A Mistletoe Affair (16 page)

“You amaze me,” Jordan said, the reverence in his voice making her skin tingle. “You have nothing to prove, Vicki. You’re amazing. That’s all there is to it.”

She lifted herself slightly so that she could reach his lips, then she settled back against his chest and asked, “What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Are you done proving whatever you set out to prove when you started that petition? Are you ready to accept the results of the election, even if it comes out that you were wrong?”

Jordan exhaled a deep breath. “I don’t have much choice, do I?”

“Yes, you do,” she said. “You can continue on the way you have for the past month. You can allow it to fester and drive yourself crazy.” She looked at him over her shoulder. “Or you can accept it and move on.”

Bracing her hands on the edge of the tub, Vicki lifted herself up and turned to face him, straddling his thighs. She cupped his jaw in both hands.

“You said that the most important thing about Oliver Windom’s campaign is that he agreed to help Mass Mentors. If you explain to Darren exactly why you supported Oliver and why you are so passionate about the program, he will listen to you.”

“You don’t think I’ve burned that bridge?”

“Not only is Darren a sensible man, but he’s a
good
man, Jordan. I know you believe that Oliver is a breath of fresh air because he’s younger and cut from a different cloth than the older generation, but don’t sell Darren short.”

“I probably won’t do anything until I hear from the investigators that I hired, but you’ve given me something to think about.”

“Good,” Vicki said. She settled onto his lap and dipped her head, running her tongue along his moistened neck. “Now let me give you something else to think about.”

*

Vicki hugged her arms across her chest as she tried her hardest to appear cool and collected on the outside. On the inside, she was a ball of chaotic nerves.

When she’d driven up to the staging ground for the parade, stunned was the only way she could describe how she felt as she stared at the elaborate floats. Stunned and overwhelmed. The participants had stepped their games up to a new level this year.

There was a float dedicated to significant milestones in New England’s revolutionary history, including the Boston Tea Party and a musket made out of black lilies to signify the famous “shot heard around the world.” Another float showcased the eight U.S. presidents born in the New England area. There were several seaside-themed floats, staples in the parade every year.

One of the most elaborate was dedicated to the region’s professional football team. For a minute, Vicki feared the team’s star quarterback was on the float. Thank goodness that wasn’t the case. It would have been the automatic winner by sheer popularity.

Her Christmas from Around the World float wasn’t as large as some of the others, and it didn’t have the animatronics and other mechanical marvels, but for a one-woman shop, Vicki couldn’t help but be proud. As she looked at the excited faces of the kids from Mass Mentors who had put such hard work into the float and who would be riding on it during the parade, she knew that no matter the outcome, every sacrifice she’d made for this competition had been worth it.

“I think you’ve got this,” came a voice from behind her.

She turned to find Jordan and Mason a few feet away.

“Hey there, you two,” she said.

The toddler looked as adorable as ever, dressed in black corduroy pants, a white button-down shirt, a red sweater vest and a Santa hat on his head. His father looked downright edible, showing off his casual side in fashionable dark blue jeans, a black cashmere sweater and a black leather jacket.

“You think I have a shot, huh?” Vicki asked, leaning over for a kiss as she took Mason from his arms. “Maybe if this little one here was the grand marshal.”

“I can’t deny that he would help, but I think you’ve got this even without this charmer riding shotgun.” Jordan trailed a finger along her cheek before capturing her chin in his hand and tipping her head up. “I’m so proud of you. You did an incredible job.”

“I had a lot of help from my team.”

“But it was your vision, and it is spectacular.”

Her heart swelled with gratitude. “Thank you,” she said.

The parade coordinator blew a whistle and directed the tractor drivers to line up the floats according to the numbers that had been assigned to them. The parade would start at 2:00 p.m., which meant they had just under an hour to enjoy some of the other festivities of the annual extravaganza.

Vicki and Jordan brought Mason to Santa’s Workshop, which was held in the lobby of Town Hall in the middle of the square. Because Mason had already taken pictures with Santa during the Bright Lights at Forest Park tour, they were able to bypass the line of kids waiting to snatch a portrait with St. Nick.

