It Must Have Been the Mistletoe... (17 page)

“T
YLER
M
ICHAEL
R
AMSEY,
what's wrong with you?”

Tyler winced, slowly lowering the milk carton from his mouth to see his mom glaring from the doorway.

“I'm home,” he said, offering up his most charming smile instead of an excuse. Excuses never mattered with Elizabeth Ramsey. A petite, dark-haired firecracker, the woman saw through bullshit like she had X-ray vision or something.

“And you decided to come over to my place for a refresher course in table manners?”

“Well, you have food.” He lifted his other hand to show the huge, glittery green, tree-shaped sugar cookie he'd been washing down.

“Put that away,” she ordered with a roll of her eyes. “If you want to eat, you'll eat real food.”

Pretending that hadn't been his goal all along, Tyler put the cookie on the counter and poured the rest of the milk into the glass his mom handed him. He filled her in on his trip, sans mention of Rita, as he watched her whip up her special blueberry pancakes.

“Where'd Randy go?” he asked as she set the first few in front of him along with the syrup. “He was in a mood when I called, but he wouldn't say why.”

“Tyler, you have to stop worrying about your brother. Randy's a big boy. He doesn't need you riding to his rescue.” She flipped two more pancakes onto his plate and followed up with a gentle swat to the back of his head. “He especially doesn't need you doing anything stupid like getting into yet another bar fight, beating up some poor guy or doing anything else that makes the ladies I lunch with whisper in outrage.”

“I don't—”

“Three months ago, Randy was home for summer break and some bruiser cut him off. What'd you do?” Elizabeth went back to the stove, tossing a glare at Tyler. “You went to the guy's work and called him out on it.”

“He dented Randy's car,” Tyler defended around a mouthful of rich blueberry pancake.

“You punched him in the church parking lot where he was doing yardwork.”

Tyler winced.

“And then there was the time you wanted to drive to Nashville to accost his philosophy teacher for giving him a C.”

“Randy said—”

“Or the time you wanted to go after the boy who got the job at the supermarket instead of Randy. You glared at that child every time he bagged my vegetables.”

“He bruised the eggplant.”

“Tyler.”

He gave a bad-tempered shrug and stabbed his fork into his pancake. Wasn't it bad enough he'd blown things with Rita over his brother? Now he was getting a lecture for it.

“Is this going to go on much longer?” Tyler asked, aggrieved. “If so, I need more pancakes.”

All it took was a single arched brow for Tyler to offer his plate, along with a “Please.”

“It could go on all day, now couldn't it? The point is, you have to stop jumping to Randy's defense. He's not a skinny, helpless little kid any longer.”

“So you're saying I should just let Randy get hurt?”

“I'm saying that the things you think are a big deal usually aren't.”

Appetite gone, Tyler stared at the fresh stack of blueberry goodness on his plate.

“But—”

“Tyler, do you want to live your life or live Randy's?”

His sigh was worthy of his ten-year-old self, which was how old he'd been the first time he'd heard that question.

And finally, eighteen years later, he got the message.

A faint hope glimmered in his heart. Tracing a pattern in the syrup with his fork, he stared at his plate for a few moments, wondering if he was crazy.

Then he realized it didn't matter. Crazy or not, he had to try. He needed Rita.

“Just so ya know,” he told his mom as he got up to carry his plate to the sink, “I'm probably bringing someone home for Christmas dessert.”

Elizabeth's swift intake of breath showed she knew the significance. But in her usual, unflappable way, she tilted her head and only asked, “Anyone I know?”

“Rita Cole,” he said, his jaw jutting out as he waited.

Her smile melted away his last doubt. “Rita Mae? Oh, how is she doing? I hear from her mama all the stories of her travels and can't wait to see her again. What a fun girl she was. And—” she stopped gushing to give her eldest son a shrewd look “—perfect, I think. For you, that is.”

“You and Rita's mom are on speaking terms?”

Elizabeth smiled, amused. “After your prom, I felt it necessary to meet the possible mother of my future grandchild.”

“Shit.”

