Page 14 of If You Give a Grump a Christmas Tree Farm
“When’s that?”
I shrug. “Depends when prez calls it. I’m sure I’ll get a heads-up since it’s about a five or six hour ride.”
“That’s a lot of traveling back and forth.”
“It will be. You still sure you want to do this?”
“Absolutely.”
We return to the cabin, and I dig my pack out of my saddlebag.
“What are you doing?”
“Unpacking my stuff.”
“You’re staying here?”
“Of course I’m gonna stay here. I can’t afford a motel for three months.”
“Fine, I’m staying here, too.”
“You live like an hour away.”
“If you’re staying, I’m staying.”
I cock my head. “You don’t trust me?”
“No. I think you’ll burn the place down the first chance you get.”
I shake my head and go inside, noting she veers toward her car before carrying a suitcase in. I hold the door for her and arch a brow. “Someone came prepared.”
“I’m always prepared, and I’m taking the bedroom.” She hurries past me like she’s going to race me for it.
“I’d planned to let you have it, ya know, so don’t act like you won something.” I head up the narrow staircase to the loft. The twin beds are still there; the same navy-blue quilts lie across them. I toss my bag on one and plop down on the other, memories flooding me.
The ceiling is a steep pitch, and a window between the beds faces the rear of the property.
I remember watching the moon through that window on many nights.
No matter how cold and snowy it got outside, this loft gathered all the heat and was always warm and toasty.
David and I used to sneak snacks up here and tell ghost stories until Grandpa would bang his walking stick on the ceiling, telling us to quiet down and go to bed.
A smile almost crests my face at the memory, but I shake it off and rise from the bed, making my way down the narrow staircase.
As I reach the bottom step, Rebecca comes out of the bedroom.
“I thought I’d check out the office. See what he had going on in there.”
“That’s a good idea.” She follows behind me and I lead her to a room in the rear of the cabin across from the kitchen.
Flipping the light on, my gaze scans the room and the stacks of papers and piles of boxes.
“Well, this should be fun.” I pick up a piece of mail from over ten years ago. “Do you think he kept every piece of paper since they opened the place?”
“At least we’ll have a good idea of profits over the years.” She tries to see the bright side, but I don’t miss the grimace on her face as she moves through the room to the roll-top desk. “I bet this desk will have the more recent information.” She tries to open the top, but it’s locked.
“Is there a key for it in that envelope?”
