Page 37 of Dumped for a Christmas Tree Farmer

“She works a lot. I never see her out and about in town. I actually thought she was starting to get out more since you arrived.”

“Well, she let me stay in her spare room. There was no room at the B&B on Christmas Eve.”

He looks a little sheepish as he nods. “Before the party, Holly told us you had separated, and she was moving home. We had no idea that you were still together.”

“I see.”

“And I presume you didn’t buy that bakery for her?”

My eyebrows hike up my forehead, and Mr. Honeyford chuckles a little. “How did you—”

He sighs. “I know my daughter, Maverick. If you have something she wants, she finds a way to get it. Especially when she thinks someone else wants it.”

Well, you can’t say that Hugh Honeyford doesn’t know his own daughter.

“I wasn’t a great father when she was growing up. I was busy, worked too much. I wasn’t a good husband either. Holly’s mother has been good enough to keep my indiscretions away from Holly, but I was trying to have my cake and eat it too. Holly has been directionless for a while, perhaps this bakery will do her good. Do you intend to rent her the space?”

I decide to be honest, because at this point it won’t hurt the opinion he already has. “No, I don’t. I want her back in the city with me. We work well together, whether she realizes it or not.”

He nods, putting his full glass on the table and standing to shake my hand.

I spot Holly glancing in through the patio doors and fight back a grimace.

“You have my blessing if you want it. But it seems you work well with Indy too,” her father says. He sits back on the couch, pushing his undrunk glass of champagne away from him.

I say nothing, but give him a small nod.

“Say hi to Indy for me, will you? Tell her if she needs anything, she just needs to call.”

I frown. Perhaps he knew her mother and feels some responsibility toward her. Henry did say she used to stay around here a lot when she was a kid.

“Yes, sir.”

◆◆◆

Holly leads me around the house, dragging me by my hand. My heavy footsteps make every inch covered feel like sifting through three feet of snow. The house is everything I’ve wanted. Room upon room with different amenities. So many that you’d never have to see each other if you chose not to. There’s a games room with bookshelves stacked up with classic board games, apparently a particular favorite of her father’s. Her mother’s sewing room, with various crafts crammed into boxes, and a sewing machine built into the desk. Then there was the pool room. Not a swimming pool, unfortunately, but a full-size pool table with various-sized pool cues lined up on the wall. It was racked already, as if it were waiting for someone to play.

I picture my life here, spending time with the in-laws, reaping the benefits of being married to a girl like Holly, but I can’t see it. It used to be so clear, so precise; it was more like a memory than a fantasy. Now it’s Indy’s face I see, her cold, shrewd smile curling at the edges, tipping a glass of whiskey to mine before pushing me back onto the couch and straddling me. We’d plot revenge in our free time; maybe we could scheme to get Henry and the chef together.

Closing my eyes, it’s not blonde hair I’m threading my fingers through; it’s almost black, wavy, and cropped. It’s eyeliner as sharp as a knife, it’s black boots, black leather pants tight around her thighs, black everything. My dark-as-night girl, never playing up to anyone’s expectations of her.

But is she mine? She feels like it. I’m drawn to her in ways I can barely comprehend. She’s everything I thought I should avoid, someone who could ruin me, someone who would occupy my thoughts when I have to focus on building.

Hell, even though she wants to leave here and build her own life, her business is here, and mine is hours away. It wouldn’t even work. I don’t have time for long distance, and neither does she. She’s busy here; she has a life, friends. I couldn’t offer her what she deserves, not when she’s already given up so much taking care of her mom.

Holly continues to show off her family home as I grind to a halt.

But what if I could?

All this . . . stuff. It means nothing if I’m miserable. And truthfully, the last thirty minutes with Holly have been the most miserable I’ve felt since I got to Bear Hills. Sure, when I saw her making out with James, I was pissed. Hell, I’d thrown a punch the second I ripped his grubby paws off her. And despite the white-hot anger I’d felt, it wasn’t sadness or hurt spurring me on these past five days. My heart wasn’t broken. Hell, just seeing Mr. Honeyford, he doesn’t look happy at all. With all this stuff—his family, his daughter home for the holidays. He looks goddamn despondent.

And now . . . this, this aching in my chest, the hollow feeling in my stomach has me pulling out of a deal I’ve been working on for three years. Because even with the Honeyford name backing me, the thought of doing any of this without Indy by my side is gut-wrenching.

Her sharp wit and don't-give-a-shit exterior match mine, except she does—she cares too much. My girl is so soft and delicate on the inside. I’ve never wanted to be more careful with someone in my life. I’ve always bulldozed through, pushing and pushing to get what I want, to satisfy the urge for more. But Indy quells that need. She makes me want to ease my foot off the gas, just an inch.

I don’t know how I’ll do it. I don’t know if she’ll even say yes, but my gut tells me I have to try.

“I can’t do this.” The words leave my lips before I’ve fully formed an extraction plan for Indy. The relief I feel is instant; the tightening in my chest loosening for the first time since Indy left the bakery yesterday.