Christmas in Bed

by Bridget Snow

  “It’s a shame, really. Used to be the center of the Christmas tree trade, Montana. Now we’re one of the only farms left, and we might go under too.”

  Mel brushed aside one of the tree’s branches and revealed a cluster of pine cones nestled close to the trunk. They were perfectly shaped, even though the back half of the tree was brown.

  “Does insurance cover a bad harvest when the crop in question is pine trees?”

  “We had an adjuster come out,” he said. “No fire, no disease, nothing off about the water or the dirt. No, these trees are just as ugly as God intended them to be, and there’s no insuring against God’s will.”

  “Do you have suppliers you can lean on for a line of credit going into next year?” Mel asked. “Accounts receivable you can start collecting on? Salvage value for the trees you don’t sell?”

  “You ask a lot of questions,” he said.

  “I balance books for a living. I wasn’t trying to be nosy, I’m just used to thinking through financial forecasts. I’m sorry this year’s crop was a dud, but I do hope you guys can reclaim some value from this year.”

  She turned to leave.

  “Wait,” Kyle said. “Maybe you could stick around.”

  “I just came to find out where things stood with Mason, and now I know. He ran off. Some men are like that.”

  “Mason is not like that,” Kyle said. “That man lives and breathes Pine Corner. This place speaks to him in ways I’ll never understand, and he’s never left without a clear intention of coming back right quick.

  “He’s also never let a woman wring up his mind like a wet washcloth before you came along. He’s probably just worried sick that he can’t provide for you and now he’s busting his ass trying to sell dried up old twigs to decent people looking for a nice green tree.

  “Makes me feel like a dirtbag for even selling those trees now, but we have no choice. And we’re not hiding anything. They are discounted after all.

  “But I’m the one asking you to stay. Not for Mason, but for the family farm. I wouldn’t mind showing you the books if you could give me a little advice on whether we’re dead in the water.”

  Mel glanced back at the cab waiting for her at the entrance. The driver hunched over his phone screen, seemingly content to let the meter run. “Fine,” Mel said. “I’ll take a look, but I can’t stay long.”

  Kyle’s whole body relaxed, like he harbored some kind of tension this whole time that finally released. He waved her inside the wooden shack and sat her at a folding table. He reached into a filing cabinet drawer and came back with a single manila folder, overstuffed with crumpled, bent, and dog-eared papers.

  “These are your ‘books?’ ” she asked. “This is a mess.”

  “Just because it’s a business doesn’t mean we have business savvy. If it wasn’t such a mess I wouldn’t be in need of your help.”

  Mel dug through the pile of papers, some of them very old, and others new. There were recent receipts for tools and incidentals, decade-old invoices for heavy machinery, and a hundred papers in between. Plus, a yellowed business agreement with fresh white pages stapled to the end that outlined the co-owners’ rights and responsibilities.

  “Mason is only a twenty-five percent owner?” she asked, thumbing through the corporate documents first.

  “Shit,” Kyle said. “Don’t let on that you found that part out. I tease him about it, but it’s a sore spot.”

  “Then stop teasing him about it,” she said. “It’s twenty-five percent more than most people own of a working farm. I think it’s pretty damn good.”

  “So it’s still a working farm? We’re in the black?”

  She jotted down a series of numbers and notes while Kyle watched, biting his lip the whole time.

  “You won’t turn a profit with these numbers,” she said. “At this point, if you mulch these trees, you’ll still end up with more costs than revenue for the year. You’re better off slashing your prices and selling the trees at cost so you can move a larger portion of them. Hopefully all of them.”

  “We already halved the prices from last year,” Kyle said. “We can’t go lower.”

  “Yes you can,” Mel said. “In fact, I think you need to. If you factor in the cost of your business expenses — taxes, utilities, equipment, travel — you can save the farm. It will be a bleak Christmas—”

  “No wife and kids, so I can manage with bleak,” Kyle said. “What’s the bottom line? How much do we need to keep from going bankrupt?”

