Christmas Lights: An Owatonna Christmas Novella

by RJ Scott

  “Our ten-year plan is messing with my head,” he admitted, and my chest tightened. Did he not want to stay with me? Was he not happy in this waiting game?

  “It won’t be for long. I’ll play my years, stay healthy, stay on task, retire in ten years, and move into this cabin with you, and then you’ll never get rid of me.”

  He didn’t say anything in return, but that was our unspoken strategy. I would play the game I loved, the one I was good at, and I would make my money, maybe lift the Stanley Cup. I would complete that part of my life to become financially stable, and then I would come home to Jacob, on his farm, and we could build a whole new life. Maybe even adopt some kids or do something else that was incredibly adult and right for us.

  So what if the thought of this being all we had for the next ten years was an ache of regret that balled in my chest? We had our passions, him for his farming career, mine for hockey, and we had to make this work.

  We lay in silence, but for some reason, sleep that normally followed making love with Jacob evaded me, and from the way Jacob’s breathing hadn’t evened out, I assumed he was awake as well.

  “Dad’s not been well,” Jacob murmured.

  “Yeah, you said he’d been in pain.” I encouraged him to keep talking.

  “Not just that. I see him try so damn hard to work, to scrape and scratch out a living, but the pain in him… and my mom, she looks so tired… is it worth it?”

  That was the first time I’d ever heard Jacob imply that the farming life was wearing his family down. Although he was talking more about his parents, I couldn’t fail to hear a hint of sadness in his voice. I wished he’d let me help his dad somehow, but I loved him as he was: stubborn, proud, and mine.

  “Anything that matters to you is ultimately worth it,” I said and felt the most grown-up I’d ever been. Which was kind of a sad and worrying feeling when I wasn’t sure I actually believed what I was saying. What if that anything that mattered meant that you were apart from the man you loved for so long?

  He yawned then, and I snuggled just that few inches closer, and entwined as close as we could be, we slept.

  The next day dawned bright and cold, and frost left marks over cloudy windows and swirled patterns over the wood of the cabin. The fire had long since gone out, and my breath was a fog as I exhaled, but my extremities being chilled didn’t matter because every part of me that touched Jacob was toasty warm.

  “We should get up,” he said when I moved against him. “Or at least, I need to get up. I have chores to take care of.”

  I let out a noise of protest and instead tugged the blankets up and over our heads until we were in a cocoon and I couldn’t even see his face.

  “Actually, we should hibernate until spring,” I suggested.

  Jacob’s chuckle rumbled in his chest. “It’s not like we need to eat or anything or use the bathroom or feed cows or play hockey. So yeah, we should stay right here until spring.”

  I pouted a little because my plan of never moving from this spot was a damn good one, albeit completely impractical. He laughed then because he’d know my expression and understand my need to just be with him. Because he knew me.

  We scrambled out of bed, dressed quickly, thankful that the cabin seemed airtight because outside the windows was a winter vista so utterly beautiful and white that it chilled me to look at it. I loved snow, hell, I loved Christmas, always had, but I’d lived in a centrally heated house, not a cabin in the woods.

  Jacob got a fire going in a gleaming chrome-and-iron log burner and pulled out various things from a cupboard, which mercifully, included coffee, and before long I was sitting next to the heat, curled up on a comfy chair, nursing coffee and nibbling on a warmed bagel. There were no Christmas decorations in here, not a tree or a single light. Nothing.

  “We should get a tree,” I announced, and Jacob side-eyed me as he pulled on a thick jacket.

  “Okay.”

  “And decorations. On the way here you said we had a small generator, right? Well, we need to brighten the cabin up, make it look festive for the guys when they arrive, and maybe even get some lights.”

  “We could go when I’m done,” Jacob agreed.

  I turned a full three-sixty. As well as the door to the small bathroom and our room, there were two others, which I assumed would be where the guys would sleep when they got here. I already had images of the six of us crowded around the stove, the scent of pine filling the air from a rustically decorated tree, and the soft glow of Christmas lights making everything a hundred times more romantic.

  “And we get a real tree?”

  He frowned. “Like go to a lot and buy one?”

  “Don’t you have trees on your land?”

  He tilted his head, and the frown was still there. “Yeah, I guess we do.”

