Christmas Lights

by Tanya Hanson

  “Maybe in a while, when we need to warm up. Cowboy, I distinctly heard something about cutting down a Christmas tree.” Her words and glance held a dare.

  “I hear ya. You gotta make up for that five-footer back at your homestead.” He grinned as her smile widened. Maybe because he’d recalled something so trivial?

  That ringing laugh again… “Yep. It’s all Miriam and I could handle in the supermarket tree lot.” She peered at him. “But you said you’re after a tree for the bunkhouse.”

  “There are a lot of trees out there.” He tipped his hat with one hand, pointed with the other.

  “Let’s go, then.” She pulled off a glove. When he offered his hand, she took his like she meant it. And his heartbeats stopped for a full three seconds.

  With her other hand, she petted Tatonka’s nose. “It’s so perfect right now.”

  Perfect again. “What is?” Casually, he hooked a leather ax case to his belt.

  “Everything.”

  From the way her face pinked and her eyes glistened, he knew she included him. But then she took her hand away and replaced the glove.

  “Cold,” she muttered, blushed.

  All good things had to end. But if he had his way, they wouldn’t. Maybe not even until death did them part. He’d made peace with his past. Maybe he didn’t quite believe in love at first sight, either. But he’d come pretty darn close.

  5

  They stomped through the drifts, plunging knee-deep in the aspen grove, and Lori’s heart lightened. How could it be otherwise with the tall white trees reaching high, their bark glistening as bright as the snow that carpeted the ground? With Heston tramping through snow by her side, his scent of pine and mystery flitting in her nose?

  Perfect.

  Goodness, she’d never smell pine again without thinking of him. Her heart pounded. Tiny crystals of ice clung to the delicate branches and reflected in the sun, reminded her of last night’s glowing Christmas lights.

  Last night, sitting by the fire, Heston at her side...

  A thought she shouldn’t have, but couldn’t help. His smiling face, crimson with cold, took her breath away. She stopped by one tree to catch that very same breath, wondering if he’d notice. Wondered if he’d think it was just exertion.

  She leaned a hand against the black spotted bark. “These trees are so beautiful. So much like birches.” The silence wasn’t exactly uncomfortable, but for some reason, she needed to fill it. “Mom actually has birch wallpaper and black gingham curtains in one of the guest powder rooms. Probably my favorite room at the ranch.”

  Maybe that’s why she felt so at home right here, in the thick of the real thing.

  His smile hitched her breath. “Birch and aspen do look similar, but they’re not related. In fact, an aspen isn’t really one tree at all.”

  “I know that.” She joked with pursed lips, knees trembly at just the sight of him. “We’re in some kind of grove. Or orchard. There’s probably hundreds of them.” She started to point and pretend-count.

  “No, I mean that literally.” Even in the shadows of the bony, leafless trees, his eyes sparkled with sun and cold.

  “Well, if it’s literal, do explain, kind sir.” Lori managed a curtsy in the deep snow despite her weak knees.

  But stumbled anyway. His strong hand reached to steady her, and her blood pumped harder. “You sure?” His eyes smiled, reflected the web of silver branches.

  “Never been more certain. I mean that.” She took a deep breath, took a chance and her mitten fist-bumped his. “I love to learn new things.”

  Heston must have read, or at least sensed, the invitation in her gesture, because he captured her hand, wiggled his fingers around it. Her fingertips sizzled inside the wool. And she wished she hadn’t been so chicken to re-glove her hand those moments ago.

  “A stand of aspen is actually one huge organism. A massive system of underground roots. When there’s enough sunlight, the roots sprout up into whole trees.” Heston batted his eyelashes playfully. “The system is called a clone, and it can live for thousands of years.”

  “A thousand years? Crazy.” Nerves were roiling, her usual turmoil, the terror of intimacy but...his smile was so kind. His voice so friendly...The whole of him so breath-catching. Lori wanted this even as she didn’t.

  He gently massaged her hand as if sensing her need for calm. “Yep. Aspen are almost impossible to kill. Although there is a beaver species that loves gnawing on their roots. They resist typical diseases. All they need is sunlight to rise up again.”

