Page 75 of If You Give a Grump a Christmas Tree Farm
“Damn straight you’re not. You’re a pull-up-your-bootstraps-and-kick-anyone-in-the-balls-who-gets-in-your-way kind of girl.”
That earns me a smirk, and I feel like my job is already done. I kiss away her tears, and she hurries off to grab paper and pen while I call in reinforcements.
“Hey, brother. How’s the tree farm going?” My president picks up on the first ring, apparently seeing his caller ID.
“Not great, Shades.”
“Don’t tell me you got another shipment of pumpkins.” He chuckles.
“Worse. A storm blew through last night, and lightning started a fire.”
He immediately sobers. “Oh shit, brother. I hate to hear that.”
“Yeah, the place is a mess. Is there any way you can send a few brothers to help? I know it’ll take hours to get up here, but we need all the help we can get.”
“I actually sent Hammer, Brayden, Griz, and Cajun up that way last night to check out some property for the new clubhouse.”
“Still haven’t found a good spot?”
“Thankfully, for you, no. Or we hadn’t until last night. I think we found the perfect place for the new chapter.”
“That’s great, on both fronts.”
“Yeah. I’ll send their asses your way. Should be there in an hour or two.”
“Thanks, prez. I owe you one.”
“No, JJ, you don’t. That’s why you wear that patch.”
“Damn right.” I grin and hang up.
“I take that grin to mean you got us help?” Rebecca looks up from the table, a notepad before her.
“Yeah, my prez really came through for me. He’s sending a bunch of my brothers to help. They’re actually not far, so they’ll be here in the next two hours.”
“That’s wonderful, JJ. How many are coming?”
“Four.”
She begins writing furiously.
“What are you doing?” I ask, leaning over her shoulder.
“Making to-do lists for each of your brothers.”
“See, I knew you’d have a list for this.” I shake my head.
She points the pen at me. “It is efficient.”
***
When my brothers arrive, I introduce Rebecca to Brayden and Cajun, since she didn’t meet them during our pumpkin fiasco.
As expected, she quickly puts everyone to work, and I can’t help but grin. My girl is back to herself, her despair evaporated.
After a few hours, I hear a bell ringing up at the cabin and glance over from where I’m resetting trees in their stands. Becca stands on the front porch with what appears to be a cowbell, banging on it with a wooden spoon.
“Lunch,” she yells.
