'Tis the Season for Love: A Charity Box Set

by Maggie Dallen

  “Megan, it’s your mother.”

  “Do you call Derek this often?”

  “Did I tell you he’s coming? Derek just got a last minute flight.”

  Of course, he’d be there. He probably kept his long-planned visit a surprise with a story about last minute tickets. He knew it would delight Mom. Derek was so predictable. And reliable. Things I strived for, but usually fell short.

  “I’m glad I caught you,” she went on through the speaker. “If you could pick up a tree for us on the way in, that would be so helpful. Sawyer’s Tree Farm. You’ll see it a mile from our exit.”

  Brake lights strobed ahead in a seemingly endless red ribbon. “I’m sorry, what? I thought you said something about a tree.”

  “The tree farm is on your way to the house. If you could pick one up for us on your way in.”

  A real live Christmas tree. From a tree farm. A tradition my family never participated in. Why now? “You want me to get you a Christmas tree?”

  “After our weekend trip to Lake Geneva and getting settled after the kitchen upgrade, we haven’t had time to put up decorations. The tree will be easy. Up here, they do it all for you. They’ll carry the tree to your car and tie it to the roof.”

  Right. A whole tree tied to my roof. Perfectly normal.

  “The tree is going in the front room,” she continued. “Our home has a two-story foyer, so we can fit a nice-sized tree.”

  I bristled at our home. Time to muster the family Campbell Can-Do attitude. “Okay.”

  “You have enough money, don’t you? We’ll pay you back of course.”

  “Yes, Mom. I have enough money for a single Christmas tree.”

  Never mind I had no clue how much a real tree cost. Or an artificial one. My own fake tree came from a garage sale complete with someone else’s homemade ornaments, my fave being a Mery Christmus 1987 stuffed sachet with a cross-eyed cross-stitched puppy.

  Also, never mind my bank balance held a decidedly unimpressive amount of money. I paid my rent on time and I never went hungry. I was doing just fine, and with that promotion to store manager, I’d be even better.

  “I won’t keep you. Stay safe on the road.” Mom ended the call without extended fanfare. Ever the efficient woman from her career as a nurse.

  Mom, retired. Taking weekend trips and renovating a kitchen? Wild. Our old kitchen never changed for the entirety of my childhood. The counters bore scars from a generation of holiday baking and family dinners. The wallpaper peeled in predictable places, with my brother’s and my height marks penciled in beside the patio door.

  Traffic inched forward. Me and half the population of Chicago headed out of the city for the holidays. If only I were going home.

  Chapter 2

  Nick

  “Hey, Nick, what’s up?”

  I held up my hand for Ethan Sawyer’s fist bump.

  “I expected you at least a week ago,” Ethan said.

  “Yeah, yeah.” I shoved my own gloveless hand back into my coat pocket. “I meant to swing by, but life is a little…different this year. Besides, I knew you’d save a tree for us.”

  Ethan, bearded and wearing a heavy red-and-black checked coat, called across the lot to his also-bearded brother. “We still got the Benningtons’ tree?”

  His brother Rob ran a credit card through a handheld reader. A family circled around him holding their chosen tree, big and round at the bottom with a skinny, crooked top. A pretty busted-looking tree if you asked me, but the little girl hopping up and down didn’t seem to mind. Rob handed back the card and looked over at us. “It’s almost Christmas, man. We have to sell what we have.”

  Mild panic shot through me. I turned back to Ethan. “You don’t have our tree?” The Sawyer Tree Farm always kept one of their best—at least ten feet—for our family.

  Ethan hefted a bundle of firewood onto a pyramid stack. “I got here five minutes ago. Rob’s been handling the sales.”

  With the family now walking off, Rob tucked in earbuds and jammed to music only he could hear. I marched over. “Hey.” No answer as Rob air-drummed a solo. “Hey. Rob!”

  Rob swiveled toward me, still rocking to his own theme. “Sorry, man. Business picks up close to Christmas. Everybody coming in last minute.”

  Last minute. I heard it in my mother’s voice this time. A pang hit me right in the gut. This year of all years I couldn’t afford to slack. Stupid me figured the tree was the last of the worries. The Sawyer Farm always had our back. I grew up with these guys. My parents knew their middle names and used them liberally when we boys got in trouble.