  His earnest expression was sweetly childlike, and her tumult eased, but for some reason, mortification reddened his freshened face even more than the cold. “Too much information? I told you I know some snoozer stuff.”

  She ached to run her hand across his cheeks, but couldn’t. Not yet. “I loved learning that,” she said, hoping her heard her gratitude. “I did. For one thing, those are actually cool tidbits to use in a book. To get ‘real’ about a setting.”

  “Then you might also include how aspen are unique in another way.” He grinned, but started in on a professor’s lecture voice, eyes blinking fast. Maybe…he had some turmoil going on himself. “Beneath the outer white bark, something special is hidden. A green layer that can be survival food for deer and elk in the winter.”

  “Well then, the case is closed. My next setting will be in Colorado.” She looked around, imagining all the potential. “Nothing like beautiful trees with Donner and Blitzen snacking on them.”

  She turned to wink at him, to keep the moment easy and carefree. Because much of what he’d said about trees could apply to her. All they needed was light. Did he mean to? About something special being hidden?

  “I think it’s a miracle.” She started to babble. “A real miracle how Mother Nature—I mean, God, gives the herds a food source. Although the snow is pretty awesome. It hardly ever snows in San Antonio, but it’s wonderful, special, when it happens. Like last year.”

  Despite her babbling, his eyes started a more serious gleam. In a perfect world, the moment would be just the time for a first kiss. How would it feel, his warm lips teasing hers? Giving a hand was the first step. A kiss the next. Was she ready?

  Was she? A kiss was its own commitment, in her head. In her books. In her heart. So as quick as she could, she ended the moment. She reached down into the soft snow, pounded together a quick ball and splashed it all over Heston. And despite the deep snow, she took off running as best she could. She couldn’t chance him wrestling her to the ground for more snow angels, or in a faux ice battle.

  Because in such a moment, a first kiss would be impossible to postpone. She felt it, knew it, and had to resist.

  The thin, white branches weren’t sufficient barrier to hide behind, but she paused to create more ammunition. Heston, maybe twenty feet away, was already stockpiling some icy grenades.

  Oh, he was lovely. And why not a kiss? Even if Kyle had done so, she didn’t remember it. Why not supplant a sweet memory instead of...

  A shower of snow sprayed up from her middle as Heston’s snowball met dead-center. Gentle, as was his laughter that hung on the branches scratching against each other in the wind. His glory stunned her. Her soft ammo lost shape and fell to white dust at her feet, and in response, Heston left his stash behind, stalked to her, tantalizing her with each step.

  Breathless, she leaned against an aspen trunk, brushed the detritus of their battle from her borrowed clothes.

  Waited for a kiss that never came. To everything there is a time and season and purpose.

  Had God decided now wasn’t any of those? Or maybe Heston had made the decision all on his own. Her heart fell, but with relief, too.

  Heston leaned close, though, when he reached her side. “Have you seen the aspen in the fall?”

  “More lessons, cowboy?” She was amazed at how normal her voice sounded. No shakes, no awkward throat clearing while she regained her breath.

  “Art lesson, maybe.” His
smile almost rocked her out of her footprints. “They light up the world when they change color. By mid-October.”

  She ran her mitten down the white bark. “Oh, I’ve seen pictures. Like fire across the mountains. Even then in photographs, it’s pretty spectacular.” How was her voice not quaking like the shaking leaves that gave aspen trees their moniker? “I seem to get here in the summers, or for Thanksgiving. This is actually my first Christmastime.”

  Conversation had returned to safe, boring normal, but he did take her hand to lead her toward the pines. Her heart screamed anyway. She wanted to promise a trip in October, to walk this very grove together in the glory.

  But she couldn’t speak the words. Or think that far ahead.

  “You usually help your folks with the Christmas rush?” he asked, his voice like a touch.

  Her boots squished against the snow. “Not...the front desk. Or anything onsite. Mostly online reservations. Stuff I can do from my home office. Lazy Acres does not quiet down during the holidays.” From a branch, a tiny clump of snow plopped atop her head, and Heston brushed it away, and her pulse thundered. Oh, the scent of him. She’d smell it in her sleep. “But this year, Miriam had such a long holiday vacation, she was bored after the first day. And with Granddad housebound, Miriam could cheer him up, and I could help out with his office work. Help with cooking and laundry. With my grandmother’s housekeeping.”

