A Kiss, A Kid And A Mistletoe Bride

And a lot of work.

He could do this daddy business.

“I’ll find Moon, Joe. If you don’t mind, just lean the tree against the shed and you two go have that cup of cocoa.” Gabby reached up and wiggled Oliver’s toe. “Nice meeting you, Oliver. Let me know what you think of Moon’s cocoa, hear?” She pivoted and whisked behind the corner of the shed so fast Joe didn’t have a chance to stop her.

He thought the night seemed darker and colder without the glow of Gabby’s face.

“Let’s go, Daddy.” Leaning forward, Oliver peered into Joe’s face. “We don’t need anybody else, do we?”

“Duck, son. The shed door’s low.” He didn’t see Gabby again. By the time he and Oliver drank cocoa, checked out the baskets of ornaments and made their way to the van, Gabby was nowhere in sight.

“Gabby leave yet?” Joe slammed the van door shut.

“Right after I tied down her trunk. She was in a hurry. Worried about her dad, I guess.”

“Milo looked fine when I saw him. But that was from a distance.” Joe lifted Oliver into the passenger side and motioned for him to fasten the seat belt. “What’s the problem?”

“Damned if I know. Milo’s complaining about Gabrielle coming home, swearing she’s making a fuss over nothing, that’s all I know. He’s worked up a head of steam about Gabrielle threatening to sell her Arizona condo and come back to Bayou Bend on a permanent basis.” Moon leaned over confidentially. “You ask me—and I notice you didn’t—that’s the problem.”

“I don’t get it. What do you mean?” Sticking the key into the ignition switch, Joe paused. “She’s back for good?”

“That’s what’s making Milo crazy. He’s ranting and raving that she would be making a mistake, that he doesn’t need any help—”

“Does he?” Joe straightened out Oliver’s twisted seat belt and snapped it into the slot.

“I don’t know.” Moon rolled his shoulders. “He was in the hospital for three weeks back around Halloween, but you know Milo.”

“No, actually, I don’t. Not well, anyway.”

“Huh.” Moon raised his eyebrows. “Funny. I thought you knew the old man. Don’t know where I got that idea.”

“Neither do I.” Joe kept his face empty of expression. What Moon might know or might guess wasn’t important. Joe wasn’t about to fill him in on any details.

He’d told Moon the truth. He didn’t know Milo well.

Not in the usual meaning, at least.

Moon nodded. “Anyway, if Milo’s got a health problem, he sure wouldn’t broadcast it. He’d make a joke out of it, but he’d keep any problem to himself. Milo’s good at keeping secrets.”

Joe didn’t have to be a rocket scientist to read between the lines. Moon knew something, after all, about that night years ago, but, like Milo, he could keep a secret. “Thanks for your help, Moon.” Joe reached out to shake Moon’s ham-size hand.

Moon’s face split into a grin. “Sure. Any old time.” His squeeze of Joe’s hand was hard enough to discourage circulation for a few minutes. As Joe started to pull the driver’s door shut, Moon rested his hand on it, stopping Joe’s movement. All the folksy drawl disappeared from Moon’s rumble of a voice as he gave Joe a keen look and said, “Merry Christmas to you and your boy.” He slammed the van door shut. “And, Joe...”

“Yeah?”

“Welcome home.”

Looking at Moon’s large, sincere face, where understanding lay beneath the good-old-boy mask, Joe felt his throat close up.

He’d felt the same way years ago when Gabby welcomed him to Bayou Bend, a place he’d never called home.

A place he couldn’t wait to run from as fast as he could.

A place he’d returned to because of Oliver.

And if it killed him, he was going to make this town home for his son.

Staying away from Gabrielle O’Shea would be part of that price, no matter how drawn he was to her sweetness.

In the hotel later, Joe watched shadows dance across the wall. Shifting, changing, like his life, the shadows passed one after another, each blurring into the other until the original pattern was no longer visible.

Beside him, snoring gently, small bubbles popping with each breath, his son slept. Peacefully. Securely.

Safely.

For the first time since he’d heard about his son, a son he didn’t even know he had, Joe slept soundly, too.

In his dreams, pine scent and Christmas carols mingled, and he followed the glow of Gabby’s smile, like a star leading him through the darkness.

Chapter Three

“Here Taste.” Milo handed Gabrielle a wooden spoon dripping with broth and rice. “What do you think?”

Gabrielle thought her dad’s face was too gray and too exhausted-looking, that’s what she thought. She kept her opinion to herself and took the spoon. Tasted. A complex mix of flavors burst on her tongue, and she sighed with pleasure. Her dad’s version of jambalaya might not be authentic New Orleans, but it was a feast for the senses. “I think it’s perfect, Pa. Best you’ve ever made.”

“Good.” Milo snatched the spoon from her and stirred the huge pot of rice, tomatoes, chicken, broth and sausage. Pale green celery dotted the red and white. Next to the stove, piles of translucent shrimp shimmered in a heap on a bright green ceramic platter. “But it needs a touch more red pepper.”

“Maybe,” she agreed. “But don’t make it too spicy, Pa.”

Not looking at her, he sprinkled pepper flakes carefully over the simmering mixture. “The boy. Oliver.”

“Oliver.” Gabby nodded. She didn’t know whether to hope that Joe and his son would ring the doorbell or hope they wouldn’t.

Every time she thought of Joe, her tummy fluttered, her pulse raced and she felt—agitated.

All this internal turmoil must mean she’d be disappointed if they canceled.

Or maybe it meant she didn’t want to face the knowing glint in Joe Carpenter’s brown eyes again.

What did she want?

She sensed that it was crucial that she figure out for herself what she’d wanted for herself in returning to Bayou Bend.

She looked around the homey kitchen with its worn wood cabinets and old linoleum floor. Milo’s banged-up copperbottomed pots hung from stainless steel hooks fixed into ceiling beams. On the counter over the double sink, the deep pink buds of a Christmas cactus hinted of the promise of the season, a reminder that darkness would end in light.

Spicy scents of past and present mingled with memories in a mixture as rich as Milo’s jambalaya, scents evoking joy and laughter and warmth from earlier years.

Like the cactus, happiness was a prickly-leaved plant waiting to bloom.