Jennifer Snow - The Mistletoe Melody

“I can’t say I’ve ever been to a Christmas-tree farm. Growing up, we had an artificial tree—not quite the same experience, I bet.”

Brad grinned. “Yeah, that’s a little different. My youngest sister, Breanne, and her husband, Troy, took over running the farm during the holidays four years ago when my dad got sick. Of all us kids, she’s the only one who still lives in Brookhollow. She and Troy live in the family farmhouse with my mom and their two children, Gracie and Darius.” The mention of his young nephew made him pause as a wave of guilt washed over him. The six-year-old boy suffered from what the doctors called select mutism. He refused to talk to most people, with the exceptions of his older sister, Gracie, and for some reason, Brad. It had made Brad’s absence from home over the past few years that much tougher, especially on Darius.

“I did my research on Brookhollow last night,” Bridget said, “and it seems the town has some impressive holiday traditions, as well—sleigh rides, an ice-sculpting contest...”

The small town of less than ten thousand did indeed do Christmas in a big way. As a kid, Brad had loved the festivities, and spending the holidays in Nashville the past three years just hadn’t been the same. Still, returning home hadn’t felt like an option. His past mistakes haunted him even more the closer he got to town. He let out a deep breath. Like it or not, he would have to face them now.

“Yeah, if it’s Christmas spirit you’re looking for, Brookhollow’s the place.”

* * *

ARRIVING IN HIS HOMETOWN four hours later, the television camera crew and Bridget had gone straight to the Brookhollow Inn, the local B and B, to check in. Brad had continued on in the rental car toward his family home. Now as he drove the familiar roads, the knot in his stomach grew tighter. The last time he’d gone through this area was the day after Patrick’s funeral. Despite his still being confined to a wheelchair in a disoriented state, he’d known he had to get away. Against the doctor’s recommendations and his family’s protests, he’d enlisted the help of his good friend Luke Dawson. With Dawson’s Architecture working on large projects in New York, Luke had sublet an apartment in the city for himself and his crew, and he’d let Brad stay there during his recovery, to be closer to Propel Records. It was that fragile period during which Brad had feared the record company might cancel the entire recording deal. He owed a great deal to Luke. He pulled onto the shoulder to dial his friend’s number, and then put on the headset and pulled back onto the road.

Luke answered on the third ring. “Hey, man. So, are the rumors true?”

“Depends on which ones you’re referring to,” Brad said, slowing again as the two lanes narrowed to one leading onto Main Street.

“Well, my beautiful new bride is now co-owner of the Brookhollow Inn, and their reservation system shows three rooms currently being held for Heartland Country Television—I know they’re not here to interview me.”

“That’s right, I’d heard Vic bought the old inn last year. And again, I’m so sorry I missed the wedding.” Luke’s high school sweetheart had returned to Brookhollow last Christmas after twelve years in New York City. Soon after, her and Luke had gotten married. Brad had been performing at a Labor Day Red Cross charity event in Oklahoma and hadn’t been able to make it to the September long-weekend wedding. He chose to believe he would have manned up and made it for his good friend’s wedding if his record contract hadn’t demanded otherwise.

“Believe me, your gift made up for it.” Luke laughed. “Victoria said the day at the Mandara Spa in the Bahamas was exactly the relaxation she’d needed. So, when do you arrive?”

“Just got here,” Brad said, taking in the festive sights lining both sides of Main Street. The lampposts, decorated in large, white snowflakes, were coming to life as dusk fell over the town, and the storefront windows on both sides of the street were illuminated with holiday displays. He waved as he passed Mr. O’Hanlon, owner of the horse stables in town, who was waiting near the town park’s entrance for the sleigh to arrive so he could fill it for the first ride of the evening. As Brad approached the corner of Main Street and Commerce Avenue and the bowling alley’s neon sign came into view, he couldn’t help but ask Luke, “Hey, does Melody still work at the alley?” The last he’d heard, his old friend was working several jobs, and bartending at the local hot spot was one of them. He prayed that was no longer the case, that things were getting easier for the Myers family. He’d respected Melody’s wishes and had ended his attempts to contact them, but time had yet to erase them from his thoughts.

“I think she might’ve quit last week—got a promotion with Play Hard Sports. At least that’s what Vic’s friend Heather said. Heather’s taking over Melody’s job at the bar.”

Relief flowed through Brad. Maybe Melody was doing okay. “I guess that store wasn’t such a bad idea, after all,” he teased his friend. The big-chain sporting-goods store had been the reason Victoria Mason had returned to Brookhollow the year before. She’d been working for an acquisition firm that was looking to buy out the town’s local store in order to open Play Hard. At the time, Luke had owned Legends Sporting Goods and had been reluctant to sell it—though his success rate in refusing Victoria anything she wanted had never been great.

“Yeah, yeah, like I haven’t heard that a million times in the last year. I can admit when I’m wrong. So how long are you in town?”

The million-dollar question. The recording was scheduled to be done in three days, and he’d planned to leave as soon as they finished. He knew in three days, he’d probably see a lot of old faces, but he hoped to avoid as many confrontations as possible. He doubted Patrick’s family and friends had forgiven him for the accident. Hell, he hadn’t forgiven himself. And he didn’t want his presence in town to ruin anyone’s holiday season. “Just a few days,” he answered.

“Well, I hope you weren’t planning to leave without playing a few rounds of pool.”

“Of course not.” He checked the time on the dash. It was after seven already. His niece and nephew would probably be in bed. One quick game with Luke might be just what he need before facing his family. He wasn’t sure what kind of welcome they’d give him after him being away for three years and now expecting them to go along with this publicity stunt. He swallowed yet another pang of guilt. Yep, he was definitely too chicken to go home just yet.

CHAPTER THREE

“‘NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS.’ Can you believe he said that?” Melody asked, hanging a tangled set of white Christmas lights on the mirror behind the bar. If she’d had her way, they would have been in the trash can. But the bowling alley’s owner, Mr. Ericksen, who lived just outside of Brookhollow and rarely visited the bar, had of course decided to make an appearance earlier that day and had wondered why the festive decorations had yet to be hung. With the week she was having, Melody marveled at her restraint in not telling the older man where he could put his decorations.

“Kids are getting lippier all the time,” Heather said, pouring several beers for the over-sixty men’s bowling league, their only patrons on the slow Monday night. “I’m just so disappointed you didn’t get to finish that exam. It sounds like you were doing well. And you’re sure you have to wait three months before writing it again?”

“That’s what my boss’s assistant said when I called this afternoon, but I’m not done trying to convince them otherwise,” she said. She climbed down from the bar stool, only to notice the string of lights wasn’t straight. “Seriously, these lights are going to be the death of me.”