While Vicki helped Mason play some of the games that had been set up for the kids, Jordan ventured out to several of the food vendors, returning with miniature lobster sliders and three gingerbread men for dessert. Vicki took one bite of the sandwich and pushed the rest toward him. She was too nervous to eat.

The minutes ticked by at lightning speed, and sooner than she’d anticipated, she, Mason and Jordan were heading out of Town Hall to stake out their spot on Main Street for the parade.

Despite her anxiety, Vicki still managed to soak in the pure joy of the day. It was cold, but the sky was clear, and the exuberance radiating from the crowds was palpable. She waved at a little girl who was sitting on her father’s shoulders, waiting for the parade to start. She remembered doing the same when she was that age. The thought brought a smile to her face.

As they walked in the direction of the Silk Sisters’ yellow Victorian, near where they planned to watch the parade as it rolled down Wintersage’s main thoroughfare, Jordan’s footsteps slowed. Vicki looked over at him and followed the direction of his eyes.

The Howerton clan stood a few yards away—Darren Jr. and Sr., Janelle and her husband, Ballard.

“Great,” Jordan muttered.

Seeing them there only added to Vicki’s pending anxiety attack. The float competition was enough to rattle her nerves for the day; she didn’t need tension over the election adding to it.

“This doesn’t have to be a big deal,” she said to Jordan, urging him forward.

As they neared the Howertons, Darren Sr. walked right up to Jordan and put out his hand.

“I want you to know that I don’t harbor any hard feelings toward you, son,” he said.

Darren Jr. snorted and shook his head. Apparently, he didn’t share his father’s graciousness.

Jordan accepted Darren Sr.’s outstretched palm. “You know that none of this has been personal, right?”

The older man shrugged. “It’s hard not to take it personally, but you did what you thought you had to do. I know for a fact that you haven’t found anything untoward with my campaign yet, and I can assure you that you’re not going to find anything.” A smile came upon his lips. “I don’t gloat often, Jordan, but I am looking forward to telling you ‘I told you so.’”

With that, Darren Sr. turned and greeted several people who had come to speak to him.

Darren Jr. took his place, stepping up to Jordan and saying, “I won’t be satisfied with ‘I told you so,’” he said. “When you realize that you were wrong, I expect you to apologize not just to my father, but to his entire campaign, Jordan.”

The tension returned with a vengeance as the amity they’d experienced moments ago with Darren Sr.’s diplomatic greeting evaporated. Vicki noticed the muscle in Jordan’s cheek jump as he held his face rigid.

“I guess we’ll have to wait and see what my investigators find,” he said.

“They won’t find anything,” Darren Jr. bit out through clenched teeth, and then he turned to join Janelle and Ballard, who were standing a few feet away.

Vicki hadn’t even realized that the parade had already started. She turned to find the Boston Tea Party float moving its way up Main Street. Her Christmas from Around the World was fifteenth in the line of twenty floats, so between the slowly moving tractors and marching bands, she still had a bit of time before the Petals float would pass.

Vicki stood on her tiptoes, trying to see which float was coming up next. That was when she spotted Terrance and Spence walking toward her. Her parents followed them.

Great. Just what she needed to send her spiraling into a full-blown panic attack.

But then she noticed the smiles on their faces.

“We haven’t missed your float, have we?” Her mother greeted her with a hug.

“No,” Vicki said. “There are four more floats ahead of it.”

“Good,” her father said before placing a kiss on her cheek.

She stared at her brothers. “Wait, you two came out here to see my float?” she asked. “You haven’t been to the extravaganza in years.”

“We came out here to support you,” Terrance said.

“Yeah, and that call from Jordan had nothing to do with it,” Spence said, cutting his eyes at Jordan. “The threats were totally uncalled-for, dude.”

Vicki turned to Jordan, her mouth agape. “You threatened my brothers for me? That’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard.”

Terrance snorted and hooked a thumb toward them. “These two were made for each other.”

Vicki kissed her brother’s cheek and said, “Thanks for coming
and
for making the toy drive a success. I heard it went off without a hitch.” Then she wrapped her arms around Jordan and Mason. “Thank you,” he said.

“This means a lot to you, and so does your family. They needed to be here to show you some support.”

