Buck made a show of wiping his brow. “Whew. Let me just tell you, I’m really scared now.”
Silver bangles jangling, Lupe flipped a swatch of night-black hair back over her shoulder. “The man was seriously hostile. What is that about?”
B.J. felt a stab of anxiety. Damn L.T., anyway. He liked keeping her anxious and he always had. “You know L.T.” She was proud of how cool and offhand she sounded. “If he’s not calling every shot, he’s not happy. And if he’s not happy, he makes sure everyone knows it.”
“Well, the story’s not my problem,” Lupe said. “The pictures are. And as I told you before, we need some shots that communicate Christmas, loud and clear.”
B.J. led the way into the drawing room, where the morning sun streamed in the windows—and outside it looked about as far from a white Christmas as you could get.
“There’s snow predicted for tomorrow,” Lupe said wistfully.
Buck shrugged. “We can hope.”
They took seats and set to work brainstorming ideas for Christmassy shots.
B.J. came up with the winner. She asked Buck, “Didn’t you tell me your mom is big on Christmas?”
“That’s right.”
“So she’s got decorations?”
“When I was a kid, she had an attic full of them.”
“You think she still has them?”
“I’d bet a big chunk of change on it.”
“Well, okay then. Here’s my plan…”
They needed a tree. Buck’s mother, it turned out, always sent the boys out to cut a fresh one.
And that gave B.J. another idea. “There’s snow higher up, isn’t there? We could go up there and cut one down. Lupe could get some shots of that. That way, even if it doesn’t snow tomorrow, we’ll have some pictures with snow in them.”
Buck was shaking his head. “We can’t just go out and cut down a tree. Not on Forest Service land, not without a permit.” He grinned. “Though there are those who make it a point of pride to get their tree without a permit.”
B.J. looked at him blankly. “And they do this because?”
“It’s a mountain-man thing.”
“Let’s stay on the right side of the law, okay?”
“Yeah. Right. Ruin all my fun.” But then he remembered. “Hey. My uncle Clovis has some property above the snow line….”
“Complete with trees?” B.J. asked hopefully.
“Lots of them.”
“Do you think he’d mind if we took one?”
“We’ll never know if we don’t ask.”
So Buck called his uncle and B.J. went to Chastity to find out if she’d mind putting up a tree for the sake of the story Buck was writing.
Chastity got all dewy-eyed over the idea. “Decorate a tree? Oh, I’d just love to….”
So that was settled. Lupe thought a few shots of Buck and his mother in the snow might work for the article, so Chastity agreed to go with them to choose the tree. They all four—Buck, B.J., Lupe and Chastity—put on their snow gear and piled into the SUV.
At Clovis’s property, they found a foot of snow on the ground and lots of gorgeous fir trees to choose from.
Lupe got shots of Buck and Chastity making the choice, arguing over which was the thickest, the prettiest, the one without a bad side. Chastity explained that the best Christmas trees were the ones that grew in the open, with no other trees shading or crowding them.
“I prefer a silver-tip fir,” Chastity announced in the lofty tone of a Christmas-tree connoisseur. “The branches are so pretty and even, the needles silvery and curving up. A silver-tip decorates beautifully.”
When they finally agreed on the perfect tree, Chastity said it was a pity it wouldn’t last until it really was Christmas. Then she brightened. “We’ll have to put up a second one. Two trees in one year. Does life get any better than this?”
Lupe got pictures of Buck cutting down the tree, hauling it to the SUV, and tying it on top. They were ready to go when Buck scooped up a handful of snow, molded it into a ball—and hurled it at B.J.
Splat. Right in the face. She wiped snow off her nose and threatened, “Oh, you will pay!” She grabbed a handful of snow and threw it. Hit her mark, too.
Splat. Buck took it square in the chest.
That did it. The battle commenced. Lupe followed them around with her camera, getting shot after shot of the fight as it unfolded.
Chastity got into it, too. Screeching in glee, she hit Buck twice between the shoulder blades as he chased after B.J. In the end, Buck cheated and grabbed B.J.’s jacket. He dragged her down and sat on her.
