Page 7 of Dumped for a Christmas Tree Farmer

Chapter Four

December 25

Indy

The Christmas dinner rush at the B&B goes like clockwork. The hearty scent of roasted potatoes and gravy, with a touch of sweetness from the cranberry sauce, has my mouth watering all day. Scott, our chef, was spectacular. His timing was impeccable, and Henry kept every guest wildly entertained as I rushed around clearing tables, serving Christmas pudding, including a shot of our complimentary sloe gin for those who wanted to partake.

It was busy, hard work, and exactly what I needed to distract myself from the never-ending spiral of thoughts about the dark-haired Krampus that was currently sitting in my cottage. He spoke of revenge as if it were normal. As if sabotaging a relationship, especially at Christmas, wasn’t going to get him on the naughty list because Holly and James were the ones who did something wrong first. Within less than an hour of handing him the ice pack for his bruised knuckles, he had a plan. One that required my assistance. He hadn’t been pushy, but he laid out the reasons he thought I should be doing this, even going so far as to lay off insulting James whilst he did it.

As if I needed another reason to trust him, the cat adores him. It’s actually rather annoying. She comes and goes as she pleases, although when I start the fire she tends to gravitate toward the warmth, but she’s never liked James. She hisses, scratches, and bites him whenever he tries to come near her, and I had assumed she didn’t like men in general. But there she was, rubbing her head against Mav like he were catnip. Belly showing, legs spread. An absolute hussy.

So as I slip away from the B&B and leave the clean-up and evening shift to my night crew, I grab some leftovers from the kitchen for myself and Mav. What exactly is the etiquette on having a guest whose girlfriend just stole your boyfriend the day before Christmas? The more I stew on my emotions regarding James’s disrespect and Holly’s unsurprising lack of loyalty, the more I think teaming up with Mav might be a great idea. The likelihood of succeeding is relatively low, but what else am I going to do? Sit back and let them walk all over me like I have done the rest of the year? Well, James, at least. Because I don’t think he had any intention of telling people about us. I think he was happy to get some regular action with zero commitment on his part.

It stings that all it took was one day of Holly being back for him to ghost me. My pride is wounded, and instead of taking the high road and doing the right thing like I always do, I want to take a leaf out of Mav’s book.

I push open the door, snowflakes swirling behind me as the cat pokes her head up from Mav’s lap. I roll my eyes, pushing the door closed and unwrapping the scarf around my neck.

“Hey,” I say, placing the food on the table.

He turns to me, his head twisting behind him from the couch. “Indy. How was work?”

How very domestic of us.

Yes, dear, it was quite well. I’ve brought food home for you so we can share a meal together.

“It was fine, busy. What have you two been doing?”

He looks back down at the cat, and I can hear her purring into his palm. “I worked too. A few things are starting in the New Year, so I’m getting a head start.”

I nod; this guy seems like a workaholic. Ever heard of a Christmas movie?

“I brought food from the kitchen. Are you hungry?”

“Famished.” He lifts himself from the couch, sliding his laptop away before carefully placing the cat into the dip where he’d been sitting. The curve of his ass creates a round cocoon for her to curl up in.

Stop thinking about his ass.

He pulls out the takeout boxes and places them in the middle of the table as I grab the cutlery. He helps himself to the bottle of whiskey, grabbing two glasses from the cupboard, his fingers lazily gripping the glass from the inside as he removes the cork with his teeth. A warm swoop swells in my lower belly. I don’t know what it is about him. Perhaps it's his casualness. The way he’s made himself at home in my little cottage. Maybe it’s the way he uses every part of himself, his rough hands, his long fingers, even his teeth, just to get the job done. It has my cheeks flushing.

He pours us each a healthy measure, pushing the glass toward me as he puts the recapped bottle next to his plate. The glass thuds on the wooden table.

“So, Indy Winters. What do you say?”

He holds his glass up without taking a sip. As if one clink of our glasses will seal the deal and our era of sabotage will begin. Is James worth this level of premeditation? Do I want to spend the holidays persuading a guy like James to finally admit that he belongs with me? My crush on him started when we were in high school. Holly and I were a few years younger than him, and he was a senior, the quarterback, of course. Holly knew what he meant to me. She knew I wrote his name with mine in a heart in every notepad I owned. She knew my crush was borderline obsessive. I could barely talk when he was near. I could barely think.

And then, ten months ago, he called the B&B; his shower was broken, and he hadn’t gotten around to fixing it. He asked to use one of the rooms, but I offered the cottage instead so I wouldn’t have to clean it every time. The sight of him in a low-hung towel, water droplets licking down his abs, got the better of me, and one thing led to another. Soon I didn’t even bother asking if he wanted me to come and help fix his shower. I was happy he wasn’t asking for my help because a small part of me felt like it must be because he wanted to spend time with me.

Weeks turned into months, and months turned into almost a year. My crush had grown out of control. All I could think about was the soft dimple on his left cheek when he opened my door. The passion he exuded when he pulled me into his arms, one brutal kiss until he was chasing me into my bedroom. The James MacIntosh had lifted his head and noticed me, Indy Winters, the one who stayed behind in the small town to look after her ailing mother. The one who kept a business afloat when her mom couldn’t get out of bed. The one who held onto that business, grew it, and nurtured it when her mother died. The Indy Winters who did it all on her own wasn’t alone anymore. She was seen. And maybe staying in Bear Hills could mean something. Because if I’d left and moved to Seattle, I’d have missed having James, the guy I’ve always thought was perfect for me.

How stupid that girl is. How naive. Because it wasn’t a day after Holly Honeyford came back to town that James failed to show up for the first time in months. Not even a text.

Maybe he does deserve punishment. Maybe he and Holly both do.

Mav cocks an eyebrow, waiting for my agreement.

“What would this entail exac—"

The front door pushes open, a flurry of wind nipping at my ankles. I spin to see James’s tall frame dipping low to enter the house. His checkered jacket wrapped around him tightly, his woolen beanie covering the dirty blonde hair beneath.