“You know, I could have gotten the tree by myself,” Casey said.
“No problem. Gus needed the exercise.” Like last night, for instance, at Dubber’s play. Or earlier yesterday afternoon when they’d been sledding. But Melvin wouldn’t give Casey a Christmas tree, so Mike would. Even if he’d woken up in a foul mood.
“I could have brought Gus along,” Casey said, turning to wave at the dog sitting in the back seat. “He and I are buds.”
Mike looked in the rearview mirror at Gus with his big stupid grin. Casey’s words were certainly true. In fact, his dog seemed to like her better than him lately.
Mike forced his eyes back to the road, squinting into the afternoon sun. “Cutting down a Christmas tree is hard work.”
“I’m not afraid of hard work,” she said. “It’s better than making somebody do something they don’t want to do.”
“Who said I didn’t want to do this?” he asked. “It was my idea, wasn’t it?”
“You wanted to buy a tree from the lot by the hardware store.”
“And we’re cutting our own. No big deal.”
She leaned back in her seat and turned to stare out the window. Dare he hope that she was taken by the beauty of the winter scene?
“Where’d you grow up?” she asked. “Around here?”
One hope dashed to the ground. “Chicago,” he said.
“I’m from Fort Wayne. City but close to country. We always bought our tree from our church, but I always thought it would be the most wonderful thing to go cut our own.”
Silence climbed into the car with them, riding along like a stowaway. It started nudging him once he turned off the highway, and really began nagging at him when he passed a sign advertising the tree farm.
“We used to cut our own tree every year,” Mike said slowly, concentrating on his driving. “The three of us would drive out to this tree farm just north of Rockford. Even with the expressways it was a three-hour trip, so we’d make a day of it. Leave early in the morning, stop for lunch and then go cut the Christmas tree.”
Why was he telling her this? It made no sense; this wasn’t something he talked about. But he went on. “On the way home, we’d always play this silly alphabet Christmas-wish game. I’d say I want angels for Christmas, and my mom would say she wanted angels and bananas, then my dad would say he wanted angels and bananas and a cable car.”
Mike stopped a long moment, unable to go on, but unable not to. “My dad died the spring after my tenth birthday and then we stopped going. We moved into an apartment and got a little fake tree.”
“And that’s why you didn’t want to go get a tree,” Casey said softly. “You should have just told me.”
He didn’t look her way. He couldn’t. “It’s not that I didn’t want to get a tree,” he said. “It just felt strange.”
“I didn’t want to horn in on precious memories.”
“You didn’t,” he said gruffly.
That wasn’t it at all. It wasn’t the past that was troubling him, but the future. Cutting your own Christmas tree was something special, a ritual that meant something because it was part of a whole. And the whole was important because it was made up of people who had committed to each other forever. Something he would never do with someone. It wasn’t his memories of the past that saddened him, but the fact that he wouldn’t be making any more of them.
“Take a left at the road up ahead.” Casey’s voice was soft, as if she could read his thoughts.
He didn’t want her sympathy. He’d rather have her annoyance than pity. “Hope the trees aren’t full of bugs,” he said.
“They’d be frozen. It’s winter.”
He just shook his head as he turned at a gate. “Until they get into the house where it’s warm. A guy in Baroda once got a tree and set it up in his house and the next day he thought he heard it clicking. When he looked, it seemed to be moving. Then—”
“It blew up and his house was filled with bugs,” she said, and laughed. “Urban legend number 4,572. Only I heard it with a cactus and scorpions. It really was much more effective that way. What kind of killer bugs can be hiding in a Christmas tree, for goodness sakes?”
She was trying to make him smile, and it was working. No matter how he tried to hold on to his grumps, they were slipping through his fingers like sand at the surf’s edge. He parked the car in front of a small pole barn and they went inside.
A tall, husky woman in boots, jeans and a flannel shirt sat in the office watching a television game show. “Axes and crosscut saws are behind you,” the woman said as she took their money. “The trees are out back.”
