Moonlight and Mistletoe Read online

  An unusually frigid breeze swooped beneath the hem of Shayna’s skirt as she scanned the crowd who’d turned out for today’s ground breaking ceremony. Her teeth chattered as she snuggled deeper into her green-and-gold Fighting Lions letterman sweater. Had she known winter planned to make a surprise appearance today, she’d have skipped the sweater’s sentimentality and gone with her more practical—and much warmer—parka.

  Numb fingers fluffed her hair out around her ears as she fought back sentimental tears. She loved this little tight-knit community. It was the day before Thanksgiving, with temperatures suspended in the mid-thirties, and still nearly a hundred folks were gathered in the town square to celebrate the official start of the James Miller Youth Center.

  For nearly three years, she’d dedicated herself to making the youth center a reality, helping with everything from fundraising to building plans to investigating the best playground surface material. It was scheduled to open next spring, and she—and her newly completed social services degree—had already accepted the director’s position. But to have the place named after her daddy? She couldn’t imagine a greater honor.

  He’d suffered a stroke and died seven years ago, so when the town council made the announcement earlier this year, she’d been too overjoyed to speak. They wanted to honor James Miller for his accomplishments with the high school football team—in the South, there was little that could top three consecutive state titles. But for her, his greatest accomplishment, the reason she celebrated his memory every day, was the fact that he’d saved her life. Blood relation or not, he was the only true parent she’d ever known. He’d stepped in when no one else wanted her and had chosen to love her and care for her and give her someone to love in return. He’d made them a family.

  “How’re you holding up, sweetie?” Lindy, who’d been smart enough to bundle up, sidled over to Shayna.

  “Other than wishing I’d worn long pants, I’m fine.”

  “This weather is a shocker. Weatherman’s calling for a thirty percent chance of snow for Thanksgiving.”

  “Judging by the wind blowing up my skirt, I believe him.”

  “What are you two pretty ladies whispering about over here?” Travis Monroe asked as he slipped an arm around his wife’s expanding waist and pulled her snug to his side.

  “Just griping about the weather,” Lindy told him.

  “Typical farm girls,” Travis teased. He nodded toward Mayor Evans, who stood behind the podium as he got the ground breaking underway. “You ready for your big speech?”

  “Yep,” Shayna assured him. “I’m going to keep it short and sweet so we can all get back to our warm homes.”

  Just then, the mayor announced her name, and the crowd cheered and clapped enthusiastically. With a deep breath and a silent prayer, she took the podium. “I want to thank all of you for braving this unusual weather. Daddy would have been honored—and embarrassed—by this wonderful turnout.”

  Her voice began to wobble, forcing her to pause for a second, clear her throat, gather her composure. “James Miller was more than just a great coach. He was a great man. His calm, quiet demeanor hid an inner strength he gladly loaned to anyone who needed an extra push in life, and as you all know, he was uncomfortable with public kudos.”

  The sea of heads surrounding the podium nodded as one.

  “I’ll never forget the paper’s headline after that first trip to state. ‘Coach Miller Wins Title.’ I was so proud, but Daddy said it wasn’t true. He didn’t win that title, the players did. So he rewrote that article, naming and praising the entire thirty-seven member squad. He wanted each of those boys to bask in the pride of their accomplishments.”

  A mumble rippled through the crowd, growing into another burst of applause. Several teary faces stared back at her.

  “That was typical. James Miller did great things every day and always preferred to shift the accolades to someone else. So today, in honor of his memory and because he’s no longer here to deflect the praise—” she paused for a second as she accepted the gold-ribbon-embellished shovel the mayor handed her “—I proudly dedicate this site as the future home of the James Miller Youth Center, and I challenge us all to go out every day and do something great, just like he taught us to.”

  Sniffling back the tears she could no longer contain, she gingerly placed her high-heeled shoe over the shovel’s edge and ceremoniously scooped out a bit of preloosened dirt. She lifted watery eyes, smiling and nodding at the crowd. Several loved and familiar faces smiled back, sending a wave of support and encouragement her way, helping her put a plug on her emotions.

