Page 5 of Dumped for a Christmas Tree Farmer

“I’m not a big fan. It’s just an excuse for people to outdo each other with gifts and for ridiculous declarations of love that sour by January.”

His scoff quickly morphs into a smile. “Couldn’t agree more. So I take it James isn’t a friend of yours?”

My face pinches together like I’ve sucked on something sour, my heart sagging in my chest.

“Why don’t you get unpacked? Come out when you’re ready.”

He nods, and I close the door to my mom’s room behind me, blowing out an unsteady breath.

The cat meows loudly at the end of the corridor; she even tilts her head like she’s asking a question.

“Yeah, I have no idea what’s going on either.”

Chapter Three

Christmas Eve

Mav

As the door clicks shut, I allow myself a moment to sink onto the bed and push the heels of my palms into my eye sockets.

I should be sipping champagne and being congratulated, welcomed into the family with an overexcitable Holly on my arm who can’t stop looking at the rock I put on her finger. Her father, an ex-property mogul, would be asking me more about my recent investor and what that meant for the future of me and his little girl. Instead, I’m in the spare bedroom of a woman who clearly has history with Holly, and I’m sporting a bruised hand with split knuckles. I need a drink.

The tightness in my shoulders from leaning forward in the car through the snowstorm is catching up with me. I’ve been working non-stop the last few months, securing funding, building the portfolio, all whilst working on a renovation for a house that Holly insisted she wanted. Time has been scarce, but it was all meant to be worth it when I came to Bear Hills.

It’s salvageable. Sure, Holly is having a moment of weakness, one we’ll look back on in ten years' time as the moment she questioned her loyalty to me, the man who takes care of her. But this will pass. Holly likes three things: money, gifts, and getting things no one else has. The first two collapse into the latter item more often than not.

The lumberjack, James, is new and exciting. A rekindling of something nostalgic. Close to her family, which doesn’t seem like it should go in the pro column to me, but maybe it would for Holly. It’s Christmas, so perhaps she’s looking for something more from life. How the hell would I know? I’ve been blindsided.

Indy knows her, though. At least she seems to know her. Holly and I haven’t visited her hometown in the three years we’ve been dating. Holly wouldn’t talk about Bear Hills an awful lot, only that her parents had moved back here permanently after leaving the city when her father retired. And she’s certainly never mentioned Indy.

I run my hand over my stubble, the coarse hair soothing me as it scratches my palm. I look to the door, and Indy in that dress fills my vision. Black silk cascading down her body, leading down to black strappy heels. I didn’t fail to notice the golden snake that wrapped around the heel as if it were slithering up toward her calf. Her red lipstick flawlessly applied to her full lips. Her raven hair is silky, frizzing slightly from melting snowflakes. It softened her slightly. If not for the harsh flick of her black eyeliner, I’d assume she was softer than she is. She doesn’t look like a small-town woman. Certainly not one who owns a quaint little B&B named “The Hibernation Station.” This is a woman who’s seen some shit. And it looks like she’s in the trenches with me now, ready for the grenade of Holly and James to hit.

Maybe a little sabotage is what we both need. Some payback. Because one punch is not enough to satisfy me now. Not when the anger I’ve been keeping on a tight leash starts to coil inside me, ready to spring out at any moment. Yeah, something tells me Indy Winters would be into a little sabotage; she practically bared her teeth at Holly and James at the party. She’s all harsh lines and bloodthirsty. Like how her pupils dilated when I told her he’d bled into his cupped palm instead of letting it drip down his chin. How she’s offered to help me barely a second later, even though she knew I was here for Holly.

I slip off my jacket, rolling up the sleeves of my white shirt, no longer crisp from the journey and the exertion of putting a tree-hugging meathead in his place.

Time to recruit a pissed-off B&B owner into helping me win back a cheating girlfriend who suddenly wants to make babies with the village hippie.

◆◆◆

The warm scent of the fire clouds around me as I enter the living room. The fire leaves a soft golden hue on the ice-blue walls and the practical gray couch. The crackling of the logs is the one sound, save for a gust of wind outside rattling one of the windows.

Indy is tucked into an armchair, sipping on a whiskey, the ice clinking against the glass. The coffee table has a wooden board with cheeses and meats, crackers, pickles. Yet she’s taken none for herself.

“Independence?”

She scoffs into her glass, not turning to look at me. “Not even close. Who names their child Independence?”

“Someone who would name their child Indy, clearly.”

“As opposed to someone who would name their child Maverick? I mean, really. Were they big Tom Cruise fans, or did they just want you to be a fighter pilot?”

“They were big Top Gun fans. But I consider myself the lucky one.”

“Oh? And why is that?”

“They named my brother Goose,” I deadpan.