  “Then when you get back, we’ll go for the tree, and I can get decorations.” Suddenly inspired, I leaped to my feet and started to pull on my jacket and boots. “Can I borrow your truck to get into town?” I knew that within twenty miles there were a couple of small towns, and one of them had to have a quaint little Christmas shop, right? After all, I’d seen all the movies, and those shops were everywhere.

  “Hey,” Jacob murmured as we stepped outside the door onto the gorgeous winter wonderland of his property and looked over the frozen lake with ice-heavy branches dipping low to nearly touch the ground. “I love you, Ryker,” he said, and we kissed lazily for a moment before he tugged away.

  “I love you,” I said back, and then with one last kiss, we left the perfectly rustic cabin and headed off; he to his chores, and I to watch him for the longest time until I could set off on a mission to locate civilization, a shit ton of lights, and the tackiest decorations I could find.

  If I didn’t freeze to death on the back of his four-wheeler on the ride to the farmhouse first.

  Chapter 4

  Jacob

  Morning chores were rolling along well. Dad was up and going citing the high-pressure system that had moved into the region for his get-up-and-go. I suspected it was the anti-inflammatories he took twice a day. Without those, he’d not have been able to rise from his recliner. Still, it was nice to see him moving around the barn, even if his limp was pronounced. With the last of the cows now in their stanchions, I left Dad to go fire up the tractor and grab a couple of round bales from the hay barn. His hip prevented him from climbing onto the Massey-Ferguson. I peeled off my overalls in the mudroom, pulled on my work coat, and patted the small square lump in my front pocket. Ryker’s ring. I’d slid it into my pocket yesterday, hoping for the ultimate romantic moment to propose. I’d thought maybe when we’d gotten to the hunting cabin, but things had sort of taken a sideways journey to sex and the moment to ask him to be mine forever never appeared. When would it, I had no idea, but I’d have the ring on me just in case.

  I jogged around the lounging area, the cows who had been milked staring at me with big, demanding brown eyes.

  “Yeah, yeah, I’m on it,” I called to the Holsteins hurrying me along with their glowers. Cows were so pushy. Humming an old Randy Travis tune, I hustled into the equipment barn behind the twin silos and called a greeting to our new old tractor.

  “Morning, Matilda,” I said to the tractor, yanking the oil heater dipstick out and laying it aside on a worktable covered with old tractor parts. “Time to haul hay, old girl.”

  I climbed onto the tractor and rolled the engine over, smiling at how good I actually felt this morning, when a huge cloud of white smoke billowed out. The cloud rolled from the open door into the bitterly cold December morning.

  “Fuck!” I snapped, quickly cutting the engine before jumping to the dirt floor. My old work boots hit the frozen soil with a thud. “This is so not what we need here, Matilda. Not today.” Waving, I cleared the lingering wisps of smoke, then laid a hand on the dented hood that covered the ancient engine. Hoping it was something simple—and cheap—I began tinkering, checking for a leak or restriction in the sucti
on line, then pulling off the fuel filter to see if it was plugged with dirt. When those didn’t pan out, I checked the gaskets in case of a bad spray pattern. We’d once owned a Ford tractor where that had been an issue. The gaskets were clean and dry, and so I poked a bit longer, checking this and that until I concluded that we were looking at something larger than a dirty fuel filter.

  “You been gone an hour, Jacob. Cows still need hay,” Dad called, shuffling into the shed. “Is there a problem?”

  “Yeah.” I wiped my greasy hands on my jeans, then met his gaze. “White smoke is pouring out of her. I think it might be a bad injector or a dead cylinder, but I’ll have to pull the engine to make sure.”

  “Shit.” He sighed, placing a hand on the rusty red hood. “That’s a big job.”

  “Yep.”

  “Well, let me get myself dressed, and we’ll run to town.”

  “No, I’ll go after I roll a few bales into the feedlot.”

  Dad gave me a nod, the despite my angry tirade about him helping, he got behind one of the six-by-six bales and helped me roll it, by hand, uphill to the lot where the cows were waiting impatiently. The sun was just now peeking over the tops of the barren trees.

