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I’m trying to think of any good Christmas-sized trees I may have seen, and Johnny Walker runs ahead, yapping at something he must see or smell. Can’t imagine too many forest animals would be out right now in this weather. Seems like I’m the only beast crazy enough to come out today.
I follow the old boy, knowing he must be on to something. I cut across the snow-covered garden, beyond the livestock barn that houses the animals for the winter. We cross into the forest, and immediately things are darker, hushed. The sky is covered by the tree branches laden with snow.
It’s gorgeous out here, beyond the cleared space of my cabin. The nearest city is over an hour away, in this forest, there is nothing to distract you, nothing to do but clear your mind. It’s calm and peaceful.
Except that today there is a cry for help.
Johnny’s off like a shot and I follow close behind, my ax still firmly gripped in my hand.
And there she is. A woman with bright blonde hair and eyes frozen with worry. A woman beneath a tree, shaking, arms crossed.
Lost and alone.
“Hey, there,” I call out, running as quickly as I can through the snow.
Her eyes meet mine, relief flooding her face as a flurry of snow whips between us.
Johnny is barking, jumping between us.
“You did good, Johnny,” I tell him, patting his head as I come up to the woman who looks frightened.
She’s standing under a pine tree, and I smile, seeing the bough growing from a branch above her head.
“Mistletoe,” I tell her, pointing.
She looks slightly stunned. “Where did you come from, wielding a saw like you know what to do with it?” Her voice is textured, both light and low at the same time.
“Over yonder,” I tell her, jutting my chin to the east.
“Yonder?” Her question is more of a laugh. Her laugh is more of a song.
I nod, and then swing my ax over my shoulder, eyeing her loppers, not quite figuring her out. “And where did you come from?”
“Over the river and through the woods.”
I smile, liking how easily her words slide off her tongue. I also liked the way her reddened cheeks rounded as she smiled. Liking the way her lips part as she speaks.
“There are no grandmas at my house, but I do have a fireplace. And I think you could use some warming up.”
“My car’s out on the main road.”
“Honey,” I tell her, a flurry of snow nearly blinding our vision. “You aren’t getting out of here in a car tonight. Besides, you’re three miles from the main road, you know that, right?”
She covers her face, clearly lost. “I’m such an idiot.”
“Nah, at least you’re prepared. You got loppers to cut off the head of anything that got too close.”
She lowers her head, smiling. “You have anything stronger than a fire at your place?” Her words surprise me; I had supposed something as sweet-looking as her would want sugar and spice and everything nice.
“I got Fireball whiskey.”
“Perfect.” She leans down and pats Johnny as if instantly relaxed with this plan in place.
“But on our way,” I tell her, “We need to chop down a Christmas tree.”Chapter ThreeWhen this big, burly, dark-haired mountain man comes through the snowstorm carrying an ax and a frown, I don’t know what to think.
I’d say run, but I’m already lost.
And then he leans down to pat his barking dog and I realize he’s not an ax murderer –– not even sorta. He’s tall and broad-shouldered and handsome as all get out. His eyes are bright, deep pools of blue, and his beard is thick and just looking at him gets me all hot.
Which is saying something considering it’s near freezing out here.
I don’t even know what I said to him. Something about whiskey and fireplaces and he said Christmas trees and I was in a daze. Because the frozen toes and fingers and the way he spoke, slow and steady, and in control. He wasn’t in a rush. Like he knew it would all happen in its own sweet time.
And the next thing I know my gloved hand is in his gloved hand, and he’s leading me across a snow bank, his dog running beside us. He points to a tree, and I smile encouragingly, mostly because what is even happening right now? It’s a scene out of a romance novel -- a handsome man finding me lost in the woods standing under some mistletoe.
“This one is perfect, don’t you think?” he asks.
The tree isn’t massive, maybe four feet tall, a size that he could carry on his own.
Though truth be told I wouldn’t mind him carrying me home on his own.
“It has potential,” I tell him, assessing the branches.
“You’re pretty tough on trees, then?”
“You asked my opinion.”
He crosses his arms playfully, watching me circle around the tree.
