by Bridget Snow
Mason bent back and sideways, away from Bill’s downward thrust. Then, taking advantage of the space left open by Bill’s floundering attack, Mason landed a punch against Bill’s face that filled the night air with a loud crack.
The knife dropped from Bill’s hand as the boy lifted off the floor. Something skittered across the porch before the kid crashed down on the wooden slats. He landed on his back and clutched his face with both hands.
“Thina,” he said, his hands already wet with blood, “get my toof.”
“It is a beautiful house,” Tina said, racing toward the other side of the porch to retrieve the small, bloody incisor. “Thanks for, um, showing it to us.”
Mel moved in the same direction, quick to retrieve the knife in case that was Tina’s true goal. She grabbed it by the handle and took an immediate step away from the girl.
“Are you okay?” Mason asked, his eyes still beady and focused from the ongoing fight.
“Yes,” Mel said, holding out his weapon. “Here.”
By the time Mason turned back, Bill and Tina were running down the stone path that led to their parked car.
Mason’s breath was a heavy rasp, air filling his lungs deeply and quickly.
“I’m so sorry,” Mason said. He balled his hand in a fist and looked around, but found nothing he could punch, so he threw a punch at the air and lunged forward from the inertia. “I brought that scum into your house. Argh!”
Mel held him by the arm, one hand clutching his tense bicep while the other landed on his forearm. He still heaved with anger.
“You couldn’t have known,” she said. Then, as her eyes scanned further down, “You’re bleeding.”
“It happens sometimes, when you punch a face hard enough,” he said, holding the porch door open for Mel as they stepped back inside. “It’ll heal. I just thought, if I found someone to buy this house I’d be able to do something to help you through all this. I should have asked what their price range was. Instead, I wasted everyone’s time.”
“It’s not the price that mattered,” Mel said, “as much as the people. And I’m not sure how that would have gone if it was just me, alone in this house with Bill and Tina. Alone in this town.”
“You will never be alone again,” he said, wrapping both arms around Mel’s lower back and pulling her against his body for a long embrace. “I will stop at nothing to keep you safe.”
“I know,” she said.
“I wanted to provide a solution to your Hansen House problem,” he said, sliding his hands toward her ass and drawing her close, bringing every inch of her front against every inch of his. “The way you saved Two Archers Farm from our worst year on record. But believe you me, I don’t take handouts. I will work off my debts.”
He flashed her a devilish smile.
“Starting now.”
Chapter Twelve
Melody
Mason surprised Mel by lifting her up, using both hands cupped beneath her ass to grip her body and hoist her high. She wrapped her legs around him instinctively and reached behind his broad back for support. From this perch, the low cut of her blouse placed her chest against his face, and he kissed the tops of her breasts lightly.
His stubble grazed against her skin, sending an electric current through her nerves. How a man could be so rough and so gentle at the same time was a mystery to her, and one she could take a lifetime to unfold.
Mason lowered her slowly, just a bit, so he could kiss up her neck on his way toward her mouth. He held her steady as they shared a long, passionate kiss.
Mel tightened her legs around him and slid her hands up his back, until she was running her fingers through his blond hair and pulling him deeper and deeper into their kiss. It was a good thing she wasn’t on her feet, or her knees might have given up on her.
The adrenaline from Mason’s fight with Bill; the pent-up longing from three days without Mason’s smile, his hands, his tongue; the pressure of an impending deadline before her job, and New York, and thousands of miles would separate her from the first man that put butterflies in her stomach and rocked her body with quaking bliss—
She couldn’t contain herself.
With one hand, Mel grasped frantically for Mason’s shirt buttons, popping them open until his muscled pecs were free. She strained to reach the fly of his jeans, and Mason reached beneath her shirt to unhook her bra.
