The Mistletoe Effect (9 page)

He fingered the hem of the dress shirt. “How am I supposed to get to my job if you take my only clothes?”

Oops.
That was an excellent point, one she hadn’t considered in her haste. If only Wendell and Haylie had left their luggage. “I …”

Amusement lightened his features. “I’m teasing you. I’ll figure it out. Like I said, you look better in that tux than I did. Go on and get out of here, woman.” With a hand on the back of her neck, he pulled her in for another kiss. “See you tonight.”

Chapter Four

Decker would’ve loved to claim that this was his first morning-after walk through the resort while dressed in nothing but a robe and a pair of boots, but his whiskey-soaked memories said otherwise. The rule of thumb in such circumstances was to hold your head high and own it, channeling Hugh Hefner, like there was nothing more natural in the world than a full-grown man striding through a crowd while dressed in red velour.

He got a lot of second and third looks from resort guests and even one slow, admiring perusal by a cluster of young women who looked to be members of a bridal party. He laid the charm on with a smile and a wink but kept moving. Carina hadn’t been the only one who was late for work.

Decker usually arrived at the stable by 6:00 a.m. sharp, seven days a week, seeing as how horses weren’t all that accepting of the human concept of weekends and holidays. It was a rancher’s schedule, like the kind Decker had grown up with until his seventeenth birthday, when his dad died. He loved the cowboy lifestyle—except for every now and then when he found himself in bed with a beautiful woman, making apologies for slipping away before the sun rose.

If his first morning with Carina was any indication, that wasn’t going to be an issue because she had an even more demanding work schedule than his. While he prided himself on his work ethic, when he’d woken that morning and seen the time he’d been confident his employees had picked up the slack, an assumption he’d confirmed when he’d found his cell phone in the pile of stuff that’d been emptied from his tux pants’ pockets onto the dresser. He’d missed a few calls from stable employees and a feed supplier, as well as a text from Manuel that read:
Got things under control here. Go ahead and take the day off, Senor Dragon.

Wincing at the realization that it was going to be a while before he lived down that lame-ass dragon line he’d said to Carina, he’d texted Manuel back his thanks for taking care of business and that he’d be at the stable within the hour. Then he packed his belongings into a laundry service bag he found in the closet, donned the robe, slipped into his boots, and bid farewell to the luxury suite.

He was almost out of the main resort building and had the employee-only hallway door in his sights at the back of the lobby when a familiar voice stopped him in his tracks.

“There he is, my new grandson-in-law!” Granny June’s booming twang cut across the room.

Closing his eyes, Decker squelched a cringe. He was fond of June Briscoe—Granny June, as she insisted everyone call her—in the way people felt affection for their drunk uncles at family reunions, but he was late for work and dressed in a bathrobe and found his patience lacking.

He made a slow about-face in her direction and wasn’t surprised to see that many of the resort guests in the lobby were studying him in all his Hugh Hefner glory. Nor was he surprised to see Granny June hustling his way, her smartphone glued to her hand and trailed by a beleaguered-looking, video-camera-toting man and a sharply dressed brunette Decker recognized as the
Wedding World
journalist.

Decker might be cringing on the inside, but he’d been raised to respect his elders and so forced a giant smile to his lips. “Granny June, what a nice surprise. You’re up and at ’em bright and early on this glorious winter day.”

“That I am, sonny.” She petted Decker’s arm. “My word, this is a plush robe. Very fancy. Y’all see this?” She aimed the question at the camera. Judging by the red “record” light, Decker could only assume it was rolling. “We provide only the best accommodations to our newlyweds here at Briscoe Ranch Resort.” To Decker, she added, “How did you and my granddaughter find the honeymoon suite last night? Top rate, am I right?”

She prodded him with her elbow, then nodded at the camera as if to let him know where he needed to direct his answers.

“Uh, yes, ma’am. Very nice.”

The journalist pointed her pen at Decker. “It came as a surprise to everyone I spoke with that when Haylie Briscoe called off her wedding, you and Haylie’s sister, Carina, were ready to step in and get married. How did that come about?”

