Page 1 of Mountain Man's Holiday Home
1
LAINEY
Christmas trees fight back. I’d learned that lesson years ago.
One minute, I was shoving a six-foot Fraser fir into a net, and the next, the branches were smacking me in the face like I’d insulted their mother.
Not exactly how I pictured spending my Saturday. But at our family tree lot, you didn’t get to pick your battles—you just got pine needles down your shirt and scratches on your arms.
Luca, my brother, was busy charming another customer, which left me solo in the ring with today’s opponent. The customer who owned the tree wasn’t helping either—too busy gossiping with her friend across the lot. Typical.
And then, right on cue, came a voice behind me. Low. Male. Amused.
“There’s a machine for that, you know.”
I squeezed my eyes shut. Great. Some know-it-all was here to mansplain Christmas tree netting to me. No doubt it was one of the guys who’d moved here in recent years. Little did he know I’d worked this lot every year since I was twelve.
Hoping he’d go away, I ignored him and continued battling branches. I’d definitely have a couple of scratches tomorrow. Hazard of the trade. I needed to be careful, though. Too many scratches freaked out the customers.
He was still back there. Ugh. I’d never enjoyed having someone watch over my shoulder while I worked. Maybe that was why, just as I got the netting around the bottom grouping of branches all the way around, something shoved it downward again and the whole thing fell apart.
I made a noise that was somewhere between a grunt and a roar. It was low-pitched and drawn-out. Then I pressed one netting-filled fist to my forehead and did my best to practice the calming breaths I’d learned in yoga class.
Yeah, that didn’t help.
I saw movement out of the corner of my eye. The stranger had moved around the tree. I caught a flash of black coat before he disappeared behind the branches.
“Let’s do this,” he called.
Everything in me wanted to turn down his help. I could do this all on my own. But within seconds, I was reminded that netting a tree was one of those unwieldy jobs where four hands were better than two.
Halfway up, the tree narrowed enough that I got my first glimpse of my helper. One clenched jawline and one steely gray eye. It was enough to tell me this wasn’t just any mountain man.
This guy was freakin’ hot as hell.
“I’ll take it from here,” he said.
I let him because I couldn’t reach the top of the tree. It had been an issue since I was twelve, helping my parents out here on this Christmas tree lot. It was still an issue today since I was only five-foot-five, and our most popular trees were in the six- to seven-foot range.
“Do you have something to tie this off with?” he asked.
I was already moving around the tree, twist ties ready. I’d planned to pass them over, but I stopped abruptly when I got my first really good look at the man who’d been helping me.
Holy crap on a cracker. This guy was beyond hot. He could be in one of those charity calendars where gorgeous guys posed shirtless and the proceeds went to worthy causes.
His full focus was on the tree. Had he even seen me? Of course, he had. He’d been behind me to start with.
“Could you hold up this side?” he asked.
The words were said nicely, but I detected a tinge of strain in his voice. He was trying to hold everything together while also reaching for a tie.
I needed to help him. I wanted to help him. But I couldn’t stop staring.
I forced myself to move, stepping closer to grab the side of the netting he was indicating. Our fingers brushed as I took hold of the mesh, and I felt a little jolt of electricity shoot up my arm.
“Thanks,” he said, his voice rougher now, strained from holding the tree. “Just hold it steady while I?—”
That’s when our eyes met for the first time. My fingers fumbled as my entire body began a subtle tremble.