  Moving her gaze to the rear of the crowd, she spied an unanticipated and unwelcome spectator. Despite the icy nip in the air, a layer of cold sweat suddenly covered Shayna’s skin.

  Dark glasses protected his eyes, but his sun-bleached hair and blatantly expensive wool trench coat gave him away. The nerve of that man. What part of “not interested” did Kyle Anderson not understand?

  With an effort, she pulled her attention back to the mayor as he offered his own words of praise. She listened with half an ear, her stomach pitching as Kyle wove his way through the crowd. She felt the pressure of his regard like a high-beamed spotlight and knew the locals wouldn’t fail to notice a dashing, big-city stranger hanging around.

  If asked—and in Land’s Cross, being asked about your business was a sure bet—would he share his reasons for being in town? Would he blab about her unfortunate tie to Steven Walker?

  Feigning calm, she smiled and clapped as Mayor Evans drew the celebration to a close. Shayna’s inner wuss begged her to run as fast and far away as possible from the threat of Kyle’s presence. But her pride shushed her fear, giving her the strength to march calmly and confidently in his direction.

  Between them, the throng of well-wishers formed a gauntlet she had to kiss and hug her way through. By the time she stood face-to-face with Kyle, the community’s love and support had steadied her backbone. Land’s Cross was her turf. She had home field advantage. Let him take his best shot.

  She accepted his outstretched hand, her smile so brittle she feared her cheeks would crack. “Kyle Anderson. What an unexpected surprise.” She kept her voice as cordial as possible, hoping folks would assume he was as harmless as everyone else.

  “This was too important for me not to come.” He tugged her a few steps outside the crush before dropping her hand and leaning in to whisper, “Patty wanted to come, too, but I convinced her to give me one more chance before she traveled all this way.”

  Nausea boiled in her stomach at the mere idea of her bleach-blond bimbo mother invading Land’s Cross—her home, her sanctuary. Anger surged through her system, demanding action, but pure stubbornness kept her from bolting. “That sounds an awful lot like blackmail, Mr. Anderson.”

  “I prefer to think of it as smart negotiating, Ms. Miller. I gave you the opportunity to set a convenient, private time and place to discuss matters, but you’ve forced my hand.”

  The fact that he had a valid point fueled Shayna’s churning temper. Her stubborn refusal to return his calls had backfired. Big-time.

  Hyperaware of the curious looks shooting their way, she shifted her body farther from Kyle’s and nodded and waved at the nearest clutch of people.

  “Mr. Anderson, I admit that not taking your calls was cowardly, and I give you my word that I will rectify the mistake. But only if you promise to keep Patty away from me and my home.” She did her best to keep her face blank as she met Kyle’s stare. Displaying her panic would sink her cause.

  “Agreed.” He pointed to Dixie’s Diner across the street. “How about we get out of the cold and discuss Dr. Walker’s proposal over a hot cup of coffee?”

  “No. Not in public. We’ve given the gossips enough to chew on already. Besides, I’m busy right now.” Maintaining a forcefully civil expression, she nodded goodbye and started to turn back to the crowd.

  His hand snagged her wrist and stopped her escape. “Tomorr
ow then?”

  “Tomorrow’s Thanksgiving, and I’ll be busy then, too. You’ll have to wait till Friday.” She tugged her arm free and took a step backward. The heel of her shoe caught on a clump of dirt, and she started to stumble.

  Kyle reacted quickly, catching her around the waist and steadying her. Her chin grazed his broad chest. He smelled like fresh air and sun-warmed leather. For a split second, she entertained the fantasy of melting into him, of huddling into the heat that radiated from him, but his words instantly counteracted her body’s momentary weakness.

  “Don’t abuse my generosity, Ms. Miller. If I have to track you down again, I won’t be so understanding. Or subtle.”

  Alarmed by her own weakness as much as his audacity, she tipped her chin up and glared at him. “Turn me loose,” she ordered briskly.

  “If you insist.” He relaxed his hold immediately, and she scurried back a step.