She really could not love him any more than she did at this very moment. Jordan gestured toward the street with his chin. “You may want to turn around.”

She turned, and there, gliding along the streets of Wintersage for everyone to see, was her labor of love. Her kids from Mass Mentors, who had all chosen to wear costumes mimicking Sinterklaas, the Dutch version of Old St. Nick, started to whoop and holler when they spotted her.

Vicki laughed along with them, wiping tears of mirth and joy from her eyes. Her mother came up to her and wrapped her arms around Vicki’s shoulders.

“The float is absolutely gorgeous,” Christine Ahlfors said. “I’m sorry I ever doubted you.”

“It’s okay, Mom,” she said, returning the hug.

“I think it’s time AFM joins the holiday extravaganza,” her father said. “Maybe Petals will work on our float next year.”

“I don’t think you can afford me,” Vicki said teasingly.

Twenty minutes later, they all joined her at the stage where the extravaganza’s committee was preparing to announce the winner of the competition. When Petals won third place, a huge roar lifted from her cheering section. Vicki was pretty sure it would take no less than a month before she was able to wipe the smile off her face.

She accepted her white third-place ribbon and walked off the stage. Janelle was waiting for her just to the right of the stairs. She held her arms out.

“Congratulations, honey,” she said, squeezing her in a long hug. “I’m so proud of you.”

Vicki’s throat tightened with emotion. “Thank you.”

“Someone else wants to congratulate you, too.” Janelle held up her phone and a slightly pixelated image of Sandra appeared. She and Isaiah had been forced to miss the extravaganza due to a meeting with a major furniture retailer in New York who was interested in carrying Swoon Couture Home in their stores.

Sandra squealed with delight and blew kisses, promising to give her a proper congrats when they met at the Quarterdeck Monday night.

The crowds dispersed now that the winners of the float competition had been announced. Vicki and Jordan decided not to return to the spot where they’d watched the parade near the Victorian. She was still stoked after placing in the competition, and she didn’t want to spoil it with the strained atmosphere of being around the Howertons.

Instead, they took Mason to see the live reindeer that had been brought in special for the extravaganza, then Jordan took him on the Polar Express train ride that meandered around the town’s main square.

By early evening, Mason was worn-out. He’d fallen asleep with the adorable Santa hat still on his head. Vicki gently pushed his stroller back and forth as she sat on a bench with Jordan, her head resting on his shoulder.

“It turned out to be a pretty good day,” Jordan murmured against her temple.

“I can’t complain,” she said, smiling. Her smile dimmed a smidgeon as she stared out at the children running around the square, playing a game of tag. “I could have done without seeing that confrontation between you and Darren Jr.,” she said.

“We all could have done without that,” he said. “At this point, I just want this entire thing with the election to come to an end.”

“The sooner, the better,” Vicki said.

Jordan’s phone rang. Vicki moved from where she’d been resting against him so that he could retrieve it from his pocket.

He blew out a breath. “It’s my investigator.”

Vicki’s heart started to pound against the walls of her chest.

Jordan swept his thumb across the touch screen. “What do you have for me, Mike?”

He sat there in silence, just listening for several minutes.

“Are you sure?” he asked in a voice drenched in disbelief.

Vicki’s heart started to beat faster. It pounded more erratically as a look of dread claimed Jordan’s face.

Finally, in a hoarse voice, Jordan said, “Thanks for your hard work.”

“What is it?” she asked the second he ended the call. “Did the investigators find proof of ballot tampering?” Her stomach was a ball of nerves as she waited for his answer.

His throat worked as he swallowed, and then he nodded. “Yes,” he said, his voice still raspy. “There’s proof of tampering.”

Vicki’s heart sank. Her eyes fell shut. This was going to kill Janelle.

“But it wasn’t Darren’s campaign,” Jordan continued. Vicki’s eyes flew open. “It was Oliver’s.”

Chapter 12

J
ordan brought the mug of eggnog to his lips but set it back down without taking a sip.

“You don’t like it?” Vicki asked.

