by Marina Adair
The deeper they had gone into the Christmas tree patch, the thicker the crowd had grown and the more nervous she had become. There were more people than golden tags. And since only the golden-ticketed trees could be cut in the contest, someone was going home empty-handed.
“Mommy,” Holly cried from two rows over. Regan could hear the excitement in her daughter’s voice and knew she’d found her Christmas tree.
Cutting through the jolly forest, around a scantily clad Ava who, with red-streaked hair and diamond-pierced navel, had managed to lose her mother and the bottom half of her skirt, and sidestepping a woman with a blinking red walker, Regan finally found her daughter. She was staring up at the most beautiful tree on the lot.
It was a shiny hunter green with lots of lush branches and the perfect tip for her mother’s star—a symmetrical goddess. Regan would have to have it delivered, which meant an extra charge, and the tree was a bit tall, but with some heavy maneuvering they could fit it through the door. Now all she had to figure out was how to get it, since the trunk was way more than a fifteen-minute chop.
“She’s a pretty one,” Isabel said, stepping out from the other side of the tree. She wasn’t wearing a rainbow knit cap, a men’s flannel, and holey jeans with gardening gloves dangling out the back pocket. No, Isabel, in fur and lumberjack boots, somehow managed to look runway ready. And in her back pocket was a tall, well-built man with hands the size of watermelons and an ax big enough to chop through Holly’s tree in one whack.
“This is my brother, Paul. Paul, this is Holly’s mom.” Isabel placed a possessive hand on his arm. “He’s home for the holidays and is sweet enough to be my swinging ax tonight.”
“Regan,” Holly’s mom said. “Nice to meet you.”
“It is very nice to meet you.” Mr. Swinging Ax held Regan’s hand until Isabel elbowed him.
“We saw a tree over there with your name on it,” Regan said, placing a possessive hand on her tree. She had actually counted five Stark-ticketed trees thus far.
“Just seeing what else is out here. We could always use one for the front porch.” Isabel gave the tree a swift kick. “This is nice, but I imagine it would take quite a while to chop down. Even for someone Paul’s size. Too bad you don’t have a man to help out. Well, happy hunting.”
Regan almost shot her a happy greeting in return, but that finger would cost her a whole lot more than a quarter.
“Do we need a man to get a tree, Mommy?” Holly whispered, looking up at Regan as if her answer could forever change the course of her little five-year-old life.
“Are you kidding? Just look at these guns.” She flexed her arms. When Holly didn’t look so confident, Regan dropped to her knees and cupped her daughter’s face with both hands. “No, baby. We just need each other.”
Which was what Regan was still telling herself three minutes later when she gripped the handle of her ax and looked down the line at her competition. Tall, built, and swinging axes, these guys took their Cut-and-Run duties seriously. As Jordan had explained earlier, it wasn’t so much about getting the tree.
The Cut and Run had become a way for the local families to compete on a scale outside of acres, vines, and Wine Spectator scores. For Regan, this was about proving to her daughter that Martin women could do anything they set their minds to. And a tiny bit of it was about sticking it to Isabel, who was standing directly behind her.
“I wanted to let you know that I told Paul not to chop down the tree you were looking at. Holly has been talking nonstop about her dream tree, and I would hate to think that we took something from her that obviously meant so much.”
Regan wondered when Isabel was going to lay it on the line. Yesterday, the list of who was being considered for the musical had been posted. It had Holly and Lauren going head to head for the role of Christmas Kitty.
“You know, I can always lend you Paul after he chops down our tree,” Isabel offered with about as much sincerity as a rabid Chihuahua.
Regan looked at Holly, seated next to the three Mrs. Clauses, and back in the direction of her tree. “Thanks for the offer, but I’ll have to pass.”
“That’s a shame.” Isabel toyed with the fluffy ball on the end of Regan’s rainbow cap. “I really wanted Holly to have her tree come Christmas.”
“Oh, she’ll get her tree.”
