Today’s Christmas ghost story is a little different than the ones I usually focus on.  Let me explain.

Gayle Blaine is a friend and also an aspiring writer who has chosen to write under the name of G. Addison Blaine. What she aspires to write isn’t fantasy, however.  It’s romance, although she isn’t opposed to fantastic elements in her work. She just isn’t at the point where she’s comfortable including those things in what she writes. (I have Gayle’s permission to share this, in case you were wondering.)

So when she approached me to inquire if I would be interested in collaborating, I quickly agreed. We discussed plots and characters, as well as who would write what sections. Then we set to work. I think the result is something neither of us could have produced on our own.

For those who are curious as to who wrote what parts, Gayle focused on the primarily romance parts, meaning the historical portions as well as some of the contemporary sections. I wrote the ghost stuff. Then we each made a pass through the other’s work to make the style more consistent.

The result was a 13,000 word novelette. Because of its length, I’m going to post part of it today and the remainder tomorrow.If you don’t want to wait to read the conclusion, here’s the purchase link.

NOTE: Unlike the other two Christmas ghost stories I posted and the conclusion to this story, I didn’t take the first part of this one down. Call it a sneaky marketing trick.

Becca stood at the top of the stairs and gazed down at the entry hall below. The wreaths and garlands draped along the walls and woven through the spindles of the stair railings created a festive scene. The holly berries were tiny explosions of red amongst the greenery, and the glow of the candles created a feeling of warmth in her breast she could hardly contain.

“There you are!”

Becca’s reverie was broken by her mother’s voice. Becca hadn’t seen her mother step out of the parlor.

“Stop wool-gathering, girl, and come help me finish laying out the rest of the things we’ll need to trim the tree tonight.”

“I wasn’t wool-gathering, Mother. I was admiring the Christmas decorations and thinking about how lovely everything will be tonight.”

“Those lovely things wouldn’t include a certain guest who’ll be accompanying your brother up from Santa Fe for the holidays, now would they?”

Becca flushed.

“No, Mother. Certainly not.”

“Too bad,” said her mother with a wry smile as she turned to go back into the parlor. “Liam has grown into quite a lovely specimen of a man.”

Becca flushed again, deeper this time. She was glad her mother couldn’t see it.

Liam had been not much more than a gangly youth when he and her brother had enlisted with the Rough Riders. That had been five years ago. Becca hadn’t seen him since.

She shoved thoughts of Liam from her mind, or at least tried to, as she went down the stairs to help her mother. Still, thoughts of Liam stayed in her mind much like the smoke from her father’s pipe lingered in the air after he had left the room. Becca turned left at the foot of the stairs and entered the parlor.

Mother had laid out the supplies for trimming the tree on a sideboard on the left side of the room, opposite the fireplace. Needles and thread sat beside bowls of cranberries and popcorn to be strung and wrapped around the tree. Gingerbread cookies, baked that afternoon, were stacked in a pile that threatened to overflow the platter on which they sat.  A cluster of mistletoe threatened to fall off the far end of the table.

“Cyrus and Liam will be here soon. We need to finish a few last-minute details before they arrive, or they’ll never get done. Let’s start by threading these needles. If we don’t, your father will stick himself a dozen times or more. You know how he is. He’ll probably get blood on the popcorn from all the times he’ll put the needle through his finger rather than the popcorn.”

Becca tried to stifle a giggle. She wasn’t successful.

“At least it will be a Christmas color.” She giggled again.

“Becca, really. You’re terrible.”

Her mother grinned at her.

“And I’m totally correct, as you well know,” Becca replied smugly. “If you don’t want Father getting blood on the popcorn, have him string the cranberries. They’re already red.”

“Hmm, you do have a point…”

Jarrod, the butler, had built a roaring fire. Becca found it warmed the room more than she liked. And once everyone was here, it would be even warmer.

Becca had begun to sweat by the time the women finished their final task, running strips of green and red ribbon through holes in the gingerbread ornaments.

“What about the mistletoe?” Becca asked.

“Oh, Jarrod will hang that in a few minutes. He’s making sure Bridgette and Catherine have everything under control in the kitchen. He and your father were both insistent that we “womenfolk” as he put it didn’t risk a fall off the stepladder.”

Becca sighed and rolled her eyes.

“In that case, I’m going to step outside and cool off for a minute. It’s rather warm in here.”

Mother smiled at her. “Thank you for the help. Just don’t stay outside too long. It will be dark soon, and you’ll still need to dress for dinner.”

#

Nixon Buchanan poured some additional rum in his eggnog before slamming the cup back. He wiped his mouth on the back of his sleeve and tried not to belch. He started to pour himself another and thought better of it. His aunt Lucille was glaring at him from the other side of the room. The guests, on the other hand, were doing thier best to look anywhere but at Nixon.

