Page 6 of Mountain Man's Holiday Home
“No, it’s…it’s fine.” I cleared my throat, trying to get my head back in the game. “I’m just surprised, that’s all. I mean, look at you.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means you’re gorgeous and smart, and any guy would be lucky to—” I stopped myself before I could say something that would make this conversation even more awkward than it already was.
“Oh.” Her voice was small. “Thanks.”
We drove in silence for a few minutes, the weight of her confession settling between us. I kept stealing glances at her, noting the way she was staring out the window, the slight slump to her shoulders. Had I made her feel bad somehow?
“For what it’s worth,” I said finally, “there’s nothing wrong with waiting. With taking your time to find the right person.”
She looked at me then, vulnerability in her expression. “Do you really think that?”
“I do.” And I meant it. The thought of Lainey with some random guy who didn’t appreciate what he had made my stomach clench with something that felt suspiciously like jealousy.
Before I could examine that feeling too closely, we rounded a bend in the road and Mrs. Doyle’s cabin came into view.
“Holy shit,” I breathed, hitting the brakes harder than I’d intended.
The cabin itself was charming enough—a rustic log structure nestled among towering pines. But the decorations… Christ, the decorations were something else entirely. Every available surface was covered in lights, garland, wreaths, and inflatable lawn ornaments. There had to be at least a dozen different Santa figures scattered across the front yard, along with reindeer, snowmen, candy canes, and what appeared to be a life-sized nativity scene.
“I tried to warn you,” Lainey said, and I could hear the laughter in her voice. “Mrs. Doyle doesn’t do anything halfway.”
I parked the truck and just sat there for a moment, taking it all in. “This is…a lot.”
“Wait until you see the inside,” she said, unbuckling her seatbelt. “Come on. Let’s go meet the Christmas queen herself.”
3
LAINEY
Flavors exploded in my mouth as I lowered the disposable coffee cup to my lap. I licked off a stray glob of eggnog, closed my eyes, and rested my head back against the headrest.
“That was…” I said on a sigh.
I didn’t finish that sentence. I just let the thought hang in the air between us in the chilly cab of Hendrix’s truck. We weren’t moving yet, and when I opened my eyes, I realized he was still staring at the scene in front of us.
Seemed like he couldn’t take his eyes off it.
“I don’t think I’ve ever heard the words ‘phasing out my old trees’ before,” he said.
I shook my head. “Trust me, I’ve worked at a Christmas tree lot from the time I was able to talk, practically, and I’ve never heard those words.”
Apparently this year, Mrs. Doyle had discovered that artificial trees were bad for the environment, but throwing them away was part of what made them bad. So, as they started looking scraggly, she was replacing them with real trees.
“It’s good news for your Christmas tree lot, though,” he said. “If she eventually buys that many trees every year…”
I shook my head. “I couldn’t even count how many she had in that house. Maybe a dozen?”
The woman had at least one Christmas tree in every room, including the bathroom. And that was in addition to the nativity scenes, Christmas villages, ceramic trinkets, and other decorations she had covering her cabin.
“Back to the lot?” he asked, shifting into reverse as I took another long sip of my eggnog.
Mrs. Doyle had poured a cup for each of us, only revealing after I’d taken my first drink that it was spiked with rum. Hendrix had declined after one sip, saying he had to drive. Then he made a comment about “precious cargo,” which made my face heat up in a way I knew meant it had turned a little pink.
A flash of my immediate future played through my mind. Hendrix would drop me off at the lot, where I’d continue working until dinnertime. I’d close, then collapse in my childhood bedroom, alone and exhausted.
Meanwhile, in only a couple of days, Hendrix would head on to his next destination—a work trip to scout out land for a new development in the mountains of Tennessee. That was what he’d told Mrs. Doyle.
