Prologue
Hartley
Family comes first — at least it does when you are a Mistletoe.
So when Mom lays out her plan to save the town of Snow Valley I’m not surprised my five single brothers are on board. However, I’m less certain this is a good idea.
Mom has tried to warm us all up with a home cooked meal followed by brown sugar bourbon and her famous fruitcake. She’s smart, I’ll hand her that.
“Granddad would love seeing us use his money for good,” my brother Mason says after Mom’s pitch. It’ true, but I never expected to use my inheritance this way. Does that make me selfish? Maybe.
“And since we’re all planning on staying in Snow Valley for the long haul, I don’t see why not,” Nate says.
He has a point, we are all planning on sticking around — but I wonder if it makes sense. The Mistletoe Brothers owning a town? We have no experience.
Matt runs a hand over his jaw. “I think the figures work. It would mean more work for all of us, but I might get a partner at the firm soon, and I’d have more time.” As the lawyer of the family, and the oldest son, makes sense why money is on his mind.
Spencer, the youngest brother, says he’s on board. “Though as a carpenter, not sure I can add much to the business end of things. But I can help spruce up the town. Have you seen how old all the signage is around this place? I don’t think Jasper has put a nickel of his money into Snow Valley in years.”
Christopher, the quietest of us, leans back in his chair, extending his long legs out in front of him. His expression is pensive. “You won’t get an argument from me. I don’t need some corporation coming in and trying to tell me how to run my brewery and pub.”
“We sure we don’t want the Titan Corp coming in?” I ask, not sure I’m really feeling Mom’s plan. “Tourist towns attract visitors. And this place could use some more women.”
Mason laughs. “Says the guy who has dated every available one already.”
I shrug, not taking his comments to heart. “Not like there are many options.”
I notice my dad smirks as he adds more bourbon to his glass, like he knows something the rest of us don’t. I look back at Mom. what isn’t she saying.
“Speaking of women…” Mom says, grabbing the bottle of bourbon from Dad’s hands, and then she tells us boys to top off our glasses as if she wants to get us tipsy. “There is one thing I need to mention.”
She begins to explain some archaic law about the town owners being married — that she even went to City Hall to see the law with her own two eyes.
“Well then why are we having this conversation?” Mason asks. “None us are even dating.”
“Yet,” she adds, lifting a finger.
“What do you mean, yet?” Nate asks, sitting back in his chair.
“I might have done something… something… a bit rash.” Mom presses a hand to her heart.
“Rash?” Matt groans. “Mom, what did you do?”
Mom look at Dad, biting her lip.
“Go on, Joy,” he says with a shake of his head. “Tell your sons what you’ve done.”
Mom gives them an exaggerated smile. “I ordered you each a bride.”
“A bride?” Spencer laughs. “Mom, I’m twenty-two.”
“Your father was twenty-one when he married me,” Mom pushes back.
“Absolutely not,” Christopher growls. “I don’t need a woman interfering in my business either.”
“When you say ordered… what does that mean, exactly?” Matt asks. All of the boys pause and stare at me, waiting for my answer.
Mom smiles brightly. “You’re each getting a mail-order bride in a few weeks.”
I look at my mother with horror. I know her well enough to understand this is no joke. A wife?
“Merry Christmas,” she tell us. “I have a feeling it’s going to be a very interesting holiday this year.”
I do more than take a drink of that bourbon, I down the whole damn glass.
I’ve never date seriously. Never met a woman who could tempt me to take out more than once.
And now my mother has ordered me a wife.
Hartley
1
Hartley
It’s been a month since my mother sat us boys down and gave us the news. She ordered us wives. Wives.
I, twenty-six-year-old Hartley, am going to get hitched?
Impossible.
I try to wrap my mind around the idea that there’s a bride coming here. For me. A guy who has never once been in a serious relationship. I feel bad for her, whoever she is.
I consider getting out of it, the whole thing — buying the town and marrying a stranger — but when I broach the subject with my brothers they give me a look that says, Shut the hell up, Hartley.
No one wants to cross our mother, especially not at Christmas. And so if all my brothers are agreeing to this, how can I be the odd man out? Can you imagine the way I’d feel at every family gathering for the next fifty years? Like I let her down. Let all of them down.