He decided it might be better if he stepped out for some air. He mumbled “excuse me” a few times as he slid past the party-goers on his way to the exit. Aunt Lucille moved to intercept him.

Nixon cursed to himself when he saw he wouldn’t be able to avoid her. She got to the French door to leading to the veranda few steps ahead of him.

“Join me, won’t you please, Nixon?”

Although phrased as a question, he knew it was a command.

“Yes, ma’am. Of course.”

Aunt Lucille preceded him through the French door onto the snow-covered veranda. As he closed the door behind him, Nixon heard the volume of the conversation resume its normal level.

Aunt Lucille didn’t stop; instead, she marched to concrete rail, where she executed a turn that was militarily precise, even though she had never been in any of the armed forces. Nixon had no choice but to follow her.

“What has gotten into you?” she demanded when he reached her.

Nixon drew a deep breath through his nostrils. The frigid air burned his nose and throat, it was so dry, but it helped clear his head a little.

“Well?” Aunt Lucille snapped when he didn’t answer immediately. “I’m waiting.”

“It’s the mistletoe.”

“The mistletoe?”

“Yes. Someone thinks they’re being clever. There was a sprig on my pillow this afternoon when I got out of the shower. That’s the fourth time this week.”

“I fail to see why that should drive you to drink more than you should and then wipe your mouth on the sleeve of your best jacket in front of a room full of guests.”

“Because it shouldn’t have been there.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean no one should have been able to get into my room. I had locked the door.”

“One of the servants must be playing a cruel joke on you. I’ll have to have a word with them. They shouldn’t be entering your suite while you’re in the shower. Especially if it was one of the female staff. Do you think it has something to do with your breakup with that young woman from New England?”

“No, I assure you I’m completely over her. I didn’t realize how relieved I would be once the initial sting of rejection had passed.”

Aunt Lucille humphed. “Still, that’s no reason to behave the way you’re behaving.”

Nixon sighed. “There’s more to it than that.”

“Oh? Enlighten me, please.”

Some of the anger had faded from Aunt Lucille’s voice.

Nixon screwed up his courage.

“Sprigs of mistletoe have been appearing for the last week.”

When Nixon paused, Aunt Lucille asked, “Appeared? Do you mean like out of thin air?”

“Well, yes, actually. The first time was when you were at your bridge game. I was eating and got up to refill my iced tea. I had left the pitcher in the kitchen. When I came back to the table, there was a sprig of mistletoe on the table in front of my plate. You’d given Maria the night off, and Gwen was still visiting her mother in the hospital. George was in his quarters upstairs. I was alone on the ground floor.”

“That is odd. You said there were two other times.”

“Yes, two days later I found a sprig on my keyboard when I went to do some online business. Then yesterday, when I put on my gloves there was some mistletoe in the thumb of the right-hand glove.”

Aunt Lucille looked thoughtful. Her anger seemed to have dissipated, or else been blown away by the breeze.

“Are you sure there was no way anyone could have left the mistletoe where you found it?”

Nixon shook his head.

“No, someone could have put it on my keyboard or in my glove. I questioned everyone. George, Maria, Gwen. They all denied knowing anything about it. I believe them. It’s not like any of them to lie, and they really aren’t into practical jokes.”

“Yes, you’re right.”

Aunt Lucille shivered as a gust of wind blew up from the lawn below and over the railing.

“But that’s still no excuse for you bad manners.”

“Yes, Aunt Lucille, I know. And I apologize. It’s just getting creepy, that’s all.”

“Well, don’t drink anymore, at least not for a while. Now let’s go in. I’m freezing out here.”

They turned to walk back to the house, Aunt Lucile again leading the way. As they approached the French doors, Aunt Lucille reached down and picked up a dark object lying on top of the snow.

“What’s this?” she asked, holding it up.

Nixon looked over her shoulder.

It was a sprig of mistletoe.

#

Liam smiled as he and Cyrus rode around the last of the spruce and the house come into view. It wasn’t dark yet, but the shadow of the mountain had engulfed the house and surrounding land. The glow of candles from the windows promised warmth and rest.

“What are you grinnin’ about?” asked Cyrus from his right.

“Oh, just thinking about a warm fire, a glass of sherry, and a hot meal, followed by a nice Cuban cigar and a soft mattress.”

“Sure you are.”

“What else would I be thinkin’ about?”

Cyrus grinned. Liam knew he was in for a ribbing when Cyrus grinned like that.

“Maybe my sister. You do remember Becca, don’t you?”

Liam blushed. His best friend knew him too well.

“Of course I remember your sister. Your kid sister.”

“Oh, she’s not a kid anymore. Mother assures me she’s matured into a fine young woman.”

Liam guided his horse around a branch that had fallen across the road. Cyrus’s father was good about keeping the road clear of brush and debris. If there was a branch in the road, it had to have fallen within the last day or so.

