petit four from her purse and taking a bite. “Politicians are all criminals.”
“He was stealing Marco’s crystal bird,” ChiChi accused.
“I was not stealing anything, I was merely admiring the display when these three started beating me with their umbrellas, and then that feline scratched me.” The Frenchman looked from his arm to the cat and then to Lucinda. “I hope it’s had its shots.”
Lucinda cuddled Mr. Puffins to her chest. “I’m going to shoot you if you don’t give us back our Randolph!”
“Ah, hell,” Gabe said, a headache forming behind his left eye.
“I have no idea who Randolph is, and as I tried to explain to these ladies earlier, I have nothing to do with his disappearance.”
“I never forget a face and I have seen yours before. Probably on one of those police shows on television,” Pricilla shot back, licking the icing off her pudgy little finger so she could point with it.
And Gabe’s life just got a hell of a lot worse because this man wasn’t a diplomat, and Pricilla had seen his face. It was plastered on every ad promoting this week’s wine conference. Their criminal was none other than Simon Bonnet, one of the largest wine importers in France and this week’s keynote speaker.
“And we found this near the town display, right next to Randolph’s pedestal,” ChiChi said, shoving an Eiffel Tower key ring in Gabe’s face. He blinked. “As in, the scene of the crime.”
“Oh, boy.” Regan’s face paled and Gabe would have bet good money she was shy one key ring.
“Can you read the last text?” Jordan asked, taking a petit four from Pricilla.
“Um, okay.” Regan read the screen. “It says, ‘I’m taking the rest of the week off. Paid.’”
“And to think I brought you one of my persimmon rolls,” Jordan added.
Gabe cringed. He hated those persimmon rolls. They were almost as bad as ChiChi’s fruitcakes. He still had the one from Thanksgiving in the back of his truck.
As if reading his mind, Jordan harrumphed and then headed for the door.
“Hang on.” Gabe grabbed her arm. There was no way in hell he could lose Jordan the week before Christmas. Not this Christmas. As insane as she made him, she also made his life run smoothly. She was the gatekeeper for all of his family’s crazy ideas and problems. If she left, he would be forced to go with her, because there was no way he could deal with his family alone.
Then the damnedest thing happened. The Frenchman laughed.
Simon and Regan sat, one in the chair, the other on the desk, and spoke in rapid French, giggling and sharing stories. Gabe watched with fascination—and, if he were being honest, pride—as the man literally transformed in front of his eyes. Under Regan’s attention his brows lowered, his eyes lit with excitement, and his whole body relaxed.
She didn’t flirt or use her beauty to charm him, which she easily could have. Instead, her magic was making him feel validated, taking the time to listen and to share.
With a final laugh and a firm shake of the hand, Regan led him out of the office. Simon patted Gabe on the shoulder and said something about grandbabies and holidays.
“You going to just let them walk away?” ChiChi barked.
A wise man would answer yes. Last he’d heard, though, the roles of all three wise men were already cast. And he wasn’t one of them.
CHAPTER 8
“This one,” Holly said as she walked around the tree. It was full and lush and smelled like Christmas. It was also ten feet tall and wider than their kitchen.
“How about we find something a little more...quaint?” Regan suggested, gripping the ax handle tighter and steering her daughter toward the smaller trees.
Choosing the right tree was a lot more difficult that she’d anticipated, and, if the way the ax handle was already giving her blisters was a sign, cutting one down was going to be painful. Cutting it down in the middle of a race, when most of her competitors were dads, was going to be impossible. Which was why Regan and Holly came early, to scout out a good tree. Because when that whistle blew and people started scrambling for the available trees, it was bound to get messy.
First step was to get Holly to agree on one that was not fit for Rockefeller Center. It was the dreamer in Holly. She believed that if they had the perfect tree then they would have the perfect Christmas.
Telling herself that she did not fall under those