  “You know we’ve got the mayor’s charity event Christmas Eve,” I told Ethan, who’d followed me over. “It’s my responsibility to get the tree.”

  “Hey.” Ethan’s gruff voice softened. “How’s your mom doing, anyhow?”

  “Good. We think the radiation will work.” I silently cursed the tumors plaguing her body. One more year left on her mayoral term and cancer tried to take her down. We wouldn’t let it. I sighed, taking in the trees nobody else wanted. Not a great selection.

  Rob let out a breath in a white puff against the brisk December air. “We hung onto one for you, but figured if you wanted it, you would have come by now. I sold the tree ten minutes ago.”

  “Ten minutes?” I scanned the lot. “They’re gone?”

  “Yeah. I tied that monster to a joke of a sedan. Twenty bucks says it won’t make it home without a flat tire.”

  Ethan elbowed his brother. “Jerk. The tree will fall off the roof if you’re the one who tied it.”

  “Nope. I tied that sucker tight.”

  Their bickering faded. All I heard: ten minutes ago and won’t make it home.

  “It’s been real.” I tipped my chin up at the brothers as my send-off. Traitors.

  I jumped into my truck and threw it in reverse, nearly taking down a tree that gave Charlie Brown’s a run at most pathetic pine. I shifted into drive and turned out of the lot, headed toward town. Somebody packing a ten-foot tree onto a dinky car wouldn’t chance the highway.

  With last night’s temperature drop, the snowy roads had turned slick with ice. This was stupid. I was chasing some stranger who bought the tree I should have picked up weeks ago. I pounded my fist against the wheel. Don’t cancel the benefit. I’ll take care of everything. My own words haunted me.

  A giant spruce loomed ahead on the left side of the road. I just needed a chainsaw and the cover of night—

  I hit the brakes. My all-wheel snow tires did the job and brought me to stop. I checked my mirror — not a car in sight behind me. Ahead, a car angled into the ditch. A giant Christmas tree hung lopsided off the roof.

  I pulled to the side of the road behind the ditch-bound car and jumped out of my truck. Someone could be inside, hurt, unless this car had been sitting here awhile. But given the size of the tree and Rob’s story about the sad sedan, this had to be the same car that just left the Sawyer lot.

  I approached the car. Through the driver’s side window, a person appeared hunched over a cell phone.

  I knocked on the window. “You okay in there? I can help.”

  Snow and exhaust streaked the window. A mechanical whir sounded and died, but the glass didn’t budge. The door opened instead.

  A woman stepped out. A twenty-something-ish, puffy-coated woman with pale skin instantly turning rosy from the crisp wind. A thin silver hoop circled one side of her nose and long dark curls fell from her knit cap. The cap had one of those fuzz balls on top.

  Her eyes widened at the sight of me. “Oh, hi. Thank you so much for stopping.”

  My jaw fell open. It actually hinged open like some Neanderthal mouth-breather.

  I snapped it shut. Those traitors. The Sawyer brothers neglected to mention a key detail. That person they sold my tree to happened to be gorgeous.

  She held up her phone. “I’m still trying to find the number for my car insurance company. When I switched phones this year, the number must not
have saved to the cloud. And of course, the tree would decide to slide off the roof in the center of absolutely nothing. Can you believe they wanted me to get them a tree? I mean, really?” She looked at me with expectation.

  Okay, so, shaken up. “Are you okay? You’re not hurt?”

  “Oh. No, I’m fine. I’m annoyed, is all.” She sighed. “I have one bar of connectivity to the outside world. And I’m not about to call my mom.”

  Her dilemma hit home more than I cared to admit. “Okay, so you’re not hurt. Your car is…stuck in a ditch.” I peeked around to the other side of the car where the tree hung loose from its ties. “Where’d you get this tree?”

  “The lot down the road. Sawyers.”

  Confirmed. “Friggin’ Rob.”

  “What?”

