by Nancy Fraser
Heather touched her jacket before meeting the man’s penetrating stare again. “I...I don’t know. I—”
“Let me get you another,” he rushed to say. “Coat, I mean. You can borrow one of mine. I work here.” He scowled, shook his head, and started over. “I’m John Gridley, the owner’s son. If you don’t want a loaner, I can give you a sweatshirt from the gift shop. Your call.”
A hesitant smile teased the corners of Heather’s lips. “You’re Tom’s son? He talks about you all the time. I thought you were away in the military.”
It was the tall man’s turn to look surprised. “You know my father?”
“I do, quite well. I’m Heather Murphy. I own The Library Cat Bookstore in town.” She pointed to the handcart. “I brought these books for your father. He ordered them for the shop. I figured he’d want them for his first big weekend of the season.”
“Are we going to get a tree now?” Hailey asked, bored with their conversation.
Heather smiled. “This is my daughter, Hailey.”
John cracked a big grin, causing Heather’s heart to do a little flip flop.
“Morning, little lady. So, you’re here to cut a tree?”
Hailey kicked dirt and driveway pebbles before peeking up into his encouraging face. “We don’t cut ours. Mom says she’s not strong enough. It used to be my dad’s job to cut the tree.”
“Oh.” His smile vanished.
John’s questioning stare flipped back to Heather, and she could almost hear the thoughts, churning in his head.
“We have help for anyone wanting to cut but not lug. Take a hayride out to one of the fields and tag the tree you want. We’ll do the rest.”
“Can we? Please, please, please.” Hailey jumped up and down, totally over the coffee debacle.
Before Heather could answer, John grabbed the handle of the cart and led the way into the barn, through the work area, to exit into the gift shop.
“Wendy,” he hollered across the busy room. “I’m taking a sweatshirt.”
“Got it,” the young woman behind the register yelled back over the noise.
“And these are the old man’s books. I’m gonna leave them in this back corner until you can tag them.”
“Yes, sir.” Wendy saluted.
John walked straight to a rack of red sweatshirts and began riffling through them. He glanced at Heather a couple of times and then shuffled more hangers. “I only see small kid’s sizes and Extra, Extra Large Adult. I know there are more. Let me check with—”
“No, it’s fine. I’m not picky.” Heather pealed off her wet jacket and handed it to him. The man’s gaze went from her bustline to her exposed midriff. She quickly smoothed her skin-tight turtleneck down. He must have noticed because he turned away quick and cleared his throat. Yanking the oversized sweatshirt over her head, she declared, “Perfect fit. Thank you, Mr. Gridley.”
One dark brow arched. “John. Just John,” he mumbled.
“Or sir?” she teased with a mock salute.
An instant smile brightened his handsome face, and he chuckled. “Folks around here like to get their digs in. I swear I’m not an idiot boss.”
“Mom, can we go?” Hailey clasped her hand. “I want to see the animals.”
John backed away. “Go, I’ll hang your coat out back to dry and stow the handcart. Wendy can grab them for you when you’re ready to leave.” He pointed to Hailey as he walked away. “Watch out for that old sheep. He is an idiot.”
In a heartbeat, John was gone, and all Heather could do was stare after him. There was something unsettling about the way those cold stormy eyes warmed when he looked at her. She couldn’t hold off a little shiver. It’d been a long time since a man had flustered her.
“Come on, Mom, let’s go.”
Mother and daughter exited the gift shop, spilling out into the busy barnyard filled with holiday music, pre-cut trees, and all sorts of trappings.
Hailey ran ahead to join the mob by the paddocks.
“Heather Murphy, is that you?”
Heather stopped in her tracks and cringed. She knew that shrill voice. “Courtney. What a...surprise.”
Courtney Cole looked her up and down. “My, if you aren’t festive in your Gridley Meadows Farm shirt. It’s rather large for you, don’t you think?” The overbearing woman dropped her designer sunglasses to study her more closely. “You’re not pregnant, are you?”
