“Don’t you like them?” He leaned forward to take one of her hands in his.
“Oh, yes, I do.” She squeezed his hand and smiled, all the time blinking back the tears that threatened to spill down her cheeks. “It’s just…just…no one’s ever given me anything so beautiful.”
The worry left his face. “Joe Hillis, the owner of the Knobs & Knockers, just got his shipment in for the holidays. After I got done buying these, he said he’d have to order a whole new batch before the Yuletide Jubilee weekend.”
She picked up one of the angels and looked at it. “They’re all so beautiful. I wish I had a tree to hang them on.”
“I figured you’d say that,” he said with another boyish grin.
“Don’t tell me you have a tree outside, too?”
“No. But I thought you might like to go pick one out tonight.”
A real Christmas tree. All her own. One she could hang all these beautiful ornaments on.
“I’d love it.”
“Great, I’ll pick you up when the shop closes, and we’ll head out to get one.” He stood, pulling his gloves back on. “I’d best get on with my rounds before the sheriff thinks I’m slacking off.”
“Because you’re always goofing off,” she teased.
He pulled her in for one more tender kiss. “If it meant spending more time with you, Sylvie, I’d be happy to do just that.”
CLOSE TO SANTA’S HEART
CHAPTER SIX
The night was clear and full of stars as Cleetus drove up the lane to the Landons’ place. Sylvie hummed along with the music as they drove. When he’d put in the CD of The Trans-Siberian Orchestra, she’d been surprised.
“I thought you’d like country music,” she’d said.
“I do. I like all kinds of music, especially around the holidays.” He’d pulled his truck onto the state highway and headed east of town. “Would you rather have country music?”
“Oh, no. This is great. Such joyous music. And besides, I like that you are open to lots of music. It makes you eclectic.”
He wasn’t sure what eclectic meant, but if she liked it, then he’d be eclectic.
“Is this where we’re getting the tree?” Sylvie asked, looking out the window. The Landons’ had strung white lights along the fences lining both sides of the drive up to their house. “I thought we were going into Columbus to a big store or something.”
“Nope. We’re doing something much better. Cutting down one you pick out.” He parked in the wide area set aside for guests and customers.
“Really?”
Suddenly, he wondered if he’d made a mistake. Maybe he should’ve taken her into the city to get one of those pre-cut ones or even a fake one. “Would you rather go to Columbus?”
“Oh, no,” she said with a big grin. He swore her eyes actually twinkled. “This is so much better. I just never knew there was a place like this near Westen.”
“You haven’t even seen half of what they have here,” he said, as they climbed out of his truck. Taking her hand in his, he led her along the snow-shoveled walkway to the side of the house. “When Maggie Landon came out to this farm to pick apples one fall about twenty years ago, she fell in love with the whole place. The Turners, an elderly couple who’d run the pick-your-own farm were looking to retire and move south. So, Maggie convinced her husband Tyson, a long-distance trucker, to invest in the place.”
They walked around the back corner to two barns. One had people carrying in freshly cut trees, and others carrying out trees baled in netting ready to take home. The other barn had been converted into a gift shop and bakery.
“How wonderful,” Sylvie said beside him, her eyes wide with excitement as she took in all the decorations. The crisp air swirled around them, with a mixture of freshly cut pine from the trees and cinnamon and spices from the bakery. “Do we have time to go into the shop?”
The hope and excitement in her eyes had him wishing he could give her whatever she wanted.
“Sure. How about we get your tree picked out and cut first? Tyson and his son can bale it up for us while you shop.”
She squeezed his hand. “That sounds perfect.”
They walked over to the tree-cutting barn, where two African-American men were manning the baler.
“Hey, Tyson.” Cleetus extended his hand to the older of the two. “Looks like business is hopping.”
Tyson shook his hand. “Doing pretty good, Cleetus. Your mom and dad were here yesterday to pick up their tree.”
“They got a live one again, didn’t they?”