Good question. One Decker wasn’t prepared to give a public answer to. And definitely not on camera. He struggled to recall the story Ty Briscoe had told in his speech at the wedding reception. “Well, Carina … uh … Carina and I …”

Granny laughed and batted at the air. “It’s the most romantic story.” With a hand braced on Decker’s arm, she squared herself to the camera and began. “Decker, here, had been planning to pop the question to Carina for a while. He got my blessing and Carina’s daddy’s blessing on the sly like any good Texas boy would, but—the sweet thang—he didn’t want to overshadow the big day of his intended’s little sister.”

The journalist’s mouth opened and closed, as though she was as surprised by the story as Decker.

Prodded by a quick squeeze of Granny’s hand on his arm, he nodded and said the one thing that seemed to fit just about any situation. “Yes, ma’am.”

“That’s right,” Granny continued. “He was so lovesick for our Carina that he could barely stand it, watching Haylie and Wendell get hitched instead of him. So even though Carina was hemming and hawing and not thinking she was ready, he threw caution to the wind and wooed Carina into a spontaneous wedding. And, as you saw last night, she said yes. I tell you, there’s no denying the influence of the Mistletoe Effect. Even couples who aren’t planning to get married find their love here during December.”

In the future, anytime Decker was tempted to believe Granny June was losing her marbles he ought to remember this moment when she spun a perfect, sound-bite-friendly lie of a marketing gem, all while maintaining a death grip on both his arm and her smartphone.

After giving the journalist a chance to finish scribbling on her notepad, Granny lassoed an arm around her, then Decker’s necks. “Time for a photograph. Get in close, y’all.”

The journalist played along, but when the cameraman just stood there filming them, Granny added in a scolding tone that seemed trademarked by all the grandmothers, “What’s a matter with you? Set that camera down and get on in here for the photo. Pronto!”

With a shimmer of panic in his eyes, the cameraman did exactly that. He wedged in close to Granny, who thrust her phone up. “Everybody get in close, now, and keep your chins up to get rid of those neck wrinkles. And smile.”

The flash left Decker blinking in recovery from what could only be classified as the most bizarre group selfie of his life—and that was saying something, because he’d been roped into posing for hundreds of group photos with bridal parties, bachelor and bachelorette parties, and resort guests taking riding lessons.

While the journalist went back to writing on her pad and the cameraman retrieved his camera, Granny June got busy working the touch screen of her phone, scrolling and typing like a pro—or a teenager. “Oh, they’ll love this on Facebook. Addison, I’ll be sure to tag your magazine, right after I text the photo to Decker’s new bride.”

Decker had one grandmother who was still living and he wasn’t sure she knew what a text was, much less Facebook.

The next moment, Granny June spotted another set of newlyweds near the Spanish tile fountain. Looping an arm around the journalist’s elbow, Granny June took off across the lobby, hollering “yoo-hoo” and waving her phone at the couple.

Decker watched them go, shaking his head. Perhaps more perplexing than Granny June’s mastery of modern technology was that her smartphone obsession didn’t exactly mesh with her old-world superstitions and sensibility. Then again, her obvious business and technological savvy had Decker wondering about the possibility that Granny was merely putting on a good show about the existence of the Mistletoe Effect and its subsequent danger of being jinxed.

Too late to worry about that now. Besides, he knew when he agreed to the marriage deal with Carina that he was turning himself into a walking/talking advertisement for Briscoe Ranch Resort weddings. That was kind of the point of the whole fiasco. Well, for everyone else, anyway. Decker’s motivations revolved around a certain woman who’d stolen his clothes.

Wondering where in the resort she might be at the moment, he did a quick scan of the lobby. No Carina. The twinge of disappointment he felt had him predicting that his head would be on a swivel all day, if only to catch a glimpse of his bride. Just thinking the word
bride
had his body stirring to life all over again.

Scoffing at himself, he put his back to the room and shouldered through the employee-only hallway door, then out a side entrance where a cluster of golf carts sat ready to ferry the staff around the resort. His house sat about a half mile away on the south end of the property, over a few rolling hills and just beyond the stables. He could walk it no problem but didn’t fancy a stroll over the grounds given his current state of undress. He kept a golf cart master key on his key ring and so slid into the driver’s seat of the nearest cart.