Jordan looked over to where she sat on the floor, her legs tucked underneath her. She was surrounded by Christmas wrapping paper, ribbon and empty cardboard boxes. She’d spent the hour since they had arrived home from spending Christmas Day at both his and her parents’ wrapping the empty boxes so that Mason could unwrap them. It was his son’s new favorite pastime.

“There’s nothing wrong with the eggnog,” Jordan said. “I’m just not in the mood for it.”

She frowned. “Jordan, I hate seeing you like this.”

“Don’t worry about me, Vicki. I’m okay,” he told her, even though they both knew it was a lie.

He felt like such a callous ass. Vicki had spent the entire day trying to lift him out of his funky mood, but if the Christmas spirit hadn’t gripped him yet, Jordan doubted it would happen at all.

Vicki gracefully rose from the floor and carried the freshly wrapped boxes over to Mason, who was encircled by the crumpled paper and bows from the half dozen boxes he’d just finished unwrapping.

“Prezzie,” his son called, excitedly clapping his hands.

Vicki set the boxes before him, then started toward Jordan. She looked divine in her cream-colored silk shirt and matching wool pants. How she’d managed to keep the outfit spotless, even through feeding Mason his Christmas dinner, was beyond comprehension. She was amazing.

She wasn’t just amazing, she was more than he deserved, especially with all his brooding. Yet here she was. And not for the first time today it made him feel like the luckiest man in the world.

Jordan held his arm out, inviting her to snuggle up alongside him on the sofa. She joined him, folding her legs underneath her and resting her head on his chest.

“I’m sorry I’m ruining your Christmas,” he said, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head.

“Who says you’re ruining my Christmas?” She twisted around until she lay across his thighs, and rested her head on the sofa’s arm. “You haven’t ruined anyone’s Christmas, Jordan. I know it’s been rough since you discovered the truth about the ballot tampering. It was a shock to your system, one that will definitely take longer than just a couple of days to get over.”

She reached up and cupped his jaw. “I don’t want all of that election mess to overshadow the things you should be focusing on today. Family. Love. All of us being together.” She pointed at Mason. “Just look at your son over there. He is having the time of his life.”

Jordan couldn’t help but laugh as he observed Mason once again tearing into the wrapped boxes, his two-teeth smile wide as he ripped through the colorful paper. A silver bow clung haphazardly to the side of his head, and another had found a place to rest on his knee.

“That boy is a character, isn’t he?” he asked.

“I don’t know if I’ve ever seen someone so happy to receive an empty box on Christmas.”

A smile tipped up the corner of his mouth, yet Jordan still couldn’t shake the melancholy that continued to grip him. If only he could coax his mind into thinking of something other than the treachery his investigator had uncovered. But betrayal was a hard pill to swallow, and Oliver Windom’s perfidy was even harder to take, because Jordan had believed in him so damn much.

At least he now understood why Oliver had been so quick to concede the election, and why he’d been so against Jordan’s demands to contest the results. The moment Mike, his investigator, had revealed what he’d found, the pieces had begun to fall into place.

Winning had never been Oliver’s endgame. The entire campaign had been a scheme cooked up by Oliver and Morris London, one of the political strategists who had been a part of the campaign before Jordan had climbed aboard. Oliver’s entire reason for joining the race for state representative had been to skim money off the top of the campaign finance fund.

They had known that Darren Howerton was a strong candidate who would be tough to beat. Their plan had been to run a race that would gain enough support to attract a significant amount of campaign dollars, but to remain just inadequate enough not to win.

Jordan had put a kink in the chains when he’d joined and quickly taken over as campaign manager. He’d turned a satisfactory campaign into a well-oiled political machine, applying complex polling strategies and raising Oliver’s profile among voters. He had no idea he’d been thwarting Oliver’s plans to get rich quick by stealing campaign dollars.

After interviewing county election commissioners in several of the districts where Oliver had polled the strongest yet ended up losing on election night, Jordan’s investigator had begun to notice a pattern. As he had dug deeper, he’d discovered that in all of those districts a disproportionate number of absentee ballots had mysteriously gone missing.

It turned out that Oliver had paid employees in the county clerk’s offices in the districts where he’d had the best polling numbers to destroy absentee ballots in hopes of tipping the odds in Darren Howerton’s favor.