Heather choked and sputtered on her own laughter. “Heavens, no. It’s a fashion statement,” she fibbed with a deadpan expression.
“Oh. Well.” Courtney’s perky nose rose several notches in obvious disdain. She glanced around before leaning close. “Did you hear the latest news? Tom Gridley’s son has returned after all these years.”
“I didn’t hear anything. But I did just meet him,” she admitted.
“Tsk, tsk, tsk, such a shame. Father and son have been estranged ever since the mother died. As the only son, the man totally shirked his responsibilities by not helping with the farm. He’s been traipsing around; God only knows where. A real vagabond.” She got right up in Heather’s face. “What’s he like? Word on the street is he’s a big brute of a fellow, covered in tattoos. He came from the west coast, you know.”
Heather stepped back, and Courtney’s red stilettos sank into the farmyard mulch, causing her to lose her balance. She flailed her arms like a windmill, struggling to right herself.
“He seems nice enough to me.”
Courtney scowled, obviously frustrated by her refusal to partake in small-town gossip. “Well, I for one would like to meet this man of mystery.”
Heather’s gaze snapped to the man himself, as he waded through the yard. “There he goes.” She glanced down at the other woman’s shoes and smirked. “Maybe if you hurry, you’ll catch him.”
“Oh my God,” Courtney declared with a gasp. “If he isn’t a handsome devil.”
Chapter 3
JOHN PLOWED THROUGH the hordes of jolly people, grumbling apologies as he headed for his ATV.
What the heck is wrong with you? He silently berated himself. One glance at a pretty face, and you’re toast. Done. Scorched and burned. Stay away from women, bro. Focus on the mission.
He shook his head and muttered a curse.
His hungry male body had decided to freak out two seconds after he’d doused the poor woman in hot coffee. To top it off, he’d hopped on the landmine of her husband. Way to go, dude. Make a kid sad.
He fired up the noisy machine and sped off toward the fields to get back to what he was good at. Tagging and cutting trees, lifting things, carrying stuff. Grunt work. Not giving away merchandise to beautiful women with shiny reddish-brown hair and expressive hazel eyes.
But, damn, if Heather Murphy didn’t have a kick-ass combo going on. Petite and thin, yet curvy in all the right places. Plus, she owned her own business, a bookstore no less. Gotta have brains for that. His mind wandered to the way she’d tilted that sweet, heart-shaped face when he spoke to her kid. Proud mama, right there. Nice. He liked that.
He made a mental note to ask his father about the woman and her situation. Not that it was any of his business.
Don’t do it. The tiny voice in his head warned. Haven’t you had enough trouble with women?
Arriving at the clearing considered base camp for the fields, John parked his ATV and headed over to the field foreman of the day. Ned Parker, an old high school buddy he hired last minute.
“Gonna take this group down to the barn area and bring up the next load,” Ned told him. “You got time to help with the taggin’ and the cuttin’?”
“That’s why I’m here,” John replied, eager to burn off some steam. He watched everyone climb onto the open trailer and find seats on hay bales. Then he plastered on his best fake smile and waved the happy group off before grabbing a saw. Whole holiday experience. Pops was right.
The scent of pine was everywhere—sharp, sweet, and refreshing—as he trekked through the columns of lush evergr
eens. Tiny winter birds fluttered between the trees. It was a pristine December morning, cold but sunny. Ideal to kick off the holiday season.
He smothered a grin as he listened to telltale bits of the conversations of shoppers. Too skinny. Too fat. Tall, short, plump. Standard tree buying lingo. Do you think we’ll get it through the front door? Or his personal favorites...Won’t the cat chew it up or the dog pee on it?
Laughter bubbled up in him.
In the end, he and his team would find something for every taste.
John worked for half an hour, tagging, cutting, and netting trees before loading them onto farm pickups for transport down to the buyer’s vehicles. He was just about to assist an elderly man and woman when he spied Heather Murphy and her daughter, stepping off a newly arrived hayride.
How could I miss the mother-daughter duo with the matching hair?
