Page 23 of Yuletide Acres

Chapter 5

Poppy

Buckle up, cowboys. This city girl is about to let it all hang out.

My internal bravado is much stronger than my external emotions, but I’m wearing all of my armor. I’m ready for battle.

I walk into the town hall, feeling a bit like a prisoner before execution. A prisoner who has to plead for her life, knowing she’s done no wrong but also knowing that the man in charge will never see it that way.

Funnily enough, I have two unexpected folks in my corner—Dylan’s mother and daughter. Those two are absolute delights.

I clutch Marissa’s handkerchief in my hand. It’s been washed, ready to return to her, but for some reason that scrap of cloth brings me comfort. And comfort is in short supply these days.

I’m shocked by the number of people present this evening. Either this town really needs more recreational activities, or my beef with the mayor is the hottest ticket in town.

If they only knew how hot Dylan and I used to be.

Stop it. He’s the enemy. No matter what your hormones claim.

I find a seat and wait my turn, trying to avoid looking at the man who has become my nemesis. He’s so rugged now as he sits not ten feet from me, like every cowboy movie come to life. He runs a hand through his beard, those dark eyes finding mine across the room.

If he’s angry, he’s hiding it well. This time, at least. Perhaps even Dylan West has a limit to his wrath.

“Ms. Poppy Mills, please step forward.”

With a deep breath, I clutch the handkerchief on top of my paperwork.

Here goes nothing. With a high probability of losing everything.

I feel like a child, dragged in front of the townspeople, free to be ridiculed.

Poppy Mills, you are a warrior. Always remember that. Don’t let them get you down.

Those were the words my foster mother said to me, after another episode with yet another schoolyard bully. The local children always mocked me and my situation, taking great pleasure in my torment. But after her pep talk, I’d had enough. The next day, I fought back, knocking out the tooth of the biggest boy in school.

No one dared mock me again.

Channeling that courage, I let my foster mother’s voice ring through my head as I straighten my spine, rolling my shoulders back. I face the town council, a sampling of the population of Yuletide Acres, meeting their stares head on.

Hell, I have nothing to hide. They just don’t know it yet.

One of the women reads off the docket, her eyes scanning the paperwork. “Ms. Mills, you are looking for a permit to open a holistic practice on Main Street. From that practice, you intend to administer acupuncture, herbal healings and massage? You have also asked for a permit to hold a Yule Festival in Yuletide Acres.” The chairwoman looks at me over her glasses. “A full plate, if I do say so myself. Where would you like to begin?”

“At the beginning seems like as good a spot as any.” I meet Dylan’s gaze again, trying to squelch the butterflies fluttering at his proximity. “My name is Poppy Mills, and I know that my arrival has caused a bit of a commotion. From what I’ve been told, Yuletide Acres doesn’t see many new arrivals, and I understand that you’re protective of this beautiful place. It’s a long and odd story of how I wound up here, better left for another day, but I’m here now and I want to help. I’m good at it. My therapies in no way replace a doctor or hospital visit, but they can work hand in hand together.”

I hold up my hands, showing them to the committee. “They may not be big, but there’s a lot of power in these hands. I’ve used them to ease the pain in cancer patients, to soothe a colicky baby, to relax an expectant mother. I know I could help here. Part of the charm of Yuletide Acres is that it’s off the beaten path, but that also presents a problem. The doctor and critical access hospital can only do so much, and often only service the most serious cases. I can assist with complementary therapies. I’m fully licensed and my record is immaculate.”

“How long have you been practicing, Ms. Mills?” the chairwoman inquires.

“Seven years.”

“While we agree that your services might be a godsend to our community, there are some other concerns that must be addressed.”

Here we go, folks.

Calling on my inner warrior, who currently resembles a trembling rabbit, I clear my throat, sipping down some water.

“On the contrary, I don’t find them concerning. I find them to be facts about my past. I was a dancer. You might as well know if Dylan—Mr. West—hasn’t already told you. I didn’t do it because I was a free spirit. I did it because I was broke. And starving. I’m not ashamed of it. What I did was legal. I paid taxes. I went to school for acupuncture with the monies earned. Opened a homeopathic practice in Eugene. So, to address your concern, council members, I’m not ashamed of my past. Not a single day of it. I’m sorry that other people are.”

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