Untangling Christmas

Silverton Sweethearts, Book 3

A Sweet Holiday Romance

by

USA Today Bestselling Author

SHANNA HATFIELD

Copyright © 2016 by Shanna Hatfield

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. Please purchase only authorized editions.

For permission requests, please contact the author, with a subject line of permission request at the email address below or through her website.

Shanna Hatfield

shanna@shannahatfield.com

shannahatfield.com

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Cover Design by Shanna Hatfield

To those who bring sunshine wherever they go…

Chapter One

I need a favor.

Mike Clarke lowered the newspaper he held in his hands and glanced up at the woman who set a warm cinnamon roll on the table in front of him. The spice, redolent of home and holidays, drifted upward to his nose, eliciting a growl from his empty belly.

Brenna McCrae ignored the sound and refilled his empty coffee cup with the steaming dark brew he favored.

Mike leaned back in the chair, fighting the urge to inhale the cinnamon roll in a few hungry bites. Cream cheese frosting melted into a decadent pool around the base of the tender pastry, enticing him to sample the creamy sweetness.

Rather than give in to the indulgence, he studied his best friend’s wife. Since he’d moved from Oregon’s biggest city of Portland to Silverton five months ago, the lovely woman fed him breakfast every morning at her bistro, often packed a lunch to go for him, and rarely asked for anything in return. Brock and Brenna offered him unconditional friendship and acceptance when he’d needed it most. He’d do anything for either of them. All they had to do was ask.

With a smile full of masculine charm, he took Brenna’s hand in his, kissing the back of it. Whatever you need, coffee girl.

Hey! Keep your lips off my wife, Brock McCrae cautioned, as he stepped inside the bistro and took a seat at the table, scowling at Mike in feigned offense.

Mike laughed and released Brenna’s hand, reaching out to take a giggling toddler from Brock. He tugged off the stocking cap covering the child’s head and made a silly face that produced more giggles.

You don’t need to lay on the flattery or charm, Mike. I’ll bring your bacon and eggs out in a minute. Brenna carried a high chair over to the table and settled her son in it. Her hand caressed the boy’s soft curls before she looked to Mike again. Will you really help me out?

You know I will, Brenna. What can I do for you? he asked, taking a deep swallow of the coffee. It was hotter than he expected and burned all the way down his throat, but he didn’t blink or flinch.

I don’t know if you heard, but the Silverton Foundation is hosting a Festival of Trees to raise funds for the newly opened community center your brother was kind enough to help establish. Brenna sank down in the chair Brock pulled out for her. He kissed her cheek and draped an arm around her shoulders.

Mike nodded his head. Levi mentioned something in passing about it the other day, but to be honest, I didn’t really listen to what he said. That brother of mine is always working on some fundraiser or charity event, so they all sort of roll together.

Brock laughed and poured himself a cup of coffee from the pot Brenna left on the table. Don’t let Levi hear you say that. You’ll be in big trouble.

Generally, I am anyway, Mike said, returning his attention to Brenna. What does my little brother need help with and how did he rope you into another one of his projects?

Levi didn’t ask for my help with anything, Brenna hurried to clarify. The new foundation director is an old friend, and I offered to help her organize the event. It will take place in the warehouse over on Maple Street. The space has been empty for a few years, but it’s perfect for the festival. The problem is that there aren’t enough outlets and those that are there appear questionably safe to use. Brenna smiled at Mike. You’re the best electrician in the area, so I was hoping you’d have time to go over and check it out. Ideally, we could use at least a dozen more outlets. We’d also like assurance the existing wiring won’t catch fire and burn down all the trees before the event.

Mike sipped his coffee, doing his best to keep an impassive expression on his face. When do you need all this free labor to be completed?

The trees begin arriving the Monday after Thanksgiving. Brenna spoke with her gaze fixed on a point over Mike’s shoulder, unwilling to look him in the eye.

He straightened in his chair and glared at her. Are you nuts? That’s next week! With Thanksgiving tomorrow I’m running behind as it is. You are killing me, Brenna.

