Kissing Under the Mistletoe Read online

  Regan gave one last glance over her shoulder at Gabe’s table. He was deep in discussion with the rest of his party, who were all tall, dark, and seriously hot. If the identical black hair and dark mahogany eyes weren’t a clue, the sheer amount of testosterone wafting off the four men was as good as a DNA test. That was the DeLuca clan, most likely plotting her downfall.

  Gabe looked over. This time there was no arrogant smirk or condescending gleam. She searched his face looking for the truth, for some kind of explanation as to how she’d gotten here. She was used to his anger, but the idea that he would cause her to sacrifice so much just to make a point didn’t feel right.

  “Ryo is a female-owned and -run winery, ChiChi’s brain child. She wanted it to be separate from the DeLuca umbrella. But it’s still a DeLuca company.” Jordan’s face softened. “The DeLucas pretty much run the valley, Regan. There have to be other places you could move.”

  Regan pulled out the letter she’d kept in her purse all week, the one she’d reread after every devastating blow. It was the same one that Holly had asked her to mail, that she had opened at the cost of a quarter for spying, and that held the words which made moving to a new town impossible.

  She stared at the rudimentary letters and, with a sigh, slid it across the table. Even upside down they made her heart hurt for the little girl who had already missed out on so much.

  Dear Santa,

  I know youre really busy so you dont have to brings me anything this year cuz I already gots what I wanted. A forever home with my own room and a yard that gots grass and a best friend Lauren. She loves kittys almost as much as me. If you wants you can come to the St. Helena Community Christmas Muzikal cuz each kid gets two tickets. I hope I get to play Christmas Kitty and purr. Mrs. Dee says I purr really good.

  Merry Christmas,

  Holly Martin

  St. Helena, California

  “Oh, honey.” Jordan patted Regan’s hand. Not that Regan made a point of using her daughter for sympathy, but in this case, she’d make an exception. “And here I thought keeping Ava a virgin until Christmas was going to take a Christmas miracle.”

  “Miracle or not, Holly is going to grow up here. She is going to play with her new friend. And there is no way I am letting that man chase me out of town. I want this Christmas to be perfect for Holly. Last year we didn’t even have a tree.”

  “Which is why if I could hire you, I would. Just to stick it to the DeLucas,” Frankie said, way too loud. “But my family outsourced all of our marketing to a company in France a few years ago. It’s cheaper than having someone in-house.”

  Regan was devastated. She had been sure that having drinks with the DeLucas’ biggest competition, combined with Jordan’s stellar recommendation, would guarantee her the job. Problem was, there was no job to be guaranteed.

  Which brought up a whole new problem: in the Valley, no job meant no willing landlords. Regan had to fix one mess before she could fix the other.

  “Working for the Baudouins would be like firing the first shot,” Jordan reasoned. “If Regan is going to make a life for herself here, she has to find a way to get on Gabe’s good side. If the head DeLuca accepts her, then the town will follow.”

  Jordan turned to Regan, her expression serious, exposing just how difficult a task this was going to be. “The DeLucas’ reach goes a lot further than wine here, Regan. They own half the businesses in town. And what they don’t own, their friends do or they’re on the board.” Like ChiChi reigning supreme over Holly’s school. God, what a mess. “You going to war with him publicly will only hurt your family, not his.”

  Jordan was right. And as far as Regan was concerned, Holly had already suffered enough. So if it meant Regan had to let go of the anger and resentment and the dream that involved her knee and his nuts, then so be it.

  “Okay, get Gabe to tolerate me, win the town over, find a job, a new forever home that allows kitties, and all before Sunday when I have to turn over my keys to that ass—”

  “Mary over at the Barrel Buyer is looking for an administrative assistant,” Frankie cut in, saving her a quarter. “It doesn’t come with corporate living or a car, and it’s not as sexy as marketing, but it’s a job. I’ll give her a call and see if she can meet you tomorrow morning.”

  “And you know you could always crash with me and Ava. The more people in the house, the greater the chance that my daughter won’t get a lump of coal and a box of condoms in her stocking.”