“Sure did. Wouldn’t be Christmas here without your mama wanting a fresh tree to plant. She probably has enough to start her own Christmas Tree farm and give me a run for my money.” Tyson laughed.
“They get a live tree?” Sylvie asked.
“Every year, ma’am. Cleetus’ mama can’t stand the idea of killing a tree. Says Christmas is all about life. So she puts in her order early to save one tree. We dig it up before the official start of the holiday season, wrap the root ball in burlap and keep it healthy until they can come get it. Usually this guy comes with them, but I can see why you’d rather bring your young lady this time.” Tyson smiled at Sylvie.
Cleetus felt his cheeks heat, but hurried to make introductions. “Oh, forgot my manners. Tyson, this is Sylvie Gillis. Sylvie, this is Tyson Landon, owner of the Landon Farm, and his oldest son, Tre. He’s one of the defensive linebackers for the high school team.”
Sylvie shook hands with father and son. “I had no idea there were farms just for Christmas trees.”
“Tre, why don’t you get a saw for Deputy Junkins?” Tyson said to his son, then led Sylvie and Cleetus out to where the trees started. He pointed to his left. “The farm isn’t just for Christmas trees. Those grow on the north side of the farm.” Turning to his right he waved at the area beyond the gift shop bakery. “On the south side we have a full orchard of apple and peach trees, blackberry and raspberry bushes, and a two-acre strawberry patch. All pick-your-own.”
“Pick-your-own?” Sylvie asked.
“That’s what got him into trouble,” A tall, beautiful African-American woman, dressed in jeans, boots and a huge, woolen navy peacoat, came up and slipped her arm through Tyson’s. “I came out here to pick apples with a friend, and just fell in love with the place. I’m his wife, Maggie Landon.”
“Sylvie Gillis.” She shook the other woman’s hand. “So people can come out here anytime of the year to pick fruit?”
“Only in the early summer through Christmas,” Maggie said. “Strawberries in June. Blackberries, raspberries and peaches in July and August. Apples in the fall. Pumpkins in October and November. And, of course, Christmas trees in December.”
“So what do you do in the winter?”
“Snuggle by the fire and keep warm.” Tyson waggled his brows at his wife.
“You wish,” she teased back, and swatted him on the arm. “That’s when I make crafts to sell in the gift store. I also make jams, jellies, and apple butter from fruit we freeze during the harvesting season. We make our own stock for both the gift store and bakery.”
“Lorna buys Maggie’s jams to use over at the Peaches ’N Cream,” Cleetus said.
“Oh, I’ve had your apple butter,” Sylvie said. “It’s delicious!”
“Then you need to get a jar, before you leave. Here you go, Coach,” Tre said, holding out a bow saw to Cleetus.
As Cleetus led Sylvie down the main path, which was lit with large lanterns on posts, he pointed to red flags marking off one section of the farm. “Those mark the area off-limits for picking a tree.”
“Why?”
Cleetus turned down another lantern-lit path towards taller trees. “They’re not mature trees. Tyson likes them to be around ten years old before he’ll let them be harvested. Once this section of mature trees is harvested, he and Tre will set out new trees after the soil rests a year.”
“How do you know so much about it?” Sylvie asked, imp
ressed with his knowledge about the Christmas-tree business.
He shrugged in that humble sort of way he had. “Been coming out here for years to get trees, so I guess I’ve just picked it up from talking with Tyson and Maggie.” He paused. “So, what kind of tree would you like, Miss Sylvie?”
She pondered the question a moment. “I’m not sure. I like the idea of having a living tree like your parents. Could I do that?”
“We could, but we’d have to come pick it up tomorrow. It would take Tyson and Tre a while to dig it up now that the ground has frozen some. Besides, you’ll need to find out if your rental agreement on the house lets you plant things in the yard.”
“You’re right, I guess I can’t really do that.” Disappointment nibbled at her, but she shoved it aside. This was the first time she got to have a Christmas tree, and one she picked out, no less. No way was she going to not enjoy this special night. “So, what kind of tree do you recommend I get?”