Oliver hadn’t wanted to serve the people of Massachusetts. He’d only wanted to serve himself. And Jordan had fallen for it hook, line and sinker. For the second time in his life, he’d put his full trust in someone who’d turned out to be the total opposite of the person he’d thought them to be.

Was he fundamentally flawed when it came to judging people?

“Stop thinking so hard,” Vicki said.

Jordan stared down at the woman sprawled so invitingly across his lap. She was the one person whose character he would never have to question. She had been a steady rock over these turbulent couple of days, as he’d looked into his investigator’s findings to confirm that they were true.

His Christmas had not turned out quite the way he’d planned, but if there were a Christmas miracle to be had, it would be that Vicki’s steadiness would be there to see him through for many more days to come.

“I love you,” he said.

With a smile tilting up the corners of her lips, she cupped his jaw and smoothed her thumb back and forth across his cheek. “I will never get tired of hearing you say that.”

“Good, because I plan to say it a lot.” He stroked her lips with his fingertips. “You mean so much to me, Vicki. You’re like a piece of me that I didn’t know was missing.”

“Thank you for opening your heart enough to let me inside,” she whispered.

Jordan dipped his head and captured her lips in a kiss.

“Prezzie!” Mason screamed, thumping an unwrapped cardboard box on the floor.

“Uh-oh.” Vicki laughed as she pushed up from Jordan’s lap. “Time to feed the beast. You may have to go to the store to get more wrapping paper. We’re going to run out soon.”

“Check under the tree, toward the back,” Jordan said. “I think there may be a gift still there.”

“Are you sure?” Vicki said, walking over to the tree and gently moving a couple of ornament-laden branches around.

Jordan’s breath began to escalate as he nervously waited for her to find the box.

“You’re right,” she said, pulling out the flat rectangular box. She brought it over to Mason and stooped down in front of him. “Looks as if we forgot one of your presents from Santa.”

Mason grabbed the box from her hand and quickly started to tear the paper. Jordan’s pulse pounded harder with every rip.

“Let me help you with that,” Vicki said once all the paper was gone. She lifted the top off the box and pulled out the toddler-size T-shirt. “There you go,” she said, handing the shirt to Mason.

“Why don’t you read it for him?” Jordan said.

She looked at him with a curious gleam in her eye, then took the shirt and held it out in front of her.

She gasped.

“Jordan,” she said. “Is this for real?”

She turned the shirt to him. It read, Will You Marry Us?

Jordan rose from the sofa and walked over to them. He dropped on the floor next to them and took the shirt from her, pulling it over Mason’s white undershirt. He turned the baby to face her.

“I figured you wouldn’t be able to say no to this face,” Jordan said.

Vicki covered her mouth with both hands. Tears began to stream from her eyes. She reached over and wrapped her arms around his neck.

“There is nothing I want more than to marry you.” She looked down at Mason. “The both of you. Becoming a part of this family, making you two
my
family, is the greatest gift I could ever hope for.”

*

Exuberant chatter floated around the ballroom where the Woolcotts’ Kwanzaa gathering was being held, as guests celebrated the start of the weeklong observance set aside to honor the values of African culture. In keeping with the traditions of the holiday, they feasted on the
mazao,
or crops, of fresh fruit, nuts and an array of harvest vegetables, along with a bounty of fragrant African dishes.

The entire room was awash in red, green and black, with the giant cornucopia Vicki had brought in serving as the focal point. Guests presented gifts to the cornucopia, which would be given out on Imani, the seventh and last day of the celebration.

Vicki felt Jordan’s eyes on her as she listened to John Bancroft, a longtime associate of Ahlfors Financial Management, talk about the recent trip he and his wife had taken to Jamaica.

“It sounds heavenly,” Vicki said, smiling at the man, who felt it necessary to describe every single detail about the all-inclusive resort where he and his wife had vacationed.

Out of the corner of her eye she noticed Jordan standing several yards away, his intense gaze searing and seductive.

“I would love to hear more about the fake volcano at the hotel’s pool, but I see one of the centerpieces has a flower out of place. As the decorator, I just can’t have that.”

“Of course, of course,” the man said.