  Regan couldn’t form words past the emotions in her throat. Not ones that would express what she was feeling, anyway. She’d only just met these ladies and here they were, putting their reputations on the line to get her interviews. Offering her places to stay. For the first time in forever, she didn’t feel so alone.

  “Oh, no,” Frankie said, leaning back as far from Regan as she could. “You shed one tear, and I’m out of here. I’m serious. I do not do crying.”

  “I’m not crying,” Regan sniffed.

  “Then what the hell is that?” Frankie’s hands swirled to encompass Regan’s entire face.

  “This is the look of a woman who is too happy and too mature to take a pool stick to that behemoth, gas-guzzling man-truck in the parking lot.”

  Regan could single out Gabe’s car at more than a hundred yards. Not a difficult skill, since it had shown up at every interview she’d had.

  “And a happy holiday to you too, Vixen,” came a voice behind her.

  CHAPTER 4

  Gabe dragged a chair over from the next table and dropped into it. This was his town, these were his friends, and Regan needed to understand that. “Thought I’d come over and see how St. Helena’s newest resident was faring.”

  Actually, he’d come over to see if his brother’s plan was even possible. Not that he would ever sleep with a woman to gain an edge on anything. It wasn’t how he was raised. But Nate had a point. Gabe had met Regan once, and, six years later, he could still remember exactly what she had looked like, exactly what she had smelled like. If Richard kept in contact with anyone from his past, it would be her.

  “Jordan, Frankie,” he acknowledged. When he looked at Regan, heat flickered. He wondered if she was experiencing the same stupid attraction that he was, or if she had a bad case of heartburn.

  “Gabe.” Her smile was all sunshine and roses, but she spit out his name like it was a four-letter word. Yup, she definitely had it bad for him.

  “Regan?” He feigned surprise. “I almost didn’t recognize you with that smile on your face. You look so serene and...tame. You must have called my guy.”

  Regan pressed her lips tightly together, but he still heard a faint “Bah Humbug” come from her general direction.

  “If you’ll excuse me, I need to be getting home.” Smile back in place, she grabbed her purse off the chair. Gabe was supposed to be winning her over, seeing if becoming friendly enough for her to open up to him was even a possibility. A hard task when all he wanted to open were the next two buttons on her blouse.

  “Ah, and here I came all the way over here to buy you a drink.”

  “Maybe another time,” she said, smile still holding. “It was—” She stopped, slapped a hand over her mouth, and looked at the other two women, who, eyes wide, cheeks straining, and heads nodding, were definitely sending her all kinds of signals. None of which he could understand.

  Big surprise there, buddy.

  “It was...?” He prompted her to finish.

  “That’s all, it just was.” She stood, ready to leave.

  Now his brothers were sending him various kinds of signals, all of which had a matching hand gesture. He knew the only way to play this was to pretend that he wanted her to leave. So he leaned back in his chair, rested his feet on her chair, and sent his brothers a cocky nod before wiggling his fingers at Regan in a smart-assed buh-bye.

  Game on.

  Regan growled. Swinging her purse, she whacked his loafers off the chair and reclaimed her seat. She signaled the waitress a
nd looked him in the eye. Man, she was sexy when she was spitting mad.

  “You know what, Gabe? I’ll take that drink. In fact, let me buy you one as a token of my thanks for all you’ve done for me over the years.”

  “Ah, there’s the girl I know and love.” He sat forward and pressed his fingers into her forehead, pulling and massaging until he ironed out the wrinkles. His other hand tugged her lips up into a smile. “Much better.”

  She swatted his hands away and was about to swat him in the junk when Jordan cleared her throat. Both women were giving Regan a reprimanding wag of the head.

  Batting her eyelashes she leaned into Gabe and asked, “What can I get for you? Wine? I hear the new DeLuca Zin is fantastic.”

  That’s more like it. She was set on staying. His friends were back where they should be—in his corner. The other DeLucas were all but high-fiving him from across the room. And if Regan leaned any farther forward, he’d be able to see right down her shirt.

  Time to volley.