They looked happy yet confused as they wandered around the first couple of rows of trees.
A split-second decision had him signaling one of the other guys to help the older couple. With a sigh of resignation, he made his way over to the woman who intrigued him.
Heather’s eyes connected with his across the clearing, and they widened when he approached. Color flooded her pretty cheeks, yet she squared her chin, and said, “We meet again, Mr. Gridley.”
“Just John, remember?”
“Hi, John.” Hailey gave a little wave, totally at ease with the big man, as if they were old friends. “Are you going to help us cut our tree? Mom said we could now that she doesn’t have to do it.”
“You bet. Point the way, boss. There are lots more trees further in.”
The girl ran ahead, leaving them to follow.
“She’s excited,” Heather explained. “She doesn’t remember much about the last time we cut our own Christmas tree, just that it was special.”
John glanced her way, noting a hint sadness on her face. He couldn’t help asking, “So...it’s been a long time since you visited the farm then?”
“We’ve come every year, for the past four, but we pick a tree that’s already cut.”
“Because you’re not strong enough?” he kidded.
She gave him a saucy grin. “I’m plenty strong. That’s just the story I tell Hailey. Truth is it makes me sad. We always cut our own tree when my husband was alive.”
A lead weight dropped into John’s gut. He slammed to a halt. “I’m sorry. Me and my big mouth.”
Heather paused and shook her head. “Don’t be. You couldn’t know.” She started walking again.
John followed in silence, mulling over what she’d shared. “How long has it been then? Tell me to shut up if you want.”
“It’s okay. Makes it easier when I can talk about it. I try not to in front of Hailey. My husband went blessedly quick five years ago. Only a few months after his diagnosis. Thankfully, Hailey doesn’t remember much. David passed right before Christmas, and he made me swear I would make it nice for her. Always.”
“Sounds like a good man.”
“He was. Very much so.” She put on a brave face when they caught up to her daughter, the girl singing a Christmas carol and bouncing between increasingly larger trees. “We moved here shortly after to get a fresh start. Dickens seemed like the perfect place, especially for the holidays.”
“And how do you like Dickens the rest of the year?” he jumped to change the subject. “I grew up in this quirky little town where everyone knows your business.”
Heather chuckled. “Your father is quite proud of you. He carries a picture of you in his wallet from when you first joined the military. He shows everyone.”
John blew out a long breath. “That was a very long time ago. No wonder you didn’t recognize me, I was a skinny kid back then.”
Heather awarded him a brilliant smile, making John wish she’d do it more often. Something about her eased the rough edges of the day.
“I’m sure Tom is happy to have you home,” she continued in a light tone. “I heard what happened with his foreman.”
“I forgot how quickly bad news travels here.”
“All news, honestly,” she said with a sympathetic look.
“I found one, I found one,” Hailey cried, halting their conversation.
“How tall is your ceiling?” John asked as he and Heather considered the large pine the girl had singled out. “This one’s pretty big, about an eight-footer and full.”
“We live above the bookstore. One of the old brick buildings downtown. The ceilings are high, maybe ten feet in the living room?”
He waited as she did the obligatory walk-around and deliberation with Hailey.
“Sweetie, it’s going to take up the entire living room.”
“But Mom...”
“We don’t even have enough lights or ornaments.”
“But it’s the perfect Christmas tree. Please...”
John smothered a grin. Jeez. Generals have it easier than moms, trying not to disappoint their kids.
Heather ultimately conceded, and she came to stand before him. “If you’d do us the honor of cutting, Mr. Gridley.”
He went straight to work, tagging the tree and cutting the trunk in just the right place. He could feel the ladies’ eyes on him as he sawed the thick base. Then he hoisted it up and led the way back to where a truck waited.
“You’re lucky, Mom,” he overheard Hailey saying. “John is really strong. Did you see those muscles?”
Heather coughed. “I hadn’t noticed.”
“Well, did you at least see the tattoos on his neck? They’re hidden under his scarf, but I saw them when he was cutting.”
