Page 15 of Mistletoe All the Way

“Nothing, but I like a challenge.”

Shaking my head, I take another bite, then ask, “And what’s in this pageant?”

“You compete in different skills contests to showcase your holiday spirit, and the winner is the most festive man of them all.”

That sounds worse than gargling with detergent. “Why the hell would anyone subject themselves to that?”

“Because it’s fun. And there’s a prize at the end—a donation to the charity of your choice,” she says, and that squeezes my heart.

Softens me up a little too. I don’t let on though. Years of sticking thermometers up cats’ butts has perfected my poker face. “But why me?”

That smile of hers grows, wide and pleased. “Because transforming you will be the best story ever. The ultimate happy-news piece. The town will love it. Social media will love it. The Internet will lose their mind for it.” She spreads her arms like she’s showing off a theater marquee. “The grumpy vet turns into a Christmas lover.”

That all sounds so horrific, I can barely stop scoffing. “It’ll never happen, and it’ll never work.”

“It’ll work so well. You’re kind of playing the nice guy already when you pretend to be your brother.”

That’s a good point. No, it’s a great point.

She must realize it too, since she barrels on. “And if you want that farm, I’m guessing you’ll need to show the town why you’re the better man to win it. I bet your grandfather, someone who’s built his reputation on delivering joy and fun and wonder around the holidays, would seriously love the chance to give his horse farm to… Mr. Holiday.”

Ah, hell.

That’s the perfect point. I’ll need to pitch Gramps on why I’d be best to inherit the farm, keep the sleigh rides going, and also turn it into an animal sanctuary for the horses as they retire. I have the animal chops to run that part of the farm. But what better way to demonstrate I can handle the whole shebang than by showing off my so-called Christmas spirit?

“What’s entailed? Do I strut onstage one night?” I shudder at the thought.

She laughs, shaking her head. “I wish it were that easy.”

Parading around onstage doesn’t sound easy to me, but I keep my mouth shut as she rattles off the details. This contest will take some commitment.

To smiling.

To public events.

To talking to people.

But those are all the things I’ll need to do if I’m going to show Gramps why I’m the man to inherit the farm.

“And how long will it take for all those challenges? A couple days?” I ask.

“Just a tidge more. The week and a half leading up to Christmas Eve, which would give us a little over two weeks to prep.”

My jaw goes slack. “That’s a tidge more? A week and a half is like a lifetime. Who has time for a contest that’s longer than one day?”

“The town of Evergreen Falls. That’s who. And it doesn’t mean you have an event every one of those days—just every other day or so. There are only five events.”

Like that makes it better. “Oh, only five?”

She ignores my sarcasm. “Exactly. Easy, right?”

“Like giving a feral cat medicine.”

“How apropos,” she says, her eyes widening as she roams them up and down me, making it clear I’m the feral cat.

I scrub a hand across my beard, slumping in the vinyl booth. Sure, I have the time off. Not by choice though. The senior partner at the vet practice where I spend my days told me to get some work-life balance by clearing my schedule for December. “A necessary vacation,” he’d said, “before you take over next year.”

I took an equity stake in the practice a few years ago, coming in as a junior partner too, but he’s still in charge. Which means I plan to show Alonzo I don’t need time off by volunteering at the rescue clinic. It’s my job to be there for the animals—especially at this time of year, when humans let them down the most.