  “Nothing. They did a terrible job tying this.” Rob must have been distracted. Kind of like how I was distracted by this flustered, very pretty woman who clearly needed help. I sized up her car. “Doesn’t seem safe to tie it back. They should’ve known back at the lot you couldn’t get this home with what you’re driving.”

  She visibly flinched. “Look. I’m doing the best I can. Do you have a signal? I can try calling roadside help from your phone.”

  Luckily, I had a truck. And if luck was truly on my side, this tree would come home with me.

  I gave her what I hoped was an understanding nod. “I have an idea.” I pointed back toward my ride. “How about I take the tree off your hands? I’ll pay you cash, and we’ll get you out of this ditch.” I flashed the reliable Bennington smile, the one that melted hearts and won votes (depending on the Bennington).

  She squinted at me, tilting her head as if noticing me for the first time. “I’m keeping the tree, but I’ll take your offer of delivering it to my parent’s—Mom’s—I mean, to…the place I’m going to for Christmas.”

  Delivery? Okay, she clearly felt agitated and misheard me. Her car ran off the road—understood. This would take more finesse. I held out my hand. “I’m Nick.”

  She eyed it, scrunched her eyebrows, and shook with a puffy knit mitten. “Megan.”

  “Hi, Megan.” Her name sounded nice as I spoke it out loud. I glanced toward the tree. “How about we circle back to the tree farm and get a size more suitable for you.”

  “I picked this tree for a reason.” Her response came quick and firm. “This is the tree I want.”

  Okay. “I’ll double what you paid for it.”

  “What? Why?”

  I took out my wallet and flipped through the bills. We always paid the Sawyers in cash. “I’ve got it all here. Name your price.”

  “Name my price?”

  She clearly thought I’d chucked my brain across two-lanes into the pasture. Still, I had her. She stood quiet, lost in thought.

  “No.” She folded her arms. “I’m not giving you this tree. And I resent how you think I don’t know what size tree is suitable.” She shoved her phone into her pocket and headed for the front end of the tree, yanking the branches.

  Plan B or C needed to happen quick. “I’ll help you get the tree where you’re going.” Not at all what I wanted to say.

  She let out an exasperated noise as pine needles tore from the branch onto her mittens, sticking out like a buzz-cut on a porcupine. “I would be grateful for the help. Thank you.”

  Grateful meant a step toward flexible. I had this. “Let’s make sure the branches aren’t damaged already.” A bent-up tree wouldn’t look so great in the mayor’s mansion for the charity event. The mansion was designated a historic site—our family didn’t live there. Right now, they had one small tree in a front hall. I needed a large tree for the ballroom.

  I grabbed for the trunk and jiggled it free from the bush. Megan watched a foot away, so I flashed her a grin over my shoulder as I stepped back to swing the trunk my way.

  My boot slipped. One small patch of ice and everything fell off kilter. Scrambling, I windmilled my arms, stumbled back, then forward, tripping over my own feet and landing face-first into the pine.

  Megan gasped. “Are you okay?”

  My face would heal. My dignity? Nope.

  I shook myself free and stood like nothing happened. “I’ll untie the rest of the tree.” Yup. Plenty of untying to do. Yessiree.

  “You’d think they’d salt the roads here in Wisconsin.”

  The air of contempt in her tone came so distinct I tasted it bitter on my tongue.

  “We’re still in Illinois, you know. Is that where you’re going? Wisconsin?” If so, depending where in Wisconsin, this would be a long day.

  “Practically. Crystal Cove is the town. I had to look it up on the freaking map.”

  I laughed. “Yeah. We’re far up here all right.”

  Moooo

  Megan shrieked. “Is that a cow?”

  I looked up. “Sure is.” The cow must have wandered over for the free show. A thin metal fence separated the animal from the ditch.

  She stepped back. Like the cow would hop the fence and, what? Ask for a ride?

  “It’s a miracle they let us exist here with them,” I said. As the ropes fell away, a sticker on the windshield caught my eye. A City of Chicago parking permit. “Ah, a city girl. Makes sense.”

  She was right behind me now. “It makes sense a city girl wouldn’t know what size tree to buy?”

  Exactly. But I couldn’t say that. “Your boots aren’t exactly made for snow.” Skinny heels, shiny black leather. They’d probably never touched a country road.

