Page 32 of Whiskey Kisses For the Mountain Man
The question gives me pause. "When I was very young. Before..." I trail off, not wanting to go down that road again.
She nods, understanding in her eyes. "Well, I think it's time for a new memory then."
Before I can stop her, she's at the window, peering out at the woods surrounding the cabin. "There," she points. "That small one by the clearing. It's perfect."
"You want to cut down a tree? In a snowstorm?"
"It's barely a flurry," she dismisses. "And it's right there. Ten minutes, tops."
"Lettie—"
"Please?" She looks at me with those eyes again, and I already know I'm going to give in. "I promise it'll be small. Just a baby tree."
I sigh, grabbing my coat again. "Fine. But you're staying here. I'll cut it."
"No way. I'm coming with you." She's already putting her coat back on. "I've never cut down my own tree before."
"It's freezing out there."
"Hence the coat." She looks around. "Do you have an ax? Or a saw?"
I retrieve the small chainsaw I keep for clearing fallen branches. "This will be faster."
Outside, the snow has picked up, coating the ground in a thin white blanket. Lettie forges ahead, her boots leaving small prints that are quickly filled in behind her. I follow, chainsaw in hand, wondering how I got talked into this.
The tree she's chosen is indeed small, maybe four feet tall, with sparse but healthy branches. Not the lush pine you'd find at a tree lot, but somehow appropriate for my bare-bones cabin.
"This is it," she says, grinning. "Our tree."
"You know we're technically stealing state property," I point out.
"We're borrowing it. And we'll replant it after."
I raise an eyebrow. "That's not how this works."
"Fine, we'll plant two new ones in spring. Better?"
I shake my head, but I'm fighting a smile. "Let's just get this over with."
I start up the chainsaw, but she stops me with a hand on my arm. "Wait. Can I try? I've always wanted to."
"You want to operate a chainsaw."
"Just to say I did it."
It's a bad idea. But looking at her excited face, I can't bring myself to deny her. "Alright, but I'll guide you."
I hand her the chainsaw, showing her how to hold it properly, then position myself behind her, my hands over hers. Her back presses against my chest as I help her aim the blade at the base of the tree.
"Ready?" I ask, my mouth close to her ear.
She nods, and she shivers—from the cold or my proximity, I'm not sure.
Together, we bring the chainsaw to the trunk. The blade bites into the wood, and she tenses with the vibration. My arms envelop her, guiding the saw as it cuts through the small tree. The scent of pine fills the air, mixing with the vanilla and cinnamon that seems to follow Lettie everywhere.
In less than a minute, the tree tilts and falls into the snow with a soft thump.
"I did it!" She turns in my arms, face flushed with excitement. "We did it!"