  “Jesus Christ, those sons of bitches are heavy,” Dad panted. I wiped at the sweat running into my eyes. The single-digit temperature didn’t feel quite as cold now. “We’ll need at least four more, son.”

  I glanced at the sky, saw a crow passing overhead, and then bobbed my head.

  It took us two hours to feed the cattle. I had to help my father back into the house, he was in so much pain. Mom fussed over him and got him into his recliner with a heating pad on his hip. I borrowed her keys and made a fast trip to Kennedy’s Farm & Tractor on the other side of Eden Crossing, right by the Marston Creek. Jim Kennedy smiled at me when I entered. I returned the smile, and then we started talking. Ten minutes later, I wasn’t smiling. In fact, I was close to tears.

  “… parts for that old of a tractor are going to be impossible to find, Jacob. We can order you in a used engine, one that’s been rebuilt, at a fair price.” Jim looked up from the catalog of used parts and engines he’d flipped open. His gray eyes searched my face.

  “What’s a fair price?” I knew it would be far above the two hundred and three bucks remaining in the farm account.

  “There’s an 8.3 T diesel listed here in Kentucky for forty-five hundred dollars, minus the core charge. Core charge will add another thousand to the price. Then of course there’s shipping. I’d say sixty-five hundred will cover it.”

  I closed my eyes, the smell of diesel fuel and oil sneaking into the showroom from the massive garage in the back making my eyes water. Yeah, that was it. The stink of gas was doing this to my eyes.

  “We can’t afford that. What about parts?” I asked, swallowing hard, then opening my eyes to study Jim’s wrinkled face. He gave me a look of compassion. Our family had always shopped here for our farm equipment. The Bensons had worked the land for generations, and the Kennedys had kept our machinery working.

  “Well, if it’s a dead cylinder, you’re looking at about two hundred and fifty for the cylinder itself, plus the new gaskets that you’ll need to replace. We have a kit that has everything you’ll need.” He tapped away on a greasy calculator. I let my gaze travel over the new hay rakes and manure spreaders. “We’re looking at about five hundred plus some odd change.”

  Gaze locked on that bright green hay tedder, I sighed internally. Actually, I may have screamed internally.

  “Sure, okay. I have to make a run to the bank. Can you gather that kit up for me? I’ll be back in ten minutes or so.”

  “Yep, can do.” Jim gave me a kind smile that I had trouble returning. Stepping out into the cold, I walked to my mother’s Malibu, dropped behind the wheel, and let the utter despair of the moment wash over me. A choked sort of gasp escaped. I hurried to tamp down the tears because honestly, what kind of man sits in a parking lot, crying over a fucking cylinder repair kit? Men took control and did what needed doing. With that mantra in my head, I pulled out onto the main road and drove to Eden Crossing, where I then sold the ring back to Robinson’s Jewelers. The one I’d saved and scrimped for and sold my favorite dirt bike to buy. They were understanding and said they’d hold it until after New Year’s just in case my fortunes changed. Pocket feeling as empty as my heart, I handed over all the cash in my wallet to Jim. The rest of my day was laid out before me, and it was nothing like I’d been dreaming it would be. Fucking life.

  I took a break at lunch, stuffing some food into my face, then washing up to go get Ryker at the cabin. We had to pick up the guys at four. It was the last flight into the airport until after Christmas, which was in two days. When I walked into the cabin, my face icy cold from the jaunt up there on the four-wheeler, I stepped into a world of holiday cheer.

  “Hey! Hi!” Ryker bounced over to me, kissed me on the lips, then danced away with a string of garland in his hand. “So, I found out there are four of those dollar stores in or just outside of Eden Crossing.”

  I gave the room a once-over. It was hard to find an inch that wasn’t festive. Even the plastic over the windows had been sprayed with that white flocking stuff. There were glittery paper balls and candy canes dangling from the ceiling, garland draped over all the window casings and across the mantel of the fireplace. Boxes and bags of trappings sat on the floor.

  “Did you buy out all four stores?”

