Page 7 of Holly and Nick Hate Christmas
“We feel this idea to start a teen camp is something special. I thought it only fair to give you a more specific heads-up of what Thomas and I have been discussing.”
Nick’s heart accelerated. “Oh?” Maybe they planned to contribute more than Nick requested. Based on research, he’d divided up the amount he needed to get started into sizable portions, looking for donors and sponsors to reach those smaller, individual goals. But maybe the Sinclairs had been praying about doing a double portion.
Hope shimmied in his gut. Could this ranch actually be happening? Could his career in marketing finally be nearing an end?
“We’re praying about not only contributing to your cause, but helping you find the property too.”
Nick leaned back, confused. “Um, sure. That’d be great.” He’d figured once he had the start-up funds, he’d use a real-estate agent to seek out the ideal location. Right now, he wasn’t anywhere near ready for that step. Still, it was a nice offer.
“I don’t think I phrased that well.” Grace sighed. “Thomas is always telling me my communication is lacking.”
Nick opened his mouth, unsure how to respond.
“What I’m trying to say, quite poorly, is that Thomas and I are considering moving when he retires after the New Year. We might be able to sell youourfarm—for a song, of course.”
He shut his mouth with a snap.
“We’ve been blessed with a paid-off property these lastseveral years, and we made a decent bit of royalties from an oil and gas lease on the land, and, anyway…” She paused, as if flicking away the details. “We’re set up now to retire and we’d love to pass that blessing forward.”
Wow. Nick cleared his throat. “That’s very generous, Mrs. Sinclair.”
“We really don’t want you to share any of this with Ryan. Until we’re certain—all of us involved—that our property is a good fit for you and your vision, we don’t want our kids to know we’re thinking of selling their childhood home and running off to Florida.” She let loose a nervous chuckle. “Especially right here at Christmas.”
“That’s…” Nick swallowed. The hope that had shimmied moments ago had broken into a full-out conga line. “That’s so generous, Mrs. Sinclair. I don’t know what to say.”
“I’ve been racking my brain for a way to get you out here to view the property without Ryan being suspicious.” Like her son, Mrs. Sinclair’s voice pitched higher when she was obviously nervous. “But so far, I haven’t come up with anything.”
“I’m sure after the holidays we can figure out—”
The holidays.
His heart leapt into an even faster rhythm. This was perfect. Sure, it meant he had to do Christmas on the ranch with Ryan’s parents—and Holly—but it would just be for a week or so, right? Besides, hadn’t Ryan said it would be low-key out there? He couldn’t pass up the chance to progress on his dream.
He might be one Christmas away from never having to design another holiday ad again.
“You won’t believe this, Mrs. Sinclair, but your son just invited me to come home with him and Lydia for Christmas.” Nick lowered his voice, keeping one eye on Ryan’s headphone-covered scalp across the room.
“Oh, that’s perfect!” Grace’s voice warmed again like fresh coffee. “What are the odds? Must be a God thing.”
“Maybe so.” He wasn’t sure how that worked, but the coincidence was definitely something to consider.
“Well, we’d love to have you, and this way, we can get to know you and your vision a little better. We can make sure this is a right fit for everyone.” Her voice wavered a little. “Just remember, Ryan can’t know. None of the kids can.”
Might be a little tricky, but doable. Besides, their reason made sense. “I understand.”
After they’d hung up with the promise to see each other in a few days, Nick picked up his landline. He hesitated a moment before punching in Ryan’s extension.
It rang twice before Ryan answered. “Dude, if you’re about to sayghobe’,you’re definitely going to pronounce it wrong.”
Nick smirked. “Hang on.” He pulled up a search engine and hit a few keys to google Klingon. “What aboutHija’instead?”
“Wait. What?” Ryan let out a whoop. “Yes!”
Looked like Nick was going to Point Bluff for Christmas.
Ten Days Before Christmas
I do not need a new sweater. I do not need a new—The ringing of my cellphone interrupted my mantra as I stared into the boutique window, which I’d been doing long enough that the salesgirl with the high, sleek ponytail was giving me a concerned look. Rather than going all out for Christmas in their display, the store had opted instead for a glitz-and-glitter New Year’s vibe I could totally get behind.