  “Actually I’ve got a beer over at my table. I came over to let you all know that there’s an APB on one missing Randolph.”

  “Wait, is he the brown one with the red nose?” Regan deadpanned.

  “Yes.” Gabe leaned forward, making sure to take up all of Regan’s space. “He is also a treasured town mascot.”

  “I heard about that,” Frankie said, her face scrunching in anger. “Some idiot destroyed the town Christmas display. People are pissed and I don’t blame them. Every kid in town looks forward to getting their picture taken in the sleigh on Christmas morning.”

  “I heard they’re offering a reward for his safe return.” He spoke directly to Regan, who swallowed.

  He knew she still had the deer, and he wanted to put the pressure on. A woman like Regan would know something was off if he suddenly went soft. Plus, he’d seen her mad and he knew riling her up was the quickest way to get her to open her mouth. It was also the quickest way to gain information. And if he was lucky, it would win him another glimpse of those Christmas panties.

  “You wouldn’t happen to know anything about poor Randolph, would you?” Gabe raised a brow.

  “Why are you asking me?” Regan said, her voice close to a shriek. “I’m new here.”

  “You are the town vixen.” He leaned in, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

  She closed her eyes and he watched her mouth silently count to three—make that ten—then she dug through her purse. She dropped two bills on the table for her wine and smacked a quarter against his chest.

  He eyed the coin and smiled. “What’s this for?”

  “For not saying, ‘Have a good night!’”

  The next day, Regan finally composed herself enough to pass for a woman who hadn’t just spent the past ten minutes bawling her eyes out in the bathroom of a wine distribution center.

  She had just finished her last interview, the ninth since Monday, and all she needed was one person to believe in her work. She’d foolishly thought that maybe, just maybe, Mary would be that person, the one in town who saw beyond the gaping holes in her employment record and her lack of a degree.

  She’d even dropped her rates to the point of slave labor. The administrative assistant job at the Barrel Buyer was the last shot she had at staying here, at giving Holly her Christmas wish.

  Hands steady, breathing regulated, Regan splashed some cold water on her neck and face and pulled her purse high on her shoulder. At least Mary had had the professionalism to pretend to peruse Regan’s portfolio before giving her the it’s-not-you-it’s-the-nature-of-the-industry speech. Never once pointing out the Gabe-sized target Sharpied on her back.

  Serene smile in place, Regan smoothed her skirt down and, forcing her lips higher at the receptionist’s offer of Christmas cheer, shoved through the door and raced out of the office, making sure to drop a dollar in the red charity canister by the exit.

  Cold air blasted her while a fine mist of rain trickled down, turning what had been a professional updo into more of a drowned-cat look. Using her portfolio as an umbrella, she clicked her heels down the lamp-lined sidewalk.

  The town looked exactly like the photos she and Holly had seen online, only with a little extra spirit from Santa’s helpers. Twinkle lights and joyful reindeer decorated nearly every storefront. People smiled and nodded and “afternooned” one another, inquiring about the kids, what the rain would mean for next year’s harvest, and if they would be in town for the Christmas musical, as though everyone here was one big family.

  With its world famous wines, picturesque downtown, and tourists flooding the streets during the summer and fall months, St. Helena was one of the most visited spots in the Napa Valley. But when winter rolled around, it belonged to the five thousand residents who were lucky enough to call it home.

  Regan had hoped to call it home—was still determined to find a way to stay. But her options were running close to empty. She had switched tactics, adapted to her new situation, but the outcome was the same.

  Pulling her jacket tighter, she hunkered down and pushed into the rain. What she needed was a Christmas miracle. Just one. Because she wasn’t leaving until the big old fat man in red ho-ho-hoed.

  She ducked between two garland-covered trees and dodged puddles as she passed the Grapevine Prune and Clip and Stan’s Soup and Service Station, coming to a full and startling stop by the town Christmas display.