Not that he really needed to skirt around it. Doing so gave him a chance to avoid replying to Cyrus.

Of course, Cyrus was familiar with Liam’s evasion tactics.

“Yep, a fine young woman. Just waiting on a handsome man to come a-courtin’.”

Cyrus grinned again.

“I have no doubt your sister has plenty of suitors she can choose from.”

“Why would you think that? She’s way out here in the middle of nowhere. I assure you my father would run off any remaining mountain men, and as for the miners he employs, they’re all too scared of him to even think about courtin’ my sister. Not that Father would stand for that. He’s oddly class conscious in that way.”

“I’m still sure she has more than enough young men seeking her hand-”

“And her fortune,” Cyrus waved his index finger. “Don’t forget her fortune.”

“Whoever marries Becca will be getting a fortune in human form. But I’m sure there are plenty of people in line ahead of me.”

Cyrus grinned, “Oh, so you do admit-”

“I admit nothing!”

Cyrus laughed. “Whatever you say. But you can ask Becca yourself about your competition. There she is now.”

“What?” Liam jerked in his saddle enough to make his horse start. He quickly got it back under control.

He’d been concentrating on his conversation with Cyrus so much he hadn’t realized they’d reached the house. Becca was standing on the front porch with nothing but a shawl wrapped around her shoulders. The wind was blowing from the opposite side of the house, so she was sheltered from it. But still, she had to be cold. At the thought she had been waiting for them, maybe for him, his heart warmed. He quickly shoved the thought aside. She was waiting to see Cyrus. That would be the only reason she would be outside.

“Cyrus!” Becca cried.

She ran down the steps to them as they dismounted.

“Short Stuff!” Cyrus used the nickname he’d called his sister when they were children as he wrapped her in a bear hug and spun her around.

The hug continued after they had stopped spinning.

A stable hand came around the side of the house and took the reins of the two horses without speaking. Liam knew from precious visits that their mounts would be well taken care of. He and Cyrus would get there packs once everyone had greeted them.

“I’ve missed you so much!” Becca stepped back to get a better look at Cyrus.

“And I’ve missed you, too, Short Stuff.”

Cyrus looked her up and down.

“I guess I can’t call you Short Stuff any longer. Why, you’re almost as tall as I am.”

“And don’t you forget it,” Becca said with a grin.

She turned to Liam.

“Hello, Liam. It’s good to finally see you again.”

“It’s good to see you, too, Becca. You’ve definitely grown into a lovely young woman.”

“Thank you.”

There was an awkward pause. Becca looked like she wasn’t sure to extend her hand or embrace Liam. He wasn’t sure what to do either. He wished Cyrus would say something to break the moment, but the guy just stood there grinning and not being any help to Liam at all.

Finally, Becca stepped forward and wrapped her arms around Liam. He enfolded her into his. Becca didn’t let the embrace linger. She stepped back, her face flushed.

“Well, you two must be half frozen. Come inside and warm up. Jarrod has built a fire in the parlor, and it’s quite warm.”

She started back up the steps.

Cyrus said, “Oh, we’re warm enough. We’re dressed for this weather. Unlike you. What are you doing out here in just a shawl?”

Becca smiled. “Oh, I just stepped out to cool off a bit. I wasn’t kidding about Jarrod’s fire being too warm.”

She opened the door and the two men followed her in. The men stopped by the coat rack to remove their coats, hats, and gloves.

“Miguel will bring your bags when he finishes feeding and wiping down your horses,” Becca said. “Go into the parlor and make yourself comfortable. I’ll tell Mother you’re here. Father took the wagon into town to pick up some of the guests who’ll be spending Christmas with us.”

“No, I’ll tell her myself we’re here. Besides, I want to know what smells go good.”

Cyrus headed past the parlor on his right and the dining room on his left.

“No fair sampling the food. That’s for the guests.”

“I’ll only take a bite. It’s been so long since I had any home cooked food, a bite will probably be all my body can tolerate,” Cyrus called over his shoulder as he passed the stairs.

Becca and Liam looked at each other, neither sure of what to say next.

Liam looked into the parlor. A huge spruce filled the far side of the room. On the right, the fire was as Becca had described it, large and roaring. He could feel the heat of it from where he was standing just outside the room’s entrance. Divans and easy chairs were scattered about the room, and several tables waited to hold drinks and hors d’oeurves for after dinner.

“Won’t you please come in, Liam?”

Becca gestured toward the room.

“Thank you, Becca. I would be glad to.”

He extended his elbow towards her, and Becca laced her arm through his.

They had taken one step, placing them under the doorway when Cyrus returned.

“I see you’ve found the mistletoe. That was quick!”

If his grin were any wider, his face wouldn’t be able to contain it.