“Are there any restrictions on size?” Casey asked.
The woman laughed loudly. “No, honey. It’s like picking out a man. If you can handle it, it’s yours.”
“Good,” Casey said. “I like them big.”
“Uh-huh.” The woman was eyeballing Mike. “I can see that.”
“I meant trees,” Casey said, sounding flustered. “I like big trees.”
“Sure,” the woman replied, snorting.
Mike enjoyed the confusion on Casey’s face and the embarrassment staining her cheeks. “Don’t be shy, honey,” Mike said, putting his arm around Casey’s shoulder. “You know you dumped Melvin ‘cause he was such a little wimpy guy.”
Casey cast him a glance that said she was not amused, and shrugged his arm off her. “I’ll have you know he was big in ways that count,” she said, and started for the door.
Mike frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?” He grabbed up a saw and hurried after her.
The woman just chuckled. “Y’all have fun now,” she sang out as the door shut behind them.
Casey moved on ahead of him with Gus, trudging through the calf-deep snow, and began to course the snow-covered tree lanes, obviously looking for that special one. There hadn’t been much foot traffic here since the snowstorm of the last few days, and the pure, untrampled beauty of the hillside brought peace to Mike’s heart. Gus took off, following some rabbit tracks, while Mike just trailed along after Casey, snow falling softly from the branches he brushed in passing.
Why had he told Casey about his childhood Christmases? There’d been no reason to except that the more he was around her, the more he seemed unable to hide parts of himself. It was like the past was a festering sore that would only be healed when exposed to her sunshine. Which was crazy. There was nothing wrong with his past. It was a little jumbled, a mixture of pain and happiness, just like everyone else’s, but nothing that needed healing.
Up ahead, Casey stopped. “What do you think?” she called to him, waving her hand at two adjacent trees. “Which one do you like better?”
“They look the same to me,” he replied.
He was more struck by the glow on her face, by the radiance that outshone even the sun glittering off the snow. Maybe she did possess some sort of magic healing rays. He did feel more alive in her presence, more anxious to explore life. Though what he’d really like to explore about now were those lips of hers, and those gentle curves under her coat and…
“They can’t look the same,” Casey said, and turned to the tree on her left. “Look, this one is taller.”
Was he really supposed to be looking at trees, when he could be watching her? “They’re still both big, coneshaped, green things that smell all piney.”
“You are no help,” she exclaimed, and began to walk around the tree.
“It’s not like this is a major commitment, you know. What are we talking about—two, three weeks tops that we have to live with it?”
“And you can’t even make a short-term commitment. Pretty sad.” She began to slowly circle the other tree, bits of snow falling from upper branches and glinting like crystals in the sun.
The beauty of everything around her caught him by surprise, and he fought its hypnotic effect. “The truth is you can’t decide, either, and you’re trying to get out of making the decision.”
She stopped walking
to glare at him. “And that is intended to goad me into making a decision you’re too wishywashy to make?”
“Is that a challenge to my manhood?” he asked.
A slight smile crept onto her lips. “A real man would know which tree is right.”
“Oh, really?” he said, and took a step closer to her.
“A real man would take one look at the trees and say, ‘That’s the one for my house.’“ She lowered her voice, making it all gruff.
And making it do something extraordinary to his breathing. “Is that so?” he said, and came a bit closer.
She grinned at him, a hint of devilment in her eyes. “A real man wouldn’t need a saw, either. He’d just rip it out with his bare hands and carry it home on his back.”
“I think a real man would object to these slanderous accusations,” he said.
She backed up a step, but her laugh was challenging him. Her smile was teasing. “What slander? I was only telling the truth.”
“So was I,” he said, and reached down for a handful of snow.
But she was too quick for him and darted around the other side of the tree.
“You can’t hide from me.” He followed her, only to be hit with a snowball from behind.