  There, blocking the north corner of Hunt Avenue and surrounded by a million lit candles and enough poinsettias to decorate the Vatican, stood ChiChi, red umbrella in hand, and St. Vincent’s Academy’s upper-grade glee club singing a haunting rendition of “Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer.” Regan took in Santa’s chipped hat, Dancer’s broken hoof, and the spot where Randolph should be standing—except that he was still in her trunk. In his absence was a gilded frame with an aged photo of Randolph standing next to...was that Gabe with glasses, freckles, and a cowlick? Good God, he wasn’t kidding when he’d said Randolph was the treasured town relic.

  Regan had tried to return the deer last night, but a suspicious gray bun kept peeking out of the window above Pricilla’s Patisserie. Afraid she’d get caught red-handed with Red Nose himself, Regan figured it would be best to wait another day or two. Apparently she’d figured wrong. The town had gone into mourning mode.

  Not wanting to get caught near the scene of the crime by the sweet woman whose car—and granddaughter’s marriage—Regan had destroyed, she whispered some “excuse me’s” and slunk past the glee club. Dodging their plastic swaying antlers and shimmying Santa gloves, she reached the other side of the formation and released a deep breath.

  “Well, isn’t this a surprise,” ChiChi said, twirling her umbrella as she tiptoed over a puddle to catch Regan. “Just the woman I was looking for.”

  “Me?” Regan squeaked. “Why?”

  With her round face flush from singing and a halo of gray hair bounding around her cheeks, ChiChi looked more like Mrs. Claus than a wine heiress. But her tone was so stern, Regan felt like she had just been called to the principal’s office.

  “Yes, dear. I was hoping you could come a few minutes early when picking up Holly. There is something I wanted to speak with you about.”

  “Me?” Regan repeated, searching her face for some clue as to whether or not Gabe had told her exactly who Regan Martin was. Or if this was the meeting where Regan discovered that Holly’s scholarship was no longer valid, since it came with the job.

  When the woman just smiled, open and warm, Regan felt herself relax. The idea of disappointing someone who had been so wonderful to her and Holly made her stomach ache. She would eventually have to tell ChiChi who she was, but for now it felt nice to have someone look at her like she was a good person.

  “No need to panic.” ChiChi patted her on the shoulder. “I wanted to ask you a favor. Why don’t we say two o’clock in the theater? I have a little office right off the dressing rooms. That will give you time to grab a cup of coffee a
nd warm up a smidge. Plus, Pricilla makes a peppermint latte that is just shy of heaven.”

  Regan followed the woman’s eyes across Main Street to Pricilla’s Patisserie. The two-story brick-faced building had a welcoming red-and-white-striped awning with little dancing elves in the window. It also had the most beautiful cakes in the window, a poster of David Hasselhoff in Christmas garb taped to the door, and a smell wafting out that wasn’t even a little shy of heaven.

  Regan was cold, wet, and close to tears—a latte sounded perfect.

  “Ask for the Christmas Crawl. Pricilla uses homemade schnapps instead of that peppermint crap that the kids like.”

  “See you at two, then,” Regan said as ChiChi smacked Regan’s tush and sent her out into traffic with a wink.

  She hopped up on the curb and, setting her portfolio case down, pressed her face to the glass and practically had to wipe the drool off the corners of her mouth when she spotted the display case full of chocolate. Light, dark, semisweet, raspberry-filled, white, white with peanut butter, and—sweet baby Jesus—Rocky Road truffles.

  Eyes on the goal, she pushed open the door, stepped inside, took one look at a way-too-familiar and way-too-incredible backside in worn denim and walked right back out. She sprinted back across Main Street, cutting around the community park near the town hall, through a puddle that looked sole-deep when in reality it came up to her ankles, all the while with the rain slapping at her face. She flung open her car door, vaulted inside, turned the key, and...

  The engine didn’t turn over. She tried again.

  “Not today!” She thumped her head against the steering wheel several times before letting it rest there. She was soaked, she wanted chocolate, the Grinch had made her forget her portfolio case on the sidewalk, and now her car was flipping her the bird.

  She wanted to scream. Actually, she wanted to wad up her consignment-bought suit, shove it in her clunker of a car, and light them both on fire. And if Gabe DeLuca happened to be hiding in her trunk next to Randolph—well, merry freaking Christmas!