  Mel wrote a number down on a little sheet of paper and slid it across the table.

  “Four thousand dollars?” he asked.

  “On the nose,” she said. “Do you believe in signs? Because I’m starting to.”

  “I don’t follow,” Kyle said.

  “I may have an idea what you can do with all these Christmas trees. The only question is, do you deliver?”

  Chapter Ten

  Mason

  Three days, and the routine almost felt normal now.

  Mason had been sleeping in the back of his pickup truck each night, tucked tight into a sleeping bag with the cargo bed cover in place, shielding him from the city’s obnoxious lights.

  Street lights spaced ten feet apart, porch lights that never went off, high rise buildings with entire floors lit all night long that drowned out the stars entirely. What good was living in Big Sky Country if you couldn’t even see the stars? He pulled his wool hat over his eyes at night just for the added darkness.

  It did nothing for the sound though. The rush of cars was incessant, even though he was parked against a building, at the rear of a parking lot that served as his personal tree kingdom. Kyle had selected the address and negotiated the rent, all Mason had to do was sell the trees.

  Easier said than done.

  Especially when every night was a fitful sleep, interrupted by honking cars and occasional sirens.

  And now it was that time again, to unzip his sleeping bag, double check the lock on his tree trailer, and walk to a local gym where he took out a seven-day free membership. He showered, worked out, and showered again, all before the lot opened for those early morning tree-hunters.

  The closer it got to Christmas, the more desperate he hoped people would be. He told Kyle he wouldn’t come home until all hundred trees were gone. Thankfully Kyle kept half for himself, vowing to sell his own hundred to the families of Pine Corner. If it came to it, he might promise to start delivering right to people’s homes, which Kyle had always been firmly against. Anything to move more inventory.

  Mason unlocked the gate to his parking lot tree market and sipped at a cup of hot chocolate from a local Starbucks just to warm up. He grimaced with each sip. These cities and their Starbucks. The hot chocolate wasn’t even good. It was all sugar, and the vanilla was just a chemical-flavored syrup. Plus, the concoction was grainy, like the powder barely melted into the hot water they splashed over it.

  They had nothing on Mel’s cocoa. Rich and with an extra hint of sweetness when his tongue teased it off her lower lip. His blood started flowing south again, just like every time he thought of her. He wanted to dip her whole body in chocolate and lick her clean. He wanted to grab that woman by the ass, hoist her over his shoulder, and test the springs of every mattress in that old house. He wanted to sink so deep into her flesh that their bodies become one sweaty mountain of—

  Then he remembered, like he always did, that he wasn’t more than a passing thought to her. A piece of Montana’s landscape. A quick little adventure before running back to her big city life.

  A blond woman walked into the tree lot now, wearing high-heeled boots and a wooly blue hat that matched her long blue coat. As she got closer, Mason saw that her eyes were the same brilliant hue. She was tall, and thin, and headed right his way.

  “I swear,” she said, “you tree guys get hotter every year.”

  “I don’t think our farm used this lot last time,” Mason said.

  “No,” she replied.
“I’d have remembered you. Point me toward your most magical tree, won’t you? I trust you to know what’s what. I want a living room that sings with cheer this year.”

  “It’s not a matter of magic,” he said, “so much as personal taste. Have yourself a look around and holler if you need help.”

  “And you’ll come running?”

  “I’ll do my best.”

  She didn’t walk far before pausing at a tree and bending down to check out its trunk. Her skirt rode up, revealing her toned thigh muscles. She stuck her rear out just enough to catch Mason’s eye. He turned away an instant later.

  It was too soon, his mind replaying how glorious his cock looked resting against Mel’s ass as she lay bent over the kitchen island. Why couldn’t he get that woman out of his head? Every other woman reminded him of her.

  He wandered over to a young couple instead.

