His mother might be right, but it sure wouldn’t keep him from trying.
Kate
“I’m guessing an arborist isn’t on the list of jobs you’ve tackled for your show.”
Kate stepped back from the tree, pruners in hand. She was covered in so many needles it was hard to see the navy fabric of her jacket underneath. She nearly looked like some new breed of obscure porcupine. “Is it that bad?”
“People kinda like to be able to hang ornaments on their Christmas trees, you know. It’s a bit of a tradition.”
“I did cut the branches a little short, didn’t I?”
Deacon chuckled, a sound so unexpected it almost made Kate jump. “If that was a haircut, you just gave it a buzz.”
“Did I completely ruin it?”
“Honest answer?” There was a flicker in Deacon’s eye that Kate couldn’t pinpoint, a little speck of playfulness that had her stomach knotting. What was that all about? He’d been so frustrated earlier.
“Yes,” she prodded. “Honest answer.”
“Yeah. You totally ruined it.” He took the pruners from her hand and shoved them into his back pocket like she couldn’t be trusted with them anymore. “But that’s why I had you practice on a tree we weren’t planning to sell.”
“In that case, I hope you have a few more I can practice on. I have a feeling it’s going to take me several trial runs before I get this down.” Kate’s shoulders slumped. She didn’t like failing at things and she’d failed spectacularly here.
The closest thing to a smile crossed Deacon’s lips, quick and fleeting before his mouth fell into a neutral position again. “Kate, you’d need more trees than we have on our thousand-acre property.”
“Ouch! That’s a little harsh, don’t you think?”
“I think what you just did to that poor tree is harsh. It doesn’t even look like a tree anymore. All of the others are going to make fun of it.”
“So your trees not only have names, but feelings, too?” Kate mocked with a pop of just one eyebrow. “What is this, some sort of magical Christmas tree farm?”
“Something like it.”
Taking one of his leather work gloves into his hand, Deacon moved closer and dusted it across Kate’s shoulder. A few pine needles shook loose but the good majority remained stuck to her like Velcro. “You’re a mess. For someone who spends so much time in front of the camera, I figured you’d care a little more about your appearance.”
“What I care about is doing a good job. Plus, you’ve made it clear that my camera isn’t really welcome here. Who am I trying to impress?”
Deacon didn’t offer an answer for that. “I’ve got another task I think you might be better at. I’ll have Cody finish up for us here.” Nudging his chin, Deacon motioned for Kate to follow. “Let’s head to the storage barn and I’ll show you what’s next on the agenda for today.”
“Does it involve wearing boots? Because my feet are killing me and I’m dying to get these things off my feet.”
“Weren’t you wearing high heels yesterday?”
“My feet are trained for heels. But these boots?” She lifted one foot from the ground and dropped it back down into the snow. “These are the most uncomfortable shoes I’ve ever squished my feet into.”
There was that laugh again, so unexpected it made Kate falter. “You just need to break them in.”
“And how long does that take?”
“To get them to the point where they mold to your feet? Roughly a hundred hours of wear.”
Kate snorted. “Oh, is that all?”
“You know, I actually slept in my first pair of cowboy boots. Granted, I was five and had asked for a real pair for two Christmases running. Don’t think my mom could’ve pried them from my feet with a crowbar if she’d wanted to. I loved those boots,” Deacon said almost longingly as he relayed the sweet memory. “But that’s always an option.”
“Might not be a bad idea. Then I’ll be prepared to stomp all the spiders that crawl across the floor in the middle of the night. It’s a win-win.”
Deacon halted in his tracks. A concerned expression marred his face. “There are spiders in the loft?”
“Well, I haven’t technically seen a spider yet, but the abundance of cobwebs makes me think they’re not too far off. Where there’s smoke there’s fire sort of thing and all.”
“That’s no good. I’m sorry about that, Kate.” With his large hand, he rubbed the back of his neck as though almost embarrassed by the news. “I can get those cleaned up for you.”