Like long lost lovers madly reconnecting with each other’s bodies, they tossed their clothing aside. No pretense, no decorum, just skin and lust and need. Mason kicked off his work boots and yanked at his jeans and boxer briefs until they fell toward his feet. When he stepped away from his pants, his body was naked and muscled from his bulging calves, to his massive thighs, his round ass, and a torso packed with power, all while Mel clung to his front, wrapped around him tight.
“I’ve missed you so much,” she said.
“Me too.” He spoke the words softly against Mel’s ear before starting to nibble, tugging gently on her lobe with his teeth while she reached down for his rigid length.
Mason’s sex rested against her stomach, upright between them both, sandwiched between her soft stomach and his hard, rippling abs. His hips were starting to thrust, forcing his shaft to slide against her skin. She took it in her hand and began to stroke.
The vibrations of Mason’s moaning voice rumbled within her chest as their bodies pressed against each other. He kept one hand firm with his fingers gripped in her long brown hair, and the other moved to her knee. Then her thigh. Then it vanished beneath her skirt.
Mason’s fingers played across Mel’s sex and settled against her clit, toying with her while her mound swelled with excitement. His thumb swirled, and retreated, worked slowly, then fast. He probed toward her outer lips and tested the entry between them.
Her own fingers curled against Mason’s muscled back and she buried her face against his neck. She breathed in his scent, filling her lungs with the outdoors. Pine, and sweat, and musk. Her other hand searched up and down his massive cock.
Her skirt was hiked up now, with Mason’s hand tucked beneath her panties and his thumb gliding into her body.
When she glanced up, she saw the curtains, still drawn aside from nearby windows. She took in a sharp, nervous breath. “Mason, the neighbors.”
“Are hundreds of feet away. This isn’t like the city, where people live within peeping distance. But,” now he took a step toward the staircase, carrying her across the foyer while his fingers probed deeper inside her body. “You’re mine to worship, and no one else’s.”
His body tensed with each step after that, ascending every stair in that old house.
Each footfall echoed through her body, the thrum of his steps sending small shockwaves that rippled across her flesh. She tightened around his fingers, and his shaft throbbed in her hand, neither of them willing to slow their bodies down on their search for a private quarters.
Past the second floor’s five old bedrooms, Mason turned toward the next flight. His legs worked hard to carry them both, and Mel’s hips started to roll involuntarily, meeting Mason’s efforts while he fingered her the whole way upstairs.
Finally, the master bedroom was in sight. The door was only slightly ajar, so Mason kicked it open and kept walking, laying Mel onto the bed. Her body sank into the soft duvet that stretched across the king-sized mattress. She lifted her hips and pulled down her skirt, then looped her thumbs into the waistband of the slinky black panties she wore.
“No,” Mason said. “Those are mine.”
He climbed on top of her and ran his fingers down her torso, locking eyes with Mel as she lay looking up at him. He kissed her chest, then her stomach. His rough hands ignited her skin everywhere they touched.
When he grabbed hold of her panties and yanked them down toward her thighs, he paused to lick his lips. Then he licked hers.
His tongue lapped at her sex, swirling with a gentle pressure. Mel’s hips squirmed as her arousal intensified, forcing Mason to
react, shifting positions to keep his mouth against her clit.
“You’re so wet,” he said, lifting his face from between her legs. “I’m going to rock you so hard.”
“Do it,” she said. “I want you inside me.”
Mason sank his tongue deep into Mel’s core then, licking at her inner walls for just a second before he pulled back. He rested his shaft against her glistening mound, admiring the way she looked, so desperate to feel him inside her.
Then he sank into Mel’s core inch by glorious inch. Her body filled with him, holding tight against his cock as he lowered himself on top of her. One arm propped him up, his hand sinking into the mattress by Mel’s face, while the other found her breast and thumbed at her nipple.
They locked eyes and Mel bit her lip. The slow and gentle caress of his hand against her breast was a striking contrast to the powerful, demanding thrusts of his lower half. Every muscle in Mason’s body flexed as he delved deeper into her core.
