Under the Mistletoe Read online

  “So she’s supporting the family on what she earns here?”

  “Oh no. That was a while ago, and I guess Dale sold one of those things he makes, so the money’s better now. Family’s taken care of, and the kid doesn’t even have a limp. It was rough on them all for a while, though.” He shrugged. “Dorothy’s a good girl. Good worker.”

  “Uh huh. Looks like she works real hard.” Charles saw her cleaning a table that Lila Sue had pranced by, picking up the tip. Lila Sue seemed to stand around and visit with the customers a lot, or sit down at the tables and visit with them. Lila Sue threw her head back and laughed at something one of the guys said. Even in the noisy room her laughter was loud. Charles glanced at Dorothy, who subtly shook her head as the sound rolled over her.

  Poor little Cinderella. She needs a Prince Charming. Well, he had a month here. Maybe they could have some laughs together. It would cheer Dorothy up, and give him a break from the family part of the time. Her prickly manner wasn’t fooling him. She was shy and lonely. All he had to do was get past the prickliness to the softness underneath.

  Charles grinned in anticipation. Yeah, getting to the softness would be an enjoyable part of his holiday season.

  Chapter Two

  Dorothy untied her apron and wadded it up. Of course it stunk, just like the rest of her clothes stunk. And her hair. First thing when she got home she always showered and washed her hair because she couldn’t stand the idea of going to bed smelling like smoke and beer and the fried delicacy of the day.

  “‘Night!” she called to Jim Bob and Sylvie, who were talking quietly in the kitchen doorway. They said the same, and waved. Jim Bob walked toward the front of the bar, ready to lock the deadbolt when she left. Lila Sue was sitting at a table, smoothing out the bills from her tips. She raised her hand in a half-hearted wave.

  On the sidewalk, listening to the bolt click into place, Dorothy tipped her head back, closed her eyes and breathed deeply of the cold mountain air. A sharp breeze blew her hair around, and she reached up and grabbed it, tied the long tresses into a loose knot at her nape so she wouldn’t have to bother with it again. She started walking. Jim Bob didn’t want his customers to have trouble finding a spot to park, so her car was down the street a ways. Her big chunky heeled shoes felt heavy tonight. It had been a long one, and she promised herself to sleep in on Saturday. She hoped none of the kids would wake her up to watch Saturday morning cartoons with them.

  “Hey there.”

  A man stepped out of the shadows in front of her, and Dorothy halted, her breath catching in her throat. What in the world?

  “Remember me? Charles McClain. We met in the bar a while ago.”

  “Oh. So?” She started walking again, a little more quickly.

  “So... I wanted to talk to you. It was too noisy in there, and you were busy. So I came back hoping to see you when the place shut down. Lucky me, huh?”

  “No. Not really.” Having reached her car, Dorothy opened the door and slid into the driver’s seat. She put her key into the ignition and reached to shut the door, but he had hold of it.

  “Let go of the door, Charles McClain.”

  “Not just yet. I want to talk to you a minute.”

  She sighed, shook her head. Of all the nights to have to deal with this kind of thing. “Let go of the door or I’ll wake up the town.” She paused, but his expression didn’t change. “I’ll blow this horn.”

  “Now, Dorothy.” He smiled smugly. “You don’t want to do that.”

  Smiling back at him, she laid her hand flat on the horn and pushed down. The car was old and big, and the horn was one of the loudest she’d ever heard. Until now, she’d considered it an embarrassment.

  ****

  Dorothy woke the next morning smiling again, because the first thing she thought about was the look on that guy’s face last night. His smugness disappeared pretty quickly when he realized she was going to continue laying on the horn until he left her alone. That should take care of him.

  She rolled onto her side, reveling in some well earned laziness. She could hear her siblings laughing at Tom and Jerry on TV in the small living room down the hall, but at least the kids hadn’t jumped on her and insisted she join them. Her sister Debbie’s poster of David Cassidy stared at her from across the room.