Liam and Becca looked up. A sprig of mistletoe was nailed to the door frame directly over their heads.

#

Nixon and Aunt Lucille stopped just inside the door. The discovery of the mistletoe had rattled them both. Aunt Lucille hadn’t been using it for decorations. She had said it might entice one of the guests, after having had too much to drink, to steal a kiss. She said in today’s climate, she didn’t want a scandal or lawsuit to result from such an act of indiscretion. Nixon hadn’t been sure to what extent, if any, she had been joking.

Aunt Lucille had put the mistletoe in her pocket.

“I’ll dispose of this properly later,” she’d told Nixon before opening the door. He hadn’t replied.

They both scanned the room, looking for somewhere they could go to get away from the French doors, where they were visible to all the guests.

“Look,” said Aunt Lucille, grabbing Nixon’s arm with her claw-like hand. “There’s Jessica Travis. You should go talk to her. She’s standing there all alone in the corner.”

Nixon looked where his aunt indicated. Jessica was a young woman of medium height, blond hair held back from her face with a green bow, and cat’s-eye glasses. She was wearing a red button-up sweater unbuttoned over a green dress. Her figure, while it wouldn’t rival that of a supermodel, was well-proportioned. Jessica was hiding behind a wine glass held before her in both hands as though it were some sort of shield. She looked totally out of place.

“Aunt Lucille, she’s ditsy and impetuous. She changes the subject when you’re talking to her, and it’s hard to follow her train of thought. What would we talk about?”

“Whatever you like.”

“I would like to be somewhere else.”

“Nixon, you go talk to that girl, and you go now.” Aunt Lucille’s voice was steel but it softened as she continued, “If you will grant me this request, I will forget your boorish manners at the eggnog station a few minutes ago.”

Nixon sighed, then squared his shoulders, stuck out his chest, and squared his jaw. He gave every impression of a man preparing to face a firing squad.

“Yes, Aunt Lucille. If I must.”

“You must.” She gave his shoulder a playful shove. “Now go.”

Nixon let himself be shoved and went to do his duty. While many men would have enjoyed a chance to chat up Jessica Travis, Nixon wasn’t one of them. Oh, he didn’t dislike her. He just had never enjoyed her company. Still, it could be worse. He could be forced to make conversation with members of Aunt Lucille’s bridge club.

He made his way across the room, hoping someone would speak to her before he got there or she would wander off first. No such luck.

“Hello, Jessica.”

She jumped like someone had fired a starting gun behind her. Wine sloshed over the lip of her glass.

“Oh, uh, Nixon. It’s you.”

“It’s me.” He spread his arms and hoped that the smile he was trying to make didn’t look like a grimace.

“Well, duh, of course it’s you.”

Jessica grinned an embarrassed grin and made a sound Nixon took to be a laugh.

“I apologize if I startled you.”

“It’s okay, really. I was just wool-gathering.”

“I see.”

Nixon’s mind went blank. He wasn’t sure what to say next.

“So, uh, Jessica, how have you been?”

“Not bad.” She began nodding her head in a way that involved her entire upper torso. Nixon tried to ignore the way the movement made Jessica’s breasts bounce. “And you?”

“About the same. Ready for the holidays to be over if I’m being completely honest.”

That seemed to give Jessica something to focus on. Nixon thought he could see her visibly relaxing. He expected her to lecture him on how Christmas was a time he should be joyful.

“I know, right? There’s just so much pressure to have fun and be merry.”

“Exactly.”

“Parties and crowds aren’t really my thing, you know?” Jessica looked around the room. “Although I suppose I really should thank your aunt for inviting me. It was really quite thoughtful. Do you see her?”

Nixon looked around the room. Being a head taller than Jessica, he commanded a better view. His aunt was nowhere to be seen, damn the luck. He’d hoped Jessica thanking Aunt Lucille would give him an excuse to get away from her. Although he did have to admit her dislike of the holidays was a pleasant surprise.

“No, I don’t see her. She must have gone to the kitchen to check on something. Would you like me to go find her for you?”

“Oh, no.” Jessica shook her head, and a lock of her blond hair slipped out from her bow. The gold of her hair made a nice contrast to the red of her sweater. “I wouldn’t want to inconvenience you. I can thank her when Mom gets ready to go.”

“You came with your mother, then?” Jessica’s mother was one of Aunt Lucille’s bridge buddies as Nixon liked to think of them.

“Yes. Like I said, it was very thoughtful of your aunt to include me in her invitation to Mom. Even though I’m not really into parties.”

Nixon didn’t say anything, and Jessica didn’t elaborate. When the silence began to become awkward, Nixon blurted out, “So, what are you into?”

“Well, art mostly. I teach a drawing class at the community college. Reading. Quiet. I’m not into sports or those kinds of things.”

Nixon wasn’t sure what exactly “those kinds of things” were, but he wasn’t about to ask. He was afraid Jessica would tell him.

