The Matchmaking Heirs

Perhaps even an inkling of an idea what to get their better half for Christmas for starters.And now they’ve been tasked with a matchmaking quest that seems downright impossible. Maribel has put it on the brothers and their lady loves to help widow Drucilla Crombie finally get the man she’s pined over for nearly sixty years. But old Mr. Gentry is oblivious and ornery and, according to Maribel, would need a map and a compass to find the nose on his own face, so he’s completely hopeless when it comes to love.Now, it’s up to Callum, Carson, Colton and their women to help bring the two Winter Harborites together once and for all. But it won’t be easy. And if that’s not hard enough, there’s a journalist in Summer Hills hell-bent on dragging the Summers and Winters family names through the mud. So they need to figure out what his problem is and put a stop to it before things escalate and ruin Christmas for everyone.Get ready forlaughter, swoony moments, and one unforgettable Christmasin the quirky small coastal town of Winter Harbor, Oregon as the brothers and their loves unravel mysteries, play matchmakers and sneak moments under the mistletoe for the first time ever.

“I think we should consider designating part of the property to a Christmas tree farm,” I said to my brothers as I helped untie the bound nine-foot-tall Christmas tree from the roof of Carson’s truck. “It’ll be a long-term investment project, but we could turn it into a sustainable farm, where people return their trees at the end of the season, and we replant them or something.” I’d forgotten my gloves when we’d driven to get our tree from Summer Hills, and the wind’s cold bite was quickly freezing my fingers to icicles.

It was our first Christmas in Winter Harbor and Hope Creek Manor, so we intended to do it properly with an enormous tree and all the trimmings. Carson and I had spent most of yesterday traipsing around the manor’s roof, putting up lights, while Colton gave directions from the ground like a petty dictator.

“I’ll do a bit more research,” Carson replied, untying the tree from the driver’s side. “But it’s not a terrible idea. We have the land.”

“I like the sustainability part.” Colton dropped the tailgate. “But I think if we offered a small batch of trees that were disposable, we would increase our revenue, since not everyone wants to reuse their tree. We have a wood chipper, so we could offer a free chipping service at the sawmill, then donate the chips to the rec center’s community garden. They’re always needed for the pathways.”

“A few years off from doing that.” I blew on my hands as I cupped them to my face while Carson and Colton took an end of the tree each and carted it toward the manor’s front door. “But let’s definitely do more research and see what it entails.”

“Any idea what you’re getting Harlow for Christmas?” Carson asked me, stomping his boots to release last night’s snow dusting the ground like a thin, white blanket. He climbed the cleared front steps to the wrap-around porch. “I’m driving myself bonkers trying to figure out what to get Amaya.”

“No fucking clue,” I muttered, stomping my boots, too. We’d received a two-inch dump of snow last night—first of the season—but Carson had been awake first and cleared a pathway from our front door to his truck in the driveway.

Amaya and Lily’s cars sat covered in snow in the driveway, and Colton had bought a canvas-sided storage shed for his motorcycle. He and Lily shared her car, but he was making noise about getting a truck or something.

Colton was the last to join us on the porch, and he stomped his boots on the stairs, too. “I sketched Lily a picture. It’s a bouquet of lilies, irises, roses—the Princess Alexandra of Kent, and dahlias—since that’s what her father used to call her and her sisters. And her dad’s name was Kent. I’m thinking of getting prints made of it, too, so each of the sisters can have one.”

“Well, it’s easy to give the perfect gift when you’re as fucking talented as you are,” Carson murmured. “I can barely draw a stickman.”

We left our boots on the porch in a boot tray, since we didn’t want to track dirt and snow into the house. After we ditched our footwear, Carson opened the front door, and we angled the tree inside.

“Why don’t you build something?” I suggested to Carson as the three of us hauled the tree into the grand living room and the space we’d cleared in the corner beside the fireplace. “You might be inept when it comes to drawing, but I’ve never met a finer woodworker than you.”

Carson made a noise in his throat that was dismissive but also secretively doused with pride. He tilted the stump of the Fraser Fir into the tree stand. There was less than a foot of clearance to the ceiling.

Perfect.

