Page 6 of The Mistletoe Mix-up

Wren’s chest squeezed a bit. Over the last year, a slow, burning need had been brewing inside her, which became excruciating every time someone brought up kids. Having a family had always lingered at the back of her mind, but after growing up in her father’s home with three older brothers and then working in a male-dominated field, she’d given up on dating a long time ago. Sex, absolutely not, but trying to make a relationship work? Men either grew to resent her long hours or were initially turned on by what she did, then looked for ways to challenge her at home, like they were in some kind of dominance struggle.

If she wanted to have kids, Wren knew she’d have to get started soon, but after she’d watched that documentary about the man who’d fathered a thousand kids, artificial insemination was off the table, at least from a donor who was a stranger. The last thing she wanted was her child to accidentally date their sibling when they reached maturity and end up on some weird TLC show.

She’d posted a profile on a local dating site, marking the “casual” box, and her inbox had been flooded with responses from eager men. She’d looked through their profiles and set up a few informal dates with some who looked promising, but she needed a nondisclosure agreement signed before she discussed what she was looking for so that rumors wouldn’t fly. The last thing she wanted was for information to get back to her dad. No need to have that fight with him until there was something to fight about.

It was crazy to think that she was a grown woman of thirty-five, still worried about what her dad would think. She knew he’d be against her being a single parent. Maybe not to the degree when she’d been sixteen, but he had old-fashioned ideas about how people should live their lives. People went to college or trade schools, built up their career, then got married, and, finally, had kids.

It was funny to think she was so desperate to start a family now, but if life had taken a different route when she was sixteen, Wren would have a nineteen-year-old kid right now.

She sighed heavily. Some things just weren’t meant to be, and God had been looking out for her. Wren had obviously dodged a bullet by not running off with Sam Griffin when she was a teenager. From the way the women of Mistletoe had roasted him last night on the radio, he’d turned into a philandering dog in his middle years.

Of course, she couldn’t blame them for falling for his charms. Although she hadn’t spoken to him since coming back to town, Wren had seen him around, and damn if he hadn’t aged like fine wine. His blond hair swept back off his face, which was all high cheekbones and angles. Combined with a leather jacket, white T-shirt, and loose bootcut jeans, he was pure sex walking. In high school, he’d been less lean and his face was softer, but that was a long time ago. People changed.

“Wren?” Barret asked, dragging her out of her head.

“Sorry!” Wren gave him a thumbs-up, even though she had no idea what they’d been talking about. “We’re good.”

“Alright, over the next few weeks we’re going to rotate shifts patrolling events. I’ll have a schedule uploaded Friday.” The chief grabbed one more donut and said, “As for today, Wren is going to start in town and work her way outward, Barret is going home, and when the rest of the guys trickle in, I will give them their assignments.” Chief picked up his coffee and held it in a salute. “You two have a nice day now.”

“You, too, sir,” they said in unison.

Once the chief shut the door to his office, Barret grinned at Wren. “Want me to bring dinner at shift change?”

“Sure. But I’m buying since you provided the hearty breakfast.”

“Oh, you are on! Food always tastes better when I don’t pay.”

Wren hip checked him as they headed for the door. “Mooch.”

Chapter Three

Sam scowled at his younger brother, who was bent over and laughing uproariously at the events of the previous night. Jace had relayed a portion when they arrived before running off to his room, leaving Sam with the proverbial bag.

“So, my son good-naturedly tried to help you get a girlfriend and instead made you the town pariah?” Clark’s dark eyes danced, his neck-length brown hair bouncing with his guffawing. Sam had taken after his mother in coloring, while Clark looked more like their dad, and the difference in their personalities was still a mystery to Sam. Their parents were cold people with a sense of humor as dry as toast.

“You’re an ass,” Sam said, dropping Jace’s backpack on the couch. “Has anyone ever told you that?”

“Not lately.” Clark Griffin grinned at his older brother, holding on to the back of the couch for support as he wiped tears of mirth from his eyes. “Then again, we haven’t spent much time together, so that makes sense.”

“Come on, man, lay off. I had a hell of a night.”

Clark’s eyes widened. “Please tell me you didn’t listen to the rest of the show.”

Sam avoided his brother’s gaze. “I caught a little bit here and there. It was hard to ignore it once I knew it was happening.”

Clark grimaced. “How bad?”

“Like a train wreck that explodes and body pieces fly everywhere. Then zombies come and pick apart the flesh.”

“Sorry I asked,” Clark said grimly, patting his brother on the back.

Merry came out of the back room, glowing and smiling. Her pregnant stomach preceded her as she shuffled across the room to hug him. “Hello, Sam. How was your guys’ night in?”

“Eye-opening,” Sam deadpanned, and when Merry’s curious gaze swung to her husband, he shook his head.

“Don’t ask.”

“Alright, I won’t.” Merry released him with a comforting arm squeeze and headed to the front door.