  Of course, the guy last night—Charles McClain—was good looking. Really tall, and he had beautiful dark hair and gorgeous blue eyes. Dark hair and blue eyes was such a cool combination. All the McClains were good looking, so that definitely wasn’t a surprise. They were good people too. She vaguely remembered Charles from when he lived in Legend. He’d been on the high school football team—maybe even quarterback, but not being a sports fan, she wasn’t sure. He’d been good, though, and his name and picture had been in the Legend Post-Dispatch a lot back then. Then there was the picture of him in his Marine uniform, all his hair shaved off, and looking so deadly serious. She shivered, remembering her preacher’s weekly prayers for the safety of the Legend boys who’d gone to war.

  By now Charles must be nearly thirty. Practically ancient. His attitude said he was all grown up and worldly, and she was nothing. Dorothy sure didn’t need that kind of grief from a guy. She was hard enough on herself without someone else picking on her.

  She pulled a length of hair out from under her head and began to do mini braids while she thought about him again. His eyes were nice. They had a kind look, not harsh. The way he talked and what his eyes said were two different things. Frowning in concentration, she admitted to herself that he was just teasing her, and she’d overreacted. Jeannie, her best friend, always said when a guy teases you, that means he’s interested. Plus the fact of his staying late to see her... Well, Dorothy figured she had put an end to that with the car horn last night. She blew out a big puff of breath, sending more blonde hair scattering around her face.

  Maybe she shouldn’t have done it. Maybe he just wanted to talk for a minute. That would have been okay. He might have eventually asked her out, even. But no. Now it was ruined.

  Sighing, she unwound her flannel gown from around her waist where it had wadded up in her sleep, and got out of bed. Saturday meant helping Mom clean house, and making sure the kids got chauffeured back and forth from their activities in town or at their friends’ houses. Then she’d go to work and make a little more money for her Leaving Legend Fund.

  ****

  “Oh no. Seriously?”

  “Sure, honey. It’s the holidays. People expect it. Cheers ‘em up, too. You’ll see.” Sylvie was putting the last few silver icicles on a sad looking cedar tree stuck in a pot in one of the big front windows. A matching tree, unbelievably just as ugly, with its red mirror balls and silver icicles, was in the other window, and Lila Sue was slowly taping colored Christmas lights along the edge of each huge pane of glass. There was a can of “snow” on the end of the bar. Evidently someone was going to spray that on the glass after the lights were up. Dorothy hoped bad taste wasn’t a fire hazard.

  Jim Bob was messing with the jukebox. “Did we get some new records?” Dorothy asked. That might make some of the rest of this easier to take.

  “It’s Christmas music, stupid!” Lila Sue glared at her and noisily ripped the last piece of tape off the roll, then stuck it to the window and the green wire. She tossed the empty dispenser without looking where it landed. Dorothy knew who would pick it up later.

  “Dorothy, honey, can you drag a chair over here? I wanna put up the mistletoe.”

  Lord have mercy. In Jim Bob’s Saloon? With the clientele we serve?

  “Oh Miss Sylvie, are you sure about this?” She carried a chair over to the doorway, knowing nothing ever changed Sylvie’s mind about anything.

  Sylvie handed her the little transparent bag of dried green mistletoe with white plastic “berries” on it, and Dorothy stepped onto the chair and hung it on the hook. Judging from the coats of paint on it, the hook had obviously been put up years ago for just this purpose. Then she stepped
back down and got a paper towel to wipe off the chair.

  “Perfect!” Jim Bob gave her a thumbs-up from his project at the jukebox.

  “What’s wrong with you, Dorothy? You have something against mistletoe? You have something against getting kissed?” Lila Sue’s pretty features contorted.

  It was all she could do to be civil. “No, Lila Sue. I like mistletoe just fine.” She put the chair back in its place and shook out her newly laundered apron, then went to the ladies’ room to wash her hands before starting to roll the silverware in paper napkins for the evening.

  I like mistletoe just fine. In fact, it had always seemed a bit magical to Dorothy. Her mother would hang it above the front door, and everyone who went into the house got a hug and kiss and was reminded of how special they were. In high school, some of Dorothy’s girlfriends—and even some of the boys—had been known to hang mistletoe on the rear view mirrors of their cars. That was just desperate, of course, and inappropriate for something so special. But the very best use of mistletoe was to accidentally meet underneath it with the man you loved. It had to be accidental, or it didn’t count. Hearts would pound, pulses race, and suddenly a swell of special music only the two of you could hear...

