Mistletoe

THE SMOKY BLUES

Mountains, music, love.

GETTING THE GIFT

Aspiring songwriter Caitlyn Murphy is tired of sister’s hand-me-downs. From toys and bicycles to men, it seemed like everything in Caitlyn’s life first belonged to her late sister. Roped into doing Christmas for motherless nieces, and entering into a pretend romance with their dangerously attractive father, Caitlyn soon finds herself falling in love with the girls, and the enigmatic Tanner Dyson. She resists the temptation and Tanner’s insistence that they make their pretend relationship real. She wants her own family, not the one her sister had first.

SHE ALWAYS WANTED

Tanner Dyson doesn't get why he is so attracted to his overweight, opinionated sister-in-law. She wants love and the whole romance thing, emotions that died with his late wife. He wants a woman who is nice to have around, and he can't understand why that isn’t that enough for Caitlyn. Worried their pretend relationship will wither and die come the new year, Tanner is surprised to find the magic of the holiday season gives them the gift of a new love neither expected, but both need.

MISTLETOE

The Smoky Blues – Book Six

Emily Mims

www.BOROUGHSPUBLISHINGGROUP.com

PUBLISHER’S NOTE: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, business establishments or persons, living or dead, is coincidental. Boroughs Publishing Group does not have any control over and does not assume responsibility for author or third-party websites, blogs or critiques or their content.

MISTLETOE

Copyright © 2017 Emily Wright Mims

Smashwords Edition

All rights reserved. Unless specifically noted, no part of this publication may be reproduced, scanned, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of Boroughs Publishing Group. The scanning, uploading and distribution of this book via the Internet or by any other means without the permission of Boroughs Publishing Group is illegal and punishable by law. Participation in the piracy of copyrighted materials violates the author’s rights.

ISBN 978-1-944262-99-0

E-book formatting by Maureen Cutajar

www.gopublished.com

To Randy Satterwhite, with my thanks for the beautiful comment,

"There’s no such thing as an unattractive woman."

This one’s for you!

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

As always, thanks to JoAnne and the Boroughs editing department for making me look so good. Y’all are the absolute best.

Special thanks to fellow ukulele player and poet extraordinaire Edwin R. Floyd for penning Caitlyn’s lyrics and granting permission for me to use them. And thank you for the beta read. Ed, you’re wonderful.

CONTENTS

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Epilogue

Also by Emily Mims

About the Author

MISTLETOE

Prologue

Tanner Dyson sat ramrod straight in the shade of the funeral home canopy and stared with cloudy eyes at the walnut casket holding the earthly remains of his precious wife. The September sun beat down on the mourners seated under the canvas and those who spilled out of the big tent. It was as hot as blue blazes here in the outdoors and most of the mourners would probably have rather been inside the roomy, air-conditioned sanctuary of Pine Hill Community Church, a few hundred yards down the mountain. But after the way the church had treated his wife since she’d married him, there was no way under the sun that he would have buried her out of there. If he’d had his way, he wouldn’t even be burying her in the Pine Hill cemetery. But she’d told her sister she wanted to be buried next to her grandparents. So here he was, laying his beautiful young wife to rest according to her wishes.

What was he ever going to do without her?

He looked down at his little girls, one seated on either side of him clutching his hands. Did they even understand what had happened to them? Did they understand that their sweet, loving mother had left their lives forever?

****

He tried to listen to the sermon, but Pastor Asher Ellison’s words of comfort flowed right over his head. He wasn’t too happy with the bastard right now anyway. The minister had honestly expected his sister to sell her half of their successful string of intimate shops and the Emerald Moon in an effort to keep the tight-assed board of deacons from canning his butt. Tanner would have bought it from her, too, but not because he thought the deacons were right. As far as he was concerned, to a man, the deacons could die and go to hell, except he made too much money off them in his sex shops to see to their demise.