“It’s really not a problem. I can handle bugs. You know, I once spent some time in pest management.”
“Yeah, I saw that piece—” Deacon cut himself off before Kate had the chance to.
“Deacon Winters, did you look me up?”
“I do background checks on all of my employees.”
She knew it was an attempt to backpedal but she couldn’t let him off that easily. “Sure, but that story was way deep in the archives. Like my first year doing On the Job.”
“Really? It was the first thing that popped up for me.”
That wasn’t true. Kate was well aware that her most-watched segment was the one of her time as an exotic cat tamer. It was the first link on the first page of a simple internet search. She couldn’t fathom why Deacon would lie about it, but she’d already made him feel bad about the spiders. And after overhearing his conversation with his mother earlier that morning, Kate figured she should cut Deacon a little slack. It was clear he was going through something private and she would respect that.
The rest of the walk was quiet, save for the crunching of packed snow under the tread of their shoes. As they trekked through the magnificently tall pines, Kate drew in an expansive breath, treasuring the mountain air that seemed to cleanse not only her lungs, but her head, too. She’d come to terms with the new way she had to complete this assignment. She’d even come to terms with the grumpy tree farmer she’d be working alongside. If there was one thing she had learned over the years as a reporter, it was how to catch a curve ball.
But the bigger curve ball here was the way she found herself admiring Deacon while they walked side by side through his family’s tree farm. He was a tall man, his stature strikingly broad and commanding. Even though he kept them shaded under the brim of a white cowboy hat, she could see he had warm, chestnut-colored eyes rimmed with a fringe of dark lashes. There was a permanent stubble spread across his angular jaw, like he didn’t own a razor capable of shaving it clean. Every bit of Deacon was masculine, from his mussed hair kept slightly too long down to his broken-in boots.
Kate worked with attractive men, that was a given. Many of the television reporters at her station had faces that were classically handsome. But what she never found attractive was the amount of time—and sometimes even makeup—necessary to make them appear that way. Deacon, on the other hand, had a ruggedly natural appeal that caught her completely off-guard. Even more so when he looked at her the way he was at that very moment.
“What?” she said, instantly self conscious. His eyes felt heavy on her like a physical touch and her heart rate dialed up several notches.
“Nothing.” He shrugged. “It’s just that I think I might owe you an apology.”
“Really?” A laugh flew from Kate’s mouth. “I figured I’d have to wait more than a day to get one of those from you.”
“So you do agree that I owe you one?”
It was Kate’s turn to shrug. “I mean, you were a little rude to me yesterday.”
“I was. And I’m sorry for that,” he readily admitted, surprising her yet again. “I’m still irritated that my mother didn’t fill me in on everything. But that’s not your fault, so I apologize for second-guessing your abilities. I did spend some time watching your show, Kate. You really don’t shy away from the hard stuff and that’s an admirable quality.”
She didn’t have a mirror to confirm it, but Kate could sense her cheeks had turned tomato red based on th
e heat of them alone. She hadn’t expected that small bit of praise from the gruff cowboy. “Well, I appreciate that. I might not always be a rock star at these new jobs, but I’m sure gonna give it my all.”
“Yeah, I think you gave that poor tree your all and then some.”
“I really did butcher it, didn’t I?”
“I didn’t think it could get worse than a Charlie Brown tree, to be honest. But a Kate Carmichael tree might take the cake.”
They made amiable small talk the rest of the way to the barn and once they reached it, Deacon held the door open to allow Kate through first. Even underneath many layers of winter clothes, his hand lighting on the small of her back made a shiver zoom up her spine.
“How many barns do you have?” Kate wondered aloud as Deacon guided them toward a large metal desk with two folding chairs, one placed on either side. There was a rusty green tractor parked in the center of the metal dwelling, several wooden Christmas-themed cutouts tilted like leaning dominoes and a handful of sawhorses and other classic farm tools.