  “Shayna? Everything okay over here?” Travis’s voice sounded deeper and meaner than usual. Grateful for the interruption, she turned to find Lindy and Travis shooting visual bullets over her shoulder.

  “You bet.” She hoped her big, goofy grin would help sell the lie. “Mr. Anderson was just leaving.”

  “Anderson?” Lindy’s brows rose. “From California?”

  “Yes ma’am.” Kyle flashed Lindy the same warm smile he’d shown the elderly couple back in Los Angeles, but here in Land’s Cross it missed its mark. Lindy’s expression didn’t soften one bit.

  Dropping the smile, he extended his hand to Travis and introduced himself. “Kyle Anderson.”

  Travis, a dyed-in-the-wool problem solver, accepted Kyle’s hand, but his gaze remained pinned on Shayna. She knew he’d see her nerves plain as day and do what he could to set things right. But this was one problem she had to solve herself.

  She spoke up quickly, before Travis could intervene. “Mr. Anderson, as I’ve explained, now is not a good time for me. Please call me later to discuss this matter.”

  “Certainly, Ms. Miller. I have your number.” A flash of something Shayna chose to interpret as respect lit Kyle’s sparkling blue eyes. “Until then.”

  Deliberately taunting her, he extended his hand for a goodbye shake. Refusing to be intimidated, she closed the gap and slipped her hand into his. Rather than immediately releasing it, he tugged her closer and lowered his voice.

  “The clock is ticking, Shayna. We will talk.” He leaned a smidge closer and added, “Soon.”

  His warm breath wafted against her cold ear. She couldn’t contain the shudder that danced down her spine, but privately, she insisted it was just the weather.

  As she watched, he climbed into a clean but wimpy gray rental car and drove off. Relief nearly buckled her knees.

  “Oooh, you were so right about the pretty boy thing.” Lindy’s excited voice recaptured Shayna’s attention.

  “Shayna, who was that guy? Are you sure everything’s okay?”

  Touched by Travis’s unwavering concern, she reached up and lovingly patted his cheek. “I’m fine, Papa Bear.” For now, at least. “I’ll explain everything tomorrow, okay? For now, I just want to go home and recharge.” She gave them both a quick hug and a kiss then dashed to the safety of her sturdy old hatchback. She cranked the engine and waited for the heater to warm up.

  Wishing for the hundredth time she’d never opened that stupid letter from her mother, Shayna forced her sticky transmission into gear and headed home. Mind spinning, she drove out of town and up the mountain to the cabin that had been in the Miller family for generations.

  Kyle’s dogged determination had her mind reeling. What in the world could Walker possibly want with her? He hadn’t shown her one iota of interest in twenty-five years. He darned sure hadn’t been interested all those nights Patty had passed out, leaving a very young Shayna essentially alone. And what about the times her mother had been arrested and Shayna had been shuffled into and around the overcrowded foster care system?

  No, the only person who’d cared for her then had been James Miller, the kindhearted schoolteacher who’d lived next door. He’d cared enough to petition the courts for temporary custody. A single man with no biological or legal ties. Talk about an uphill battle.

  And now, all these years later, Dr. Steven Walker pops up out of nowhere and sics his bulldog lawyer on her, egotistically expecting her to drop everything to accommodate his wishes?

  Well, James Miller’s daughter didn’t kowtow to bullies. She’d honor her word and give Kyle Anderson thirty minutes to speak his piece; then she’d send him and his sleazy client packing.

  Chapter Two

  Shayna snapped her eyes open and stared at the cabin’s vaulted ceiling, trying to figure out what had disturbed her nap. Snuffly snores drew her attention to the floor next to the couch, where her hundred-pound German shepherd snoozed. She rolled over and smiled at the sleeping giant—not much of a guard dog, but for her, Brinks was the perfect companion.

  She registered the muffled crunch of tires on gravel half a second before the sound of a car door slamming finally roused the dog—and answered the what-woke-me-up question. Brinks jumped to his feet and ran to the front window.