But with Meghan gone, that wouldn’t be possible, anyway. Preacher boy would have to suck it up. Or better yet, grow a pair and tell the deacons to shove it up their asses.

With Meghan gone, a lot of things wouldn’t be possible any more. Lazy Saturday mornings in bed with her and the girls cuddled in with them watching cartoons. Boat rides on Boone Lake, her face turned to the wind as she and the girls whooped with glee. Pot roasts on Sunday, cooked the way he liked them. Escorting her, dressed to the nines in a slinky dress and fuck-me shoes, into one of the swanky Asheville restaurants she loved. Making love to her late at night, her slim, lithe body riding his as she came and came and came.

The magnitude of his loss took his breath away.

Pastor Asher finished the eulogy. He announced that the family and close friends would gather at Tanner’s home, and they all rose. Tanner’s eyes filled as his daughters each placed a single rose on their mother’s casket. Asher led the gathering in a solemn prayer and Tanner and his in-laws spent the next twenty minutes shaking hands and accepting condolences from the mourners; an odd combination of Meghan’s old friends, the Pine Hill church crowd, most of whom greeted him coolly, and the employees of the shops and club that were his livelihood.

When the crowd had finally thinned, he handed his daughters over to his in-laws. I’ll meet you back at the house in a few. I need a couple of minutes alone.

The Murphys nodded and took the girls. He sat back down and stared at Meghan’s casket. It would be only a matter of minutes before they lowered his wife into the ground. The hole was dug and the concrete outer case sat to one side.

We had a good ride, didn’t we, baby? he asked as a tear ran down his cheek. I love you, Meggie.

He sat for a few more minutes before pushing himself out of the chair. Feeling like he had lead weights on his feet, he started toward his car in the church parking lot. He was almost to the gated entrance when he saw movement out of the corner of his eye and turned, groaning inwardly when he recognized the couple standing by the gate who were obviously waiting for him. The last thing he needed this afternoon was to have to deal with his parents. The cold, overbearing, judgmental parents that had made his and his sister’s childhoods miserable. The parents that he and his sister had, as adults, done their damnedest to anger and humiliate, first with the sex shops and then with the Emerald Moon.

On the other hand, maybe he and Trish should thank Jed and Sondra Dyson. The sex shops had made them rich by Tennessee standards.

But that didn’t mean he wanted to deal with his parents today.

He nodded at them but kept walking. They fell into step beside him. It was a lovely service, Jed muttered.

But it was so hot out here, Sondra complained. Surely you could have held it in the church.

"Not that church, Tanner snapped. He forced down his anger. This was what Meghan wanted."

I see. Sondra lifted her chin. I guess that’s why you’re having the reception at your house rather than the annex. Tanner nodded. Who’s putting everything together for you?

The staff at Emerald Moon. Trish’s dancers are helping. I’ll introduce you. They’re lovely young women. Jed and Sondra shuddered and he bit back a snicker.

They walked in silence to his car, parked next to a vaguely familiar old Dodge Challenger with tinted windows and an open sunroof. Jed cleared his throat. We want to talk to you for a couple of minutes before you leave. Your mother and I have some concerns.

Tanner’s eyebrow rose. Imagine that. My wife dies and leaves my daughters without a mother and you have some concerns. Mom, Dad, we all have some concerns right now.

There’s no need for sarcasm, Sondra chided. It’s those children we are so worried about. Despite your checkered past and unsavory businesses, we’ve never worried much about the girls, because whatever else you might have done, you married a respectable woman. One that we felt confident was rearing them in the proper manner. She stopped and cleared her throat. But their mother is gone, and you—well, you’ll do your best, I suppose, but your father and I feel that they need the kind of moral guidance that their mother provided them.

Tanner turned hard eyes on his mother. In other words, you don’t think the owner of a strip joint and sex stores is fit to raise his own children.

I think they need a woman’s guidance, Sondra said firmly. A respectable woman’s moral guidance. You need to find someone to take Meghan’s place in the girls’ lives.