  “Unlike your boots that kept you steady?” Her eyes sparked with delight.

  I felt my cheeks flush. She had me there. “Point taken.”

  I let the tree roll off the car fully to the ground.

  Megan watched as I dragged the tree to the truck bed. Come on, hero vibes. Show strong.

  I hoisted the tree into the truck. This thing was no joke. It would fit the event space in the grand ballroom, but the grand in Crystal Cove’s ballroom was limited. Any bigger and this beast would dent the ceiling.

  The tree now safely secured inside my truck bed, I turned back to Megan. Her nose shone as pink as her cheeks. “Do you have the address?”

  She checked her phone again and told me the address. I knew the area well. A country road with garages as big the houses, to larger, newer homes with professional landscaping and long winding drives. “Roger that. I’ll follow you.”

  She snort-laughed, covering her mouth with her mitten. “Sorry. You said Roger that. It’s something my dad—” She stopped. “My dad said that.” Her gaze drifted to the road silent of passing cars.

  She looked back with an expression I couldn’t figure out. A mix of fatigue and maybe some shock from going off the road. Could be dreading the upcoming holiday. Or maybe that was me. Probably she felt annoyed her tree had arrowed into a bush with a cow laughing at us on the other side.

  Either way, she was out of sorts. “I happen to live in Crystal Cove myself,” I told her. “If you’d like, you can follow me.”

  Her shoulders eased. “That would be fantastic.”

  Megan’s smile was back, and dang it if I didn’t get a burst of energy from it. “Now, let’s get this car out of the ditch.”

  Chapter 3

  Megan

  Life was much improved now that a nefarious conifer no longer clung to my car’s roof. Bonus, the guy coming to my aid wasn’t a serial killer. Serial killers didn’t say things like Roger that. Nick was cute. So cute I nearly gawked at him speechless until I remembered to thank him for stopping. He even had an honest to goodness dimple when he grinned.

  Not that I was swayed by dimples. I liked arty guys with chiseled features. Broody types who dressed in black and gray. Nick wore a pricey brand waterproof parka the color of an evergreen with a coordinating plaid scarf. The guy looked practically festive.

  Ahead of me, Nick’s truck slowed within sight of a stop sign. He’d started breaking earlier than he needed to driving a truck with those winter tires. My
own tires slid as I gently pressed the brakes. Oh, right. He slowed early for my sake. Thoughtful.

  A sign with Crystal Cove in retro cursive announced our arrival. Greenery hung along the edges of the sign with red bows shouting from the top corners. Beyond the sign, the street lit up. Okay, maybe I was a sucker, but I gasped. Even in early evening, the town—it looked magical. White lights wound around spindly tree branches and street lampposts. More lights hung in narrow vertical rows against brick building exteriors and spilled out of flower boxes stuffed with holiday greens. Crystal Cove played the holiday game and played it well.

  We shot out the other end of Main Street to a stretch of road with nothing notable, the light fading to gradually deepening darkness. Nick’s truck made a right, a left, then another right. I’d have been lost on my own.

  The truck slowed and I tapped my brakes, wincing at the fishtail from my tires. Stupid unsalted country roads. Stupid nearly-bald tires.

  Nick turned into a driveway. We were here. I gaped at the house. Seriously, Mom lived here? With Stu and what other family? This place could eat my childhood home with a side of graham crackers and milk.

  Nick eased up to the garage, his truck taking up the whole middle of the driveway. Something I realized as I careened straight toward it.

  Too much momentum. I steered right and slid toward a mass of snow piled along the edge of the driveway. The snowdrift accepted my front end with a foreboding squnch. Like a snow-mound padlock clicking into place.

  Well, I’d made it.

  I stared at the house. The house stared back. Not a mansion or anything but large and modern. Not at all what I expected.

  Knuckles rapped against my window, sending me jumping in my seat. “You getting out?” Nick’s muffled voice carried through.

  Now or never. Could I choose never?

  I opened the door and the cold nipped at my skin.

  “Nice place.” Nick stood broad-shouldered like a corn-fed hay baler. That’s what country guys did, right? Baled hay? Loaded pine trees from truck beds?