Mistletoe in Mayhem (Whiskey Sisters) Read online

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Copyright © 2018 by Lauren Rico. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.

  Entangled Publishing, LLC

  2614 South Timberline Road

  Suite 105, PMB 159

  Fort Collins, CO 80525

  [email protected]

  Bliss is an imprint of Entangled Publishing, LLC.

  Edited by Stacy Abrams

  Cover design by Fiona Jayde

  Cover photography by

  DOUGBERRY/iStock

  aprilante/Shutterstock

  ISBN 978-1-64063-719-1

  Manufactured in the United States of America

  First Edition November 2018

  Dear Reader,

  Thank you for supporting a small publisher! Entangled prides itself on bringing you the highest quality romance you’ve come to expect, and we couldn’t do it without your continued support. We love romance, and we hope this book leaves you with a smile on your face and joy in your heart.

  xoxo

  Liz Pelletier, Publisher

  For Cathy, my warrior. My Hero.

  Table of Contents

  Dedication

  Christmas Chaos 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

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Epilogue

  Baby Bedlam 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

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Find your Bliss with these great releases… A Christmas Miracle for the Doctor

  The Cowboy’s Christmas Baby

  The Christmas Layover

  Stranded with a Hero

  Christmas Chaos

  a Whiskey Sisters novella

  Chapter One

  Hennessy

  “Swans?” Bailey asks, fork poised midway between her plate and her mouth. “Really? Swans?”

  “Sure, why not?” Bryan responds amiably.

  “Uhhh…because all the water will be frozen. Where do you expect these swans to be? In the bathtub?” Walker pipes up from across the table.

  I’m trying not to chuckle as my sisters grill my fiancé over Thanksgiving dinner. Bryan is taking this very seriously—the swan discussion being just the latest in his never-ending plans for our forthcoming nuptials…right on the heels of the butterfly release argument and the great white dove debate.

  “Bryan, honey, I keep telling you, I don’t need anything big and splashy. You, me, a priest…I’ll be golden. Swans are totally optional.”

  “Hey, don’t forget about your maid of honor and your ring bearer!” Jameson reminds me as she wipes some sweet potato off my nephew’s chubby cheeks.

  “Honka!” Jackson yells and begins to bang his fork on the tray of his highchair. “Swan honka!”

  “That’s right, baby!” his mother coos. “The swan says ‘honk!’”

  “And your bridesmaids,” Bailey pipes up. “Walker and I better be there, too,” she warns.

  “I’m just teasing,” I assure them. “I’d never get married without all of you.” I lean close to Bryan and continue in a stage whisper. “We can still elope, you know. You book the tickets to St. Croix, and I’ll get us packed. We can be married and sipping drinks on a beach tomorrow night…”

  No one is amused by this idea, least of all, Bryan.

  “And how many times do I have to tell you, Hennessy O’Halloran? We’re doing this once, and I want the world to know how much I love you. I want this to be the biggest, baddest wedding that Mayhem has ever seen—one that they’ll be talking about for years to come!”

  “Oh, they’ll be talking about it, all right…” Walker mutters as she rolls her eyes.

  Bryan shoots her a dirty look.

  “What is it with you guys? I thought it was the bride’s side that went all gaga over the wedding details. Why am I the only one who cares about this stuff?” he grumbles.

  “It’s not that we don’t care, Bryan,” I explain. “It’s just that weddings here are much more low-key than what you’re used to in L.A. I mean, more often than not, the reception is at the VFW hall with a polka band and a hotdish buffet.”

  “Okay, okay—look, don’t get me wrong, I love a hotdish as much as the next guy, and, believe it or not, polka is starting to grow on me. It’s just that I want this wedding to be…special. Because you’re special. But, if you want to scale back or elope or go local…just say the word.”

  When I look into his eyes, all I can see is his sincere desire to make this a perfect day. And, for Bryan, that equates to the big, fancy wedding. Simply put, he wants it more than I don’t want it. And that’s enough for me. So I smile and kiss his cheek.

  “I just want to marry you. I don’t care how we do it.”

  “I still don’t get why you’re making yourselves so crazy trying to have this wedding before the end of the year. Why not just wait till after the holidays and give yourselves a breather?” Scott asks, undoubtedly thinking of his own upcoming wedding to my sister—and his brother’s ex-wife—Jameson.

  “Haven’t you ever heard this story?” she asks Scott, who shakes his head. “Well, Mama and Pops were engaged. He was in the Army reserves back then—and, right before Christmas, he got word that his unit was being activated and would be deployed before New Year’s Day.”

  Here, Walker picks up to continue the story.

  “They were supposed to be married in the summer—Mama had always wanted to be a June bride. But they didn’t know when he’d come home…”

  “Or if he’d come home,” Bailey adds. “The Iron Range lost a lot of men during the Vietnam War and, back in the nineties, that was still a very painful memory for a lot of people around these parts.”

