A Little Christmas Matchmaking (Paradise #2)

Chapter 1

“Did you do that? If you did, it’s not funny.” Tripp Callahan pointed to a sprig of mistletoe hanging from the porch post.

His twin brother, Knox, threw up both palms. “I did not, but I’ll give you three guesses who probably did and the first two don’t count.”

“I only need one,” Tripp grumbled, “and that’s Aunt Bernie. I’ve managed to sidestep every attempt she’s made at setting me up on blind dates. She’s hung that up there to prove to me that she’s not giving up.”

“Aunt Bernie intends to see that you are married and settled down right here in Spanish Fort. You can run, but you cannot hide,” Knox singsonged.

“Don’t I know it!” Tripp reached up, pulled the mistletoe down, and dropped it on the porch. “And Brother, I’m running out of excuses about all the blind dates she tries to fix me up with. Besides, when would I have time for a wife, much less a yard full of children?”

“She wants all three of us putting down permanent roots here so the family won’t be broken up,” Knox said, “and she is a persistent old gal. Our seven sisters are living proof of that. She takes credit for having all of them married and settled down. Besides, the holiday season kicks off in just a few days, and a miracle could happen.”

Tripp wouldn’t wish anything bad on Aunt Bernie, but neither she nor those seven sisters were really his blood kin—or Knox’s either, for that matter. So why did she have the right to meddle in his love life?

“I’m not going anywhere, so she can back off.

She’ll have to be satisfied with the fact that I can’t get any more settled in Spanish Fort than owning a business.

I haven’t even had time to go to the barber in two months.

Instead of a woman, what I really need is someone to help me in the shop so that I’m not working sixteen hours a day.

Do you think Aunt Bernie can put aside her matchmaking business and work some magic in that area? ”

Knox looked down at the pitiful little bunch of mistletoe lying at his feet.

“Brother, you never know just how much magic that little mistletoe can work, so don’t knock it until you’ve given it some time.

Who knows? Maybe it will even find a buyer for your plane you’re still holding on to in Bandera. ”

“I’m not sure I want to sell it. Dad and I had a lot of good conversations flying around the state in that little six-seater plane.

Besides, mistletoe only works in romance, so I’m not interested.

” Tripp kicked the sprig off the porch. “Quit talking and get the door open. That north wind cuts right through my coat to my bones.”

“What do you expect? It’s Texas in the winter. One day we’re wearing coats and shivering. The next we are swimming in the Red River,” Knox smarted off.

“Technically, it’s fall.” Once they were inside, Tripp removed his denim coat and threw it over one of the two leather recliners at either end of a long sofa.

He tucked his gloves into his hip pocket and warmed his hands in front of the fireplace blaze.

“It’s not really winter until four days before Christmas, and Thanksgiving isn’t even until next Thursday. ”

Knox hung his sherpa-lined leather jacket on a coatrack hook. “All work and no play has made my brother an old grouch.”

“Sixteen hours a day doesn’t leave much room for play. Too bad you didn’t learn this trade instead of carpentry so you could help me.” Tripp headed across the open-space room that included the living room, kitchen, and dining area. “I’m going to make some coffee.”

“That sounds good. But Bro, every now and then you need something more than steaming black coffee to keep your blood flowing. Something like a beautiful redheaded woman to wake up to after a steaming night of good old hotter’n hell sex,” Knox said.

“I haven’t heard any noises coming from your place, or a red-haired woman doing the walk of shame in the morning either. I’m up before the crack of dawn, so I wouldknow,” Tripp told him.

“I like tall blonds or brunettes,” Knox fired back. “ You’re the one who has always liked the gingers who are short and sassy. Maybe I’ll tell Aunt Bernie to narrow down the list she’s making for you.”

“Remember what Mama used to tell us about familiarity breeding contempt? The way you are talking tells me that we’ve been spending too much time together these past weeks,” Tripp said.

Knox got two mugs from the cabinet and filled them with freshly brewed coffee. “Ain’t possible. We’ve been together since before birth. I argue with you to keep your blood pressure up.”

“Are you saying that I’m boring?”

“I’m saying that you need some spice in your life.”

The doorbell rang and Knox chuckled. “That might be the mistletoe working its magic even from out in the yard. Maybe Aunt Bernie has found a blue-eyed redhead who will make you fall in love with her at first sight.”

“Or maybe it’s just Aunt Bernie, and she wants a place to warm up before she and that yappy little mutt of hers head back to the Paradise after Pepper’s daily walk.”