“We’ve just got this storage barn and then the barn you’re staying in where we keep the animals. We do most of our work from here.”
“And you live on the property?”
“I do. Just up near the road. I built myself a little place a few years back. Nothing special, but it’s enough for me.”
“And your mom and Cody live in the main house?”
“Yep.”
Kate wanted to know more about the Winters family. She could feel the decades of tradition on the farm but she figured that was a conversation for later. At the present time, all she cared to do was redeem herself after that awful pruning snafu.
Deacon dropped into a chair and pulled a binder from the desk drawer, then slid it across the table. “We’ll be starting our rental tree deliveries this week, but we need to call all of our customers first to see what day works best for them for drop-offs. I’ll take A through M, you take N through Z. I don’t like to schedule more than a dozen deliveries a day, so we’ll keep track on this paper.” He placed a lined sheet on the surface between them. “You comfortable with that or would you rather I find you something else to work on?”
Kate beamed. “I talk for a living, Deacon. This is right up my alley.”
Deacon
The woman wasn’t kidding. Kate Carmichael sure had the gift of gab. Deacon had completed his list of phone calls in a quarter the time it took her to finish her call log. For Deacon, all it boiled down to was a simple, “Hello, Deacon Winters here from Yuletide Tree Farm. We have your rental tree ready for delivery next week. What day works best?” followed by a one-word answer.
Not so for Kate.
He’d timed one of her phone calls: nine minutes and forty-three seconds. He didn’t bother clocking any others after that for fear the battery on his watch would completely drain. From what he could overhear, she’d been promised a free cup of coffee from Mrs. Carlton whose family ran The Bossy Bean in town. The Hastings had invited her to church the following weekend. She’d convinced Tamara Miraz to commit to dyeing her hair fire engine red, something the woman had apparently contemplated for over six months but had yet to pull the trigger on.
And he was pretty sure Tanner Blightly, the local high school’s football coach, had asked her out on a date during the last phone call.
Deacon couldn’t explain it, but that proposal didn’t sit well with him.
When she hung up the phone for the final time, Kate blew out a breath that lifted her wheat-blonde hair from her face.
“Whew!” She melted into the chair as she leaned back, no doubt worn out from the hours of chitchat. That much talk certainly would’ve exhausted Deacon. “Your customers are great. So personable. And they all agree you have the best trees around. Every single person sang your farm’s praises.”
“I’m a little surprised they were able to get a word in,” he said with a friendly smirk.
“You don’t think I talked too much, do you? I’ve been told I tend to do that.”
“Not at all. It sounded like every customer was quite willing and eager to chat with you.”
That answer seemed to appease her as the smile that had momentarily fallen from her mouth returned. “You’re already done with your list?”
“Have been for some time.”
“Not much of a talker, are you, Deacon Winters?”
He maneuvered around the question without completely answering it. “I’m talking to you now, aren’t I?”
“Only because I asked you a question. But I get the sense you’re not really one to volunteer information without being directly asked for a response. Is that the case?”
“Is this another question?”
“Might be.”
Deacon thought on it for a brief moment. “I don’t see the point in volunteering more information than necessary.”
“What do you consider necessary?” Kate’s fingers wove together as she clasped her hands in front of her on the metal table separating them. It was the first time Deacon had given them any real notice. He couldn’t help the strange sense of relief that swelled within him when he confirmed her fourth finger was ring-free.
“What’s necessary?” He yanked his gaze from her hands and directed it back up to her eyes, the sparkling blue that made his breath catch. Even if her words didn’t push him for an answer, the look of expectation set on her face more than encouraged one. “I don’t know. Name. Occupation. Stuff like that.”
“So all your customers know about you is that your name is Deacon Winters and you sell Christmas trees?”
“That pretty much sums me up.”
“Oh Deacon, I have a feeling there’s a lot more to discover under that burly exterior.”