She laughed, patting his hand in that indulgent mom way. “Despite that, Amanda and I have become good friends over the years. She even helps out every once in a while at the antiques store.”

A lightbulb shaped like a peace offering flashed in Tyler's head.

“Rita is perfect,” he acknowledged. “But I screwed up a little. Will you help me fix things?”

 

T
HERE WAS NO PLACE LIKE
home on Christmas Eve. Rita sighed, cupping her hands around the steaming cup of cocoa, and breathed in the delicious comfort of her mom's favorite cure-all.

Just like the cocoa meant home, so did the music playing a gentle holiday medley in the background. All Rita's life there had been music. Always. Other than their devotion to each other and their daughters, Eric and Amanda's main focus in life was music. After years of performing, they were now happy to teach and pass their love on to others.

Which was why Rita had wanted to give them music for Christmas. Special music. Music that would not only show how much she'd appreciated them, but prove that they no longer had to worry, stress or wonder where they'd gone wrong with her.

And what'd she spent the money on? A plane ticket home. Why? Because she'd been so freaking stupid.

So again this year, her holiday offerings would take on the equivalent of a grade-schooler with some glitter and tasty paste.

“Rita?”

“In here, Mom.”

Amanda Cole came into the room, a smaller, leaner version of her daughter. She shot Rita one quick, encompassing glance, then flipped the tree lights on so the eve-darkened room was drenched in celebratory color.

“Making Christmas wishes?” her mother asked with a smile as she settled next to Rita on the couch.

“I'm not sure what I'd wish for,” Rita said, since murder and dismemberment seemed so unholidaylike.

“What's the matter, sweetie?”

Rita started to offer up one of her typical lines of BS. Some “can't worry Mom at the holidays” fluff that would pacify her worries and leave Rita to be miserable in private.

But the steady look in her mother's green eyes, their shape and intensity so like her own, froze the words in Rita's throat.

“I think I'm in…”

She couldn't get the words out.

“In trouble?” her mom offered hesitantly.

Rita shook her head.

Amanda sat on the arm of the sofa to get a better look at her daughter's face in the flashing colors of the tree lights. A quick study, a widening of her own eyes, then she puffed out a breath.

“In…love?”

A hot sting burned Rita's eyelids. She bit her lip to keep from letting the burn turn to actual tears.

“It sucks,” she declared.

“Oh, sweetie.” The wealth of love, understanding and empathy in those simple words was too much for Rita. Heated misery poured down her cheeks as her mother enfolded her in soft arms, the familiar scent of Chanel as comforting as the hug.

“Who is he?” Amanda asked as the crying jag wore down.

Rita winced. For an entire second, she debated not telling. After all, she and Tyler were through. But she'd never been able to lie to her mom. Sidestep? Yes. Direct lie? Never.

“Tyler Ramsey,” she mumbled against her mom's shoulder.

Silence. Then, “Well, your daddy's got a strong heart. He'll bounce back from the shock fast enough.”

Rita gasped, making her mother laugh and give her another hug.

“Don't worry, sweetie.”

In spurts and jags, Rita filled her mom in on the ride home, the hopes she'd let herself have, then the heartbreak she'd felt when she'd realized that Tyler could never see past the wild side of her enough to really care.

Anger drying her tears, she punched the pillow she'd been hugging. “It was all some stupid game to him. A setup to make sure I didn't get in the way of his family holiday and give his brother ideas again.”

“Now that doesn't sound right.” At Rita's look, Amanda shrugged. “I'm not saying he didn't set out to cause a ruckus. That sounds like Tyler. That boy never engages his brain before he jumps into gear. But why would he give you a ride home if he was that malicious, Rita Mae? Maybe he was worried about his brother, but that's habit. Tyler had to step into the role of head of that family awfully young and he takes the job seriously.”

Frowning, Rita threaded her fingers through the fringe on the pillow. “I thought you didn't like him. You and Dad were so mad at him for what he did to Alison.”

“Well, you have to admit, Alison had a little hand in what happened, too,” Amanda said with a laugh. “She just had to get her revenge. In addition to being smart, talented and clever, all my girls know how to take care of themselves.”