“I’m not much of a sports fan myself,” he said. “I prefer the outdoors. Hiking, camping, horseback riding when we still had a horses.”

“What happened to them?” Jessica looked concerned.

“They died.”

Before he could continue, Jessica said, “Oh, that’s horrible.”

“Not really. Well, it was horrible, because they died.” Nixon was really beginning to wish he could get out of this conversation. He was putting his foot in his mouth more than he wanted. “But the way they died wasn’t horrible. We only had two horses, and they were both too old to ride. We’d put them out to pasture at the end of the summer before I went to college. They passed my junior year. I’ve been too busy setting up my accounting practice to have time to ride, so we haven’t replaced them.”

“Oh, that’s not so bad then. Didn’t you go to,” and Jessica named a high-end private school in New England.

“Yes, that’s the one.”

“That’s where you met your fiance’, right?”

Before Nixon could respond, Jessica gasped and tried to put her hands over her mouth. She succeeded in spilling wine down the front of her dress.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, you broke up. I forgot.”

“It’s all right. I’m kind of glad, really.”

Jessica noticed the wine soaking into her dress.

“Oh, look at me. I’m a total klutzoid. These stains will never come out.” She gasped. “And the carpet. I hope I haven’t ruined it.”

“Don’t worry, you haven’t. It’s stain resistant, and Aunt Lucille has it professionally cleaned once a quarter.”

Nixon looked around, saw a stack of napkins on a table containing several trays of finger foods, and went to grab a handful. When he returned, Jessica was trying to brush the wine off the front of her dress. Nixon held out the napkins to her as he took the wineglass from her before she spilled the rest of it.

“Oh, thank you.”

Instead of taking some of the napkins from him, Jessica grabbed the back of his hand and pushed it and the napkins against her chest and began rubbing them up and down to try and soak up the wine.

Suddenly she realized what she was doing. Her face turned as red as her sweater.

“Oh, I’m so sorry.”

Nixon had been totally taken aback.

“Uh, it’s okay. Really.”

He realized it was. He’d enjoyed the contact and hoped it didn’t show in his face.

Just then Jessica’s mother walked up, accompanied by Aunt Lucille. Mrs. Travis was taller and thinner than Jessica. Her expression was grave.

“There you are, Jessica. I’m afraid we’re going to have to leave. Mrs. Lancaster has fallen ill. Since she rode with us, we need to take her home.”

“Not necessarily,” said Aunt Lucille. “Let Jessica stay and enjoy herself. I’m sure Nixon would be glad to give her a ride home.” Aunt Lucille fixed Nixon with a look he knew from experience told him he’d better agree with whatever his aunt said. “Wouldn’t you, Nixon?”

“Well, if it’s all the same, I should go now. I’ve made a mess.” Jessica waved to her hand to indicate the wine stain on her dress. “I need to treat this stain before it sets.”

Mrs. Travis made a face of disapproval at Jessica’s dress but didn’t say anything.

“Well, let Nixon take you home, anyway. That way you can get out of that dress, and your mother can stay with Mrs. Lancaster and make sure she’s all right.”

Nixon didn’t miss the insinuation in Aunt Lucille’s phrasing. He felt his cheeks flush and decided to make a strategic withdrawal.

“I’ll bring the car around. Just let me get my keys and my coat. I’ll meet you out front, Jessica.”

Nixon got his keys from his rooms, grabbed his coat from the wardrobe in the vestibule, and headed for the garage.

When he opened the door, he nearly sat on something in his seat.

It was a sprig of mistletoe.

#

Becca found herself seated next to Liam at dinner. She wasn’t sure whose idea that had been, Cyrus’s or Mother’s. Nor was she sure how she felt about it. On the one hand, she experienced a thrill in her tummy to be sitting next to him. On the other, his presence made her nervous. She was afraid of making a faux-pas by saying the wrong thing or spilling something on herself. She had expected Liam to be seated next to Cyrus, although she would have had trouble not looking at him. He was much more handsome than she had expected. Becca decided she preferred being by his side rather than across from him.

Father sat at the head of the table, Mother on his right, Grandmother on his left. Becca was between Mother and Liam, with Cyrus across from her. The remaining seats were occupied by Reverend Thomson, his wife, and Mr. And Mrs. Swenson, the banker and his wife. The four had arrived together about twenty minutes after Cyrus and Liam, having been brought to the house by her father. Reverend Thomson would hold Christmas services at the Independent Baptist church at noon the next day. The Thomsons and Swensons would be spending the night. They had been invited to come up on Christmas Eve in case the snow was too deep for them to travel through on Christmas Day.

