Page 9 of Mistletoe All the Way

He’s trying to sound oh-so-truly concerned, but I’m not going to tip him off to details like, say, the fact that I don’t have to live here to run it. Before today, I’d presumed that when Gramps retired, he was going to keep his stable manager on and continue to run the farm—no reason I couldn’t try something similar. That way, the memory of Mom will live on.

Before I can even fashion a response though, he adds, “You didn’t even come here for Gramps’s birthday.”

Ass. “I was operating on a dog the day before,” I say, standing my ground.

Stephen shrugs like I told you so. “That’s my point exactly.”

Gramps lifts a hand to stop us. “Now, now. It sounds like we’ve got a Christmas cousin competition on our hands.” And judging by his beaming smile, nothing could delight him more. “You know I think the world of both you boys, so I guess you two need to make your cases. You have the next month to get your thoughts together on why you’re the man to inherit this farm and keep the Christmas spirit alive for the next generation. Why don’t we have another party on Christmas Eve, and you can each make your pitch?”

What the hell did I just get myself into?

Stephen puffs out his Santa-covered chest. “I’ll even bring the refreshments. Beer and apps on me.”

I despise pitches almost as much as parties. But I square my shoulders, determined to keep my family’s legacy on this farm alive, and to keep its focus on animals front and center. “Count me in.”

Chris shoots me a look like he’s downright impressed. “Aren’t you just full of surprises,” he says quietly.

“You’re telling me,” I mutter, since going up against my cousin to win a farm was not on my Advent calendar.

I down some more punch, wondering how I keep running into trouble since I returned to Evergreen Falls.

Or, really, since right outside of this town, where I ran into the snarky woman with the mismatched eyes and the flat tire she tricked me into fixing.

4 I SAW IT IN A CHRISTMAS MOVIE

Eloise

Finished with five minutes to spare.” Trish pats the back of my truck, showing off her handiwork with a new tire put on in record time.

Gratitude floods me. “You’re a goddess,” I say to the woman in grease-stained coveralls, who brushes her long sleek hair off her face. Trish Okinawa has been fixing tires here in Evergreen Falls for decades, so I was already planning to drive straight here. I know her and her wife well.

Take that, cowboy vet. Didn’t need your help to figure out where to go.

Trish gives an easygoing shrug. “What can I say? I’m determined to get home and make my famous spiked cranberry sauce. Makes a tense family meal go faster.”

I laugh but then give that some thought. “I might need the recipe.”

She rattles it off, then nods to the street where white flakes pile up on the pavement, then to the balsam fir in the bed of my truck. “Get your butt off the road and put that beauty in some water soon.”

I pat the tree gently. “Betty’s very thirsty. And Happy Thanksgiving.”

I hustle out of the tire shop and navigate through the snow to my home. As I drive past the Candy Cane Diner, my gaze strays briefly to the side of the road. I check out the cars parked there, then on the other side by the North Pole Nook and Tavern. It hits me like a snowball to the chest—I’m scanning for the cowboy vet’s sleek black electric truck.

Why do I want to see his truck? It’s not like I want to see him again. Or that I’m wondering where he’s staying. But mostly, I don’t want him to get the satisfaction of knowing I went to Trish’s after all.

Yes, that must be why I’m looking for him—to avoid him.

I do my best to stop looking for him as I cruise along to my home. When I reach my cute three-story redbrick apartment building right off Main Street, I park and then manage to maneuver Betty out of the bed myself.

Oof.

She’s heavier than I remember.

The tree lands with a thud on the ground. But it’s upright at least. Like I’m sweeping for spies, I glance around to make sure the coast is clear. Wouldn’t it be just my luck today for Mr. Anti-Christmas to walk by again and smugly offer to help carry my tree?

But the image of his irritatingly sexy smirk is like a shot of superhuman strength to my arms and core. I wrap my arms around the tree and somehow manage to drag Betty upstairs.

By the time I reach my second-floor apartment, I’m huffing and puffing. My hands are covered in sap too. At least I did it myself though.