Mistletoe Bay Read Free

feature was her eyes. One minute they looked hazel; the next he could see amber sparkles within their depths. Tucker the Terror had his mother’s hair and eye color. The younger boy had reddish hair beneath his green mask and hood.
    â€œOh, I’m sorry.” Jenni stuck out her hand, took one look at it, and quickly hid it behind her back. “Jennifer Wright, mother to these monsters and the neurotic dragon—Jenni to my friends.”
    Coop smiled. The name suited her. It was plain and simple and gave you the impression of the girl next door. Of course, when he had been growing up in Sullivan, his next-door neighbor had looked nothing like Jenni. His neighbor had been a sixty-year-old lobster fisherman who was as mean as a snake and had more tattoos than a circus performer. “You don’t look like your mother.”
    â€œMy mother?”
    â€œDorothy, the woman who usually signs for all the packages.”
    Jenni gave a small, painful smile. “Dorothy is my mother-in-law. My parents passed away years ago.”
    He felt like he had just kicked a puppy. “I’m truly sorry.” And he was. He could see the pain, along with the acceptance in her gaze. “I seem to be really putting my foot into my mouth this afternoon.”
    â€œIt’s okay. How would you have known?” Jenni reached down and unclipped the leash from the pole. Bojangles hid behind her back and wailed when the ghost waved its arms at him.
    â€œTucker, stop that.” Jenni reached down and patted the dog on the head. “Can’t you see you have traumatized the dog enough for one day?”
    Tucker pulled the sheer curtains over his head and grinned. “What’s drama . . . whatever mean?”
    â€œTraumatized. It means you scared him.”
    â€œI scared him shi—”
    â€œThat word coming out of your mouth, young man, better be ‘spitless.’”
    Coop looked up at the weathered underside of the porch roof and tried not to laugh.
    Tucker seemed to think about it for an awfully long time before groaning, “Spitless.”
    â€œThat just saved you from spending the rest of the night in your room, with no trick-or-treating.” Jenni tapped her foot on the floorboards. “Since it was a close call, and you are the one who caused all this commotion, you can help me give Bojangles a bath.”
    â€œMommmmmm!”
    â€œDon’t ‘Mom’ me. Go put your costume on your bed and then strip down to your Skivvies. You’re the one going into the tub with him and scrubbing. I’ll be doing the holding.”
    â€œBut Mom, Chase says if we do it, we can say it. Besides, he knows how to spell it.” Tucker crunched up the sheer curtains and crushed them to his chest.
    â€œI’ll give you points for trying to switch the blame onto Chase instead of your usual target Corey, but it’s not going to work, Tucker. You know that word is bad, and if I hear it come out of your mouth, something worse than spinach will be going into it. I’m thinking oatmeal cranberry soap.”
    Tucker’s eyes grew round with fear. “Yuck, oatmeal!” He turned and hurried into the house.
    Corey, the green caterpillar, gave Coop a wave—“Bye, Mr. Brown”—and followed his brother through the front door.
    The slamming of the wooden front door coincided with Jenni’s sigh.
    Coop laughed. “You just threatened your son with oatmeal?” Soap he understood. When he had been eight, he had had the misfortune of being in the same room where his mother’s sewing circle had been meeting when he repeated a phrase his mean old neighbor had said nearly every day of his life. To this day he still couldn’t use Ivory soap.
    â€œTucker would take soap as a challenge. I already know he despises oatmeal.”
    â€œAt least you know his weaknesses.” He saw a stack of boxes by the front door. “Are they to