Fortunately for her, Becca didn’t have to say much beyond the usual pleasantries. The conversation centered on Cyrus and Liam. Everyone wanted to know about their adventures with the Rough Riders and what Teddy Roosevelt was really like. Liam’s answers couldn’t have been more different that Cyrus’s. Whereas her brother was bombastic and, Becca was sure, exaggerating in his tales and anecdotes, Liam’s responses were more self-effacing and to some extent evasive.

“Now tell the truth, Liam,” Cyrus said as he helped himself to another helping of turkey. “You probably saved Teddy’s life.”

“I seriously doubt that.”

“You know that soldier was aiming at him when you shot him.”

“He was aiming in the general direction of three officers. We don’t know for sure he was aiming at Roosevelt.”

“Please,” said Mother, “could we talk of something else? This is hardly appropriate dinner table conversation, especially on Christmas Eve. I’m sure our guests would appreciate a change of subject.”

The Thomsons and Swensons all said in various ways they weren’t offended.

“After all,” said Reverend Thomson, “we were the ones asking the questions.”

“Of course,” said Cyrus. “My apologies, Mother. I just thought Becca might like to know what Liam has accomplished while we were gone. I knew Liam wouldn’t tell her.”

Becca flushed. She was sure she was as red as the cranberry sauce.

“Of course I wouldn’t tell her,” responded Liam, who was turning red himself. “That’s hardly the sort of thing a gentleman tells a lady, especially one as refined and tasteful as your sister.”

Becca hadn’t thought it was possible for her to blush more deeply than she already was, but she found she was wrong.

“I think it’s time for dessert,” Father interjected. “After all Margaret has gone to a lot of trouble to prepare everything for trimming the tree, haven’t you, dear? I don’t want to keep her waiting. She gets a tad bit impatient if we postpone celebrating for too long.”

Father patted Mother’s hand affectionately. There was a twinkle in his eye. When he made eye contact with her, he winked. Becca was thankful. She knew he had said what he had to take the attention from her.

Bridgette, who had been standing at the back of the room departed for the kitchen.

Dessert was pumpkin pie. The conversation stopped when Bridgette and Catherine carried it out. When they were finished with the pie, they all got up and crossed the main hall to the parlor.

Somehow Becca and Liam ended up walking side by side as they entered the parlor. Cyrus and Grandmother were bringing up the rear, her arm in his for support. Mother and Father had led their guests from the dining room and across the hall to the parlor. Becca wasn’t sure if that had been intentional on Liam’s part or just the way things worked out. It seemed the rest of the group were spacing themselves out so that the two of them would be together.

Becca really didn’t mind. She just hoped Liam didn’t think she was trying to force her company on him.

He didn’t seem to mind, either. In fact, after they had found themselves under the mistletoe earlier, they’d looked at each other for what would be considered a breath too long before stepping apart, Becca into the parlor and Liam into the hall.

Cyrus had called Liam a coward as he drug him off to see Mother and Father.

Becca had been relieved. She found her heart pounding. At the back of her mind, a flicker of desire had been ignited that she and Liam would find themselves beneath the mistletoe again.

The thought filled her with both anticipation and dread. Put a rein on your eagerness, girl. He hasn’t seen you in years. Don’t presume on feelings he most assuredly won’t have.

Becca had been so intent on what Liam had been saying to her, complimenting the meal they’d just had, that she realized with alarm that everyone had stopped a few feet inside the parlor. The result was she and Liam were in the doorway and under the mistletoe again. She felt a moment of panic, although she wasn’t entirely sure why. Liam had perfect manners. He wouldn’t dare try to kiss her in front of Mother and Father and the other guests.

Would he?

Behind them, Cyrus cleared his throat and whispered, “Liam. You might not get another chance.”

Becca would have kicked him in the shin, but he was too far behind her, and she was afraid she would miss Cyrus and kick Grandmother instead. That would never do.

Becca shifted into the parlor. She went to the left, squeezing by Mrs. Thomson. Fortunately, she was much thinner than Mrs. Swenson, or Becca wouldn’t have been able to get through. Liam went to the right. Cyrus audibly sighed as he and Grandmother stepped up to fill their places.

Mother was giving instructions about trimming the tree. Jarrod stood by the fire, ready to toss another log on or to be of assistance if needed.

Once everyone had been told what they were to do, and not do, the party gathered around the table with the decorations. Becca took a small bowl of popcorn and one of the threaded needles and went to sit on a divan opposite the decorations table. She set the bowl on a coffee table in front of her and began to thread popcorn.

A minute later, a baritone voice said, “May I sit with you, Becca?”

She looked up as Liam sat down without waiting for a response.

“Of course. You may sit anywhere you like.” Becca tried to be neutral in her response. While she was glad Liam had chosen to sit by her, she didn’t want to appear to be too glad.

“Thank you. I must admit that I’m not too good at this.”

Liam had a threaded needle, but instead of popcorn, he set a bowl of cranberries on the table beside Becca’s bowl.