“Maybe,” Carson murmured, standing back, planting his hands on his hips and admiring the tree. He wore a red and black Buffalo Plaid jacket and blue jeans, as well as a black knit cap. “But what?”

“We have a little over two weeks until Christmas, and Ripley has already said you’re welcome to use his garage for any woodwork projects you might have—until the warehouse at the lumberyard and sawmill is rebuilt,” I added.

“Again,” Carson said, glancing at me, “what do I make?”

I shrugged. “No idea.”

He sighed. “Yeah, me either. I can’t believe I left this to the last minute.” He scratched his head and sighed. “Christmas crept up so fast. And Camilla is in a sleep regression.” Dark bags hung under my brother’s eyes.

“Oh, we’re well aware of the sleep regression,” I said wryly.

He grimaced. “Sorry.”

I shook my head and shrugged. “I have earplugs. No worries. If it was anybody else but Camilla, she’d be out on her ass for causing such a ruckus.” I grinned at him. “But my niece can do no wrong.”

Carson snorted. “How generous of you.”

“Well, I’m stuck on what to get Harlow,” I confided. “The woman is a minimalist, doesn’t cook—unless it’s with me—can’t keep a plant alive to save her life, and works like a mad-woman at the firm. She also makes good coin, so if she wants something, she buys it herself.”

Amaya came around the corner carrying a snoozing Camilla. My niece’s pouty little lips were slightly opened and her cherubic face was smooshed against her mother’s shoulder. “Nice tree, boys. Very nice.”

Carson grinned at his woman. “Fraser Firs are the best. They won’t die, and they won’t drop their needles.”

“Cost a fucking fortune, too,” Colton grumbled.

“I think you boys can afford it,” Amaya said with a cheeky smile before handing Camilla to Carson. “I need to pee and right now, this little fox will only sleep if she is on someone.”

“Where is Lily?” Colton asked.

“She took Wesley for a walk in the snow,” Amaya said, heading for the powder room. “Pup loves the snow. You should have seen him trying to catch snowballs in his mouth when they first got outside. I’m pretty sure that was the first time Camilla ever giggled.”

“And I missed it!” Carson pouted before pressing his lips to his daughter’s head.

“She’ll do it again one day,” Amaya said, before closing the door to the powder room.

“I’ll get the boxes of decorations,” Colton said, disappearing into the sunroom where my latest batch of animal patients rested and recuperated. Sally the Heron, Gregory the Squirrel, and Raven the Raven were recuperating in my makeshift animal infirmary.

“We have to wait for Harlow,” I reminded him. “She asked that we wait until she’s home tonight so we can decorate the tree together.”

“I know,” Colton said, returning to the living room with several boxes of decorations, then retreating to the sunroom to get more. “But I’m simply being proactive.” He finished bringing the boxes into the living room, then sloughed off his dark-green ski jacket, hanging it in the foyer.

Amaya exited the bathroom. “You three look chilly. I’m going to make hot chocolate.”

“Have I told you how much I love you lately?” Carson asked, swaying while rubbing Camilla’s back.

“Probably,” she said over her shoulder, “but it’s always nice to hear it again.”

Carson blew her a kiss, then faced us when the kitchen door swung closed with Amaya behind it, then brought his voice down. “What the fuck do I get that woman?”

Colton frowned. “Maybe make her a—”

His words were cut off by the cacophony of the front door opening and Lily and Wesley entering.

Wesley barked and bounded into the living room, running to each of us for pets. Harlow and I had adopted our lovely and lively Pitbull puppy from a shelter in Summer Hills. A puppy mill had been raided and several litters were surrendered to the shelter. We took one look at Wesley and were in love. And the happy-go-lucky pup had seamlessly integrated himself into our home and lives.

I gave my boy a couple of thorough scratches behind the ears as Lily came around the corner with rosy cheeks and bright brown eyes. “Wesley Jackson Winters, get back here, young man. I need to dry your feet.” She had an old bath towel in her hands and approached Wesley at my feet.

His coat was wet and his paws left damp prints on the hardwood floor, so I appreciated her attention to detail. We tried hard to keep the house clean, despite Carson constantly being covered in drywall dust or sawdust from his various construction projects around town.