Please, Mike? It would be such a help and give us peace of mind to know the wiring is safe. The pleading look she gave him obliterated his hastily formed excuses. Pretty please?

He scowled at Brock. How do you tell this girl no? A sigh rolled up from his chest and out his lips. It looks like I’ll be heading over to the warehouse this afternoon. Want to come along?

Brock laughed and thumped Mike on the shoulder. She’s already enlisted me to repair a section of the warehouse where the roof leaked before they put a new one on last year.

You both are terrific, Brenna said, rising to her feet with a happy smile. I’ll be right back with the rest of your breakfast, Mike. Do you want your usual, Brock? Her husband nodded and she disappeared inside the kitchen.

Mike ate his cinnamon roll, four pieces of crispy bacon, and eggs fried just the way he liked while he discussed Brock’s construction business and jobs they’d both work on in the coming weeks. Finished with his meal, he ruffled the baby’s hair, hugged Brenna, and told Brock he’d meet him at the warehouse at two that afternoon.

At five minutes before two, he pulled up at the warehouse and sat in his truck, studying the structure from the outside. Although empty, the building certainly didn’t appear abandoned. A fresh coat of camel-colored paint with deep red trim looked neat and appealing. The parking lot was clean, as though a sweeper had recently cleared the surface.

Mike stepped out of his truck and lifted a toolbox, shrugging deeper into his coat to avoid the chilly November wind whipping around him. The pewter-hued sky promised to bring an unwelcome storm. He just hoped it would wait a few hours until he was home for the night.

His long legs swiftly covered the distance from his pickup to the front door. He yanked it open and walked inside. The lobby was empty, but the muffled sound of voices drew him down a hallway to a door that opened into the large expanse of the warehouse’s storage area.

He stepped into the open space and looked around, aware of the glare and hum of the bright fluorescent lights overhead. Several people worked on various projects. Three women sorted tangled balls of lights. Four high school girls giggled as they looked his way, pretending to busy themselves with plastic storage tubs full of fake pine garlands.

Brock and two of his crew installed sheetrock panels in one corner of the room. Mike ambled toward his friend.

Hey, man, Brock called. He hurried down the ladder and held out a hand to Mike in greeting. Thanks for coming over.

Mike shook his hand. Like your wife gave me a choice. Seriously, dude, how do you turn her down?

Brock grinned and thumped Mike on the back. What makes you think I possess the superpowers that would require? If you haven’t noticed, when my wife makes a request, we all jump to do her bidding.

Mike chuckled. But that’s because her requests are few and everyone wants to keep the best chef in town happy. He pointed to a nearby outlet. Do you know where the breaker is located?

Step right this way, my good man. Brock affected an accent befitting a carnival barker and swept his hand toward a room at the far end of the warehouse.

An hour later, Mike had gone through the entire building, made a list of needed supplies to update the wiring, and repacked his toolbox.

Do we need permission from the owner of the building to do the electrical work? Mike asked as he held a piece of sheetrock while Brock nailed it to the wall.

No. Bill Ferrelly owns the building. He told Miss Taggart to do whatever she wanted with the space. He’s providing use of it at no charge and will foot the bill for the utilities as part of his donation to the event.

Mike stared at his friend. Who’s Miss Taggart?

Brock stopped working and glanced at him. She’s Mr. Ferrelly’s niece and the director of the Silverton Foundation. Miss Taggart happens to be the one organizing this event. Evidently, Brenna was friends with her in middle school. That’s how you and I were roped into helping with this little project. Even if Brenna hadn’t coerced us into volunteering, your brother would have eventually found some way to involve us. He and Kat have promised to donate a tree and attend the auction.

With all these bleeding hearts around us, I suppose we are doomed to help with any and all events like this one. It’s a good thing I don’t mind doing charity work. Mike checked his watch. I need to drive out to a new job site. I’ll be back Friday and take care of the wiring. He turned around and nearly dropped