His chin tugged back. “Did you just call me burly?”
“Well, yeah.” Kate pinned her full bottom lip between her teeth as she stifled a giggle. “You are pretty much the epitome of a mountain man.”
“That’s what you think I am?” He half-laughed. “Just some mountain man?”
“Do you want to give me more to work with?”
At that very moment, a dawning of understanding jolted through Deacon like the sharp pang of indigestion after a spicy meal. He grimaced at the sick feeling that snaked through his gut. “I’m not really up for being interviewed, Kate.”
“That’s not what I was doing.”
“Maybe not, but that’s what it feels like. It feels like you’re trying to pull information out of me that I don’t want to give.”
“I’m sorry if it feels that way, Deacon. It’s certainly not my intent. I just asked if there’s more to you than being a tree farmer.”
“There’s not.”
With the most nonchalantly aggravating little shrug, she said, “Well, there’s more to me than my profession. I’m a Leo. A champion spelling bee winner and avid knitter. In fact, I made this scarf. I can make you one, if you like.”
“That’s not necessary.”
“I’m just trying to make a point. You can pretend you’re one-dimensional, but we’re not paper dolls, Deacon. We all have feelings. Hopes and dreams.”
“I think we’re about done here.”
Kate took a fortifying breath. “You do realize this is the second day in a row you’ve cut the workday short because I said something you didn’t want to hear, right?”
He wasn’t doing that. Was he? “We’ve checked everything off today’s list.”
She met and held his gaze like a standoff. “Sure, we have.”
“I’m beginning to think it should be called On the Spot instead of On the Job.”
“I’m sorry if I’ve put you on the spot. I really am,” she said with a sincerity that couldn’t be ignored. “I’m just inquisitive by nature and sometimes it doesn’t occur to me that that can potentially make people uncomfortable. I’ll try to be more aware of it from here on out.”
Kate’s quick acquiescence made a sliver of guilt snag in Deacon’s stomach.
Why was he trying to pick a fight with this woman? She didn’t deserve it, even if her poking and prodding into his personal life made him feel vulnerable in a way he hadn’t been in years.
“Listen, I think I’m just tired and maybe I’m taking that out on you. I didn’t sleep well. Sometimes that makes me short-tempered.”
“Is that it? Because I thought maybe you were hangry.”
“Yeah. A bit of that, too, I suppose,” Deacon acknowledged, grateful for the levity in their suddenly strained conversation. “How about we fix that and head into town to grab some dinner? There’s a great spot that I’m confident you’ll like. It’s a local favorite.” He stretched out a hand like an offering.
“Do we get to talk during this dinner?” Kate asked. Her hand stilled between them, not quite willing to commit to the handshake yet. “Or do I have to stay quiet?”
“I’ll answer three questions, so choose them wisely.”
With a laugh and a smile, Kate shoved her hand into his. “Deal.”
Kate
“I love this song!” Kate lunged across the console and took hold of the radio dial to crank up the volume. Bing Crosby’s mellow baritone filled the cab of Deacon’s truck with tunes of holiday joy that were as warm as her favorite knit sweater. She slumped back against the seat and melted into that feeling, allowing the notes and the melody to wash over her with gladness. “What’s your favorite Christmas carol?”
They had opted to drive to dinner together. That was a relief Kate didn’t make known vocally, but felt all the same in the noticeable relaxation of her shoulders the moment Deacon offered to take the helm. Her little sedan didn’t have the knobby snow tires that his pickup sported, and she’d absentmindedly left the newly purchased chains required for these sorts of conditions back at her downtown apartment. Plus, she didn’t know the first thing about driving on sleet or snow-covered roads. With her luck, she’d either fishtail the entire way to the diner or end up stranded in an icy embankment, the sorts of winter accidents her counterparts at the station reported on all season long. Best to leave it to the expert in this particular scenario.
Christmas at Yuletide Farm: A Small-Town Christmas Romance Novel Page 4