“Since your house is a ranch, the ceilings aren’t too tall. I’d say you should get one about as tall as me. By the time we add a stand and find a topper for it, that’ll make it about seven feet tall.”
“Good. Then you can decorate the top and I’ll do the bottom.” She grinned up at him.
“Teamwork. I like that.” He hugged her close for a moment. “I think you should get a Fraser fir. They have strong branches. And with all those glass ornaments I got you today—”
“—they need something strong to keep them from breaking,” she finished for him.
“Smart lady. So, Fraser fir?”
“Yes, sir,” she answered, warmed by the knowledge that he thought she was smart. No man in her family had ever said that to or about her.
* * * * *
In the end, they found a Fraser fir just a few inches taller than Cleetus. With Sylvie holding the tree on one side to keep it steady, Cleetus cut the tree down, then carried it back to the barn with little effort. While he helped Tyson and Tre tie the tree up for transportation, Sylvie slipped into the gift shop to browse.
Not only did she find a jar of apple butter, but a holiday wreath for her door, a lovely scented candle for Twylla’s Christmas gift, and something special for Cleetus. Thinking how surprised he was going to be, she grinned out the window as they drove up her snow-lined street.
“You okay?” Cleetus asked, pulling into her driveway. “You’ve been awful quiet on the way home.”
She grinned at him. “Yes. I’m just excited.”
He squeezed her hand. “Well, let’s get your tree inside and get to decorating it then.”
She was excited. Excited to have her first-ever Christmas tree, holding her very own ornaments. But she was nervous, too. What if Cleetus didn’t like her present? What if he thought she was silly? What if it was the wrong thing to buy a man? She’d never had a boyfriend before, and never felt the need to give a special gift to anyone.
“You get the stand we bought, and I’ll bring the tree,” he instructed, as he untied the ropes securing the massive fir inside the bed of his truck. Sylvie carried her bag of purchases in one hand and the tree stand in the other, leading the way to her front door. How she managed to fish out her keys and open the door without dropping anything surprised her.
“Where do you want to put it?” Cleetus asked, as they stood in her living room, minutes later.
They’d already fastened the tree into the stand. She liked that they’d worked together to not only get it into the stand securely, but straight as possible. Even without decorations, it looked magnificent, giving off a wonderful pine scent.
“How about in front of the window?” She pointed to the big picture window that faced out to the main street. “We could move the table and lamp into the corner.”
Cleetus pressed his lips together and drew down his brows as if he were considering her suggestion. “I know the magazines and those decorating shows my mom watches like to put the trees in front of windows, but Gage and Bobby were talking about it the other day. She said when she and her sisters were young, their parents never put the tree where it could be seen from the street. Her dad said it just announced to any thieves that there might be presents ready to be stolen.”
“Oh. I never thought of that. People would really try to steal presents?” She shook her head. “Of course they would. Sometimes it seems people just want to make others suffer. You must see a lot of that, being a deputy.”
“I see my share. Sometimes people steal because they’re looking for an easy way to make money. Especially if they have a drug or alcohol habit. They steal things like laptops or TVs, or even irons.”
Sylvia laughed. “Irons? Who would want to steal an iron?”
“Someone looking for something easy to carry and easy to pawn.” Cleetus shrugged as if to say it took all kinds. “So how about we put the tree in the corner where it’s near the window, but not front and center? You can pull the curtain so it won’t show when you’re not home.”
“That’s a great idea. I wish I had one of those really pretty Christmas rugs I saw over at the quilting shop the other day.”
“Don’t really need anything fancy. My mom just lays down an old sheet with a few towels under it. That way she can clean up any needles that fall while the tree is up.”