Luckily, she still had a snowball in her glove. Laughing, she fired it right at his head. Chastity threw hers at the same moment. Two direct hits—from the front and the back simultaneously.
“Double-whammy,” B.J. crowed. “Oh, you are so finished.”
“Excuse me, but aren’t you the one who’s pinned to the ground?”
“Yeah—and now you mention it, let me up.”
“I don’t think so…” He bent closer. The look in his eyes promised a kiss. His lips were an inch from hers when Chastity let fire with another big ball of snow. It hit him in the back of the head. “Hey!”
“Cut that out, you two,” said Chastity. “It’s time we started back.”
“Okay, okay.” Then he whispered to B.J. “Wait till we get home…”
She did like the sound of that. “I hope that’s a threat you plan to make good on.”
“You’d better believe it.”
“We won’t have time, and you know it. When we get home, we’ve got to decorate the tree.”
“You can put me off. But you can’t escape me indefinitely.”
As if she wanted to. She would have taunted him further, but Chastity demanded, “Come on, you two. Now.”
Buck levered himself off B.J., rose and held a hand down to her. She was tempted to try a trick or two of her own—like yanking him off his feet when he wasn’t expecting it.
But they did have a tree to decorate. And it was a long ride back down the mountain to town.
Once they reached the Sierra Star again and got out of their heavy winter gear, Chastity produced a tree stand. They moved the furniture around so they could set up the tree in front of the big window that looked out on the porch. Buck brought in the tree and stood it upright. He and B.J. knelt to screw in the bolts. Chastity directed the procedure, until they had the fir standing straight.
About then, Glory appeared. “A tree!” She sucked in a deep breath through her nose. “Um. Smells like Christmas.” Then a crease formed between her smooth brows. “It’s a little early though, isn’t it?”
Chastity explained that this was a special tree they were decorating for the sake of the Christmas article Buck was writing. “Lupe needs pictures,” she said.
Glory got right into the festive mood. “There should be hot cider, shouldn’t there?”
“Absolutely,” Chastity agreed.
“We’ve got cider. Leave it to me.” Glory headed for the kitchen and Chastity led Buck, B.J. and Lupe upstairs.
They carried box after box down from the attic. Glory appeared with the cider and they all took a mugful.
Glory sipped. “Wait a minute. Where’s the Christmas music?”
Chastity gestured toward the ancient-looking stereo cabinet in the corner. “Go for it.”
So Glory put a Bing Crosby LP on the turntable. They all grinned at each other as Bing crooned “White Christmas.”
“Perfect,” said B.J. She was feeling very merry. A girl could easily get into the Christmas spirit around the Sierra Star.
In New York, B.J. rarely had time to enjoy the holidays. Somehow, during the season, B.J. always felt rushed, too busy for a stroll down the Avenue to take in the glittering shop windows, or a visit to the ninety-foot Rockefeller Center tree.
This year, she vowed to herself, she’d make time to appreciate the Christmas wonders her city had to offer.
Buck took it upon himself to comb through each and every one of the endless boxes of decorations. It was just like it had been at Halloween with him: “Look at this one,” and “I can’t believe you’ve still got this one….”
Lupe took a series of shots of him holding up various handmade decorations and exclaiming over them.
Glory disappeared for a few minutes and returned with a tray of sandwiches. They drank more cider and ate lunch and then they got down to the main event of decorating the tree.
It took an hour just to get the lights on to Chastity’s satisfaction. She used the big lights for old-time’s sake, she said, but she liked about a thousand tiny twinkling ones laced in and out through all the branches. The work was hell on B.J.’s manicure, which had already taken a number of hits since she’d arrived in the Flat. But she never once complained. Why would she? She was having far too much fun.
At last, Chastity declared the tree effectively lit. They moved on to the job of hanging the decorations. That went much more quickly.
They had maybe three-quarters of the decorations on the tree and Burl Ives was sweetly crooning “The Little Drummer Boy” from the stereo, when Glory spotted Bowie through the front window. He was coming in the gate.