The woman choked and giggled. “That’s very astute of you, Hailey. Let’s not talk about that right now, okay?”
“Okay, but you should definitely look.”
John guided their prized tree though a netting machine and then hefted it into the bed of a truck. “Head on back to the barn when you’re ready. I’ll be waiting for you by your car.”
“Oh...okay,” she stammered.
HEATHER HELD TIGHT to her overjoyed daughter’s hand as she sank into a sea of turbulent emotions. What was I thinking? Not only did we cut a fresh tree this year—like a huge freakin’ tree—but a hunk of a guy helped us do it.
The past four years, they’d bought a small tree, one they could wrestle up the staircase themselves and get the lights on without much trouble. Considering her tiny car parked behind the barn, she inwardly groaned. Now what? Is that tree even going to fit on my roof?
Her thoughts wandered further into dangerous territory. John Gridley certainly is strong. Hell yeah, Mama noticed those broad shoulders and muscular arms. Not to mention that tight butt in faded jeans. But tattoos on his neck? Dear Lord. She couldn’t tell if that detail excited her or scared her to death.
David had been a good-looking man, fair-haired, trim, in good shape. But he’d also been an intellectual, an engineer that grew up loving city life. Their home had been a large colonial in the suburbs with manicured lawns and apple trees. Somehow this rugged mountain of a man felt like the polar opposite of the only man she’d ever intimately known. Yet, whether she wished to acknowledge it or not, her body’s reaction to the virile stranger was swift and powerful.
The sudden urge to sequester herself in the bookstore—to claim she had way too much work to even think about anything else—hit her like a proverbial ton of bricks.
All too soon, they were back in the crush of happy holiday shoppers, and she spied the man on her mind, heading toward where her little car waited. She and Hailey exited the hayride and hurried to follow him around the barn.
John was standing with his big arms crossed over his broad chest, looking like a disgruntled lumberjack as he surveyed her car. “We have a problem, Houston,” he said in a deep, husky tone. One sooty brow arched, making him appear devilishly handsome. “What? You were expecting a Christmas miracle?”
Heather sucked in a shaky breath and let it out slowly. “I was caugh
t up in the moment?” she suggested with a sheepish look. She considered the massive tree once again. “Hailey, maybe we should—”
John held up a hand. “We can deliver it tomorrow. We close at three on Sundays.”
“But I—”
“No buts.” He looked to Hailey. “This little lady picked the ‘perfect Christmas tree,’ and Gridley Meadows Farm will make sure it gets to her home safe and sound.”
Hailey cried, “Yay,” and he grinned.
“But I can’t ask you to do that. Someone will have to make a special trip, and—”
“I’ll do it,” he stated flatly. “I’ve been wanting to get a new book, something to keep me occupied at night. Just point me to the history section in your store, and I’ll deliver your tree. No charge.” He plowed on, giving her no chance to decline. “Do you have a big enough tree stand?”
“I don’t know. I believe so.”
He yanked the tag from their tree, handed it to her, and wrote a new tag with the name Murphy on it. “Take that one inside and pay Wendy. I’ll attach this new one and store your tree until tomorrow.”
“You’ll keep it safe, right? You won’t give it away or let someone steal it?” Hailey’s pink bottom lip puffed out. “I just lost my cat. I can’t lose my perfect Christmas tree.”
“That’s it,” John exclaimed. “I thought I’d seen you somewhere before. You were hanging posters in town.”
“Yeah...my cat, Snowball, ran away. But I didn’t see you.”
Heather pulled her close and wound a supportive arm around her shoulders.
“I was in my car, just arriving.” John focused on the worried girl. “I had a dog run away once. Turns out he had a dog friend about a mile away. Made his way home when he was done visiting. Maybe Snowball will come back to you the same way.”
“I hope so.” Hailey released a sad sigh. “She was a stray when we found her, and I know she likes to be outside. But I still miss her. I wish she would come back.”
John set the tree aside and dropped to one knee. In a steady, low voice, he said, “I know, sweetheart. Don’t give up hope.”