Parker poked his head inside. “Anyone at home?”

“Come on in,” Tripp yelled. “Want a cup of coffee?”

“Can you make that two?” Parker asked as he and an elderly man came into the house.

Parker was the husband of the youngest of the seven Paradise sisters, the preacher of the only church in Spanish Fort, and damn good at building anything with wood. He barely came up to Tripp’s shoulder, but he could almost outwork Knox in the carpentry business—and that was saying a lot.

“I want y’all to meet a friend of mine, Hank Thomas, from down in Poetry, Texas. Hank, this is Knox Callahan and his twin brother, Tripp. Knox is the carpenter I help out sometimes, and Tripp is the one I was telling you about who needs help in his leather store.”

“Pleased to meet y’all,” Hank said with a shiver and removed his cowboy hat.

Tripp took a couple of steps forward and shook hands with Hank.

The guy stood eye to eye with him and had lots of salt in his dark hair and crow’s-feet wrinkles around his eyes.

He could be anywhere from sixty to eighty years old.

He had a firm handshake, and his brown eyes seemed to have a little sadness in them.

Knox stood up and stuck out a hand. “Glad to meet you too.”

“Y’all take off your coats and have a seat. Coffee is coming right up. Cream or sugar?” Tripp asked.

“Just black for me.” Hank removed his coat and draped it over a recliner before he sat down.

“What brings you up this way, Mr. Thomas?” Knox asked.

“Just Hank.” He chuckled and eased down on the sofa.

“I was in Nocona and realized that I could drive up here and see Parker. Long story short is that I lost my wife last year on New Year’s Eve and…

” He paused. “My daughter, Willa Rose, says I use any excuse I can find to escape from the house. She’s right most of the time.

Today, I decided to drive up here to put some flowers on my grandparents’ graves down in Nocona. ”

Tripp poured two more mugs full of coffee, carried them to the living area, and handed one each to Hank and Parker. “So, you’re just stopping by then?”

Hank took a sip and smiled. “Yes, and this smells like good coffee, not that thin stuff you get in restaurants.”

“Thanks for this,” Parker said. “This hot mug feels good in my cold hands. I left my gloves on my desk at the church. We have talked Hank and Willa Rose into staying with me and Endora tonight and attending church with us tomorrow. But that’s not why we are here.

Hank is a leatherworker, and he might be interested in working for you. ”

Tripp almost choked on a sip of coffee. He had been advertising for help in his leather shop for more than a month, and not one person had even called. For more than a minute, he was speechless. Surely, that damn mistletoe didn’t have anything to do with this.

Knox chuckled and Tripp shot a dirty look his way.

“Have you worked with leather? What have you done? Saddles, boots?” Tripp stumbled over the words.

“All of the above,” Hank answered. “Plus belts, purses, custom women’s jewelry, and whatever else you can think of.”

Tripp intended to rush outside and bring that sprig of mistletoe in the house. He might even give it a prominent place on his nightstand, so it would be the last thing he looked at every night.

“Would you be willing to move to Spanish Fort?” Knox asked.

“Yes, I would, and the sooner the better,” Hank answered.

Tripp envisioned making a special shadow box for the mistletoe and hanging it above the fireplace in his new place next door to the barn.

“There is a small efficiency apartment that comes with the job. I lived in it while we were building my house. It’s right through that door, so you wouldn’t even have to get out in the weather to come to work. ”

“Even better. I won’t have the space to accumulate so much stuff.

I’ve always said that when I die, I want everything I own to fit in a shoebox.

That way Willa Rose won’t have to deal with so much.

My wife and daughter hit every garage sale, junk store, or auction within a hundred-mile radius.

Vada, that was my wife, left my poor daughter a two-story house full of stuff, mostly antiques, that she’d have to deal with some day,” Hank said.

“How long were you married?” Tripp asked.

“Forty years, two days, and seven hours. I’m seventy years old, retired from truck driving, bored to tears, and needing a change.”

Tripp did the math in his head. With a name like Willa Rose and a seventy-year-old father, she might be in her late thirties. Another bonus. Too old for Aunt Bernie to try to fix him up with.

“Hank’s dad owned a little custom boot and saddle shop in Poetry years ago, so he grew up in the business,” Parker said.

“I’ve been looking for something to keep me busy, and I think this place and a job—full time or even part time—would fit the bill,” Hank added.