The morning air was cold on his legs, but not unbearable given that the sun had crested the hilltops. He tucked his robe securely around his legs lest he run the risk of the wind flapping his rope up to reveal more leg than he was willing to bare and took off along the winding path toward the stable—the only possible route to get home unless he attempted some serious off-roading.

He was passing the far side of the stable, keeping his eyes averted from the smattering of workers and resort guests in case they sensed his presence, and had his house in his sights when he heard a wolf whistle. He was still looking around for the source when Manuel stepped into the path of the golf cart, a huge grin on his face.

Cursing under his breath, Decker rolled to a stop and gestured toward his house. “I’m within spitting distance of my front door, but I can’t seem to get there and I’ve been trying for a half hour. You think we could save the razzing you’re about to give me until I have a few more clothes on?”

Manuel rubbed his chin in a mock-serious show of contemplation. “I don’t know, boss. I think red’s your color. I’m not even going to ask what happened to your clothes.”

“That’s a wise call.”

The next thing Decker knew, Manuel was dropping into the passenger seat, looking far more somber than he had a few seconds before. “In all seriousness, I need to give you a heads-up about something.”

“Shoot.”

Manuel glanced around, which only fed Decker’s curiosity. “I had coffee with Yolanda in the break room this morning and we heard some talk that you’re not going to like.”

Yolanda was Manuel’s girlfriend and worked in Housekeeping. “Well, spit it out then.”

Manual lowered his voice. “People are making speculations about whether Ty forced you to marry Carina, shotgun wedding style.”

Decker rotated his suddenly too-tight jaw. He strangled the steering wheel, careful to keep his voice calm and even. “That’s the rumor?”

Manuel scratched at a splatter of dried mud on his jeans, looking uncomfortable. “That’s why I thought you should know. They’re saying Ty was fed up having two unwed daughters, what with Carina acting like she’s married to her clipboard and all, and that the only way she could get a man was if her daddy dearest found one for her.”

It’d been a long time since Decker’s blood had boiled so hot that his skin got jumpy and his fists tightened of their own volition. Spoiling for a fight was a young fool’s game, but the urge to punch his fist through something or someone was strong. “You can take that back right now. That’s my wife you’re talking about.”

This time, referring to Carina as his wife felt different than it had a few minutes earlier or last night. That had been titillating—a direct reference to their binding sexual agreement. This, right here with Manuel, was about respect and loyalty for the woman whom Decker had vowed to protect and honor. Didn’t matter that she was only his wife as a scheme or that his vows hadn’t been sanctified by the law, he had a duty to her. Beyond duty, it pissed him off to hear disparaging remarks made about a smart, hardworking, successful woman.

Manuel threw his hands up in surrender. “Hey, not me, man. I like Carina. That’s why I’m telling you. I’d want to know if people were talking shit about Yolanda.”

Decker drew a sharp breath, reining in his anger. “Point taken. And thank you. That was the right move.”

“One more thing, but don’t shoot the messenger, okay?”

“What is it?” Decker ground out.

“Cord McGraw at the front desk started a betting pool about how soon you’ll be getting a raise and a promotion as a reward for marrying her.”

Decker could see how it might make sense to a bunch of juvenile, gossiping degenerates like apparently his coworkers were that Ty, given his one-track business mind, would reward Decker in such a way. “Then I guess I’d better make sure that doesn’t happen.”

“I was hoping you’d say that, because I’ve got a hundred bucks in the pool that say you won’t get a raise or a promotion.”

Decker whipped his face in Manual’s direction so fast that his neck crackled.

“Kidding,” Manuel said in his signature droll monotone. He pushed out of the golf cart and shook out his legs. “So it is true. You married her?”

He hated lying to his friend and most loyal employee, but what choice did Decker have? “Yes, I married her. And I’m proud of it.”

Manuel’s brows flickered up. “Then congratulations for real. Now, go get dressed. You look like an idiot.”

Decker might have thrown a joking insult back at Manuel, but he was too wrapped up in anger for wisecracking. Hands still gripping the steering wheel too hard, he continued on to his house. Twenty minutes later, he’d showered, shaved, and dressed, but he hadn’t lost the urge to stomp into the resort’s main offices and start knocking heads together and making threats to defend Carina’s good name.