  Brenda Lee began to belt out Jingle Bell Rock and the 1975 Christmas season got underway at Jim Bob’s.

  Dorothy cringed and shook her head. Not that she believed in that kind of love—the forever kind. None of it mattered, anyway, because this was just boring old Legend, and mistletoe was just another way for the clientele of Jim Bob’s to embarrass themselves.

  ****

  Sunday morning in church Dorothy had a hard time concentrating on the sermon, because the hairs on the back of her neck were standing at attention. Somebody was staring at her. In church, no less. She couldn’t imagine why. She was just Dorothy—why would anyone stare? The only person she could consider anything like an enemy was Lila Sue, and her family went to the Methodist church, not the Baptist. So what was up?

  Do not turn around. Concentrate. Listen to the preacher.

  Consciences were so useless. She knew what she was supposed to do. She even shook her head a little to clear it, and her brother punched her in the arm because a few strands of long blonde hair flew in his face when she did it. Great. Now I’m getting punched in church. Concentrate.

  After a while the feeling dissipated, but didn’t quite go away. She was relieved when the service was done. She helped herd the kids toward the front door, the key being that someone had to serve as a brake so they didn’t simply bolt. When her siblings had been reasonably pleasant to the preacher and his wife in the receiving line, it was her turn...

  She saw him as she started down the stairs toward the sidewalk. Charles McClain standing with his parents. He looked a lot like his dad. Tall, dark, and devilishly handsome. A younger version of the same look, Charles’ brother Will, was in a knot of teenagers down the sidewalk a ways. Strong genes. Charles was looking straight at Dorothy and she knew without a doubt he’d been the one staring at her in church. Guess he didn’t scare off so easily. Good. She reached the sidewalk and turned toward where Dad had parked the big old station wagon. But she didn’t walk quickly, and as she’d hoped, Charles was soon at her side.

  “Dorothy Robbins, I believe.”

  She stopped and turned, trying to look surprised. “Well. Charles McClain.”

  “I’m flattered that you remember me.” He made a tiny mock bow. “Just wondered if you have a moment. I hope this setting is more to your liking than the dark street the other night.”

  She smiled. “This is just fine. What may I do for you?” She was trying to sound like a Southern belle but assumed she was failing miserably. He did look so dashing and debonair.

  “Well, Miss Robbins, I wondered if you would do me the honor of accompanying me on an outing tomorrow.” His blue eyes sparkled.

  “What type of outing? You know I work nights, right?”

  “It would be a daytime outing. Whatever you want to do, really. I’m here for a month, and completely without an agenda. I can pick you up...” His smile was replaced with a frown. “I can’t pick you up. Just remembered—I don’t have a car here. Okay, so I’ll borrow a car and pick you up whenever you like. If you’re interested.”

  She adjusted the strap of the denim bag on her shoulder. “I have a car. It’s an old clunker, but it gets me where I need to go. I’ll pick you up, Charles McClain.”

  He worked on that for a moment before smiling again.

  “All right. That’s very liberated of you, Miss Robbins. Ten o’clock? Do you know where my parents’ house is?”

  “Of course. I’ve always lived in Legend. You don’t forget McClains.” She stopped, sorry she’d said that.

  “We’re quite a crew, aren’t we?” He smiled even more, and the corners of his eyes crinkled. “Til tomorrow then?”

  “Yes. Tomorrow.” Smiling briefly, she turned and headed toward the station wagon before her legs gave out from the excitement. She leaned against the car, trying to look casual. Tingling. She was tingling all over in anticipation of spending time with him, even if it was in her beat up boat of a car. Even if they just goofed around Legend, it was a date. She was definitely counting it as a date. He seemed nice, and smart. Somebody interesting had come to Legend, and he wanted to spend time with her. Cool!