Regan had never had a father growing up, but her mother always had a Christmas tree. It may have been a different kind of childhood than the rest of the people here, but Regan had never gone hungry and she always felt loved.
She was going to cut down that tree and Holly was going to have an incredible Christmas.
“Just remember,” Isabel added, “you have fifteen minutes to cut it down and drag it across the finish line. Oh, and once you enter the forest there are no rules.”
Regan’s head whipped around just in time to watch her smirk and saunter away, but not before she whispered in Paul’s ear.
Holy crap! She would need the entire fifteen minutes just to get to the tree and chop it down. Plus the thing was a whole three feet taller than she—and that was if she had on her stilettoes.
Regan looked back at the stands and found Holly. Holding a thumbs-up and a bright smile plastered on her face, Holly let loose a “Go Mommy!” and the Mrs. Clauses started doing the geriatric version of raising the roof.
Axes ready for battle and feet planted firmly on the ground, the line prepared itself as Sheriff Bryant raised his gun. The shot exploded and Regan, even though she’d watched him pull the trigger, jumped, costing herself a good three seconds.
Chaos erupted, and good lord, Regan couldn’t find a single other woman in the herd. It was all muscle and testosterone and ego-driven men fighting for the dominant position. Then she received a hard shove to the back and she sprang into action. Okay, it was more like a stumbling start, but it was a start.
“If you are going to represent,” Frankie hollered, swinging the blunt end of her ax and taking out a man the size of Adonis at the kneecaps, “then do our sex proud.”
Regan grunted and, shoving the fuzzy tassels from her hat out of her eyes, zeroed in on her tree. Boots slammed into the packed mud and the sound of metal on wood echoed through the man-made forest. People had already located their trees and were chopping away. Regan didn’t care about the other men, or about Frankie taking out what looked to be the second to oldest DeLuca with a knee to the groin, or even about coming in first. All she cared about was that she made it across that finish line with a tree for her daughter.
Several fights erupted in the aisles, and after nearly taking an elbow to the head, Regan dropped to her knees and crawled along the middle row of trees, taking the most direct route to her target. Branches smacked her in the face and gravel cut into her hands and knees, but she pushed forward, dragging that damn ax with her.
When she got to the last row she understood why no one else was staking claim on Holly’s tree. Because even if she managed to cut it down, she’d have to drag it back across the entire field.
“Shit.”
Remembering her softball days, she choked up on the handle, pulled back, and swung. The blade hit at too much of an angle, reflected off the trunk, and curved right, taking Regan with it. She landed hard, hands and knees slamming into the ground and her butt sticking up in the air.
Dusting herself off, she swallowed back the pain and tried it again, with the same results. Only this time she flew into the tree, the handle of the ax shanking her in the side upon landing. By the seventh try, Regan had lost the gloves, but instead of a better grip like she had hoped, it only gave her splinters and a really big raw spot.
Jingle bells started rattling as well as the drummers drumming, signaling that the first person had already crossed the finish line and there was a declared winner. Panicked, Regan glanced around, her heart aching when she saw that a number of the men around her were already dragging their trees toward the finish line.
Thinking of Holly up there in the stands
, she brushed the dirt from her face and took another swing. Instead of plowing into the tree headfirst, which was where the momentum had tossed her, a pair of strong arms caught her around the waist.
“Easy.” The warm breath tickled her ear, and Regan didn’t blame her nipples for expressing their yuletide spirit. Or her legs for turning to a quivering mess when a strong hand flattened against her stomach and brushed the underside of her breast. By the time Gabe had her righted and facing him, her whole body was reaching Defcon 1.
“You okay?” he asked, taking the ax so he could gently inspect her hands. They were red, chapped, and bleeding. And that one raw spot had multiplied to cover most of her palm and a good number of fingers.
Those intense eyes landed on hers, and it took everything she had not to give in. To be like those women she’d watched growing up who had allowed themselves to lean on a man when life got hard.
“I have to get Holly that tree,” she said, stepping back and out of the safety of his body.
