by Carol Ross
“Jonah—”
Jonah interrupted with a grin and an “I love you, Shay.”
Shay moved closer to her husband as Tate marveled at how her expression went from mild irritation to goofy love struck in an instant.
“Participating in what?” Tate asked.
Bering James, Hannah’s cousin and the owner of James Guide and Outfitter Service let out a hearty chuckle. He pointed at his own kitschy-looking knitwear, featuring a moose with a bright string of Christmas lights tangled in its antlers.
“There is an ugly Christmas sweater contest tonight. A lot of us guys are happy about it because it means we didn’t have to dress up in monkey suits like yours—no offense.”
Tate executed an easy shrug. “None taken.”
“A number of the women,” Bering continued, “like to see us—for some crazy reason—strung up in fancy garb. Folks don’t have much of a chance to dress up around here. Weddings, funerals, and the Rotary Club fund-raiser were pretty much it until the festival began last year.”
“Ah, I see. I wasn’t aware...”
Jonah chimed in, “Yeah, well, consider yourself lucky.”
“What’s the prize?”
“I don’t know exactly. A basket of Christmas stuff maybe?” Bering gestured toward one side of the room where the table with the Teddy bear also held assorted colorful gift bags and cellophane-wrapped baskets for which Tate had purchased raffle tickets when he’d first arrived.
Hannah’s brother Tag jumped in. “If you win you get to choose from any basket up there, but it’s not really about the prize. It’s about—”
Tate thought he understood. It was about supporting your community—helping, participating and not caring about looking silly for a good cause.
“Community pride?” he asked.
“No. Cake,” Jonah quipped. “I mean, yes, community pride is important but—”
“Baked goods are a close second around here,” Bering said, “especially where my wife is concerned.”
Aidan joined them looking extra ridiculous in not only the bee Christmas sweater but also Christmas—could you call those pants? Tate had never seen Christmas-themed pants on a man before and they appeared to be made out of velvet or some other weird fabric. He also had a pair of felt antlers positioned on his head. Tate thought he should win for that alone.
Bering explained, “People really want to win because the winner also gets a cake baked by Lilah. Lilah Brooke from the Donut Den. Have you met Lilah?”
“I’ve met the Donut Den.”
Bering chuckled. “Then you understand.”
“Indeed. I bet that’s some cake.”
Then Tag asked him, “You do know about the tree auction, though, right?”
Tate did know about that. Various businesses, organizations and individuals had donated decorated Christmas trees, which had been displayed throughout the Faraway Inn for the past week. After dinner the trees would be auctioned off one by one. The winning bidder of each tree would also be treated to delivery and set up of the Christmas tree they’d purchased.
After his botched attempt to ask Hannah out at the inn, he’d learned the trees were on display and brought Lucas to have a look. His nephew had been quaking with excitement, hustling from one decorated masterpiece to the next.
The tree donated by James Guide and Outfitter Service was covered with tiny hand-carved canoes and paddles. A tree featuring silly cats had made Lucas laugh hysterically. The one from the Faraway Inn was hung with moose and bear ornaments along with tiny impressively realistic replicas of the inn.
But it was the tree donated by an equipment hauling company that had left Lucas in a state of speechless awe. It was covered with little dozers, track hoes, cranes, trucks, and other equipment and vehicles in various shapes and sizes. All made as scale models and of superior, and obviously expensive, quality.
Tate planned to win that tree.
* * *
HANNAH ENTERED THE dining room and spotted Tate immediately. He wasn’t the only man in the room who wasn’t wearing an ugly sweater, but he was the only one in a suit. She wished she would have told him to wear a sweater because his tall, fit form looked way too good in that flattering, charcoal-colored ensemble with a tie. A silver-and-white snowflake-embossed tie no less.
With his black hair neatly tousled across his forehead, he was extraordinarily good-looking and a little intimidating. And probably more than slightly irritated with her.
Talking and laughing as he was with her brother, cousins and friends, anyone would think he’d lived here in Rankins forever. Except that he stuck out like a sore thumb. He could have been going to the opera or to a formal wedding instead of a Rankins fund-raiser.
She hadn’t seen him since she’d pelted him with the snowball. After she’d had some time to calm down, she felt an apology might be in order. That didn’t mean she wanted to take back what she’d said, however, but she would apologize for the snowball.
Might as well get this over with, she thought, and bravely headed his way. His purposeful stride in her direction told her he’d been waiting. The cool, intent look on his face agitated the butterflies already swarming in her stomach.
“Hello, Tate. You look very handsome, for a snowboarder.”
“Thank you, Hannah. You on the other hand look just as festively silly as everyone else in the room. Everyone except for me that is.”
She glanced down at her own holiday-themed tunic-style sweater she’d paired with wool leggings and tall shiny leather boots. She’d added a necklace and earring set constructed of tiny twinkling Christmas lights. She forced out an awkward laugh. “Thank you.”
“Why didn’t you tell me about the ugly-sweater thing? I specifically asked you if people dress up.”
