'd been captivated by the way the silk clung to her curves before tucking in at her tiny waist and billowing out into a skirt that would do Cinderella proud. Her chestnut waves were pulled back into some sort of knot, with tendrils escaping and teasing her neck and his senses. Just looking at her bent over had his blood flowing southward.

  But it had been that way for years. Not that she'd ever noticed. His mother had destroyed any chance he had years ago with her meddling. Turned down for marriage before he'd even had a chance to ask her out. Before either of them had even wanted to go out with anyone. Thanks, Mom. Now, tonight, whether she was trying to make amends or just meddling once again, there was no saving this. The irony that she was meddling again, on the exact day he'd decided to try to correct for her last attempt, wasn't lost on him.

  Locked in the wine cellar with a woman terrified of being locked underground. Fantastic. Another man would work this to his advantage and get the girl to notice his existence. One look at her hand rattling the doorknob hard enough to break it off and he knew he wasn't that man.