All. That included her. Rita's heart melted. That simple statement, not even directed at her, made her realize that maybe some of her freaking out that her parents didn't have faith in her wasn't justified.

“Was he out of line with you, Rita Mae?”

“No,” Rita said immediately. “Tyler was never disrespectful. He acted like I was this combination of Bettie Page, Madonna and that really smart money chick who has a show on TV. He actually thinks more of me than I do of myself.”

“How so?”

Rita leaned back so she could watch her mother's face as
she told her about Tyler's career suggestions and all the ideas he'd prompted her to come up with. Then, shoulders knotted, she waited.

“And what do you think about this?”

Rita winced, not wanting to commit one way or another until she knew if her mom approved or not.

Amanda arched her brow. Rita sucked in a deep breath, then puffed it out.

“I'll admit, it's nothing I ever dreamed of doing. And it's not fancy or special or one of those great careers you and Dad would be proud to brag about.” Then she added with a shrug, “But I think I'd be good at it, Mom. I think I could make it a success.”

“First and foremost, if it makes you happy, isn't it a dream career?” Amanda asked. “Darling, the only way you could disappoint us is if you gave up. On your dreams, or on yourself. You're the only one judging yourself, not us. But I'll save that lecture for later. When your dad's here to enjoy it.”

The assurance didn't wipe away all of Rita's doubts or confidence issues. But it did make her realize just how much those issues were of her own making. With a watery smile, she wiped away the tears dripping off her chin and wished she'd stop leaking.

Then with a deep breath, she sucked in her courage, gave her mom a quick hug and slid off the couch.

“Where're you going?” her mom asked.

“I figured out what I want for Christmas,” Rita declared. “Now I just have to go get him.”

“That's my girl,” Amanda declared. “I'm heading over to drop gifts at the Burgoons'. Call if you need me.”

Rita hadn't done more than repair her makeup and fluff her hair when the doorbell rang. She hurried to open it, wanting to send the visitors on their way so she could go after her man.

But surprise, surprise. Like a special delivery from Santa, Tyler stood there on the front porch, a huge box in his arms
and a charming smile on his face. She could see the nerves in his sexy blue eyes, though.

“Hey, Rita,” he greeted. “Wanna ask me in before the snow messes up this pretty present?”

Shocked, she stepped aside so he could cross over and put the big box on the dining table.

Sure, she'd been all set to chase him down, but now that he was here, looking so gorgeous and expectant, she had no clue what to say. So she cocked her hip to one side, crossed her arms under her breasts and lifted her chin.

“I, um, brought this,” he said, pointing at the box.

“For me?” she asked, not really caring but too anxious to ask why he was really there. “What is it?”

“This?” Tyler looked over at the festively wrapped gift, complete with ribbon, bells and a sprig of holly, and shrugged. “It's an apology, a bribe or a peace offering. Whichever's necessary.”

“All of that in one box?” Rita stepped closer to poke at the large, heavy package. “Can I open it?”

“It's not really for you,” he said with a sheepish smile.

“You brought me an apology, bribe and offering that belongs to someone else?”

Now that she was closer, Rita could see the doubt in those sexy blue eyes as he shoved his hands in the front pockets of his jeans.

“It's your victrola,” he said in a hushed tone. “It's my fault you spent your money on a plane ticket. I guess you haven't kept up much on town happenings to know my mom bought the antiques store about five years ago. She told me you'd called the store to say you couldn't make the last payment so I made it for you.”

“You did?” She forced herself to consider reality this time, not just what she wished to see. “Why? Out of guilt?”

“Yes. No.” Tyler shoved a hand through his hair and gave her a frustrated look. “I mean, I did feel guilty about being
such a jerk, and about screwing up your Christmas. But that's not why I did it. I know how much it meant to you. How hard you'd worked for it. I just wanted…”

He shrugged, then gave her a look so heart-meltingly sweet her knees went soggy. “I just wanted everyone to see how wonderful you were. How sweet and thoughtful.”