“Don’t believe him, Becca. Liam was the best tailor in our unit. If a man needed a quick bit of sewing done, they went to Liam.”

Cyrus grinned at her from by the fire, where he was eating popcorn from a bowl.

Mother walked by and saved Liam and Becca from having to respond.

“Don’t eat the popcorn, Cyrus,” she said. “It’s for the tree, not you. Bridgette and Catherine are setting out refreshments. You can help yourself to those, although I don’t see how you can eat anything else, as much as you put away during dinner. Just make sure you save some for the rest of us.”

Bridgette and Catherine were carrying in trays, which they set down on a couple of tables on either side of the fireplace. Bridgette’s tray contained an assortment of cookies baked earlier that day. Gingerbread men frolicked among a tasteful arrangement of sugar cookies in the shapes of stars and trees. Catherine carried glasses of spiked punch and wassail.

By the decorations table, Father cursed. The sudden outburst silenced the room.

“Forgive me, please, Reverend. Ladies. I didn’t mean for that to slip out. I jammed the needle in my finger.” He held up his right index finger. A drop of blood was clearly visible. “Down right careless of me.”

“Don’t worry, Chester. We’ve all heard much worse,” Mrs. Thomson said. “Consider yourself forgiven.”

“Thank you. Again, my apologies. I’ll try to be more careful with this needle.”

Mother had been standing just inside the parlor. She leaned over and whispered to Becca.

“I told you so.”

Becca smiled.

The rest of the evening went smoothly. Conversation was at a minimum as everyone except Grandmother focused on stringing cranberries and popcorn. Her eyesight had grown too dim to allow her to perform such tasks. It wasn’t long before she was dozing in the warmth of the fire.

At one point Liam asked Becca if he could bring her anything from the refreshment table. She asked him for a gingerbread man and a glass of wassail and thanked him when he returned with them. Other than that, the two didn’t speak to each other until everyone was ready to trim the tree.

Jarrod stood beside a step ladder and helped the ladies reach the higher branches and was quick to hold his hands up if anyone started to lose their balance.

Again, Liam seemed to be near Becca.

After the tree had been trimmed, Father proposed a toast. Cyrus shook Grandmother’s shoulder and woke her up while Bridgette and Catherine made sure everyone had a full glass of wassail or wine. Only the Thomson’s didn’t imbibe. Their punch was unspiked.

Father raised his glass.

“To friends, family, and the joy of spending Christmas with those we love most.”

Father looked at Liam and Becca when he said this.

“Merry Christmas, everyone.”

They all echoed “Merry Christmas”, raised their glasses, and drank.

“Reverend,” asked Father, “would you lead us in a few carols?”

“It would be my pleasure,” he said.

They sang “Silent Night”, “O Little Town of Bethlehem”, and “Away in a Manger”. Liam stood behind Becca. His voice was a rich baritone. Becca thought he had the loveliest voice in the room. At times she could feel the warmth of his breath on her ear when he sang out. The feeling gave her a warm sensation deep inside.

As they finished the last verse, the clock struck midnight.

They all wished each other a Merry Christmas and headed off to bed. Becca helped Grandmother to her room behind the kitchen. Grandmother wasn’t able to climb the stairs anymore. Becca gazed wistfully after Liam and he and Cyrus ascended the stairs.

#

Jessica was waiting for him by the steps of the front porch when he pulled the car up. She was wearing a coat but not a hat. As she got in, the dome light reflected on small flakes of snow that melted from the air blowing out of the heater vent. They looked like tiny jewels in her hair.

She buckled her seat belt, then turned to him.

“Thank you for – why, Nixon, what’s wrong? You’re so pale, you look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

That statement hit a little too close to home for Nixon’s comfort level.

“It’s nothing. Just someone’s idea of a joke.”

Nixon put the car in gear and spun out on a slick spot of the drive. The car fishtailed a little before Nixon got it under control. He’d had quite a bit to drink earlier in the evening, and some of the alcohol was probably still in his system. He’d better drive as carefully as he could. He didn’t want to get pulled over on a DUI, or what would be worse, have a wreck.

So, of course, Jessica had to distract him by continuing to talk about ghosts.

“Are you sure it’s nothing? You seem tenser than you were a few minutes ago. Did you see something, or did something happen?”

Nixon sighed.

“Someone keeps leaving mistletoe around.”

“Why would that upset you? It’s a common Christmas decoration. I mean, I don’t care for the stuff myself. It’s a fungus or something like that.”

“They’re leaving it where I can find it.”

“Sounds romantic. Maybe you have a secret admirer.”

Nixon concentrated on the turn from the drive to the highway before replying. The snow was just flurries, small flakes but the roads were icy.

“I’m not being very clear,” he said once he’d made the turn without sliding. “Whoever it is, they’re leaving little sprigs where only I will find them.”