“Oh, no…” She shoved the ornament she’d been about to hang toward Chastity. “Take this. I’m out of here.”
Chastity put up both hands. “Listen. Whatever goes on between the two of you, you can’t let him scare you off. This is where you live.”
“But every time I meet up with him lately, there’s trouble. I’d rather just—”
“Chastity’s right.” B.J. couldn’t resist tossing in her two cents’ worth. “Don’t go.” Even Buck gave a grunt of agreement.
Glory bit her lower lip. “I just don’t want any more hassle….”
“Stay,” Chastity commanded softly, as outside, heavy boots mounted the front steps. “I’ll see that he behaves.”
A doubtful light in her big brown eyes, Glory turned to hang her ornament on a branch.
The front door opened and slammed shut.
Bowie appeared in the doorway to the central hall. “What’s going on?”
Chastity sent him a tight little smile and stated the obvious. “We’re decorating a tree.”
“What the hell for? It’s barely November.”
Buck said, “We need pictures for the Christmas article I’m writing.”
“Join us,” Chastity suggested with teeth-gritting good cheer. “Have some cider.”
Bowie tossed back his thick head of blond hair. His eyes were on Glory, who studiously did not look at him. “Well,” he said grudgingly. “Okay. I just might…”
He came in and poured himself a cup of cider from the pot Glory had left on a serving cart in the corner. He even wandered over, chose an ornament from one of the boxes and hung it on the tree.
Burl Ives launched into the next Christmas song. For several minutes everything went along peacefully enough. Bowie worked on the tree with the rest of them and Lupe continued taking pictures, pausing to change lenses, and to move her flashes and umbrellas into position to get the next series of shots.
When Chastity’s orange-colored tabby cat strutted in from the dining room, Buck’s mom called a greeting, “Hello, Mr. Lucky.” The cat meowed in response—and headed straight for B.J. Surprised, she watched it approach.
B.J. had never been an animal person. People’s pets tended to avoid her, which suited her just fine. Not Mr. Lucky, though. Apparently, he saw her in a whole new light. The cat coiled in and out around her ankles, purring.
Ordinarily, she would have ignored it, or shooed it away. But all the good times with Buck lately and today’s heavy dose of pre-Christmas cheer must have gotten to her. She had a crazy urge to pick up the animal and pet it, even if it did shed orange hair all over her pricey chocolate-brown lace-insert cashmere sweater—or worse, use its claws and cause a nasty pull.
She had an ornament in her hand. She set it on a marble-topped side table, bent and scooped up the cat.
The ornament, a shiny glass ball with a Santa face painted on it, started rolling. B.J. hoisted Mr. Lucky to her shoulder and reached over to stop the ball from falling. Too late. The bright ornament rolled to the floor and shattered.
B.J. winced. “Oh. I’m sorry.” Mr. Lucky purred in her ear.
“No big deal,” said Chastity.
“I’ll get a broom.” Glory headed for the kitchen.
Bowie, who stood near the door to the dining room refilling his cider mug, set down the mug and stepped directly into Glory’s path.
Glory glared up at him. “Move.”
“Bowie,” Chastity said in a warning tone.
“I mean it,” said Glory. “Move. Now.”
Bowie didn’t budge. “You don’t have to wait on her,” he sneered, with a disdainful toss of his head in B.J.’s direction. “Let her get her own damn broom.”
That mobilized Buck. Muttering something unpleasant under his breath, he started forward. B.J. caught his arm before he could take a step.
“Let go,” he said softly.
“Please…”
Buck shook off her hand, but at least he stayed where he was.
Chastity spoke again. “Bowie. Stop this.”
“Stop what?” Bowie taunted, still squarely in Glory’s path. “I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about, Ma.” On the stereo, Burl Ives had reached the final chorus of “Winter Wonderland.”
“This is pure meanness.” Glory drew herself up to her full five-foot-one. “Meanness, that’s all this is. Since I said I won’t marry you, you have become the meanest guy in town.”