  ****

  “Mark? Charles. Yeah, hi. Uh...just wondering if I’ve had any calls. Well, yeah, I figured you would let me know, but in case you’ve been too busy with...you know...whoever. Uh huh. No, I don’t think I’ve met her. Of course she’s blonde. You don’t date anybody who isn’t blonde... No, you don’t. Mark, no, you don’t. No, dark roots don’t count because you don’t pick them for the dark roots... I don’t have anything against blondes, I’m just saying you always—uh huh. Right, sure. Yeah, just call. Thanks, man.”

  Interesting conversation. Charles hadn’t meant to go off on that blonde tangent. His buddy never dated any woman with a hair color darker than golden blonde, even if it was from a bottle. He was so into looks, and never paid attention to who a woman really was inside. Mark was very superficial.

  Charles slumped down into the living room chair where he’d used the only telephone in the house. He’d been sure to call when it was less expensive, too. He didn’t want to put too much of a financial burden on his folks while he was here. Dad had said not to worry about it, but Charles was used to being independent, and wanted to stay that way. Immediately after losing his job, he had found himself becoming more frugal. He hated having to think about where every penny went, but it was a fact of his life right now. Temporarily, of course. He had to believe something would turn up before long.

  “Charles, honey, do you need anything before I go to bed?”

  “No, Mom. Thanks, though. Good night.”

  His mother walked over and kissed the top of his head. “Good night, honey. Sleep tight.”

  He watched her walk up the slightly creaky steps to the room his parents shared. I want that. I want a long lasting relationship, the assurance that when I get up in the morning and go to bed at night, I’ll be next to the woman I love. Charles’ parents had been married for about thirty years. They were perfect together. Their relationship was as sure and solid as any he’d seen, no matter what the family went through—and with four kids and a huge extended family, there was always something. Although he’d met and spent time with plenty of women in his new hometown—if you could call anything in the Los Angeles area a town—he’d not met that certain someone. He thought he had once, and had been on the verge of asking her to marry him—but before he could do it, she dumped him and wouldn’t even return his calls. He was enough of a romantic to believe there was a perfect match for him if he would just look hard enough and wait long enough. Of course, he wasn’t so very far from thirty years old, and recently he’d begun to wonder if his right woman had ended up with the wrong man. What then?

  He didn’t want to spend his life alo
ne, or with Mark as his roommate. No, definitely not. Well, at least tomorrow for a while he could get his mind off the gloom of being unemployed and unattached. Spending time with Dorothy Robbins should be a good change of pace. Even if she was obviously a small town girl.

  ****

  Dorothy parked the big Oldsmobile in front of the McClain house at precisely ten o’clock a.m., and killed the engine. Wiping sweaty palms down the front of her jeans legs, she stared at the white frame house with Christmassy red ribbons wrapping the porch posts, and wondered whether to honk the horn or go to the wreath-decorated door. Ooh, maybe not the horn. Maybe the horn would be a reminder of the other night.

  Opening her door, she swung her legs out just in time to see Charles bounding down the front steps. He looked like a movie star, with the winter sun shining on his dark hair and beautiful white smile. He zipped the brown leather bomber jacket as he walked. One of Dorothy’s hands strayed to the other sleeve of her puffy pink down-filled jacket with fake fur around the hood. It had been expensive for her even on sale, but she’d never regretted buying it. Now she was even more pleased. Maybe she wouldn’t look as much like a hick to him with the cute jacket and darker pink mittens.

  Then again, mittens...

  Charles opened the passenger door and slid in. “Hey, Dorothy.”

  She pulled her door closed. “Hey.” Have mercy. He was so delicious looking, and smelled so much better than her dad’s Old Spice. The big car suddenly seemed small and incredibly intimate. “I hope you’re okay with me driving.” Surely he wasn’t a male chauvinist.

  He put his left arm along the back of the bench seat. “I’m fine with riding shotgun.”

  “Okay. Great.” Breathe. Starting the engine, she looked over at him again. “Where to?”

  “Lady’s choice.” That dazzling smile again, and that cute crinkling at the outer corners of his eyes. She expected to be able to drive with this sitting in the front seat with her?

  She cleared her throat. “Well, Charles McClain, the lady chooses to let you choose. You’re the one who hasn’t been home in a while, right? I get pretty much everywhere in the county in a week’s time, driving kids around, so I really don’t care.”