Wade came to an abrupt stop as an old pickup truck, draped in Christmas lights and garland, pulled in front of him. Piled into the trailer it towed was a crowd of bundled-up people sitting on bales of hay and singing Christmas carols. The driver, Owen, threw a hand up at Wade, then continued back toward the house.
Hayrides, Santa visits, sugar cookies and hot chocolate. Picking out a tree at the Garden of Eden wasn’t just a shopping trip. It was an experience. On the weekends in December, the farm was a madhouse. And it had to be. A good portion of their income came from just this one month. Sure, they did other things throughout the year, but Christmas tree farms depended on a good Christmas to stay afloat.
And lately, it hadn’t been enough.
Wade blamed himself for that. When the boys grew up and moved away, the Edens had to hire in help. Owen had always worked on the farm, but as each year went by, more staff was added and their expenses went up. Throw in a mountain of hospital bills and competition from increasingly more realistic fake trees, and the Edens were lucky they’d survived this long.
Wade followed the truck to the house and then veered off to park the ATV back under the awning where they kept it. The farm would be closing soon, so he skipped the house and headed around to the tree-processing area. Heart attack be damned, he found his dad out there with a couple of teenage boys. They were leveling, drilling, shaking and net-bagging all the trees selected by the last round of customers.
As though he’d never left, Wade grabbed a tree and put it on the shaker to remove any loose needles. When it was done, Ken laid the tree out to drill. They carried special stands in the gift shop that ensured a perfectly straight tree.
Wade held it still while Ken drilled.
“You haven’t lost your touch, kid. Need a job?”
Wade smiled. “I could work for about a week. Then I’ve got to get back to town.”
“That’s fine, fine. We’ll be closed by then, anyway.” Ken lifted the tree and gave it to one of the boys to run through the netter. When he turned back, he gave Wade a big welcome hug. “Good to see you, son.”
“Good to see you, too, Dad. Is that the last of the trees for tonight?”
“Yep. With perfect timing, you’ve shown up just when all the hard work is finished. Come help me haul these trees out to the parking lot and we’ll go see your mother.”
Wade grasped a tree in each hand and followed his father through the snow to the parking lot where the last few cars waited for their trees. He watched his father carefully for signs of ill health as he hauled around the trees and helped families tie them into trunks and onto roofs. The man wasn’t quite sixty yet and had always appeared to be at the peak of health. His brown hair was mostly gray now, but his blue eyes were still bright and alert, and he didn’t hesitate in his physical work. Ken had always been a lean man, but a strong man. If nothing else, he looked a little leaner than usual.
“There’s nothing wrong with me, so quit looking for it.” Ken snatched the last tree from Wade and hauled it down to the pickup truck waiting for it.
Wade followed him, then stood quietly until the truck pulled away. “I wasn’t looking for anything.”
“Liar. Everyone has been doing it since your mother told Julianne about that damned attack I had. It was no big deal. I’m fine. They gave me a pill to take. End of story. Don’t be sitting around waiting for me to drop dead so you can inherit this place.”
Both men chuckled, knowing Wade could buy and sell the farm ten times over and had no interest in getting his claws on any inheritance. “You’re looking good to me, Dad.”
“Yeah.” He slapped Wade on the back and started walking toward the gift shop. “Most days I feel okay. I’m slowing down a little. Feeling my age. But that’s just reality. The attack threw me for a loop—just came out of the blue. But between the pills and your mother’s dogged determination to feed me oatmeal and vegetables, I should be fine. What are you doing up here so early, Wade? You kids don’t usually show up until Christmas Eve.”
“I had some time in my schedule, so I thought I’d spend it with you guys. Help out. I know I don’t visit enough.”
“Well, that’s a nice lie. Be sure to tell your mother that. She’ll eat it up. All of you boys are in a panic since you found out we sold that land.”
“I wouldn’t call it a panic.”
“Wouldn’t you, now? Four out of the five of you kids have been here in the past month, just randomly checking in. I’m sure Xander would’ve come, too, if congress wasn’t in session fighting over the stupid budget.”