He grunted while his rhythm intensified, a low growl that sent a warm rush of desire through her. The metal springs in the mattress creaked and groaned with each advance and retreat.
“Mel,” he said.
“Yes!” she replied, losing her focus to the intensity of their union.
“Mel I…”
“Say it,” she said.
“I love you.”
“I love you too!” she startled at how loud and fast she said the words, and before she knew it, Mason’s lips were on hers, his tongue was in her mouth, and his rhythm doubled. Her body bounced with his, trapped between his heft and the buoyant mattress beneath her.
She looped her arms around his neck while her sex clenched around his, her body tightening as a crescendo built within her. Her breathing came in shorter and shorter bursts, and then her climax took over, electrifying her body in waves of pleasure.
Mason let out a long, low groan as he came inside her, pulsing with a series of hard, quick thrusts into her tightening body.
She lay on the old bed, panting as the final throes of orgasm quieted and her body relaxed. Mason kissed her once before their bodies separated. He rolled onto the bed next to her and took her hand in his while they just lay there, breathing, and absorbing the depth of what they had just admitted to each other.
A minute later, the roar of a truck’s engine got louder, then cut off completely. A car door opened and shut.
“That must be Kyle,” she said. “Dropping off his hundred trees.”
Mason turned his head to the side. “Since when does he deliver?”
Chapter Thirteen
Melody
Mel woke up the next morning knowing exactly what she’d find. A pair of trailers — one from Mason and one from Kyle — containing a total of two hundred somewhat-deformed Christmas trees. Their green branches were full and strong, though their brown patches detracted from their natural beauty.
That was fine. She had a plan for that. But first: breakfast.
With Mason still deeply asleep in the master bed, she showered, dressed, and got ready for the day ahead. It was a week until Christmas, which left her six days to convince Harvey that this house was worth selling. To a real buyer. Like a family looking for a place to lay down their roots, and with patience to spare for a giant old house that might need an occasional dose of extra love.
Mel threw together a meal of chocolate crepes with mint whipped cream, and a heaping side of scrambled eggs. Mason came down the steps as she was just plating breakfast, his blond hair still dark and wet from the shower. He rolled up the sleeves on his plaid button-down and took a seat at the kitchen island.
“I picked up supplies from Grover’s All-In-One yesterday,” she said, preparing place settings for them both before delivering their plates. “He really did have everything I needed, from tools to ribbons to candles.”
“Needed for what?” he asked.
We’re going to turn those trees into garland, and wreaths, centerpieces for the dining table, coffee table, island — you name it. We might add a tree to the second floor, or two on the porch flanking the entry doors. We’re only limited by our imagination.
“When we’re done, this house will look festive, and loved, and there’s no way a nice family won’t buy it. By the time we send sourpuss Harvey the pictures, he’ll be crying tears of Joy to the World.
“Heck, we’ll do a video tour of the whole house, with history lessons and everything.” She lifted her phone and scanned the room with its lens, pretending to film the as-yet-undecorated kitchen.
“And a little eye candy couldn’t hurt.” She nudged Mason in the ribs with her elbow and aimed the camera at his face.
“Like this?” he asked, unbuttoning the top button of his shirt.
“A little more,” she said, lowering the camera. “We want a bidding war.”
“You mean, like this?” Now he unbuttoned his fly, and she lowered the camera some more.
“Snap, snap,” she said.
“You wouldn’t dare.”
“Don’t worry,” she said. “I’m also protective of who gets to see you nude. It’s a very short list.”
“Who’s on it?”
“Two people,” she said.
“Two?!”
“Yep. Me… and you.”
“Oh.” He scooped a large bite of crepes and eggs into his mouth. “Right.”
The day that followed was some of the hardest work of Mel’s life, and she loved it. Hauling trees from the trailers, holding them steady while Mason stripped them bare, lugging their shorn trunks to a growing stack of pine logs.