  “This one’s pretty,” the girl said.

  “But, it’s half brown,” the guy replied. He stalked around the other side of the tree and pointed out its ugly half.

  “So?” she asked. “It’s going in my apartment, not yours.”

  “I don’t know why you insist on staying there,” he said. “It’s so cramped and boxy.”

  “Not so cramped I can’t fit a small tree at least,” she said.

  “You know,” Mason added. “In a corner, you’d never notice the brown spots.”

  “Yeah,” the guy said, “I would. Can you give us a minute, we’re just browsing.”

  “Of course,” Mason said, frowning at a line of half-brown trees. He had tried to position their best sides forward, but it was no use. He had half a mind to saw them down the middle and glue the good halves together.

  “Tree man!” the blond woman called out. “I never got your name.”

  Mason followed her voice to what turned out to be one of the nicer trees on the lot. “This one’s a great choice. It’s forty-five dollars.”

  “That’s half the price I paid last year,” she said.

  “Our trees came out a strange shape this time. Not a perfect cone among them.”

  “Suits me just fine,” she said, plucking a pine needle off Mason’s coat and flicking it aside. “I like ‘em rough around the edges.

  “I’ll have to come back tonight with my some cash and my car,” she continued. “I was just passing by when you caught my attention. If anyone else tries to buy my special tree, you call me right away.” She wrote her number on the back of a receipt — a Starbucks receipt, of course — and placed it in his open palm, leaving her fingers against his a moment longer than necessary.

  Then she walked away, looking over her shoulder for a quick smile back at him that was just bold enough to be brave, and just quick enough to be coy. She was a master at flirting. Confident, hot, and absolutely into him.

  So why did he feel nothing?

  No, he did feel something. Guilt. Like even trying to picture himself with this woman was a betrayal of Mel’s trust. He crumpled up the phone number and tossed it in the trash. He didn’t need to make a sale that conjured up confusing emotions.

  All he could do was stand there and shake his head. Mel had made his life complicated, and he wasn’t sure how to untangle her from it now. Maybe it wasn’t the bright lights and car alarms that kept him up. Maybe it was the emptiness in his heart, the terror that ran through him when he heard her say those words.

  She was leaving.

  And he… had promised to make her stay. Because even though things had moved inexplicably fast, he had this feeling in his soul like that woman was the one for him.

  Now he was in Billings with a lot full of future mulch. He was an idiot.

  So what if she took extra convincing? So what if she was a challenge? If he couldn’t rise to the occasion, he didn’t deserve her. But it was more than that. They were good together. And she deserved something good. Even if she didn’t realize that meant staying in Pine Corner. Yet, anyway. But he might still have time to convince her.

  He took his phone from his pocket and scrolled to her number. His thumb paused over the button that would place the call. What could he even say, three days later? What the hell kind of a reason would get that woman to open her door for him after the way he left things?

  “… older the better…” a guy said.

  As Mason wandered amid the trees, lost in his frantic thoughts about Mel, he caught a snippet of conversation between the young couple that browsed the lot.

  “There’s nothing left in Billings like that,” the girl said. “At least not that we could afford.

  “If we could just find hardwood floors, or some old brass fixtures,” she continued.

  “And brick walls,” the guy replied, “not this crappy dry wall. Something we can really work with.”

  “I don’t even care what shape it’s in,” she replied. “We just need something, fast.”

  “Excuse me,” Mason said, “did I hear you right? Are you in the market to buy a house?”

  “The right house, yeah,” the guy said. “It has to be worth it though. Character out the ass.”

  Just then Mason’s phone rang.

  “Excuse me a moment,” he said, turning away and holding the phone to his ear. “What’s going on, brother?”

  “Mason,” Kyle said. “You’re not going to believe this. She bought all the trees. All. Of. Them.”

  “Who?” he asked.

  “Your foxy momma. Mel. Pack it up, brother. You’re coming home. I trust you know the delivery address?”