  Now I step in to wrap-up the story that we’ve heard and repeated hundreds of times before. It’s one of our last links to our parents.

  “So…they went to the church, hoping that crotchety old Father Benedict would cut them some slack—”

  “Henny, please don’t blaspheme a man of God,” Jameson chides.

  “Fine. Sorry. So, they went to the church, hoping that Father McGrumpy
pants would cut them some slack and skip all the usual pre-wedding counseling that the church usually requires.” Walker snorts, Bailey giggles, and Jameson just shakes her head. I continue. “So, they get there, all prepared to state their case…except Father Benedict isn’t there. It’s this young, dark-haired, dark-eyed, swarthy-looking priest instead. Turns out Father Benedict was called home…”

  “Oh, jeez,” Scott interjects, “he died?”

  “What? No!” I laugh. “He was literally called home! To Montana! His brother was sick and Father B. went back to help with his care. Turns out that this newbie priest ended up here in Mayhem, Minnesota, and he was only too happy to see these two joined in holy matrimony before Pops was set to leave. But the first slot he could accommodate a wedding mass was on Christmas Eve—after the five o’clock service and before the midnight mass.”

  “That was Father Romance, in case you haven’t figured that out yet, Son,” Big Win informs Scott. “I remember that day. Most of the town turned up to see those two married. You and Win were too young to remember, but as your mother and I had just moved to town, the girls’ parents—Jack and Elaine—were quick to include us in their celebration. It was something real special,” he adds a little wistfully.

  “And ever since I was a little girl,” I continue, “I always knew I wanted to be married on Christmas Eve, just like our parents. So, when Bryan and I got engaged, we had to decide if we’d take our time and get married next Christmas Eve or scramble to put together a wedding in just a few short months so we could do it this Christmas Eve.” Bryan grabs my hand in his and gives it a firm squeeze.

  “As far as I was concerned, there was only one option. I didn’t want to wait fifteen minutes—let alone fifteen months—to make her my wife,” Bryan explains. Then he glances over at Jameson and Scott. “You know…we could just as easily have a double wedding…”

  “What?” Jameson and Scott gasp at the same time, shaking their heads in unison.

  “Dude! We just got engaged like five minutes ago!” Scott exclaims. “Besides, I think we’re gonna do the VFW hall with the polka band and the hotdish buffet.”

  We’re all laughing. Well, almost all of us are laughing. Across the table, I catch a glimpse of Win Jr.—my former brother-in-law—shifting in his seat uncomfortably. It can’t be easy for him, listening to his ex-wife talk about marrying his brother. But the fact is I’ve been increasingly impressed by Win’s behavior since he and James split. He’s been respectful—pleasant, even. And right now, he gets bonus points for joining the whole wedding discussion.

  “So…uh…am I the only one who thinks it’s a little risky to use Jackson as the ring bearer?” he asks.

  “No, I’m right there with you,” Scott agrees. “I have visions of the kid eating the ring and you guys having to dig through diapers until it ‘reappears.’”

  “Ughh! Gross!” Bailey says in disgust as she tosses her sweet potato-filled fork back down on her plate. The mushy, orange food undoubtedly creates a crystal clear visual in her mind.

  “I think he’ll be fine,” Bryan proclaims confidently with a wave to the toddler. “Right, Jax?”

  “Piggy!” the toddler yells. “Oink oink, piggy!”

  Bryan pats his stomach. “Hey! I didn’t eat that much…”

  Jameson rolls her eyes. “It’s the pink tie,” she says, pointing to Bryan’s chest. “We’ve been working on our colors, and p-i-g-s are pink,” she explains. “Anyway, I think he’ll be fine for the wedding…”

  “Yeah, so long as the bridesmaid’s dresses aren’t pink,” Walker says. “I can just see the little guy pointing at us as we walk down the aisle—screeching ‘piggy!’ at the top of his lungs.”

  “Nope, no pink dresses,” I assure her. “Actually, I’m pushing for burgundy.”

  “I could do that,” Bailey informs us.

  “Yeah, that’s not too bad,” Walker agrees.

  “Jameson?” I press.

  “I love burgundy. But why should you have to push for anything? Who is this designer, anyway?”

  I try not to roll my eyes as I answer. “It’s a designer Bryan knows in L.A. Her name is Katarina Rostrovich.”

  “That’s Rostropovich, honey,” Bryan corrects me.

  I growl under my breath, and he gets the idea. He also gets a wicked little smirk on his face. He really likes it when I growl at him. Walker notices.

  “Oh, for fuuuuuu…” Walker stops her irritated utterance mid-sentence, knowing that Jameson will kill her if she curses in front of Jackson. She tries again. “For fork’s sake, will you two cut it with the googoo eyes over there before I toss my turkey?”

  Big Win snorts. Loud. So loud, that little Jackson points to his grandfather.