“Okay,” he said, bringing the ax up. Regan was about to tell him that she didn’t need a man when he flipped the ax around and held it out to her. “Then get her a tree.”
Blinking back the tears, Regan gave a single nod and took the handle. She pulled the ax back and right as she was about to swing forward she felt Gabe surround her, his front to her back, his hand resting on the ax.
“Go in at a forty-five-degree angle, like this.” He wrapped his arms around her and, placing his hands over hers on the handle, demonstrated how to swing. Then he stepped back and Regan immediately missed his warmth. “Now try.”
She did. And it worked. A small piece of wood splintered.
“Oh, my God! Did you see that?” she screamed, and realized she was jumping up and down like Holly.
“I did. Impressive, Vixen,” he said with a smile that warmed her, well, everywhere. “Now, this time hit it straight on and then repeat the angle.”
Regan followed his instructions, and with every swing she took out another chunk of trunk. Finally the tree started leaning. She dropped the ax and went around to the other side and shoved it over with her foot. With a loud snap it fell to the ground.
She’d done it! She got Holly her tree!
“If there wasn’t a timer ticking away I would kiss the hell out of you right now,” she said.
Gabe kissed her anyway. Short and sweet, and when he pulled back, he gave her a smack on the bottom.
“Then I guess you’d better get that sweet ass of yours moving. You have a tree to win. And I have a kiss to claim.”
Regan grabbed the top of the tree and started tugging, noticing that Gabe stayed behind, letting her have her moment. It was heavy and awkward and slow going, but she was making good time. She passed the first cluster of trees when she ran into a solid wall of “ax-hole.”
“Whoops, I didn’t see you,” Paul said, looking sheepish.
“Get out of my way.”
“Look, you seem like a nice lady. Actually, I considered asking you out earlier.” He ran a hand down his face. “My sister’s a little unstable when it comes to winning, and she really wants Lauren to have that part in the musical. Just tell your kid you’re taking her away for Christmas so I can move out of your way and you can get your little girl her tree.”
“Hey, Paul. What seems to be the problem?” Gabe said, appearing from the next row over. He placed a hand on Regan’s shoulder.
“Hey, Gabe. No problem. Just seeing if the lady needed any help.”
“She’s doing just fine on her own.”
Paul’s mouth turned up as his eyes slid down Regan’s body. “I can see that. Better get going, the whistle’s going to blow any second now.”
Shoving Paul aside, Regan dug her heels in the ground and pulled her tree. She came through the last clearing and saw the finish line. She also saw that she had less than forty seconds until time ran out. She pulled faster, ignoring the sap dripping down her hands and the way her lower back rebelled. It wasn’t going to be enough.
Then, suddenly, the tree felt weightless. She looked back and saw that Gabe had picked up the trunk and was practically shoving her forward. She opened her mouth to tell him she didn’t need his help, then closed it. Because if the goal was getting Holly her tree, she knew she couldn’t make it alone. No matter how much that ticked her off.
Gabe pushed her right over the finish line, past the crowd of well-wishers, and around the back of the bleachers before he let her stop. Irritated and humbled and breathing heavy, Regan dropped the tree and snapped, “I could have done that on my own.”
“I had no doubt.” Gabe walked around the tree until they were only a breath apart. “But sometimes having someone in your corner can make everything easier. Life is about sharing, Regan. I wanted to share that with you.”
His statement made her wish for things that she knew could never happen for a girl like her. It wasn’t that she didn’t want someone to share Holly and her life with. She had just learned over the years that when it came to forever not all women had that elusive quality that men were looking for.
Fiddling with the bottom of his shirt, she asked, “What was up with the tour of the bleachers?”
He looked up and grinned. She followed his gaze and saw a cluster of mistletoe hanging from the underside of the bleachers.
“How did you know that was here?”
He rested his hands on her hips, pulling her close.