  “You get time off your job. Or you just write and work here?”

  A flash of blue against the white snow dashed from branch to branch then merged with the sky. “Look at that!” She wasn’t trying to change the subject, not at all.

  “Western scrub jay,” Heston grinned. “Sorry. I promise no more lectures.

  “I love your lessons, cowboy. I mean it.”

  For a few seconds, in reverence, camaraderie, they stood touching, mountains silver-lit with snow and sunshine. The blue bird turned to a white dream.

  “I can work pretty much anywhere,” she said finally as they started walking again through the grove. “As much or as little as I want.”

  “Yeah, writers can do that. But you said once you didn’t give up your day job. Marketing or something?”

  “That’s right. I work for a marketing affiliate. Talk about snoozer.” She wiggled her eyebrows at him in warning. “I like it fine; it’s steady, but definitely not exciting.”

  “Now come on. I owe you. You heard all about oil extraction and master-planning watersheds.” He paused next to an aspen in a dare. The sight of him…she could barely breathe.

  Her lost breath turned into a long glorious moment of watching his chest rise and fall. And she realized he wasn’t going to move on unless she gave in. She cleared her throat, hoping her words made sounds. “Well, after watching that bird fly by just now, yours seems to have a larger purpose.”

  “How so?” He didn’t move but did seem interested.

  She pretended a harrumph, stomped through the snow to a tree near him. “You know stuff about our world. Me, I prepare fill-in-the-blank forms. Pre-formed templates for direct mailers. The businesses give me the ad links and customer contacts. I prepare surveys and evaluations about consumer satisfaction. Then a computer program tallies the results. Easy peasy. That’s it. Snore.” In faux sleep, she laid her face on sideways hands, closed her eyes, and made a snuffly sound in her throat.

  His laughter warmed her through, and she joined in. “Well now, I don’t know. I receive direct mailers all the time.” His eyes twinkled. “Now, knowing you’ve had your hand in it, makes me love them even more.”

  “Well, there are those who consider it the highly-insulting ‘junk mail.’ But it’s all good. I make my own hours and once in a very great while, I get to create advert blurbs and taglines. Just like for our books. Best of all, I have the freedom to write when I want.”

  She pretended to examine tree bark then turned from him just in case he figured out how she really felt, what she really meant. How lonely she got at times. No human interaction, even though she didn’t dare. The best way. The only way. Customers were strings of hashtags and usernames; the professional support, faceless emails. She’d left the bustle of Public Relations, out in public, long ago. After Kyle. Now, loneliness had become her middle name.

  Yet...a man with a televised family was the last man she needed. Even though she didn’t need a man at all. And here she was, off on the emotional quest for the perfect Christmas tree with him. Her heart ached in the company of this lovely man because joy had turned temporary and dark. Yet at his side she truly wanted to be.

  The odd darkness lightened. Ahead of them, almost like the sun was a searchlight, its rays bounced around a pine so perfect it deserved to live forever. Grinning, Heston jogged to it, knees high in the deep snow.

  “How about this one?” He unsnapped the leather axe case.

  She grinned back. “Tons better than picking out a prickly half-dead thing in a parking lot.”

  “Auntie Lori! Uncle Heston!”

  Miriam’s shrieks knocked another, larger tuft of snow from a branch, and Lori stopped in her tracks like a tree had snagged her. Uncle Heston? Deep in her heart she liked the sound of it but...realized it was simply the moniker the rest of the kids had for him. But she liked the fact of Miriam fitting right in as well. Silly her, who didn’t need this man or any man. What was wrong with her?

  “What is it, sweetheart?” She hunkered a bit to her niece’s level, and Miriam crashing into her, knocked her helpless into the snow.

  “Don’t kill it, Uncle Heston. Please, Auntie Lori? Please? Don’t kill it!” Tears clogged Miriam’s tone and dripped from her eyes. “Look!” She pulled at a scraggly but adorable pinecone garland draped around her neck. “Look what I made. A decoration. It works just as good, huh? Please!”