Wade shrugged. “Well, what do you expect, Dad? You kept your heart attack a secret. You’re having financial trouble and you don’t tell any of us. You know we all make good money. There was no need to start selling off the farm.”
“I didn’t sell off the farm. I sold off some useless rocks and dirt that were costing more money than they earned. And yes, you make a good living. I haven’t made a good living in quite a few years. One doesn’t make up for the other.”
“Dad—”
Ken stopped in front of the gift shop, his hand on the doorknob. “I don’t want any of your money, Wade. I don’t want a dime from any of you kids. The unexpected medical bills just sucked up our savings. The past few years had been lean and we’d cut back on things, including our insurance, to weather the rough patch. Selling off the extra land let us pay off all the bills, buy a new insurance plan and stick some money away. Less land means less taxes and less for me to worry about. Everything will be just fine.”
He pushed open the door to the gift store, ending the conversation. Wade had no choice but to let the subject drop and follow him in. They were instantly bombarded with lights and sounds straight from Santa’s workshop. Jingling bells chimed from the door; Christmas music played from overhead speakers. A television in the back was showing holiday cartoons on a constant loop near the area where children could write letters to Santa and play with toys while Mommy shopped and Daddy loaded the tree.
Multicolored lights draped from the ceiling. The scent of pine and mulling spices permeated the room. The fireplace crackled on one wall, inviting customers to sit in rocking chairs and drink the hot chocolate Molly provided free.
“Wade!” The tiny and pleasantly plump woman behind the counter came rushing out to wrap her arms around her oldest boy.
He leaned down to hug her as he’d always had to do, accepting the fussing as she straightened his hair and inspected him for signs of stress or fatigue. She always accused him of working too much. She was probably right, but he’d learned his work ethic from them. “Hey, Mama.”
“What a surprise to have you here so soon. Is this just a visit or are you here for the holiday?”
“For the duration.”
“That’s wonderful,” she said, her eyes twinkling with happiness and Christmas lights. “But wait.” She paused. “I thought Heath told me you were in Jamaica this week.”
“Plans changed. I’m here instead.”
“He’s checking up on us,” Ken called from the counter where he was pouring himself a cup of cider.
“I don’t care,” she called back. “I’ll take him however I can get him.” Molly hugged him again, then frowned at her son. “I don’t have anything prepared for dinner,” she said, aghast at the idea. “I wish I’d known you were coming. I was just going to feed your father a sandwich.”
“Whole wheat, fat-free turkey, no mayo, no flavor,” Ken grumbled.
“Don’t worry about feeding me, Mama. I was going to run into Cornwall to meet a couple of the guys at the Wet Hen and grab a few things from the store. I’ll get something to eat at the diner when I’m done.”
“All right. But I’m going to the store first thing in the morning, and I’ll get stocked up on everything I need to feed a household of boys for the holiday!”
Wade smiled. His mother looked absolutely giddy at the idea of slaving over a stove for five hungry men. He recalled times from his youth when
he and the other boys were hitting growth spurts all at once. They couldn’t get enough food into their stomachs. Hopefully now they would be easier to take care of.
“Why don’t you just give me a list and I’ll pick it up while I’m out.”
“We don’t need your money,” Ken called from the rocking chair by the fire, though he didn’t turn to face them.
Molly frowned at her husband, and Wade could see she was torn. They did need the money, but Ken was being stubborn. “That would be very nice of you, Wade. I’ll write up a few things.” She returned to the counter and made out a short list. “This should get us through a few days. I’ll go into town for a fresh turkey on Monday morning.”
“Okay,” he said, leaning down to kiss her cheek. “I’ll be back soon. Maybe I’ll bring home one of those coconut cream pies from Daisy’s.”
“That would be lovely. Drive safely in the snow.”
Wade stepped through the jingling door and headed out into the newly darkened night in search of pie, a dozen eggs, a sack of potatoes and some information on Victoria Sullivan.
