Mistletoe at Midnight

By LB Gregg

A rustic family Christmas in Vermont leads to a second chance for a handsome young man and the guy who broke his heart in this gay holiday romance.

Owen McKenzie has traveled to Vermont to spend an old-fashioned Christmas with his family when he finds himself staying at the same inn as his first love. Owen is disconcerted to realize he’s still attracted to Caleb Black but refuses to pursue him. Caleb left him once, and Owen’s not going down that road again.

Caleb is hoping for a second chance with Owen. And he gets it when fate—and the matchmaking McKenzies—conspire to strand the two men in a rustic cabin during a snowstorm on Christmas Eve. Can Caleb convince Owen to rekindle their romance so they can stop spending their holidays apart?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Open Road Integrated Media
• Release date: Dec 6, 2010
• ISBN: 9781426890932

Book preview

Chapter One

Evergreen looked exactly as it had online. From across the river it was picture-postcard perfect, almost as if some Christmas miracle had brought my mother’s favorite Currier & Ives cookie tin to life. A smoky gray tendril rose from the chimney of the sprawling white farmhouse. The snow-laden fields were sectioned by hundred-year-old stone walls, the Green Mountains framed the horizon, and any second now, my truck would fall through the warped boards of the dilapidated covered bridge.

The truck dipped into a pothole and Jake grunted from the passenger seat. He tilted his head as only a beagle can and gave me his are-we-there-yet look.

Almost.

In reality, I had no clue. My family was coming for Christmas to see my new hometown, but I wasn’t familiar with the area yet. I’d let my brother pick our holiday spot, and apparently Ryan had chosen a place on the North Pole. We were at least fifteen minutes from St. James’s center and there hadn’t been a house for miles, never mind another car. The dirt road was plowed, at least, and the fields on either side of the river were laced with snowmobile trails. Just a few minutes ago, I’d maneuvered around an unmoving moose.

I’d get used to this. As St. James’s newest veterinarian, I’d be meeting all kinds of interesting wildlife.

I just needed to survive Christmas with my meddlesome family first.

The last time I was home, I’d put my foot down with my well-meaning mother—no more surprises. No dates. No set-ups. No mysterious guests. No kindly actuaries waiting in the parlor to have an impromptu dinner. I had been ambushed at every event since Keith Turner walked away months ago and, frankly, I was done. How could anyone, specifically my mother, presume to know what I wanted when I didn’t know that myself?

The thin road entered another shadowy tunnel, this one formed by the gentle arching bows of the towering pines that lent the inn its name. We came around the lazy bend and there it was. Evergreen.

I pulled to a halt on the snow-crusted driveway, parking at the very end of the line of cars, and shut the engine off. I had to be the last. It was the unwritten rule. Late to my own funeral, Mom always said.

The stars shone clear and merry above the distant mountains and barred owls hooted high in the pines as I climbed stiffly from the truck. Icy air frosted my lungs. Jake wobbled sleepily from the front seat, his white tail stiff, and he stared at me for a moment before lumbering down the shoveled walk to sniff the frigid new scenery. I grabbed the bags.

We entered the inn, jostling the strap full of sleigh bells hanging over the door, and music and warmth enveloped us. The smell of something cooking…apples and cinnamon and clove…the pervasive scent of balsam pine. It smelled like Christmas on steroids. Doug Winters had called the place homey and he hadn’t lied.

I set my bag down on the braided rug and, like any good hound, Jake sat his ass on the carpet and scratched lazily at his floppy ear. We both looked around. The front hall was empty. Noise floated from the back. On a narrow table, a bowl of clementines sat beside a closed laptop and a small service bell—which I rang just because it was there. Ding ding ding.

Of course, no one could hear me over the crescendo of my mother’s wavering soprano as it crested through the gigantic house. She banged out Jingle Bells in the same walloping manner that I’d rung the service bell.

The owners didn’t appear to stand on formality or they’d have someone working the desk. Leaving my coat on the peg by the door, I went in search of my musically felonious family.

Jingle Bells ended with applause and laughter precisely as I entered a sprawling parlor decorated straight from Hallmark. A baby grand piano took up one end of the room, where a blond man in a wheat-colored sweater gathered his music and stood. His back faced me, but I could still see he was young and attractive, if you went for that kind of slender, artist type. There were a dozen other guests lingering—a quick glance counted five of them were McKenzies. My parents, my uncles and my brother. My fair-haired mom hovered by the carefully hung stockings. She had her tiny backside to the fireplace and clutched a cut-crystal tumbler of amber liquid.

Her eyes, robin’s-egg-blue like my own, lit when she saw me towering in the doorway. Owen! You’re here! We were about to send a search party.

You always say that but Jake and I make it anyway. Of course, my dog had conveniently disappeared.

I took a careful step into the room and my mother rushed over with the inherent grace of a long-time ballerina. Her rounded arms were wide open. I was so worried! The roads are slick.

I’m fine. It was a nice drive and I need to get used to it.

I told her you were fine. You’re thirty-three, not sixteen. My dad clapped me shakily on the shoulder.

Don’t remind me.

Jesus. He’d shrunk since Thanksgiving. Dad’s hair was always thin, but now it was more so because the strawberry-blond strands faded into his scalp. His shirt gaped at the collar, hanging limply on once wide shoulders, and his skin was anemically pale. I wanted to put my arms around him. Instead I found a smile and shook his bony hand as worry cramped my heart. I searched the room for my brother. We’d have to discuss this later. Dad was still in remission—had been for fifteen years.

Someone should have called me.

Ryan, who could almost pass as my twin, lounged in the corner chatting with a smiling titian-haired woman. He didn’t look worried in the least. He looked interested. Of course, Ryan always looked interested if there were even a snowball’s chance in hell he’d dip his wick before the holiday was over. He caught my eye and nodded.

My uncles Archie and Duncan sat on the couch playing gin. Before I could wave hello, not that either of them could see me from this distance, Mom chattered, Owen. You’ll never guess who’s here. This is just extraordinary. She quickly added, I had nothing to do with it.

Patricia, give him a minute.

I clued in to the strain in my father’s voice. Ryan grinned and something like anticipation skated across his features. That bastard lifted his glass mockingly and I knew trouble was brewing.

I scanned the room. Hmmm. Well you didn’t invite anyone, right? Because we discussed that.

I had nothing to do with this.

Nothing to do with what? And why don’t I believe you?

I followed Ryan’s gaze to the far end of the great room until I found the pianist again. He leaned comfortably against the baby grand, reading his sheet music. His collar was unzipped and a plain white T-shirt showed at his neck. He didn’t scream actuary at least. He was my age, maybe a little younger, and even without a red bow or a gift tag, Ryan’s duplicitous grin warned me that this man was Owen’s Christmas Present from our meddlesome mother. Jake, that traitor, sat wagging

Reviews for Mistletoe at Midnight

[shazov-133293 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

This is a lovely short Christmas story about finding love again after it being lost for almost 15 years. Owen has never quite gotten over Caleb's leaving without any warning when they were teenagers. And when he meets him again during a Christmas celebration with his family he's not sure he's ready to have his heart broken again.

[sharrow_3 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Truly delightful!