Page 4 of Just Add Mistletoe

What color were her eyes? And was that a freckle next to her ear? One freckle only? The rest of her skin was freckle free.

She pressed the cold, wet towel into his hands, because apparently he was staring at her. Somehow he managed to pull himself out of whatever rabbit hole he’d fallen into. “Thanks, miss.”

“It’s Lori. I’m not really amiss, but thanks for not calling me ama’am.”

Lori.Easy enough to remember. “I’m Malcom Grave—”

“We know who you are,” the older woman said from her chair perch.

That was his cue. “Thanks again.” He lifted the towel. “I’ll return it.” Pause. “After I clean it, of course.”

He turned to leave, wondering if this day could get any stranger. It was only eight thirty in the morning, so he supposed it was entirely possible.

“I’ll come help,” the woman, Lori, said. “Can you watch the store, Marci? Oh, and Mrs. Kane, Brandy is on her way.”

That was a lot of names, but Malcom was pretty good with names. Regardless, his first instinct was to tell Lori not to worry about it. She probably didn’t want to be in the thick of whatever was happening now. At least the cops had arrived, and the crowd was mostly dispersed.

The protesting didn’t bother Malcolm too much. It had happened a handful of times in the past several years—and if history repeated itself, the residents who were up in arms wouldcalm over a few days’ time, and eventually, the quiet town would become quiet again.

Ironically, in this situation, he’d been approached by the city council. Some other hotshot developer had tried to bulldoze their way into Everly Falls with a massive renovation plan. The council had been wary, and although they conceded there needed to be adequate housing for the growing town, they weren’t ready to take ten leaps forward. A single step was just fine, and thus, Malcom had come into the picture.

One of the deals was that he couldn’t divulge that he’d been contacted first. The city council had a reputation to protect. And Malcom was more than happy for the business. It seemed condominium jobs were all going to the major construction companies. He ran a small company with his stepbrother, and it had been great for the most part. But after this Everly Falls project, he wanted to look for a more permanent residence and focus on building single-family homes or renovations.

What his brother would choose to do, Malcom didn’t know. He was more of a number-crunching guy, while Malcom was the guy in front of the city councils and residents, buttering them up and shaking hands.

“Excuse me,” he said, approaching the group huddled around the man with a broken nose, sitting on the sidewalk curb, hand on his face, blood between his fingers. “I’ve got a wet cloth that will help.”

He felt the glares thrown at him, rather than actually seeing them, because he was focused on the sixty-something-year-old man.

Malcom sat on the curb next to him. “Here, let’s press this against your face.”

“Mr. Ronning,” Lori said, settling on the other side of the man. “Are you all right?”

Mr. Ronning lowered his hand slowly and accepted the wet towel. She helped him adjust it. “I’m okay,” he said in a muffled voice.

“What happened?” Lori asked.

“Got an elbow in the face from Bernice,” he said. “Was an accident, that’s all. I told as much to the cops.”

“Well, I’m sorry about that,” Lori said in a soothing tone. “So none of the construction workers harmed you?”

“No,” he said.

“And this man’s in the clear?” she asked, motioning toward Malcom.

Mr. Ronning gave a subtle nod. “Yep. And don’t worry, I don’t need to see any doctor. One of the cops already checked it out—used to be a paramedic.” His gaze zeroed in on Malcom. “But stirring things up is never good, sir.”

Malcom’s skin pricked with heat. The day would be a warm one, and the morning coolness was fading fast. “I went through all the proper channels and received all the permissions. Grievances were heard and addressed last month.”

Mr. Ronning didn’t look pleased at his comeback, but it was Lori’s expression he was more interested in. Was that a glimmer of a smile on her face? Her dark hair had caught the sun’s rays, giving it some bronzed highlights. Blue, he decided. Her eyes were definitely blue. The brightening sky behind her confirmed it.

Malcom couldn’t afford to be distracted right now. He had a protest to disperse, a city council to keep happy, and the first day of construction to start. Every hour was money, in his book. And every wasted hour, even more expensive.

Which reminded him. He had to get Mr. Ronning situated so he could do his job. “If you need anything, I’m happy to help, Mr. Ronning,” Malcom said. “Provided it doesn’t disrupt the building project.”

The man didn’t laugh.

“Do you need a ride home?” he continued. “Can I bring you a drink? I hear there’s a grocery store at the end of the street.”

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