“No, you asked if they usually dress up, and usually they do. This year is different because of the ugly-sweater contest. Honestly, I didn’t really expect you to attend. I assumed you were just being polite.” She offered another explanation, “Besides, I wouldn’t want you to feel awkward—”
“Really?” he returned flatly, obviously not believing her lame excuses. “I appreciate that, I really do because there’s nothing at all awkward about wearing an expensive suit in a room full of blue jeans and goofy sweaters. I’m trying to fit in here in Rankins in case you haven’t noticed.”
She tried to quash her guilt. “Tate, it’s a contest for community members to—”
“Of which I’m not?”
“You are, temporarily, I suppose.”
He smiled tightly. “Maybe you should accept the fact that I’m here to stay?”
The words flew out of her mouth before she could stop them. “I will accept that around the same time I accept the recommendations you’ve made for Snowy Sky.”
“Hannah—”
Interrupting with her hands, palms up in a conciliatory gesture, she said, “Okay, I’m sorry. I wasn’t going to get into this again. I want to apologize for the snowball. I don’t lose my temper very often.”
“Good, because I don’t want to fight with you either.”
Something hitched in her chest as his voice went low and smooth and his eyes were pinned on hers.
“Quite the opposite in fact.”
Her face went hot and her pulse began to pound fast and hard, because the opposite of fighting was...
He brought his hands up to tug on his lapels and his voice went flat. “But this kind of passive-aggressive behavior isn’t going to change anything where Snowy Sky is concerned, you know that, right? Passive-aggressive behavior is, at its very core, unproductive.”
Her eyes widened and she took a step backward as embarrassment mingled with a twinge of remorse. “Thank you for that insight into my psyche, Dr. Addison. I’ll be sure and let Dr. Voss know he has some
competition.”
“Who?”
She tapped a finger to her forehead, regretting the mention of her therapist. “Never mind.”
He whooshed out a noisy breath. “Maybe I deserved this somewhat. I can see where I could have handled things differently, where maybe I misread you. But I’m thinking, if we’re going to disagree over the future of Snowy Sky, why don’t we just do that?”
She stared blandly and gave her head a little shake. She thought that was precisely the problem.
He added, “Let’s lay it all out on the table. Literally.”
“What are you getting at?”
“At the special board meeting, we’ll both present our ideas and arguments. Give it our best shots and accept whatever the outcome might be.”
She narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “How is that any different than what we’re already doing?”
“Well...it’s not really, I guess.” He pulled a shoulder up into a shrug and then added a boyish grin. “Except maybe in our attitudes?”
Hannah squinted menacingly because clearly he meant her attitude. Who’s being passive-aggressive now? she wanted to ask, but he kept talking.
“I like you, Hannah, in spite of our differing opinions. And Lucas is obviously crazy about you and that means so much to me.”
“He’s a great kid.”
“I think so, too, even with everything... So I feel like I should tell you, I intend to have my way where Snowy Sky is concerned. You see, this is about more than business to me. This venture means so much and I...”
She stared. Was he serious with this shtick? This audaciousness? Calling Snow Sky a venture? Her dream, her salvation, her chance to finally make something of herself and her life—a venture?
Her pulse pounded in her head for a different, far less pleasant reason now, but she managed to keep her tone level. “Are you somehow implying that it doesn’t mean a lot to me? Because I can assure you that it does.”
“No, not at all. I can see how much work you’ve put into Snowy Sky. I just... I don’t want you to think that I’m taking it lightly. The resort is coming along nicely, but it could be a phenomenal place. And that’s what I’m trying to achieve.”
Her jaw dropped open.
Later she would be grateful to the mayor, because he was the only thing that saved her from losing her temper with Tate Addison in front of the entire town.
Mayor Cummings stepped up to the microphone, grinning from ear to ear. The ugly-sweater contest had been his idea and undoubtedly he was pleased as punch with the buzz he’d created. After thanking the donors, the volunteers, Shay and the staff at the Faraway Inn who were donating their time for tonight’s event, and praising various other deserving individuals, he finally announced the winner.
The crowd erupted with clapping and cheers as a beaming, antler-wearing Aidan popped out of his chair and jogged forward to accept his prize, which included the first annual “Ugly Christmas Trophy”—a weird-looking doll wearing its own ugly sweater that Hannah had to laugh at.
The mayor then recommended that everyone take their seats as servers suddenly appeared and began placing meals in front of the patrons. The auction was scheduled to begin immediately after the meal, so she made her way to the table where her parents were already seated, along with Tag, Adele, Shay and Jonah, Jonah’s grandfather Caleb, and his friend Doc.
As luck would have it, she had a perfect view of Tate at the table next to theirs where he was chatting away with Janie, Aidan, Bering, Emily and Cricket.
Tate appeared enthralled by the events of the evening, completely at ease in his beautiful gray suit. Hannah was a bit irritable and distracted, which just made matters worse because she really didn’t do irritable and distracted very well.
The bidding began as dessert was being served. As usual, she was blown away by the extent of support in the community. Jonah’s grandfather bid an exorbitant amount on a tree donated by Bradbury’s that was covered entirely in fishing gear.
As the next tree was wheeled into place beside the mayor, he announced.