Lily finished drying off Wesley, then gave him a pat on the butt, so he knew she was done. He did a small woof, and his tail wagged to-and-fro as he hurried to each of us for a secondary greeting.

“So, I guess the dog hates the snow?” Colton said with a smirk.

“Yep.” Lily hung the towel in the entryway. She was all sarcastic smiles since everyone knew Wesley loved the snow and could stay outside for hours playing in it. “Just begging to come back inside.”

“I’ll have to get him out again with his favorite ball,” I chimed in. “Though it might get lost in the snow.”

“Oh, that old Bloodhound could find his favorite ball in a ten-foot drift.” Carson patted Wesley’s head. “Right, buddy?”

Wesley smiled, and his tail wagged even more.

“Hot chocolate is ready,” Amaya called, poking her head through the swinging door. “Where do you want it?”

“In here,” Carson replied. He turned to me and held out a sleeping Camilla. “Here, take this. I’m going to go help Vix.”

Not that I would ever decline a snuggle with my niece, but him thrusting a sleeping baby into my arms was still a little jarring. She was just so damn small. I cradled her against my shoulder and cupped her tiny butt as she snuggled in, not opening her eyes for a second.

Lily shivered and rubbed her palms together as Colton looped his arm around her shoulders. “Cold?”

She shook her head. “Nope. It’s practically tropical out there.”

“Smart ass,” he said, pulling her closer and pecking her on the side of the head.

She glanced up at the tree. “That’s a beauty for sure.”

“Best one on the lot,” Colton said proudly.

“That reminds me, Ripley said they need more volunteers at the craft fair and Christmas festival in the square this weekend. He asked if we’d help. Apparently, quite a few of the regular volunteers are away on vacation. And Tim and Jim—Ripley’s two right hands—are heading to Mexico tomorrow.”

“But how will drunk people get home from their Christmas parties without the Tim and Jim Express?” Colton asked.

“Probably by the new taxi service I implemented last month,” she replied, elbowing him.

“Ooohhh, that’s right. Your first order as mayor was to piss off Tim and Jim.”

“We can’t please everyone,” she murmured. “And besides, aren’t they past the age of retirement?”

I nodded. “I think Tim is pushing eighty-five. And Jim is only a couple of years younger. They deserve the vacation.”

Carson opened the swinging kitchen door with a tray full of steaming mugs. Amaya followed him with a tray of cookies that she and Lily made yesterday. They’d gotten pretty busy in the kitchen last night, as well as pretty drunk on wine. Apparently, Lily started piping not-safe-for-work pictures on the cookies with icing, and Amaya—and soon Harlow as well, who arrived later and just drank wine—wound up in absolute stitches.

I didn’t get a chance to check out her artwork, though, since I was busy upstairs working on my start-up project in California.

Amaya walked past, and I took a peek at the tray where, sure enough, the gingerbread men had erections. And what had probably once been a sugar cookie meant to be shaped like a circular tree ornament was now a breast with an areola and nipple.

“I’ll take a boob, please,” I said, stopping her on her way to the coffee table and snatching a round cookie with a very pink, very hard, very delicious looking nipple piped onto it.

Amaya grinned. “They’re delicious.”

“The gingerbread men with their Mike & Ike penises are delicious, too. We cut them into fourths and used the end pieces as the balls,” Lily added, selecting a gingerbread man from the tray and picking the green Mike & Ike dick off the cookie and popping it into her mouth. “Mmmm, best tasting dick I’ve ever had in my mouth.”

“Hey!” Colton said, tugging on her braid as she walked past him to the couches. He followed her and they took a seat on one of the couches while Amaya sat down on the other, setting the tray on the coffee table.

I snagged one of the chairs in front of the fireplace while Carson snuggled in beside Amaya. Amaya passed around the hot chocolates, and I made sure not to get my mug near Camilla as I took a sip. Thankfully, it wasn’t too hot, but just right.

“Hand me one of those boob cookies, please, Lilypad,” Colton said. “Need to see if it tastes better than the real thing.”

Lily snorted, but obliged, grabbing one for herself as well.

We were settling in for our treat when there was a knock at the door.

I was about to get up, but Carson shook his head and rose first. He opened the door and greeted the newcomer. But their voices were muffled, so I had no idea who it was.