They worked as a team, and by mid-afternoon, they had built a healthy stockpile of green boughs Mel could start crafting with, though they barely put a dent in their two-hundred-tree total.
“Old Irma’s for lunch?” she asked.
“I thought you’d never ask,” he said. “You have some stamina about you.”
“I don’t burn through eight meals a day like you do,” she said. “Next time you’re hungry just say so.”
“Oh, no,” he said. “I won’t take special favors. I have debts to repay.” He gave her a light smack on the ass as she walked past him, down the stone path that led past the old Hansen House sign and on toward town.
Lucy’s café was empty when they arrived, and she was intrigued by their efforts to turn the Hansen House into a bastion of yuletide cheer. Mel and Mason sped through lunch so they could get to dessert: reindeer pie. They ordered extra for the road before continuing their stroll down main street, extending their break to give their tired hands and backs a little rest.
Mel stopped short when she passed Kid Kiddler’s. The toy store’s window featured a brand new doll, one with a sparkling tiara and a golden suitcase overflowing with gowns. Before Mel could reach for the door handle, Alice pushed the door open and gave a nod hello.
“You got me thinking about princesses,” she said. “And I thought, why not?”
“She’s perfect for Casey,” Mel said. “I’ll take her.”
“That one’s Jessie’s,” Alice said. “She laid her claim right away. Dropped all that business about the Barbie doll though, so that’s a relief. I’ll finish up a second doll tonight and bring her by in the morning. I’ve been meaning to see what you’re up to over there anyhow.”
Alice wasn’t the only one. Day by day, more and more of Pine Corner’s lifers dropped in on Hansen House, and the funny thing is, they never left.
Mason told Kyle about their plans and his brother finally developed a soft spot, bringing a truck full of tools and taking over the effort to collect usable branches from his farm’s former trees. With the tree lot closed up for the season, this became his full-time effort, sawing off the lushest branches and adding them to the crafting pile.
With his brother’s tools and a workbench he dredged up from the basement, Mason set up a carpentry station in the back yard and hauled the house’s furniture out piece by piece. He started the long process of sanding, refinish
ing, sealing, and setting the pieces back in their rightful place in every room — and on every floor — of the house.
A few other men from town pitched in there, all under Mason’s watchful eye, while their wives and girlfriends took direction from Mel. They strung pine branches into garland, wreathes, and other accents for the house’s winter décor.
When Grover saw the two small trees Mason had set up by the front doors, he went back to his shop and gathered up several crates of ornaments. In the days that followed, he took his time hanging red, gold, and white orbs in just the perfect spots, with sparkling ribbon and bright puffy garland.
Alice and Tom Kiddler made the living room a secondary workshop, spending hours each day carving discarded pine trunks into candelabras, coasters, decorative platters, and figurines that ranged from snowmen and yeti to Santa and his elves. Meanwhile, Jessie collected a few bushels of pine cones, which Mel helped her glue onto small wreathes before setting white pillar candles in their centers.
Lucy closed her café, with a sign directing her regulars to stop by Hansen House instead. She and Mel took turns managing the kitchen — Lucy whipping up pies for everyone while Mel kept the hot cocoa flowing (anything but Old Irma’s coffee!).
The house was a hive of activity, full of people — many of which Mel met for the first time on Hansen House’s front steps. They were all eager to play a role in revitalizing the house, and she was touched that they all turned out to help her, and to help this old manse reach its fullest potential.
There was just one project Mel was not privy to: Mason’s Christmas present for her. He worked on it in the yard alongside the furniture repair crew, but he kept everything hidden by a bedsheet strung up to a few trees. Whatever it was, it required a chiseling set and gold paint. And that was all she knew.
On December 23, late into the night, Grover finished stringing a series of Christmas lights he nabbed from his store.
The brown pine branches had become tinder in the fireplace, the trunks were carved into new items, and the house had been drenched in Christmas cheer.