“Can I get one hundred dollars for this amazing tree donated by Revel Heavy Equipment and Hauling?”
She saw Tate’s hand shoot up. Bering also began bidding against him as well as a few other patrons. As the bidding continued it was apparent that Tate was very determined to get the win.
She picked up her phone to text her friend Piper who hadn’t attended tonight due to a mild case of strep throat. Hannah knew she was home marathon-watching the last season of Mad Men.
She wrote: Put Don Draper on pause. I’ve got a job for you.
Passive-aggressive, huh? Tate hadn’t seen anything yet.
CHAPTER NINE
THE NEXT MORNING Tate lounged on the sofa in the living room and contentedly admired their new Christmas tree. He’d had to pay mightily for the toy-covered creation.
“How much for tree?” Viktor asked as he came in from the kitchen and joined him on the sofa. Tate could already smell the cinnamon from the muffins he was baking.
“A lot.” He grimaced and relayed the story of how he’d thought he was going to win it for far less until the mayor announced that a call-in bidder was on the line. Bering and a couple others had initially been in the mix but when the phone bidder entered the arena, an all-out bidding war had ensued.
Tate had been so happy to win that he’d tacked on an extra donation for the hospital. Last night had marked his first ever auction. If it hadn’t been for such a good cause, and the perfect tree for Lucas, for the first time in his life he might have regretted his competitive spirit.
But any such thoughts had been banished when the tree had been delivered early that morning and set up by an industrious crew of Faraway Inn employees. It was fantastic and he could not wait for Lucas to see it.
“Worth every penny,” Viktor responded. “This is what you work so hard for, for so many years. You can have and give Lukie whatever you want.”
“You worked just as hard,” Tate responded, his way of letting Viktor know how much his belief and dedication had meant to him all of these years.
Viktor grinned. “Yes, and I enjoy tree, too. It looks nice there.”
“I thought about having them put it in the foyer, but I like this room. This is where we always end up, and I want Lucas to be able to enjoy it as much as possible.”
Large windows stretched from nearly floor to ceiling in the living room, showcasing a snow-covered wilderness view worthy of an oil painting. A huge, cushy U-shaped sofa took up miles of space while a large stone fireplace made up most of the interior wall.
Lucas shuffled sleepily into the room, a puffy panda bear tucked under his arm.
His eyes lit on the tree and he froze.
“The tree.” He whispered the words as he studied the lit creation, the toy trucks and equipment reflecting the colorful twinkling lights. “It’s... Uncle Tate, it’s that tree.”
He turned to look at Tate.
“Yep, it’s that tree. That’s our Christmas tree. What do you think?”
He faced it again and his tiny shoulders slumped.
“What’s wrong, buddy?”
“We’ll give it back after Christmas, right?”
“No, we get to keep it. You get to keep all the toys hanging on it, too. They’re yours.”
“For how long?”
“Forever.”
He tipped his head skeptically as if he couldn’t quite believe it. Then he turned beseeching eyes on Tate, who could tell how desperately the child wanted to believe his words.
“Really?” the boy asked.
“Yes, Lucas. Really.” Then he added, “I promise.”
He scampered toward Tate and crawled up onto his lap. He wrapped his skinny arms around Tate’s neck and held on. T
ate was reminded of Lexie. He battled with the guilt as he hugged him in return; comforted in the notion he would always be here for Lucas and could always keep him safe.
“It’s the best tree ever,” Lucas said.
“Listen, you can play with those trucks, all you want. And then after Christmas we’ll put them in your room upstairs.”
He pulled away, stared at the tree for a few seconds and finally scooted off his lap. He handed Tate the bear “for safekeeping” and walked toward the tree.
Tate’s memories of Christmas before Viktor had come into his life were pretty stark. Penny would give him a second-hand toy of some kind and mostly leave him alone.
He hadn’t really realized what he was missing out on until he was older. And by then, he and Viktor had begun their own traditions. They were always together, but usually traveling over the holidays. They would venture out to most often the ski village they happened to be staying in and buy enough candy and small, silly gifts to fill each other’s stockings. Viktor would make crispy fried latkes and brew his special hot cider. They’d tell stories, crack jokes and meet up with as many friends as they could, not to mention Viktor’s family when they were close enough to visit Ukraine.
He was grateful for every moment, and now he was determined to start some traditions for Lucas.
Lucas tentatively removed an ornament from its position on the tree, trailing his fingers over the shiny yellow surface. “This one’s a backhoe,” he informed Viktor.
“How does that one work?” Viktor asked.
Lucas moved closer to show him.
Tate didn’t want to spoil Lucas too much, but he wanted him to have a real Christmas—a truly happy Christmas fit for a six-year-old who’d never had a stable family or a real home. How, he wondered, did he do that? The family and the home bit? For some reason the thought coalesced in his brain that Hannah would undoubtedly know exactly what to do.
* * *
THE DOORBELL RANG at her parents’ house where Hannah and some of the family had gathered to help with holiday preparations.
“Mom, where do you want the tree?” Hannah called out. She’d answered the door and motioned the tree-delivery crew inside.