Christmas Wedding. Pamela Macaluso

Stay calm. Don’t let him see he’s got you rattled.

      “So, what can we do for you, Mr. Ralston? A tattoo of a nice heart that says Mother? Or perhaps a shark? How about a great white?” The words poured out before she could stop them.

      The man by the window laughed, then turned and walked toward them.

      Holly was bowled over again by how good-looking Jesse was—even in today’s civilized business attire. But she would sleep on a bed of tattoo needles before she let him know she thought so. “Oh, so you like lawyer jokes, Mr. Tyler?”

      When the laughter stopped, his face took its grim lines again. “It appears so, Ms....”

      “Bryant. Holly Bryant.”

      “I brought Chad in to see the design we discussed yesterday.”

      “You’ll have to take him to see Tiny.”

      “You said you had a copy.”

      “I had the original drawing. I don’t anymore.” It was at home, hanging on her refrigerator, and the picket sign now read Jesse Tyler Go Home.

      Chad shrugged. “I guess that’s it, then.”

      Jesse held up one hand. “Hold on a minute.” He turned to Chad. “What’s to keep her from drawing it again?”

      Holly planted a fist on each hip. “You can’t stop me from drawing anything.”

      “Chad?”

      “She’s right. She can draw it.” He turned to Holly. “But you can’t sell it or use it in any way to profit your business.”

      “And what if I do?” The words were for Chad Ralston, but her eyes were on Jesse.

      Holly felt her father’s hands settle on her shoulders. “Good afternoon, gentlemen.” He stepped to the side and held his hand out across the counter. “Red Bryant.” He shook hands with Chad and then Jesse. He was about the same height as the other men, but he had an extra twenty years and an extra fifty pounds on them. “What can we do for you today?”

      Jesse answered. “We’ve asked Ms. Bryant not to reproduce a particular design. If she agrees, then we can all avoid the cost and headache of a lawsuit.”

      Holly looked at her dad. “Tiny’s tattoo...I mentioned it yesterday.”

      Red nodded. “I remember. Why don’t you go on into the stockroom and unpack the shipment and let me handle this?”

      She looked at Jesse. The urge was there to spout philosophical ideals about artistic freedom of expression, but at the moment artistic freedom was balanced against her father’s livelihood, and she didn’t feel it was her place to jeopardize that.

      Especially when the probability was that even if the sample drawing were in the shop she doubted there would be many requests for it. Tiny’s girlfriend had run off with a guy who rode a Yankee, which was why he’d come up with the idea in the first place.

      Holly looked at her dad. “All right, but call if you need me.”

      * * *

      Ten minutes later her father joined her in the stockroom.

      “Are they gone?”

      “Yes.”

      She set aside the packing list she was holding. “Well? What did they say?”

      “For the most part, they repeated what they’d said to you.”

      “You were listening?”

      “I heard the whole conversation.”

      “And what did you say?”

      “I told them I wouldn’t use the design again.”

      All artistic freedom and philosophical issues aside, it was the most logical solution. “Were they satisfied with that?”

      “The lawyer seemed to be, but Mr. Tyler said he’d be happier if he’d heard it from you personally.”

      “I’m sorry, Dad. I should have said it, but something about the guy annoyed me.”

      “I noticed. You were uncharacteristically edgy.”

      “Edgy? I’m never edgy.”

      “I know. That’s why it was such a surprise.” He placed his hand on her shoulder. “Hopefully we’ve seen the last of them.”

      Holly hoped so, too.

      Or did she?

      Two

      Jesse was glad when Biketoberfest ended and he could get back to his real work—designing and planning the next generation of Yankees. Sales were rising, and their racing team was holding its own. But, the way he saw it, there was always room for improvement.

      He had been spending long hours at work. It kept him from having to think about the shambles his once-active social life was in.

      That blasted Yankee Hunk thing!

      Jesse, Rorke and Alex had posed in full-faced helmets for a Yankee ad campaign. No one had expected the furor that had followed as all around the country women asked, “Who are those guys?” Once their identities were known, all hell had broken loose.

      He’d always had a way with the ladies. But after the ad campaign there were more willing women than ever pursuing him. Unfortunately, rather than wanting him, the women were after the mystique of the Yankee Hunk. And just as he hadn’t wanted the Tyler family fortune handed to him on a silver platter, he wasn’t interested in women lusting after his image. Women who claimed undying love when they didn’t even know him.

      He couldn’t even share the frustration with Rorke and Alex. With the phenomenal growth of the business, they all lived in different states now. Besides, Rorke had gotten married before the trouble had started, and Alex had tied the knot shortly after the news had broken.

      Oh, well, he liked getting more work done, but other than that, his self-imposed celibacy was no picnic.

      On this Saturday morning in November as he read the newspaper and thought about whether to go on a motorcycle ride or put in a few more hours at work, the phone rang. He considered letting the answering machine get it, but ended up picking up the receiver.

      “Hello?”

      “Hi, Jesse. It’s Joanna.”

      Jesse smiled. The rest of his family had turned their backs on him when he’d gone into the motorcycle business, but he and his younger sister had stayed in touch and kept a close relationship in spirit if not in distance. “Hi, sweetheart. What can I do for you?”

      “I have a really big favor to ask. Please don’t say no.”

      “I’ll try not to. You know that.”

      “Douglas proposed. We’re getting married in December, and I want you to be in the wedding party.”

      Joanna and Douglas had visited him one weekend. He’d liked the other man well enough and could tell the two of them were crazy about each other. “Are you eloping to Vegas or Reno?” While he meant it as a joke, he couldn’t help thinking it would make his life so much easier if it were true.

      “No, we’re getting married in Florida. At Dad and Mom’s.”

      “JoJo—”

      “Don’t say no, Jesse. I asked Dad and Mom. They said all right.”

      “Can I have that in writing?”

      “Jesse!”

      He closed his eyes and shook his head. His parents’ house was the last place on earth he wanted to go. Actually, it ran a close second to the center of an active volcano. “Sweetheart,