Colton, Amaya, Lily, myself, and even Camilla remained quiet as we strained our ears to listen.

“Aunt Maribel!” Amaya exclaimed, jumping up from her seat and approaching the sprightly older woman with the green-hazel eyes as she came around the corner with Carson. “What are you doing out here in this weather? I hope you didn’t drive.”

Maribel waved off her great niece. “Oh, honey, if only you knew the kind of weather I used to drive in and without proper tires, too. This is nothing but slush, and I could ride my bike in it if I didn’t have a flat tire.”

“Next time I’m over, I’ll pump that up for you,” Carson offered, which earned him a swat from Amaya. “Fine,” he said, rubbing his arm where she’d hit him. “I’ll wait until the spring.”

“I come with a request,” Maribel said, getting straight to business. “Call it a Christmas Quest if you want.”

“What is this Christmas Quest?” I asked, adjusting Camilla in my arms when she squirmed and made a cooing noise.

“Matchmaking,” Maribel said.

“For you?” Amaya exclaimed.

Maribel rolled her eyes. “No, dear. I’m not doing this for me.”

“Then who for?” Lily prodded.

“Bernard and Drusilla.”

“Mr. Gentry and Mrs. Crombie?” Colton’s voice went up a couple of octaves.

Maribel’s head bobbed. “Yes. Though you know she prefers to be called Drusilla.”

A few of us snorted and nodded. That was true. Mrs. Crombie corrected anyone who called her Mrs. Crombie. She said it made her feel old and that her first name was perfectly fine.

“Anyway,” Maribel went on, “Dru’s been in love with Bernie since they were kids, and he’s never seen her that way—the fool. He’s so stubborn.”

“Does he know she’s in love with him?” Amaya asked.

Maribel shook her head. “No. Drusilla has sworn me to secrecy, like we’re in elementary school. And that obtuse man couldn’t find the nose on his face without someone giving him a map.”

Carson snorted. “I don’t think Mr. Gentry is that bad.”

“When it comes to noticing women, he is. The only reason he took up with Peggy was because she was manning the kissing booth at the Harbor Fair one summer and walked straight up to him, handed him a quarter, and said, ‘Come kiss me, Bernard.’”

“Peggy had balls,” Carson said, shaking his head.

“She did. But she was also an idiot,” Maribel said, without any remorse in her voice. “She gave up on Bernard for your grandfather, and poor Bernie was so heartbroken he never even glanced at another woman again. Not even when Dru was there, right in front of him, with her heart open, waiting for him to love her in return.”

Lily pressed her hand to her heart. “I’ve heard this story before, but it’s still so sad.”

“So what is the matchmaker quest then?” I asked. “Set up Mr. Gentry and Mrs. Crom—I mean Drusilla?”

Maribel’s head bobbed. “Yes, but not in a way that they will know they’re being set up. I need you to all be covert about it. Sneaky, if you will. Underhanded.”

“So like … how the old Winters—”

“And Summers,” Lily added, cutting off Colton.

“Were?” Colton finished.

Maribel shrugged. “You said it, not me. But, yes. Hone into the deceptive ways of your ancestors and figure out how to get these two old coots together.”

“Is old coot not offensive?” Carson asked.

“Not if an old coot is calling others an old coot,” Maribel replied, a glitter of mischief in her green-hazel eyes.

Lily tapped her chin. “What if we have a Christmas Eve party and invite them? We could play games and make sure they’re partners.”

“That’s a start,” Maribel said. “But we’ll need more.”

“Why are you making this your quest?” I asked. “What’s in it for you?”

Maribel hit me with a hard look. “Winter Harbor is a better place when it’s filled with love. Your family filled it with everything but. Ruined a lot of lives in the process. And now that you three have finally turned things around and found love, it’s time for everyone else to find it, too. And why not start with the oldest unrequited love story in town?”

I grinned at Maribel, loving the furrow of her brow and stern look she was giving me. “Works for me.”

“So, should we hang mistletoe everywhere?” Amaya suggested with a titter.

“Again, we’ll need more. Bernie is a stubborn old man. Head of a bull, that one.”

