Page 27 of Yuletide Acres

“Yuletide Acres was founded in the 1800s, Mom.”

“No. That’s the story they concocted to make the town seem legitimate. They just fixed some paperwork for the local library and painted a sign.”

I pour another glass of scotch, eager to hear more about the accurate history of my town. “Poppy was right?”

“Yes, Dylan. About everything.”

“Let’s go sit in front of the fire. I want to know about my great-grandmother.”

* * *

I’m fuming, once again, as Troy struts into town hall, a shit-eating grin on his face. I don’t even want to know how their dinner was, or what was offered as dessert.

Troy is well loved amongst the ladies. Hell, we both have a bit of a reputation as resident heartbreakers, but we never lead a woman on. That’s not our style.

Love ‘em and leave ‘em happy, so we can love ‘em again sometime in the future.

Clean, easy, no strings attached.

Poppy is different. She’s the kind of woman you want to get muddy and mucky with, all wound up in love and passion. I know this firsthand about Poppy Mills. I only pray that Troy hasn’t had that chance.

I can’t believe she’s only been with two men in the last decade. Hell, I insinuated how loose her sex life was when it was pristine compared with my playbook.

No wonder the woman is choosing Troy’s company over mine.

“How’s it hanging, Dylan?”

I glance up, glowering at Troy. “What can I do for you, Sheriff?”

“What’s your problem? It’s a wonderful day.”

Don’t even mention Poppy, or I’m wiping the ground with your ass, buddy.

“You going to the bar tonight?” Troy presses, leaning on the edge of the desk.

“I don’t know. I have a headache.”

“Poppy will be there.”

My head jerks up. “Wow, she’s everywhere.”

“Hey, she’s a light this old town desperately needs. Damn easy on the eyes, too.”

“That’s enough, Troy.”

“Are you denying it? The woman is gorgeous. I’m allowed to admire her. Besides, you’ve got a line of women keeping your bed warm. You’re hardly hurting for attention, Dylan.”

I stand up, my face inches from Troy. “I’m warning you.”

“Dylan, we’ve been friends for decades. Do you have a problem with me seeing Poppy?”

My reply is a growl as I grab my coat and storm out. The headache pounds my brain like a double-kick bass drum. I need some caffeine and an aspirin to dull the ache.

“Dylan, before you go,” Susan calls out, stopping me mid-step. “Why don’t you stop by Poppy’s store and give her the good news? Might make her day and take a bit of the spring out of Troy’s step.”

I glance over my shoulder at Troy, flirting with Amelia, one of the young secretaries. Bastard. If he was so over the moon about Poppy, he wouldn’t be sneaking glances up blondie’s skirt. “I can do that.”

Susan clears her throat, grasping my arm. “Word of advice. Try to look a bit more enthused when you see Poppy. Somewhere slightly above going to the dentist happy.”

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