“Great idea.” She collected two towels and a sheet from the linen closet. They weren’t really old, since she’d purchased everything new when she came to Westen, but they were plain and would work for under the tree. By the time she got back, he’d already moved her furniture clockwise to make a clear spot in the corner near the fireplace. Another thing she liked about Cleetus. He didn’t give orders then wait around for her to do all the work. No. He took initiative and did the heavy job. Something she’d never seen her father or brothers do.
“Spread the towels down first, then the sheet on top,” Cleetus instructed then smiled. “Sort of like snow banks.”
Quickly, she put down the towels and sheet then stood back so Cleetus could put the tree in the center of the snowy white spot on her hardwood floor. He took her hand and moved back.
“What are we looking at?” She glanced from him to the tree and back.
“Well, we have to decide which side looks the best.” He let go of her hand and pointed to the right side. “See where the branches make a hole there?”
“Yes.”
“We can’t hang much there.” He moved forward, picked the tree up by its trunk, and turned it so the hole faced the wall. He stepped back beside her once more. “How does that look to you?”
Startled, she gazed up at him. “You’re asking me? I’ve never had a tree before.”
He stared down into her eyes. “It’s your tree, Sylvie. You get to decide how it sits and what goes on it. So, what do you think? Do you like it like this? Or should I turn it more?”
She stared up into his blue eyes that had deepened with tenderness. No male in her family ever asked her opinion, about anything. Cleetus not only wanted her opinion, he respected her right to do so.
With a quick nod, she turned to study her first Christmas tree. Leaning first one way then the other. “I think it looks good just as it is. No holes. Lots of branches to hold things. Let’s leave it like this.”
“Good decision.”
“What’s next?” Excitement flooded her.
“Got to put lights on it.”
Her spirit dropped. “I didn’t think to get any at the Landons’ gift shop.”
“Not to worry.” He pulled his car keys out and headed for the door. “I got some earlier today over at Knobs & Knockers. They’re out in my truck.”
Moments later, he came in shivering and shaking off the newly fallen snow that had settled on him. “It’s really starting to come down out there.”
“Do you think it will get bad?”
He shrugged as he opened the plastic box containing the strings of miniature multi-colored lights. “Depends on your idea of bad. I have a cousin who lives in Atlanta. She say
s every time a few flakes fall, the whole city shuts down. Here? It takes a full-on blizzard to get people excited.”
“Where I’m from it’s sort of in the middle. A little snow like we’ve been having this week doesn’t faze us, but anything more than a few inches and we start to make plans for getting stuck at home.”
“Here. Hold these while I plug them in to see if they work. Don’t want any shorts in them. Not with a fresh tree in the house.”
She took the big bundle of lights he held out to her.
“Where exactly is Bart’s Levee?” he asked, checking the connections on some of the lights.
“Bartell’s Levee,” she corrected him with a grin. “It’s in the foothills of the Appalachias, in western Virginia. Not quite up in the mountains.”
“Terrain’s sort of like around here, then. I went through there on a bus in high school. Our team got to go to a football camp in North Carolina one summer, and we went down that way. Pretty country.” He stood and took the bundle of lights from her, grinning down at her. “Sure grew one pretty lady there.”
Heat flushed her face right before he leaned down to kiss her—a tender kiss, the kind that warmed her heart, made her feel cherished. He broke it off before it could blossom into something more, leaving her a little dazed, as always. When she opened her eyes, he stared down at her.
“Mighty pretty,” he murmured, then straightened. “Now, we have to get these lights on, starting at the bottom. You stand on that side of the tree and I’ll take this one. That way we can reach behind the tree to pass them around the back.”
“Why the bottom?” She stood on the opposite side of the tree from him, watching him weave the lights in and out of the branches until he reached the back and passed them to her in one massive bundle. She took it, mimicking his actions on her side of the tree, handing the bundle to him at the front.
“Tradition, I guess. Dad and Mom always started at the bottom. But also, we won’t need as much at the top, so starting at the bottom makes sure those branches are covered completely.”
Under The Kissing Bough: 15 Romantic Holiday Novellas Page 13