* * *
When Tori got into her truck, she had every intention of going to Daisy’s to get something to eat. Maybe swing by the store for some quick and easy-to-prepare food to get her through the holidays when the diner was closed. And yet before she could help herself, her truck pulled into the parking lot of the Wet Hen, the local bar.
“Let’s face it,” she lamented to her dashboard. “I need a drink.”
Just one. Just enough to take the edge off the nerves Wade had agitated. And if it helped suppress the attraction that was buzzing through her veins, all the better.
Tori slid from the cab of her truck, slammed the heavy door behind her and slipped through the door of the Wet Hen. The sign outside claimed the bar had been in business since 1897. Truthfully, it looked as if it had. A renovation wouldn’t hurt, but she supposed that was part of its charm. The bar was dark, with old, worn wood on the walls, the floors and the tables. The photos on the walls of various local heroes and the sports memorabilia from the high school seemed to be there more to camouflage cracks in the plaster than anything else. The amber lights did little to illuminate the place, but she supposed a bright light would not only ruin the atmosphere but force the local fire department to condemn it.
The place was pretty quiet for six on a Friday. She imagined business would pick up later unless people were tied up in last-minute holiday activities. She made her way to the empty bar and pulled up a stool. It was from her perch that she heard the laughter of a group of men in the back corner. When she turned, Tori quickly amended her plans. She needed two drinks. Especially with that cocky bastard watching her from the back of the bar.
What was Wade doing here? It was a small town, but wasn’t there somewhere else he should be? At home with his all-important family, perhaps? But no, he was throwing back a couple with an odd assortment of old and young men from around town. She recognized her lawyer, Randy Miller, and the old bald sheriff from one of the local television advertisements about the dangers of holiday drinking and driving. There were a couple others there she didn’t recognize.
And at the moment, every one of them was looking at her.
Had Wade been talking to them about her? The arrogant curl of his smile and the laughter in the eyes of the other men left no doubt. The irritation pressed up Tori’s spine until she was sitting bolt upright in her seat.
She wanted to leave. Not just the bar, but the town. Maybe even the state. In an hour she could have the trailer hooked up and ready to go. Part of the beauty of being nomadic was that you could leave whenever things got uncomfortable. That’s what her parents had always done. Hung around somewhere until it got boring or awkward and then moved on to someplace else. Tori had always had trouble imagining living in one community her entire life. There was no place to go when things blew up in your face.
But there were also advantages to being settled: longtime friends and neighbors. People you could count on. Stability. Roots. A place to call home and raise a family. After toying with the idea of having that kind of life with Ryan and then having it all collapse around her, Tori had decided she was tired of running. She might not have the life and family she’d dreamed about with Ryan, but she could have it with someone else if she sat still long enough to have a meaningful relationship.
Cornwall spoke to her. This was where her family had come from and this was where she wanted to stay. But if she was going to build her dream home here, she’d better learn how to tough it out. There was no towing off a house. Being the new girl in a small town was hard enough. Lacking in coping skills wasn’t going to help the situation.
If Wade thought he could bully her into selling by turning the town against her, he was in for a surprise. She wasn’t going to play along with his charade. If he could play dirty, so could she.
“What can I get you?” The bartender had finally made his way over to her end of the bar. He looked like the kind of guy you’d find at a 115-year-old bar named the Wet Hen. Thin, leathery and gray-haired with an ancient, blurry anchor tattooed on his forearm. The tag pinned to his apron said his name was Skippy. She’d never seen anyone less like a Skippy in her life.
“Gin and tonic with lime.” Strong and to the point without stooping to shots. She was tempted to just chug a few big gulps of tequila so she’d no longer care about Wade and his cronies. But she couldn’t lose control of her inhibitions, either. Lord knew what kind of trouble she’d get into.
Skippy placed a bowl of peanuts and a napkin on the counter for the drink he quickly poured. He looked as though he had a solid fifty years of experience mixing drinks. When the lowball glass plopped down in front of her, she took a large, quick sip. Damned if that wasn’t the best gin and tonic she’d ever had.