  She sat up just in time to see a masculine silhouette move across the curtain. Dread set her teeth on edge. She wasn’t surprised that Kyle Anderson had tried to follow her home, but she was flabbergasted that the stubborn fool had succeeded. There were no street signs on the mountain. Here, directions were given in terms of burned barns and tree stumps.

  She was still several steps from the door when he knocked. Brinks rushed forward, a low growl sneaking past his bared teeth. Shayna laid a reassuring hand on his head. “Sorry, pup, but his spoiled city hide is probably too tough to chew.”

  Secretly wishing she were ornery enough to ignore him, Shayna pushed back the curtain. Other than his flapping coattails and wind-tossed hair, it was like someone had superglued an immovable statue to her front porch. A two-hundred-year-old oak should be so sturdy.

  Over his shoulder, the sky sagged low and gray. While she’d napped, this morning’s bad weather had turned downright nasty. If the temperature kept falling, there’d be sleet before nightfall. Which made getting rid of her uninvited guest even more critical.

  Mentally gearing up for battle, she shooed Brinks out of the way and opened the door. A blast of frigid air whipped across the front porch, spilling a hunk of thick blond hair across Kyle’s forehead before racing through the narrow wedge of the open door.

  His gaze flicked over her, head to toe. She knew she looked sleep-rumpled and sloppy but darned if she’d fidget and primp for him. “Yes?” She didn’t hold the door open or invite him in out of the cold. Rudeness went against her grain, but sometimes a girl had to break the rules.

  His nose glowed Rudolph-red, yet he somehow managed to appear patiently inquisitive, as though he could wait all afternoon if need be. “You don’t look too busy at the moment. Perhaps now’s a better time for our discussion?”

  Shayna bit her cheek to keep her lips from curving. Despite her pique over this man’s nerve, she couldn’t help but admire his tenacity. He’d have made one heck of a defensive tackle. Eye on the quarterback and don’t stop running till you’ve mowed him down.

  Only problem was, that made her the quarterback—but she planned to stay on her toes till the end of this game. Which meant she had to maintain control.

  “Fine. But let’s make it quick. The storm’s moving in.” She stepped back and reluctantly invited him in.

  Kyle shuffled forward a step, and stopped immediately when Brinks issued a growled warning, his bared-tooth snout level with Kyle’s most vulnerable parts.

  She grabbed the dog’s leather collar and attempted to pull him back, but the mutt refused to budge. “As you see, he’s a mite overprotective, so you’d best mind your manners.”

  “Hey, boy.” Kyle spoke softly, holding his palm near Brinks’s snout. The dog took his time before accepting the offered sniff, and ra
ther than his customary lick of approval, Brinks backed off just enough for Kyle to enter, then sat, keeping their visitor well within his sights.

  Bolstered by the rare glimpse of Brinks’s underused guard dog skills, Shayna pushed the door closed against the wind’s pressure. She had promised to hear Kyle out. She hadn’t said a thing about being pleasant.

  “You’ve got fifteen minutes, Mr. Anderson. One cup of coffee and then you’re gone.”

  Kyle’s jaw ached with the effort of keeping his teeth from chattering. His custom-tailored suit and silk-lined Armani wool coat were no match for the frigid temperature and howling wind. He’d held on to his stern posture by willpower alone, but Christ, he’d been seconds from folding when she’d finally opened the door.

  Of course, he’d prefer death by icing to having that behemoth dog pin him to the wall by his balls. He wanted that partnership, but he didn’t want it that badly.

  Keeping one eye on Cujo, he assessed Shayna’s personal space, looking for insight into her character, the kind of impressions and vibes you couldn’t access through paper trails.

  The cabin’s spacious main room had the wide-open feel of a converted warehouse loft. In L.A., this space would rent for a small fortune. Wide-planked pine floors bore the scars and marks of old age beneath a sheen of polish. The furniture was an eclectic mix of new and old, littered with an abundance of odd-shaped pillows in every color imaginable. The overall effect was vivid and energetic, yet still homey and comfortable.

  “Great space.” He followed her to the kitchen, trying not to notice the sway of her full hips or the way her black leggings hugged her short but shapely legs.