“Who’s hiding?” she said with a laugh. “I was only searching for the best shot.”
“Is that right?”
He took off after her, catching her by the arm only a few yards away. He wasn’t sure what he’d been going to do, but somehow she tripped or he tripped or the earth moved, and suddenly they were lying in the snow side by side.
Her fiery red hair lay across the snow, so dazzling he should have been blinded. Her green eyes danced with laughter and a promise of much more. Something stirred within him—a hunger, a need, a desire to possess so much stronger than anything he’d ever felt before that it stunned him. He ought to push away, pull her to her feet and get busy cutting down the damn tree.
But her lips were so close and so very tempting. Just a little touch, that was all he needed. That would be enough to get him through the day. Or the night. Or whatever lay ahead.
Then she was kissing him. He was kissing her. He pulled her into his arms as if closeness was possible, as if their winter coats didn’t block all contact. And it didn’t, for somehow he could feel her softness, feel her racing heart and the raging pull of her femininity.
They’d hit that icy patch again, but it was wonderful, nothing to be feared. It took them higher than the clouds and spoke to the clamoring hunger in their hands and their hearts. He kissed her and kissed her again, letting his lips draw all the wonder and magic from her that she could give.
Then something changed. A wetness on his cheek slowed his fall into passion and he pulled slightly away. Gus was breathing down into their faces.
“Gus, old buddy,” Casey said with a laugh.
Mike just rolled over onto his back with a groan, not caring that the snow had now become an unpleasant, chilly bed instead of the perfect frame for Casey’s beauty. Gus came over and licked his face. “Thanks, pal.”
Casey just laughed some more and sat up. “Go for it, Gus. He needs some cooling down.”
Mike just gave her a sharp look, then frowned at his dog. “If you want to do something useful,” he told Gus, “go over and pick a Christmas tree so we can go home.”
Unbelievably, Gus walked over to the two trees, sniffing each carefully before raising his leg, giving one tree a golden shower. Casey just looked at Mike.
“The other one,” they both said in unison.
* * *
Mike had wrestled the tree into the far corner of the living room, just to the left of the front windows. It lightly brushed the ceiling and filled the room—the house—with the wonderful scent of Christmas.
“Is it straight?” he asked from somewhere behind the tree.
“A little to the right.”
“That enough?”
“Too much.”
A grumbling could be heard from behind the branches, but Casey just laughed. There was no way anything could spoil today. Going for the tree had been perfect, everything she’d always thought cutting your own tree should be.
“Want to hold it steady while I tighten the base?” he asked.
She reached in to hold the trunk. “Your wish is my command, sir.”
“Do I dare test that statement?”
There was a note in his voice that sent a shiver down her back and curled her toes. “Maybe,” she said softly. “Just maybe.”
She turned to see Snowflake and Midnight skulk across the living-room floor, moving slowly and cautiously toward the tree as if it might attack them. She smiled at them, then stared down at the pine needles brushing her arm.
Why had it been so perfect? she wondered. She hadn’t gone with family, not even someone who might be family someday. The tree wasn’t for her house, where she’d decorate it with her ornaments. And she wouldn’t even be here on Christmas to enjoy it—she’d be back home with her family for the holiday.
Mike crawled out from behind the tree and jiggled it. “Doesn’t look too steady.”
“We need to anchor it to the wall,” Casey replied.
“Good idea. Otherwise these guys’ll bring it down for sure.”
Gus and the two cats were sitting at the base of the tree, gazing upward at its topmost branches.
“And we need to keep Gus—uh, how can I say it?—uninterested in the tree.”
Mike smiled and patted his dog. “I’ve got some dog-away spray down in the basement. Once we’re done decorating, I’ll fix it up.”
Once we’re done decorating? So this wasn’t going to be woman’s work? Casey hid a smile as she went to the attic to get the boxes of old decorations down while Mike went to the basement to get the dog-away spray and cords to anchor the tree to the wall. It took her several trips to get everything, and by the time she had it all down, the tree was secured.