  “Funny man. I love a funny man,” Ryker replied with some cheek and a wink. “No, doofus, but I did have fun. Thanks for letting me borrow the truck. It’s out back. I almost got stuck crossing the creek, but I wheeled her out of the deep part. Don’t worry. I didn’t drive on the hay fields and stayed in the path the four-wheeler made. Oh! Check it.” He ran over to the mountain of bags and lifted one. “Stuff to make ornaments for the tree that we need to go get. I know we’ll all be big-thumbed dorks, well, aside from Hayne, who will rock the shit out of the artsy stuff, but it’ll be fun. And I packed Cards Against Humanity. Oh! We should grab some more snacks and some beer. Well, okay, maybe not beer because we’re all athletes, and Scott is doing the clean and sober. Hey! Let’s get some root beer and ice cream. Make floats and paint balls. Yeah, man, this is going to be epic!”

  He wore his enthusiasm well. I wished I could match it. “Sure, sounds great, babe. My mom has some old lights she said we could borrow for the tree. I have the chainsaw strapped to the four-wheeler. If we’re doing this tree thing, we better go and do it. We have to get the guys, and I still have to work on the tractor, so we can maybe do evening chores.”

  “Oh, is the tractor not working?” he asked, his cheeks pink from the fire, his light brown eyes glowing with good cheer.

  “Yeah, but it’s all good now. I ran to buy the parts and should have it chugging along by nighttime.” I forced a smile that he returned; only his was a million watts brighter than mine. With a hoot of glee, Ryker bundled up and pulled me back outside. The sun on the snow blinded me, and I turned from the whiteness, slinging a leg over the four-wheeler, then scooting up so he could slide on behind me. He wrapped his arms around me, and off we went, the wind making our eyes leak, our noses run, and our cheeks as red as Santa’s coat.

  The farm pond was frozen solid as we roared past it. The perfect place for a shinny game when the guys were settled in. We rode through stands of naked oaks and elms, the recent snow heavy on the branches. Ryker would reach up as we passed and knock the snow off, making a cloud of dazzling diamonds on the air around us. When we reached the pines, I cut the engine, and we sat there, spellbound by the beauty around us. Tall evergreens coated with sparkling white powder, the flitter of a cardinal wing, the flash of a blue jay tail, and the whisper of the wind through the spruce were truly magical.

  “It’s so beautiful,” Ryker whispered in my ear. I turned my head to gaze at him and found the surroundings paled in comparison.

  “I love you so much, you know that, right?” I a
sked, and he grinned, the grin that he always bestowed on me when I confessed how much I adored him. The grin of a man who was truly loved. “I wanted to make this Christmas so special…”

  “You have.” He pressed his cold lips to mine, then climbed off the back, racing into the pines as he called to me over his shoulder to join him. Shaking my head when he began bellowing, “Where for art thou, oh most perfect Christmas tree?!” I loosened the bungee cords holding my dad’s Jonsered to the rack on the front of the Polaris and loped off to join in the hunt for the most perfect tree. At least I could give him that.

  He found the perfect tree with little fuss. It was a stumpy blue spruce with a space between the branches where a whitetail buck had scraped the velvet off his antlers, but Ryker declared it to be the one, and so with a swipe of the chainsaw, we felled our tree. Using a rope, we bound it tightly, then pulled it along behind us. Ryker sang carols the whole way home, and his off-key songs helped to lift the sadness in my heart, but only just a little. Knowing time was short, we propped the tree up beside the rickety front door of the cabin. Ryker jumped into my truck for the trip to the airport. Taking care to follow the path of the Polaris, he trailed me back to the farmhouse. Mom met us outside in nothing but a sweater.

  “Dad’s taking a hot bath to ease his hip. Then he’s going to finish the tractor.”

  I glanced around Ryker at the house as if I could spy my father through the walls, a la Clark Kent. “Tell him to just rest, okay? I’ll be back and will finish the job. Then I’ll do chores. We’ll have lots of help.” She bit her lower lip. I pulled her into my arms for a quick hug. “Tell him to rest. I got this. I got it all, okay?”

  “I’ll try, but you know how he is.” She chuckled thickly, giving my curious boyfriend a wobbly smile. “They’re two peas in a pod when it comes to being bullheaded.”

  “Oh, trust me, Mrs. B., I am well aware,” Ryker replied with sass. “We’ll be back soon and with all kinds of help. Really, tell Mr. B. to just chillax. We’re all up for mucking out cow poop!”