“I like the party idea with games,” I said. “And the mistletoe. We can invite Ripley and his wife. Frank from the lumberyard. Harlow’s parents and brother.” Excitement tickled inside my chest. “Ooh, and Hannah, Harlow’s mom will probably bring her crab dip. That stuff is like crack.”

Carson and Colton both nodded with wide eyes. They, too, had first-hand knowledge of Hannah’s crack crab dip.

“And of course, my mom and Stanton,” Amaya added.

“And Olive and Dotty. And Pete from the hardware store and his wife.” Carson glanced at me. “Harlow can invite her friend Jayne and her hubby, too.”

Maribel’s head was bobbing. “This is great. But make sure you keep Dru and Bernie as your main focus.” Her thin brows narrowed. “So let’s not invite Dotty and Olive. No need to add competition for poor Dru.”

Several of us snorted. “Noted.”

Maribel checked her watch beneath the sleeve of her sweater and coat. “But I must run. I just wanted to pop in and speak with whomever was here.” She padded over to where I sat with Camilla, then brushed her hand over the baby’s soft dusting of red hair and kissed her head. “And give this little gem my love.”

“Always so great to see you, Aunt Maribel,” Amaya said. “And we’ll think more about our matchmaking quest and keep you posted. We’ll also send you information on the party for Christmas Eve.”

“Already thinking about what dress I’ll wear,” Maribel said, making her way to the door once more.

“Do you want Carson to drive you home?” Amaya asked.

Maribel waved her off again. “I’ll be fine, honey. Don’t worry about me.”

“I can’t help it,” Amaya said, seeing her aunt to the door.

I glanced at Colton and Lily. “A Christmas Quest?”

“A Christmas Matchmaking Quest,” Lily corrected, welcoming Wesley onto the couch so the dog could rest his head on her lap. She stroked his velvety ears. “What kind of games can we have?”

The front door closed and Amaya rejoined us. “I say we get this thing catered.”

“Agreed,” Carson said. “Less stress.”

“I’ll get growlers from the brewery,” Colton suggested. “And there’s that great food truck called … The Wandering Wagon. I bet they would cater. They’re shut down for the season, but I’ve befriended the owners, and I know they’re in town for the holidays and could use the cash.” He retrieved his phone and shot off a text.

A loud ping from Lily’s phone had her grabbing it off the coffee table.

We chatted amicably among ourselves, offering more ideas for the party while my sister-in-law continued to read whatever was texted to her, and her brows grew increasingly pinched together.

I elbowed Colton, who was sitting next to me, and when he glanced over, I jerked my chin toward Lily, who was now wearing a devastated scowl.

“What’s the matter, Lilypad?” Colton asked.

Lily growled, and shaking her head, lifted her gaze to us. “This!” She thrusted her phone toward Colton, who scanned what I saw was a newspaper article when I leaned over for a closer peek.

“Who the fuck is Griffin Zwick?” Colton snarled with ire, still reading.

“Definitely not someone we’re inviting to the party,” Lily said, her cheeks two rosy apples while her nostrils flared in frustration.

“Wait, what’s going on?” Carson asked. “And why is he on our no-fly list?”

“He’s a reporter for the Summer Hills Tribune, who just wrote a terrible slush piece on Lily, her family, and our family,” Colton said, shaking his head and swearing under his breath as he handed Lily’s phone to me.

“Fuck,” Carson muttered, having found the article on his phone. “Does the man not care about facts?”

“Not when it gets him clicks,” Lily said with a sigh.

Colton rubbed her back. “We’ll get to the bottom of this, I promise.”

She nodded, but her brown eyes were sad.

Colton grabbed another gingerbread man cookie. “Here, eat a strawberry-flavored dick.”

“Thanks,” she said, taking the cookie and breaking off the pink Mike & Ike penis, then popping it into her mouth.

“Strike Griffin the dogface Zwick from the guest list,” Carson said, drawing his finger across the air in a horizontal line. “Not that I think he was on it to begin with.”

I patted Camilla’s bum and kissed the top of her head, needing a surge of oxytocin to keep my mood in check. “Well, whoever he is, we’re going to go have a little chat with him tomorrow. Figure out what kind of a beef he has with our families.”