“Do you think it’ll stand up to the cats climbing it?” she asked.
“Sure,” he replied. “They’re already testing it.”
She looked where he was pointing, about two thirds of the way up, and gazed into a pair of dark, shining eyes. And off to the right and above was the tip of a white tail. “You guys aren’t going to bother the ornaments, are you?” she asked.
“They wouldn’t do that.”
Casey laughed as Mike’s arm slid around her shoulder. Hers went around his waist. There was something about the innocence of children and animals that gave holidays like Christmas a special meaning. A spirit that soothed the fiercest of beasts. Maybe even a tough cop like Mike Burnette.
“Are you a top-down person?’ she asked. “Or bottoms-up?”
“Am I what?” he asked. “I’m not sure that’s a question I should be answering to a sweet young thing like you.”
She punched him playfully. “Do you start decorating at the bottom of the tree and work up? Or do you start from the tip and come down?”
He took a long moment to examine the tree, his arm tightening slightly around her. “I haven’t done this kind of thing for ages,” he finally said, in a voice so soft she almost didn’t hear him. “Why don’t you lead the way?”
She wanted to hold him, to soothe away the hints of past hurts, but knew this wasn’t the time and that wasn’t the way. “I do bottoms-up,” she said. “But I also do it the long way.”
“The long way?”
She pulled reluctantly away from him. “I take all the ornaments and lay them out first. That’ll take a while with this stuff. I don’t have any idea what we have.”
“I’m not going anywhere, are you?”
She shook her head.
“Well, since neither of us has a date, it’s no big deal. We’ll go the long way.”
It might have been shadows created by the headlights of cars passing in front of the house. It might have been the winter winds sneaking through hidden cracks in the house. But Casey was sure it was more than that. She was
sure that all the spirits of Christmas were creeping into the house, knocking on the door to Mike’s soul and looking to soften his hard edges. Feeling them so filled her heart with joy that she could hardly breathe.
“The first thing we need are the lights,” she said. “Why don’t you run down to the hardware store and get some while I make us a quick dinner?”
He turned to look thoughtfully at the tree. “How many do we need?”
“Enough to make it look magical,” she said. “Sandwiches okay?”
“Sure. Anything’s fine.”
By the time he got back from the store, she’d fed the animals, heated up the leftovers of some soup she’d made earlier in the week, and had made a plate of ham sandwiches. She heard him at the door, but when she turned, she was amazed at the size of the bag he was carrying.
“How many packages of lights did you get?” she asked.
“I’m not sure. I told Chuck the tree touched the ceiling, so he picked out the boxes.” Mike put the bag on the kitchen table and began to unload it. “Then I added a couple more.”
Lights, lights and more lights. She couldn’t believe it and went over to his side to peer into the bag. Much as she loved her dad, he never put enough lights on their Christmas tree. Neither did her uncles or her grandfather. She’d thought it was a guy thing, but obviously not an every-guy thing.
“This is wonderful,” she said, squeezing his arm. “Lights make the tree.”
“It gets better,” he said, picking up one of the packages. “Look, they play Christmas carols and blink in ten different patterns.”
“Ten?” She groaned, envisioning a nightmare of dueling light shows occurring on the tree each night. She counted up the number of boxes. Ten. That would mean ten different strings playing ten different songs and blinking in ten different patterns.
“One pattern per evening,” she said. “The same one on all strings.”
“That’ll be no fun.”
“It’ll be all the fun you need.”
“And what about all the fun you need?” he said.
He was right behind her, closer than her silly senses had warned her, and able to tickle the back of her neck with his breath. She wanted to lean back, to turn into his embrace and let his fire melt all her resistance. But she wasn’t sure all of a sudden. It was one thing to be swept away by passion. It was quite another to willingly step into its path.
Christmas Magic Page 13