  “I didn’t ask her to do that,” Mason said.

  “Didn’t have to,” Kyle said. “Looks like your lady’s taking care of you for a change.”

  “That’s not funny,” he said.

  “Then why am I laughing?”

  “Argh!” Mason growled at his brother and hung up the phone.

  The only thing Mason could provide for Mel now was a way out, which might suit her intentions but it sure as hell wouldn’t suit his.

  It might, however, at least get him through the front door.

  “Hey, you two,” he said, nodding toward the young couple. “I’m out of inventory for the year, but if it’s an old house you want, go get your car while I pack up these trees. Follow me and stay alert. It’s a long drive to Pine Corner and I plan on driving fast.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Melody

  Mel rushed inside the house and spilled the contents of her scooped arms onto the foyer floor. Grover was in utter shock that someone would buy so much from him at once, but he was over the moon. And she was on a mission.

  She tipped over one giant bag and released velvety red ribbons in every size — some with gold trim, some with silver. Some were striped with white like candy canes, and some were red-and-green plaid.

  She was surprised her credit card didn’t set off a fraud alert. No sane person buys this much ribbon.

  A hot glue gun with extra rods, a shopping bag filled with white pillar candles, pliers, and every last reel of wire in Grover’s store rounded out her haul.

  She plugged her phone into an outlet and set up a long playlist of Christmas songs to keep her spirits bright. What came next would take an awful lot of work and she was eager to get started before the trees arrived.

  And yet, before Mariah Carey’s angelic voice had time to launch into her very first verse, the doorbell rang.

  Mel was already in the foyer, already expecting the doorbell, and already excited for her next big idea. She swung the door open and froze.

  She was not already ready to see Mason.

  The two of them stood there, separated by the invisible threshold of the door frame. Their eyes locked, and a heavy silence gripped them both. Neither seemed willing to speak. They barely breathed.

  A chill wind blew into the house, carrying the intoxicating smell of fresh pine and manly musk, luring her a single step toward Mason. His hands were empty and clenched into fists by his sides. From this distance, she could slap him. Or
she could kiss him. She wasn’t sure which urge would win out.

  “You stood me up,” she said. Her voice was low, quiet. She hated that. It was the lilting whimper of a hurt birdling when all she wanted to do was roar and scream. “You never even called.”

  “I refused to let you say goodbye that easily,” he said. His voice matched hers in volume and unevenness. He stood six and a half feet tall in her doorway, broad and dense, but his face was tense. Vulnerable.

  “You hate this place,” he continued. “This town that I’ve lived in all my life. You were never going to stay, Mel.”

  Mel, she thought. No one calls me that but him, and the sound of it rolling off his tongue makes me weak.

  “Says who?”

  “I heard you,” he said. “On the phone. I wasn’t trying to, but when I heard my name I stopped short. You think ‘real people’ can’t live the way I always have, but I’m real people, Mel. I’m real.”

  “That’s not all I said, Mason. And that’s not all I felt. Despite how different life is here, I wanted to build something with you. Something real. I wanted to stay. It’s my boss that’s making me leave.”

  “I didn’t know.” He reached, hesitantly at first, to brush a long lock of brown hair away from her face. His finger was rough but warm, even as he started to shiver on the porch, his broad body absorbing the wind and shielding her from winter’s harsh air.

  The smallest touch and her resolve began to crumble. The tears she held at bay for days welled up now toward the surface.

  Take me, she thought, her eyes still locked on his. In your arms. Squeeze me until the past three days collapse into nothing and we can go back to when things made sense. Don’t make me ask for it, just hold me so my body knows you won’t let go again.

  “And now I’m alone,” she continued. “Just me with two hundred Christmas trees, and a house that’s too big to sell and too important to walk away from.”

  “I didn’t tell you to bring your big city money to my farm,” he said. “That’s my business to save, not yours.”