“My grandfather started the tradition about sixty years ago. It was how he got ChiChi to give up her first kiss. It has been a tradition ever since.” He lowered his head. “Now, can we stop talking? I’d like you to kiss the hell out of me.”
Regan slid one hand behind his neck and pulled his mouth to hers. Then, for the first time since meeting Gabe DeLuca, she did as he asked.
Gabe’s night went downhill from there. Holly had needed Regan to take her to the ladies’ room and his family had wanted him to load up ChiChi’s tree and get her home before it started raining. Family appeased for the moment, he’d gone off to find Regan, maybe grab another smoking-hot kiss, ask if she and Holly wanted to grab a bite of dinner, and offer to haul her tree home, when he discovered that she’d paid to have it delivered.
The woman who refused to leave town had finally cut and run. And he found himself frowning.
They hadn’t arrived together, so he shouldn’t have been disappointed, but he was. Disappointment turned to irritation when, after a hot shower, he walked out to find his brothers sitting in his front room, football on the plasma, feet on the coffee table, and enough takeout for ten.
“That had better not turn up on my charge.” None of them responded. He took in the sticky counter, the chow mein noodle on the couch, and the beer ring on the side table. “Don’t you have houses of your own to destroy?”
“Plates on the counter,” Marc said, eyes glued to the game.
Gabe grabbed a plate, stole Trey’s beer, and sat down.
“Hey,” Trey whined.
“Did you buy it? No?” Gabe eyeballed him. “Then it’s mine.”
Trey helped himself to another beer from the fridge. “What crawled up your ass?”
Gabe had no idea. His brothers showed up unannounced and destroyed his house all the time. During football season it was an expected event. One that had been going on since he’d gotten his own place. So why was he so bent?
“Did our girl give up anything that could help us find Richard?” Marc asked.
“Nope.”
“Nope, she hasn’t told you anything, or nope you’ve been too busy trying to shake her tree to ask?” Marc said.
“I’m not trying to shake her tree,” Gabe snapped. Okay, that was a lie. There was nothing he wanted more than to get in Regan’s pants. But he wasn’t going to do it to get information on Richard.
“Christ, maybe you should. Then you wouldn’t be such a tight-ass all the time,” said Nate, the tight-ass of the family, getting up for seconds.
Gab
e was the easygoing one of the brothers. A difficult task since he was also the oldest and had to deal with his family’s crap all the time. But he took a lot of pride in his ability to not let things rile him. This, though—invading a woman’s life and lying to her on the off-chance that she had some kind of information on Richard—got him fired up. And not in a good way.
“As far as I know, she has had no contact with Richard. And there is no way she is sitting on a pile of cash. The woman doesn’t have a damn bed for her kid.”
Gabe shoved Trey’s feet off the coffee table, went for another beer, and that’s when he realized that no one was speaking. They were all staring at him like he’d grown another head. He dumped his plate in the sink, wiped down the counter, and inhaled three fortune cookies. Still, no one said a word.
Gabe sank back into the couch. “She’s a single mom. I don’t even date single moms. And somehow I have managed to screw up this one’s life at every turn.”
“She slept with our sister’s husband,” Nate said quietly.
“So did half of the women in this valley,” Gabe said, feeling suddenly tired. “Why aren’t we hounding them?”
After Richard had disappeared, their investigator discovered that the bastard had conducted dozens of affairs. He loved them young, and he loved them often. But the only one he’d kept around for more than a few months was Regan. And now that Gabe had gotten to know her, he understood why. She wasn’t the kind of woman you got casual with and walked away. She got under your skin and stuck there.
“He lived with her for a year,” Trey said, as if Gabe didn’t already know. As if he hadn’t thought about that fact every time he saw her.
“And when he said he was going to Santa Barbara to make sure things were running smoothly, he went to Oregon instead. Three weeks later he and the money disappeared. He only made one call that day, Gabe. Only one. And it was to Regan,” Marc said, stating nothing new. “For all we know she helped him take the money.”
“What part of her kid sleeping on the floor didn’t you guys hear?”