For a moment, Bowie almost looked ashamed of himself. “Glory, honey…”
“Just get out of my way.”
Bowie’s jaw went granite-hard. He braced his legs wide apart, planting himself even more firmly in her path. “What are you gonna do, Glory? If you don’t marry me, what kind of life do you think you’re gonna have?”
“I don’t want to talk about this. I’m through talking about this.”
Bowie clearly wasn’t. “Who’s gonna take care of you, huh?”
Glory let out a hard huff of air. “I’ll take care of myself, thank you very much. Me and my baby will get along just fine.”
“It’s my baby, too.”
“Then get a job. Help support your baby.”
“I will, damn it. I said that I would. Glory. Look…” He reached for her.
She slapped his hand away. “Keep your paws to yourself.”
“Bowie,” Chastity tried again. “I’ve had it. Stop this. Now.”
His mother’s command had zero effect. Burl Ives launched into “Silver Bells,” and Bowie kept right on talking. “Look at you, Glory. You graduated high school with a big, fat C average. You’ve never been anywhere and you’re goin’ nowhere. You’re a motel maid, for crying out loud. You need me. You and me, we could have a life together, if you would only—”
Glory put her hands over her ears and announced in a sing-song voice, “I’m not listening to you….”
In B.J.’s arms, Mr. Lucky started squirming, sharp claws digging in. She unhooked the animal from her sweater, bent and let it down. It zipped out the door into the hallway and vanished. A very smart cat.
“You never listen,” Bowie grumbled. “That’s half our problem and that’s the damn truth.”
“Shut up, shut up. I can’t hear you….”
Bowie pumped up the volume. “Well, I know who you have been listening to.” He was shouting now, all but drowning out the holiday tune on the stereo. He pointed an accusing finger in B.J.’s direction. “You’ve been listening to Ms. New York City over there, now, haven’t you? That bitch has been filling your head with crazy ideas.”
Beside B.J., Buck swore. “Bowie. You’re done.”
“The hell I am. I’m just getting warmed up here.”
“Buck…” B.J. tried to hold Buck back again, but he only shoved her stalli
ng hand away. Three long strides and he stood beside Glory.
Out of the corner of her eye, B.J. saw that Lupe had begun dismantling her equipment. Did the photographer sense big trouble coming?
B.J. certainly did.
Buck said, “B.J.’s never done a thing to you. You apologize to her and you do it now.”
Bowie grunted. “Stay outta this. It’s got nothing to do with you.”
“You talk trash about B.J., you bet it’s got to do with me. Apologize.”
B.J. cleared her throat. “Buck, I really don’t—” It was as far as she got. Buck chopped the air with a furious hand.
He spoke to his brother again. “Apologize.”
“The hell I will.” Bowie went into a crouch.
Buck scoffed. “Oh, what? Now you want to start a fight? I’m sad to say, it figures.”
“You want a piece of this, big brother?” Bowie wiggled his fingers, waving Buck forward. “You want a piece of me? Come on. Come on and get it.”
“Buck!” cried Chastity. “Bowie!” Neither of them so much as glanced her way.
Buck advised, “Glory, step back.” With a tiny cry, Glory spun and ran to B.J. B.J. caught her and held on tight as Buck asked Bowie, “What the hell is wrong with you?”
Bowie remained in his crouch, ready for action. “What do you mean, what’s wrong with me? I’m a man and that’s my woman over there. I love her. She’s havin’ my baby. And if you’d keep your own woman out of it, you can bet Glory and me would work things out between us just fine.”
The Burl Ives album ended, the final festive notes lingering in the air.
Buck spoke to his brother again. “I hate to say it. But you’re an idiot, Bowie. A mean, bitter guy who beats up on women to try to convince himself he’s something vaguely resembling a man. How the hell did you let that happen to you?”
Bowie’s response was a guttural, “Son of a bitch.” He launched himself at Buck. Glory let out a scream and buried her head in B.J.’s shoulder as the brothers went down, landing on an empty decoration box, crushing it flat.
“Buck, Bowie, stop!” Chastity shouted.
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