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Presley’s done so much for me, the least I can do is get her this tree.
“You better get chopping before it gets dark.” Dylan hands me an axe that I didn’t notice he was holding until now, and then he and Cash start heading back toward the truck.
“Wait, where are you guys going?” I assumed they’d be the ones to cut it down since I’ve never done this before.
“We’re going to bring the truck closer so we don’t have to haul the tree so far.”
“Okay…”
I stare at the tree in front of me, having no clue where to even start. I look back to ask if Cash can stay behind to help, but the brothers have already disappeared around the bend.
I grip the axe with both hands and take a swing, completely missing the tree and causing the blade to land in the snow.
This is harder than I thought it would be.
I tighten my grip before taking another swing that connects with the center of the tree trunk, the strike echoing through the forest.
I continue in a steady rhythm, wiping sweat from my brow after every few swings. I’m totally making Dylan switch with me when he gets back. He wasn’t kidding when he said this would take some serious manual labor.
I’m probably about halfway through when I hear the distant wail of a siren, getting closer by the second. I pause mid-swing when a cop car comes barreling around the corner, parking a few feet away—its headlights aimed directly at me.
A tall, broad-shouldered man dressed in a sheriff’s uniform exits the vehicle.
“What the hell are you doing?” he shouts as he storms toward me.
“Cutting down a Christmas tree…” I cringe at my confession. Maybe I should have withheld any information until I know what he wants. “Is there a problem, Officer?”
“So you admit you’re chopping down a tree on private property? I assume you don’t have a permit for that.”
Shit.
I carelessly toss the axe to the ground. Not that it’ll do me any good now.
“I’m here with the Stafford brothers,” I inform him, assuming everyone knows them around here. “The owners gave us permission to chop down a tree since we couldn’t get one in town.”
At least that’s what they told me, but now I’m starting to have doubts.
“Nice try,” the sheriff grunts disapprovingly. “Everyone knows the city of Aspen Grove owns this property, and cutting down trees in this area is strictly prohibited. You’re under arrest for trespassing and the destruction of property.”
What the hell?
“Listen, why don’t we wait until Dyl—”
“Show me your hands,” he barks.
I swallow hard when I spot his holstered gun. It’s probably best if I cooperate and we can get this sorted out once we get to the police station. I hold out my hands, and the sheriff doesn’t hesitate to twist them behind my back. He cuffs my wrists tightly, the metal digging into my skin.
“Let’s go.” He motions toward his squad car.
Why the hell aren’t Dylan and Cash back yet?
Without another word, the brooding sheriff drags me through the snow. Once we get to his car, he shoves me in the backseat and slams the door behind me. As he drives down the dirt road, I notice that Dylan’s truck isn’t in the same spot we parked it before.
When we make another turn, I spot the truck on the other side of the road. Dylan, Cash, and Harrison are casually leaning against the hood. I’m about to ask the sheriff to pull over when he tips his hat at them and they wave back, all turning to glare in my direction.
What the fuck? Where did Harrison come from?
I’m pretty sure those bastards just set me up.
