Page 31 of Knot what I want for Christmas
“It feels a bit cruel,” she says.
“Don’t tell me you have a problem with cutting down trees as well,” I mutter.
“No, I mean each one was grown to fulfill its Christmas destiny as a Christmas tree, and only one gets to fulfill that destiny. What will happen to the rest?”
“We’ll cut them down and use them for firewood most probably,” I say.
The Omega practically balks in front of us.
“We could have two trees,” Tucker says, and I glare at him, because two trees is twice the work. It’s hard enough as it is cutting down one tree.
“No, I can choose,” Hollie says. She taps her fingers against her plush pink lips. “That one,” she says at last, picking exactly the tree that Nash had already chosen.
“Good choice,” he says.
“That tree it is,” I say, swinging the axe up onto my shoulder and marching that way.
“What?” she says. “Aren’t you going to cut it down with a chainsaw?”
“Absolutely not,” my dad says. “Got to do it the old-fashioned way, the way this family has been doing it for decades.”
“You’re really going to cut it down by hand?” she says. “Isn’t that going to take hours?”
I snort. “No,” I say, striding to the tree, aware that the little Omega is trotting along beside me. “Stand back,” I tell her, and then I’m swinging the axe through the air. The blade hits the tree trunk with a loud thwack, making the Omega gasp. I do it again, and her scent spirals through the air. I peek her way. I take it she likes this display, and so I put on my best show for her, rolling up my sleeve, tossing my hat to one side, and flexing my biceps.
I said I wanted to make her happy and if watching me swing my axe does just that, who am I to complain.
Chapter Ten
Hollie
Every girl has that thing that does it for them. For some, it’s watching men do press-ups at the gym. For others, it’s watching firefighters wield gigantic hoses or watching football players tackle one another into the ground.
I hadn’t quite appreciated that, for me, it’s watching grown men swing axes through the air. But it’s hot. Seriously hot. So hot, I’m surprised I’m not gushing slick everywhere.
Clay Jackson isn’t even topless. He’s wearing several layers of clothing, and yet the way he grunts, the way his muscles flex, the way he handles the axe – I think I may actually melt into a puddle right here and now.
The tree is big, and the trunk is surprisingly thick, and yet it takes him probably a dozen hits with the axe before the thing is wavering.
“Stand back,” he calls.
Then he’s walking up to the tree, pushing against the trunk, and with an almighty groan the tree topples and lands in the snow. Everybody gives an appreciative clap, and then his packmates are stepping forward, and together they’re lifting the tree onto their shoulders.
I have to admit that that is also insanely hot. I’ve unlocked a new kink, and when I’m safely back in Rockview, I’ll probably be searching for videos of men chopping down trees as my nighttime entertainment for the rest of the year.
The men throw the tree into the back of their truck, and then we’re all climbing back inside and driving to the house.
“How did you find that?” Mrs. J asks me from the front seat.
I’m very glad she can’t see my face – or, for that matter, read all the dirty thoughts in my head.
“That was fun,” I squeak.
And I swear Annie senses something funny going on with me, because she narrows her eyes my way.
“I love all these family traditions,” I add.
“Yes,” Mrs. J says. “Although I wish the boys would use the chainsaw and the correct safety equipment. It gives me a slight heart attack every year when they do it this way.”