  “Piggy, Goppa! Piggy!” he screeches with delight right before he flings turkey into his mother’s hair.

  Chapter Two

  Bryan

  The first time it happens, I’m driving from the house I’m renting to the apartment over the pub where Hennessy is living. I’m driving slowly, enjoying the giant snow globes, blow-up Santas, and plastic roof reindeer littering the neighborhood when it hits me out of nowhere. One minute, I’m fine, smiling as I watch some kids helping their dad as he stands on a ladder, hanging Christmas lights along the eaves. The next thing I know, there’s a loud buzzing noise in my head and I’m covered in a layer of cold sweat. My vision is reduced to a very small diameter directly in front of me, and I try to stay calm as I navigate the car onto the side of the road. When I cut the engine, I hear another odd sound—sort of a gasping, wheezing, death rattle—which, I realize, is coming from me.

  I don’t know what’s going on—but I do know I need to get horizontal, and fast. I roll down the passenger window and scoot down onto the seat so that I’m looking up at the headliner, my head where my butt usually is and my size eleven work boots hanging out the window where Hennessy usually sits. Cold air fills the cab almost immediately, but I don’t care. In fact, it’s a welcome relief against my hot face. I just concentrate on breathing in. And out. And in and out, taking in each breath slowly and deliberately until the wheezing has stopped and I feel like I can sit up again.

  “Holy hell,” I murmur to myself. “What was that?”

  I consider calling Hennessy. I consider going to the hospital. I consider getting out and walking the last few blocks to O’Halloran’s Pub. In the end, I don’t do any of those things because the last thing I need to do right now is spook Hennessy. She’s already super stressed and I don’t want to give her one more thing to worry about. Besides, it was probably nothing. I just take a long, shaky breath, start the engine, and drive very slowly and deliberately. When, at last, I’m parked in the back lot, I let out a huge sigh of relief and use some napkins in the glovebox to give my face a good drying before heading up the back stairway to my fiancée.

  “Honey, I’m home!” I bellow, as if everything is just perfect.

  …

  “It’s not that I don’t like her. I don’t even know her, really. She’s just so…so…you know…”

  “No, actually, I don’t know.” I’m sitting on the end of the couch, and Henny’s bare feet are in my lap as she lies on the couch. It’s not dissimilar to the position I was in about two hours ago. Not that she has any clue about that. “Jacintha is our wedding planner, Hen. I’m paying her a lot of money to help. And, honestly, with all the moving parts in this wedding, we can use all the help we can get. But if you’ve got a problem with her…”

  She sighs with resignation.

  “No, not really, I guess… I mean, she’s getting things done. It’s just…I don’t… I mean, she and I, we’re not really…clicking.”

  “Well, I know she can come off a little cool, but she’s British. They’re more reserved than we are.”

  “It’s not that, exactly…”

  “Then what, exactly?” I press, wanting to get to the bottom of whatever it is about my colleague from L.A. that’s been putting Hennessy so on edge.
>
  “It’s just she’s so, I don’t know…put together, maybe?”

  “Okay…” I begin. “And that means?”

  “It means she’s, like, perfect…all the time. What she’s wearing, her make-up, her hair. It’s a little unnerving. And the way she looks at me, even on Skype…like with disdain. She makes me feel so…unworthy of her services.”

  “Oh, Hen, I think maybe you’re misinterpreting her efficiency. She doesn’t have time to hold your hand. And, honestly, I didn’t think that’s what you wanted, anyway.”

  “No, I don’t, but…oh, I don’t know.” She throws her hands up to her face and rubs her temples. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe it’s just a cultural thing between us,” she admits reluctantly.

  “Of course it is! They do things differently out on the coast, you know? Everybody moves fast, they talk fast, they like to strut their stuff… I know it’s different than what you’re used to, but it’ll grow on you, I promise.”

  I take her hand and give it a squeeze. She smiles at me, but I can tell she’s not convinced.

  “You’ll see—once you meet her, you’re going to love her as much as I do. Just wait until she comes here next week. Trust me on this one.”

  “I suppose…” she mutters, but I know when we lapse back into silence that she’s not paying attention to Jimmy Kimmel. She’s thinking about whatever it is that’s niggling away at her brain.

  I really am certain that she and Jacintha will be fine.

  Much more certain than I am that I’ll be fine.

  Chapter Three

  Hennessy

  “I’m sorry, Hennessy, I don’t think I heard you right, love—did you say you had a nightmare about…swans?” Father Romance asks, salt and pepper eyebrows arching above his glasses.

  “Oh, you heard right,” I inform him as I twist a long, glittery, berry-laced garland across the top of the bar. “They were on Lake Laura, except that it was frozen and their little webbed feet were stuck under the ice—while the rest of their bodies sat on top of the frozen lake. It was horrible! I woke up in a cold sweat, panting. I couldn’t get back to sleep—I’ve been in here putting up Christmas decorations since three o’clock this morning.”