You want me to start looking for another wife? Before this one’s even in the ground? What do you want me to do, ask around at the reception this afternoon and see if I get any takers? Tanner snapped.

Watch your tongue, Tanner. That’s not what your mother saying at all. She means that the girls will miss their mother and that maybe they need someone to fill Meghan’s shoes a bit in the days to come. Your mother wouldn’t be averse to stepping in some.

Tanner took a breath and counted to ten. There was no way in hell his cold, critical, unbending mother was coming anywhere near his girls. She’d been a sorry-assed mother to him and Trish. She wasn’t doing it to a second generation. Mom, Dad, thanks for your concern. I have it covered. The girls will be fine. Barbara Murphy has stepped in already. She’s practically taken over, God bless her soul.

Barbara Murphy had done no such thing, but his parents didn’t know that.

Well, if you’re sure. Sondra sounded doubtful.

He watched his parents walk across the parking lot. God, they took the cake, insinuating that he wasn’t morally fit to raise the girls. Who in the hell did they think they were? He unlocked his car and slid inside. As he shut the door, the Challenger’s engine rumbled on and he spotted movement in the other car. A familiar silhouette reached up and closed the sunroof before roaring out of the parking lot.

Damn, damn, damn. Talk about adding insult to injury. Of course the Challenger seemed familiar. It ought to. It had been parked outside his house for any number of Murphy gatherings, driven by no less than his sister-in-law Caitlyn, church secretary extraordinaire and would-be Nashville songwriter. Tart-tongued, disapproving Caitlyn, who couldn’t look at him without puckering up like she’d swallowed a pickle. Plump, frumpy Caitlyn, always dressed in a feed sack, who couldn’t have been more different than her sister if she’d tried. His face burned. She’d heard him tell his parents an out-and-out lie. She’d heard his parents tell him they didn’t think he had the morals to raise his own children.

Knowing Caitlyn, she probably agreed with them.

Chapter One

One year later

Caitlyn Murphy looked at the clock on her desk. Thirty more minutes and she was out of here. The hot September sun shone through the stained-glass windows of the attractive reception area of Pine Hill Community Church and cast a colorful shadow on the pale tile floor. Normally the dancing colors cheered her, but today all she wanted was to get out of the office and home to shower and change into the new dress she’d bought for tonight. She and her sister Timberlynn were singing for Asher Ellison and Trish McClellan’s long-awaited wedding. Caitlyn had written a special song for the unlikely duo, and she and Timberlynn needed to go over it at least once more before singing it for the bride and groom.

She glanced at the clock again, and then over to the conference room door where her new boss, Pastor John Sikes, was closeted with his board of deacons. Unlike her former bosses, Pastor Sikes was not averse to the lengthy board meetings; he seemed to enjoy them. He especially seemed to enjoy taking copious notes and expected to have them typed up in record time. The first couple of meetings she’d rushed to comply, but after she’d realized he was letting them sit for a week in his inbox, she’d told him she would need at least twenty-four hours to get them finished unless it was an emergency. He’d been taken aback, but she’d stuck to her guns and twenty-four hours it was.

And would be today. Pastor Sikes and the deacons filed out at five on the dot and he handed her a stack of notes. I’ll need these the first thing Monday morning, he directed. Unless you’d make an exception and take care of them now. He raised a gray eyebrow.

Sorry. It will have to be Monday. Caitlyn shoved the papers into her roomy tote bag. I’m singing for the wedding this evening. She didn’t have to say which wedding. Half the Pine Hill congregation would be attending the wedding of their former pastor to the notorious pole dancing Trish Dyson McClellan. And that didn’t count the Pine Hill members who’d bailed when the church hired John Sikes and now attended Asher’s alternative church.

Pastor Sikes looked down his nose at her. You? You’re singing for them? I’m surprised, considering their reputations.

Caitlyn looked at him coolly. Why wouldn’t I sing for them? I’m related to them both by marriage. They’re family.