Vicki quickly made her exit and headed straight to Jordan.

“Having fun?” he asked as he wrapped one arm around her waist and pulled her against him.

Vicki lifted her face to receive his kiss. Keeping her voice low, she whispered, “If you want to go to Jamaica for our honeymoon, I know where you can slide down a fake volcano and into a pool made to look like lava.”

“The only thing I plan to slide down on our honeymoon is you,” he said against her lips.

The shivers that cascaded along her body had no business being there in the midst of a ballroom filled with all their family and friends.

“You’re trying to get me in trouble, aren’t you?” she asked.

“Me? Of course not,” he said, the wicked gleam in his eyes belying his words. His expression sobered, and Vicki didn’t have to think too long to figure out why.

“Let me guess,” she said. “Darren Howerton just walked in.”

Upon learning of Oliver Windom’s cheating on the evening of the holiday extravaganza, Vicki and Jordan had gone over to the Howertons to break the news to Darren Sr., only to learn that the man had gone down to Boston to spend the holidays. Tonight was the first time they’d seen him since discovering the truth about the election results.

Jordan let out a deep breath. “I don’t want to wait another minute to apologize,” he said.

Vicki took his hand and squeezed it.

“It takes a man with integrity to admit when he’s wrong,” she said. “And you have as much integrity as anyone I know.”

Jordan’s eyes filled with gratitude. He crushed his lips to hers in a swift, sweet kiss. “I love you so much.”

“I love you, too,” she said against his lips.

Hand in hand, they started for Darren Sr., who was speaking to Jordan’s father, Stuart Woolcott. Vicki saw the moment when Darren Jr. spotted them heading for his father. He started walking toward them, as well. They all arrived to the two older gentlemen at the same time.

Jordan cleared his throat to get their attention. Darren Sr. and Stuart both turned.

“I hope you don’t mind my interrupting, but I owe this man an apology,” Jordan said. He looked directly into Darren Sr.’s eyes. “By now, I know you’ve heard the results of the investigation I started. I didn’t want to apologize over the phone, because it’s something you deserve to hear face-to-face. I am truly sorry for the accusations I made against you and your campaign, Darren. I put my trust and support in the wrong candidate. All I can do is ask that you forgive me.”

The older gentlemen stood there for a moment without speaking. Finally, he said, “I want to know why, Jordan. Why did you back Oliver’s campaign?”

“I was intrigued by several of his ideas,” he began. “But mostly, I agreed with Oliver’s support for Mass Mentors, a mentorship program that was started by a former classmate of mine.”

As Jordan explained the program to Darren Sr., Vicki stepped in to mention that it was kids from Mass Mentors who’d helped to create her float.

“This sounds like something that should be statewide,” Darren Sr. said.

“I think so, too,” Jordan agreed. “Oliver pledged to fight for funding for the program. It’s desperately needed.”

“Supporting our state’s underserved youth has always been a priority for me,” Darren Sr. said. “You should have come to me with this idea, Jordan. I would have supported it.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t,” he said. “But I’m here to help now. If you’ll allow it, I want to work with you on this.”

“I would love to have your input,” Darren said, clamping Jordan on the shoulder with one hand and offering the other to shake. As the two shook hands, the tension of the past month seemed to melt away.

“I’m proud of you, son,” Stuart said, shaking Jordan’s hand, as well.

Stuart and Darren Sr. both left to join the others at the head table, leaving Jordan, Vicki and Darren Jr. together. Jordan turned to his former schoolmate and Darren Jr., too, held out his hand.

“I appreciate you doing that,” Darren Jr. said.

“When I’m wrong, I say I’m wrong,” Jordan replied. “And I was wrong to accuse your father of cheating. I regret that I put my trust in someone as untrustworthy as Oliver Windom. If I’d known the kind of person he was, I would have left his campaign and come to work on Darren’s.”

“We would have welcomed you,” Darren Jr. said with a grin. “It was miraculous to see how quickly you turned Windom’s campaign around. It was because of you that he nearly pulled off a win.” He shook his head. “I don’t know if you would ever consider leaving law, but if you ask me, you’ve got a career as a political strategist waiting for you.”