  With sounds like he was swallowing laughter, Heston reached out hands to pull Lori to her feet. To pull her impossibly close to him. As she had another time, she rested for a flash against his broad chest. Wished she could stay. But couldn’t, not with Miriam’s mighty sniffles going on.

  And for a million reasons more.

  “All righty, Miriam. I won’t. We’ll leave her be.” Heston stepped back, snapped the axe up right in its sheath, all without taking his gaze from Lori or halting the grin that sapped her strength. “Let’s get back to the cabin for some cocoa.”

  “It’s a beautiful decoration, darling. Gee-Gee is going to love it.” Lori looked down at Miriam, surprised she could talk at all.

  “I have a good idea.” Miriam’s smile was smug. “There’s a jillion pinecones in the cabin. And hot glue. We could stack up a bunch of them and make a Christmas tree for the bunkhouse. That would work, wouldn’t it?”

  “Yep. It sure would.” Heston snagged Lori’s quick glance, and they shared a smile Miriam couldn’t see.

  Her pulse chased itself around every single cell.

  Somehow her little niece manipulated the threesome so that she and Lori hung onto Heston’s hands, on either side of him. Perfection again. Her heart thrummed. And Lori stashed the memory inside for later.

  While she enjoyed every second in real time.

  ****

  The heat inside Homestead Lodge smacked Heston’s chest, and he hurried to shrug Lori from her outerwear and then scramble out of his own. Miriam ran off quick and brought them each a sloshy cup of cocoa, marshmallows softening inside the hot brown liquid.

  “It won’t take me long to make our pinecone tree, Uncle Heston,” she announced, childhood bright in her eyes and tone. For the first time in a very long time—make that ever, Heston wondered how right it might be to have kids of his own. His siblings had all started out lots younger than he... “Is it OK I call you that?” Wisdom glistened in her eyes now. “I know you’re not really my uncle.”

  “Not yet. But maybe I could be, someday.” Heston said, bold, not daring a look at Lori. Imagining her eyes rolling because he’d probably overstepped. “You never know what the future holds.”
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  Lori gave out a pretty snort. “Oh, you two.” Anything else she might long to say disappeared into her hot chocolate.

  “You better hurry with your project, Miriam.” Heston leaned against the back of a rough-hewn chair made from logs. “We are only half done with our sleigh ride. Don’t you want to take a peek at Santa’s herd before they get busy with their big night?”

  “Oh, Uncle Heston.” Her tiny lips pursed in frustration, yellow hair wind-tumbled into a fuzzy halo atop her head. “Santa has reindeer, not elk. Anyway, Jesus is the reason for the season.”

  “You got that right.” Heston ruffled her hair even more, once again touched by her wisdom.

  Around him, the squeals of kids making artwork wrangled with adult chitchat. And Lori mingled, seeming comfortable around people she’d come to know over the years. Her shyness from last night’s camera-fest aroused Heston’s curiosity once again, but touched him more when he remembered Rancher-obsessed fans, the fakers who pretended to like him when all they wanted was attention and a cameo on the show. No doubt she’d had harassment from over-eager readers.

  He knew Lori liked him for real. And he was glad.

  She posed a hot glue gun at Miriam’s pile of pinecones, then caught his gaze, flushed, and half-smiled before looking back to her task. He wondered if the warmth of his feelings had tinted her rosy skin. Then the throng parted for her as she strode to his side.

  Her made-up holly berry scent riffed over him. Oh…his spine skittered. He’d smell it in his dreams.

  She laid her hand on his arm, and he wondered if his skin would melt. “Heston, this is all so special. Thank you. Miriam’s almost done. I’ve been thinking.” Somehow shy, awkward, she looked toward the roaring fireplace. He held his breath to prepare himself for the worst, even though she kept her hand on him. “Can we take the rest of our sleigh ride tomorrow with my grandparents?”

  “Sure.” How had it come out, a word he didn’t want to say? He cleared his throat. “What’s up?”

  He cheeks pinked, but then, she had been awfully close to the fire...