I’m sorry. I didn’t realize. He still looked like he’d sucked a lemon.

Caitlyn nodded once. I’ll have your notes typed up for you Monday morning. Have a nice weekend.

Condescending asshole. No wonder the younger members were bailing in droves. She steered her old Challenger through the late afternoon traffic. She would love to leave, but she needed her job too badly to risk it by going to Asher’s church, too new to afford much. John Sikes had been hired to smooth all the feathers Asher had ruffled during his tenure as pastor, and the man was doing a splendid job of that. Job security. For now, anyway.

Caitlyn pulled into the parking lot of her three-story condominium and unloaded her mailbox, smiling when she spotted the envelope from the small recording company that had bought a couple of her songs last fall. If she had her way, she wouldn’t be working as a church secretary much longer anyway. She would be writing country and western and bluegrass songs for major stars in those genres. It had been a dream of hers since she’d picked out her first song at the age of six on the small-body acoustic guitar she’d gotten for Christmas. She’d written hundreds of songs over the years, some of which had been sung and recorded by no less than The Barstows. But she’d never quite grasped the elusive brass ring of financial independence from her songs. Hence the day job that she barely tolerated.

And she wouldn’t be grasping that brass ring today, she thought as she tore open the envelope from the recording company. Getting a royalty check was an ego trip, but the tiny amount on the Pay to the Order of line would barely cover her weekly trip to the grocery store. Sighing, Caitlyn put the check in her wallet. She was due to pick up Timberlynn in less than an hour and needed to get ready. She was in and out of the shower quickly, but paused a minute to stand on the scale, wincing at the number that flashed up at her. She didn’t know why she even tried. She yanked on her serviceable panties and bra. No matter how much she starved herself, those extra pounds wouldn’t go away.

So she did what she always did. She pulled on the dark, loose-fitting dress she’d picked out last week that would hopefully disguise her too-broad hips and too-generous breasts. She tried cinching in the waist, but that made her bust look that much bigger. Her biggest beauty assets were the caramel-colored curls and the facial features she shared with her sister. But unlike Timberlynn, Caitlyn let her hair go for months before visiting a salon, and she made do with minimal makeup even when she was performing. As chunky as she was, why bother?

She made it to Timberlynn’s with a few minutes to spare. When they were in town, Timberlynn and Sawyer stayed at the small house that Timberlynn and her first husband had bought. Caitlyn wondered how much longer it would be before her sister and Sawyer bought or built a larger one to use when they were in town.

A harried-looking Sawyer answered the door, his bowtie undone, and his eighteen-month-old son in his arms. Pete was dressed in an identical tuxedo and was howling in fury. Cookie. Want cookie!

Kid, you just had supper. Sawyer shook his head. I swear, he’s a bottomless pit.

Give him here. Go get your tie and jacket. Aren’t you two in the wedding party?

Sawyer thrust Pete toward her and hustled back to the bedroom. Caitlyn entertained the toddler for a couple of minutes until Sawyer re-emerged, bow tie and jacket in place. Timberlynn will be out in a minute. He plucked Pete from her arms. We’re going on ahead. See you.

Sawyer disappeared with his unhappy son. Caitlyn had barely sat down when her sister appeared carrying a banjo and a guitar. Unlike Caitlyn, Timberlynn wore a figure-hugging sheath and sported a full makeup job. Which do you want me to use?

Caitlyn looked at her watch. We have time to try it several ways. She got out her own guitar, a sleek Gibson that had set her back a pretty penny, and put her iPad on the music stand. They made quick work of tuning their instruments and ran through the song once with Timberlynn on the banjo, once with her on mandolin and once with the two guitars. The mandolin, I guess, Caitlyn stated.

The sisters looked at one another. I have an idea. Timberlynn tuned her ukulele. To Caitlyn’s surprise, the high, sweet notes of the uke were exactly what the song needed. What do you think? Timberlynn tilted her head. My uke or your mandolin?