“What do you mean?”

Nixon risked a glance at Jessica. In the light of the dash, her eyes were wide behind her cat’s-eye glasses.

“Well, take this evening. When I was getting ready for the party, someone put one on my bed. The room was locked, and all the servants were accounted for. No one should have been able to do that.”

“Ooh. Maybe it is a ghost after all. I thought I sensed something tonight. I’m sensitive that way, at least a little.”

Nixon hoped Jessica didn’t see him roll his eyes.

“Or maybe it was the wine.”

Nixon couldn’t tell if Jessica was joking, but if she was, he wasn’t amused.

“I’m sure it was the wine.”

The words came out more harshly than he’d intended, but he couldn’t take them back.

They drove without talking except when Jessica needed to give Nixon directions. He had no idea where she lived.

Finally, they pulled up to an apartment complex in a neighborhood near the community college. It wasn’t a low-rent district, but it wasn’t wealthy either. Nixon thought Jessica’s family had enough money they could afford to rent her a place in a better neighborhood. He knew she couldn’t afford this place on an adjunct’s salary.

As he pulled into a spot, Jessica asked, “Would you mind coming up for a minute? I had a small gift for your aunt, and I went off and left it sitting on the table. Or I can run it back down if you prefer.”

If that was a pick-up line, it was a strange one. Nixon thought Jessica was a little strange, but he didn’t think she was the kind to use a line like that.

“I’ll come up,” he said. “That way you don’t have to come back down.”

“Thanks.” She smiled at him, probably the most genuine smile he’d seen from her that night.

They climbed in silence up three flights of stairs, concentrating on not slipping on any icy spots.

Jessica unlocked a set of deadbolts and disarmed the alarm. She led Nixon through a small vestibule into one corner of an enormous room. Easels filled the central space. To the right along the wall that extended from the vestibule were cabinets and shelves containing what Nixon thought were painting supplies.

On the left-hand wall, canvases of various sizes and shapes leaned against it. A door in the far corner led to what Nixon figured were the bedroom and bathroom. The wall facing them was entirely windows. There wasn’t a balcony or a door.

“I chose this place for the light,” said Jessica. “It makes the perfect studio.”

“So I see.” He looked around in what he hoped was an admiring manner.

“The gift is right in here. Just let me get it.”

Jessica flipped on a light as she entered a small kitchen facing the windows. Nixon followed her to the kitchen’s entrance. There was a small breakfast nook at the other end of the kitchen. Jessica went to a table in the breakfast nook and picked up a small rectangular package wrapped in gold with a white ribbon and bow.

Nixon glanced casually to his right. Against the wall between the kitchen entrance and the wall with most of the canvases leaning against it were six, no, seven canvases. These were facing out. All of them were sketches of Jessica from slightly different angles. She was sitting with her right leg extended straight before her and her left leg drawn up. Her arms were behind her, and she was leaning back on them. Her hair hung over one shoulder.

She was also completely nude.

“I apologize for forgetting this. I tend to be a bit scatterbrained at times, but you know that already.”

She stopped talking when she saw what he was looking at.

“Oh. I had forgotten about those. They’re my students’ work.”

Nixon had difficulty looking away from the pictures. The quality of the execution varied, but the best pieces showed Jessica in all her glory. Smooth, well-muscled limbs. Flat, tight midsection. High, round breasts with nipples erect and visible. Just the curve of a smile at one corner of her mouth.

None of the students had captured her eyes through her glasses, but Nixon didn’t care. He hadn’t realized Jessica was so beautiful. He also realized that her clothing choices, which he now suspected had been chosen to hide her assets, were only partially successful.

“You pose nude for your students?”

“No. Well, just the once. I teach a life drawing class. The model called in sick only a few minutes before class. So rather than cancel, I filled in. The students are all women. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have done it.”

Nixon just blinked at her, not sure of what to say, so he looked back at the pictures.

“It was cold that night,” said Jessica.

Nixon returned his gaze to Jessica’s face. When she blushed, Nixon realized she was referring to her nipples. Probably because she was embarrassed and said the first thing that popped into her head.

“I should probably cover those,” said Jessica. She handed the gift to Nixon as she slid past him on her way to where a large sheet hung over an easel.

“That’s all right,” said Nixon. “You need to get out of that dress.”

The last word passed his lips when it struck him how that might be misinterpreted. He was really starting to regret how much he had drunk earlier. He usually had better control over what came out of his mouth.

“And I need to go,” he added lamely. “Thank you for the gift. I’ll make sure to give it to Aunt Lucille when I get back to the house.”

Nixon turned and headed for the door. He shut it behind him and hurried down the stairs. The snow was falling harder, large wet flakes. They were beginning to cover everything, but not enough had fallen to completely hide something wedged the handle of the car door.

Mistletoe.