I’d been over to the house last week to make dinner with Duane, and had been appalled by their lack of holiday décor. They didn’t even have a Christmas tree.
That night Duane had made chicken and dumplings; meanwhile I tasked the brothers, set them to work adding wreaths and lights and garlands to the house fa?ade as well as the big staircase and fireplace. Cletus, in particular, had grumbled the entire time, calling me an interfering female.
I wondered if they’d kept the bough of mistletoe hanging up between the kitchen and dining room. Regardless, despite the mess of the front yard, the grand old house looked great, festive and welcoming.
“It does look nice,” Duane said at my shoulder; I saw he was looking at me, reading my expression and my mind.
“Yes. It does. I’m glad we took the time to do it.”
“Me, too. Thanks for being such a bully.”
I flattened my expression. “I wasn’t a bully. I was merely a persistent peddler of holiday cheer.”
“You told Beau that if he didn’t help put up the Christmas lights on the roof then you wouldn’t make him apple pie ever again.”
I shrugged, climbing the steps to the porch. “So? He needed some persuasion. And he’s a complainer.”
Duane laughed, a good robust rumbly chuckle, and the sound made me smile.
“Besides,” I added, “he only complains and resists because he likes being threatened.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes. He needs a firm hand.”
Duane stopped laughing, but I heard teasing in his retort. “You keep your firm hands where they belong.”
“And where is that?”
“On my drive shaft.”
Now I barked a laugh, almost dropping the pumpkin pie in my left hand, and then snorted because I was laughing so hard. Dirty automotive double entendre were now my favorite.
I remembered my nerves just as Duane leaned around me and knocked on the front door with his boot, calling, “Open up. Our hands are full of pie.”
Not three seconds later, almost as though he’d been lying in wait, the door flung open revealing a grinning Jethro in a hideous reindeer sweater. “Well, hello beautiful.”
Before I understood what was happening, Jethro bent down, wrapped his arm around my waist, and planted a big old kiss on me.
My eyes bulged and frantically cut to Duane—who looked startled at best, murderous at worst. I felt Duane’s boot brush past my leather clad calf on its way to administering a swift kick to his eldest brother.
“What the hell are you doing?”
Duane’s boot must’ve connected with Jethro’s shin, because the kiss abruptly ended with Jethro stumbling back two steps, his grin now a happy grimace.
“Ow, damn that hurt.”
Duane stepped in front of me, balancing a pie in each hand, and bellowed, “I didn’t know you wanted a broken nose for Christmas, Jethro.”
“Relax, Duane.” Jethro laughed, bending over to rub his shin as he pointed toward the ceiling. “We moved the mistletoe, it’s right there.”
“Duane, you’re standing under the mistletoe, and you have pie.” This comment came from Cletus who’d appeared out of nowhere, swooped forward, and grabbed a pie out of Duane’s hand. Then he called over his shoulder, disappearing with the pie, “I’d kiss you but I don’t want our beards to tangle.”
Duane glanced at the ceiling briefly, then back to Jethro. I could see my man was not amused. Meanwhile, I had to roll my lips between my teeth to keep from laughing.
Beau sauntered over, leaning to the side, and giving me a smile though he addressed Duane. “Well come in, dummy. Don’t keep your woman standing out in the cold.”
Duane shoved the remaining pie at Beau. Then he turned, took both pies out of my hands and gave them to Jethro. Then he turned again, wrapped an arm around my waist, and kissed me. Actually, he kissed and dipped me. My arms automatically went to his neck and I kissed him back with fervor. When we finally straightened, I was dizzy and smiling like a well-kissed goof.
“There. Now she’s been kissed under the mistletoe.” Duane pressed me close to his side. “No need for any more liberties.”
“She’s been kissed under that mistletoe,” Jethro corrected, his mischievous hazel eyes—which looked almost green this evening—shifting to mine just before he gave me a wink. “But we’ve got mistletoe all over the house. You can thank Jess for the original idea, and Cletus for running with it.”
I felt Duane’s hold on me tighten, saw his jaw work and clench just before he abruptly pulled me forward, giving his brothers the stink eye as we passed. “Come on, Jess.”
“Where are we going?”
“We’re going to find all the mistletoe in the house and disarm it.”