Go Skippy.
The alcohol surged straight into her veins. She’d been too agitated to eat anything since Wade left, and her empty stomach gladly soaked up the wicked brew. Three sips into her drink, her worries from earlier had dulled into distant concerns that could be drowned out, along with the loud bursts of male laughter coming from the corner. Thank goodness.
It wasn’t until she’d finished her drink and half a bowl of peanuts that she bothered to look in their direction again. Wade was still watching her, although this time the amusement on his face was gone. As the other men around the table chatted, he seemed to have narrowed his focus to her. The expression on his face was quite serious. And openly appreciative of whatever he was seeing.
When their gazes met, Tori felt a jolt of electricity that ran down her spine and prickled across her skin like delicate flames licking at her. It was almost as though his look caressed her physically and drew her into him. It was the same feeling she’d had when he touched her today, handing her the honey jar. Sudden. Unexpected. Powerful.
And totally and completely unwanted.
The clunk of a glass on the bar in front of her startled Tori out of Wade’s tractor beam. When she turned, she saw a fresh glass, courtesy of Skippy.
“This one’s on the oldest Eden boy.”
It took Tori a minute to figure out that probably meant Wade. “You mean the dark-headed one in the green shirt with the smug expression on his face?”
Skippy leaned onto the bar and turned toward the men in the back. “Yep.”
“I thought his last name was Mitchell.”
“It is.”
“Then why’d you call him an Eden boy?”
Skippy shrugged. “’Cause that’s what he is.”
Tori frowned. Wade’s family tree seemed to be a touch more complicated than she’d anticipated. “Tell him I don’t want it.”
Skippy snorted and shook his head. “He’s sitting with the mayor, the sheriff, the best lawyer in town and the city councilman who granted my liquor license. Sorry, kiddo, but I’m not getting involved. You’ll have to tell him that yourself.”
“Fine,” Tori said. The drink was making her feel
brave anyway. Scooping up the full glass, she slid off the stool a little too fluidly and made her way across the bar to the table of men in the back.
All five of them halted their conversation and turned to look at her when she approached.
“You’re welcome, Miss Sullivan,” Wade said with a smile that made her stomach flutter and pissed her off at the same time. He was too cocky for his own good.
“Actually, I wasn’t coming to thank you. I’m returning it.”
“Is something wrong with the drink?” Wade challenged.
“Nothing aside from it being purchased by you.” She set it down on the edge of the table in front of him. “No thanks.”
A couple of the men chuckled softly and another shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Wade ignored them all, his gaze laser-focused on her. “Oh, come on, now. Don’t be that way. It was a ‘Welcome to Cornwall’ drink. A taste of some local hospitality.”
“I’ve lived here for two months and only four people have bothered to speak to me the entire time. It’s a little late for a warm welcome. Especially coming from the man who’s trying to run me out of town.”
“That’s harsh. You can stay in town. Just not on that particular spot. Maybe Randy here can help you buy a new place.” Wade slapped the younger man beside him on the shoulder. “He tells me he handled the sale of my parents’ property.”
“My property,” she emphasized. “What else did he tell you, Wade? Are there any loopholes you can use to nullify the sale? Or are you just snooping around town trying to find some dirt on me you can use for blackmail?”
Wade shrugged casually, and Tori could feel her blood nearly boil in her veins with anger. “Not everything is about you, Miss Sullivan. I’m visiting my friends while I’m in town. If they just so happen to have information about you, then great. I like to be well-informed. Especially when going up against a worthy adversary.”
“Don’t flatter me. You can dig all you want, but you’re not going to find any dirt, because I haven’t done anything wrong. I’m not selling you my property, Mr. Mitchell. And that’s final.” Tori spun on her heel and took two big steps away before she heard the sound of muffled snickers behind her and a poorly masked whisper that suggested Wade’s skills in the bedroom might improve her attitude.
Undeniable Demands Page 3