Nine
When Shane strode into the Bedspread Inn to pay rent, Pat was up on the stepladder hanging the mistletoe in its traditional place in the center of the first beam. For once, the restaurant was nearly empty, but being just after three on a Monday, it was well past lunch, and the dinner rush hadn’t begun. Most locals were still at work, and the skiers hadn’t yet come down off the Northstar Ski Hill, nor had the snowmobilers and cross-country skiers come in from the trails.
“Isn’t that the same sprig your brother-in-law first kissed your sister under?” Shane asked.
“The very same,” Pat replied as he climbed down.
“Maybe I should try it on Becky since it seems to have worked so well for Ty and Shannon.” Shane pulled his wallet out of his back pocket and took out the requisite cash. “An
