Christmas at Yuletide Farm: A Small-Town Christmas Romance Novel

by Megan Squires

  “Walking in a winter wonderland.” Kate finished the chorus on a breath. Her mouth went dry and the need to swallow was strong as she observed the irrefutably handsome man at her shoulder. When his hand tugged from his pocket and his thumb and finger moved to tip her chin, beckoning her to turn closer to him, Kate suddenly felt her heart thudding in her ears as her pulse thrummed wildly with expectation. His other large hand gently lighted on her cheek, his thumb sweeping across her skin there, and when he stooped down and his mouth hovered mere inches from hers, Kate decided to meet him halfway. She lifted onto her tiptoes and pressed her lips to Deacon’s in a long-awaited, tender kiss.

  Shivers skittered up her spine and her body trembled with anticipation. Of course, she had kissed other men before, but standing with Deacon under the pale winter moonlight, his strong presence a protection against the cold and his heart a gift she almost didn’t feel worthy to receive, she realized she’d never experience a connection like this again. Deacon was her perfect match. The marshmallow to her hot cocoa. The mittens to her scarf. The sturdy and proud evergreen to her yuletide season.

  He was all of those things and her heart recognized the rarity in finding and falling so deeply for someone in such a short manner of time. On the Job with Kate Carmichael taught her a lot over the years, but the knowledge that a person like Deacon reciprocated her affection was the greatest discovery yet.

  When he pulled back from their soft and slow kiss, his eyes met hers as the full weight of the moment settled upon them. Mouth tipping into a smile, he let out a small chuckle and before Kate knew it, she found herself doing the same, this part-nervous, part-elated giggle slipping between her lips while a warm blush crept over her cheeks.

  “Wow.” Deacon’s fingers rubbed the back of his neck. “That was pretty great.”

  “That was the best first kiss I’ve ever had. I mean, it’s not every day a girl gets kissed on a mountaintop in the falling snow surrounded by a magical forest of Christmas trees. It’s the stuff of holiday fairytales.”

  “Or maybe we’re just lucky enough that it’s our reality.” He slipped his hand between them and caught hers. “I ran into someone at the store today and they said the chance encounter was serendipitous. I didn’t agree in that particular case, but maybe this”—he lifted their joined hands—“maybe this is serendipity, Kate. Destiny. Maybe the rough patch the tree farm went through—which ultimately prompted my mom to reach out to your station—was all part of this bigger picture we get to be a part of. I’m done pretending my past heartbreak didn’t serve a purpose.” He dropped her hand and took her delicately by the shoulders. “If I never learned the value of my heart and what it felt like in pieces, I’d never fully comprehend just how incredible it is to have it made whole again.”

  It wasn’t often that Kate was rendered speechless. Somehow, Deacon’s confession stole every word from her vocabulary, every thought from her mind. All she could do was express herself in the only way she knew how in the moment, and that was to tug the collar of his jacket, beckoning him closer as she swept her lips against his in another kiss that made her feelings known. A reciprocation of her hope, her admiration.

  “I could get used to this,” Deacon whispered against her mouth when they finally pulled back for breath. His eyes turned sorrowful when he said, “But I don’t want to get used to the idea of you leaving in a week.”

  “Let’s not think about that yet.” She slipped her arms around his waist and drew him close, pressing her cheek against his chest, resting in the steady sound of his heartbeat echoing in her ear. “I’m here now. That’s all that matters.”

  Kate couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment their embrace shifted into something more, but suddenly they were moving side to side, dancing in a little circle as their boots crunched the icy snow underfoot. His hum from earlier gained volume as Deacon serenaded her with the purest renditions of holiday songs. They swayed to Silent Night. They twirled to Here Comes Santa Claus. They picked up their tempo when they sang Joy to the World and they laughed when Deacon chased the high notes and missed, his voice cracking as it strained out of range.

  She would’ve willed the night to go on forever if she could. They racked their brains at the end of each song, pulling another carol from somewhere in the recesses of their holiday memories. Deacon even knew a few melodies Kate had never heard, and she let the new words of hope and love, peace and joy fill her spirit.

  When she felt the vibration of her phone in her coat pocket, she did everything in her power to ignore it. What a change from that afternoon when she had stared at the blank screen gripped in her hands, begging the cellphone to light up with her boss’s number.

  “Do you need to get that?” Deacon stopped swaying and nudged his chin.

  “It can wait.”

  He smiled. “Kate, you should really answer it. I know it’s killing you not to. Go ahead. I don’t mind. Really.”

  The thought of this night coming to an end was like the bittersweet letdown of unwrapping the very last Christmas present. Before the incoming call would be sent to voicemail, she retrieved her phone from her jacket and swiped the screen.

  “Hello?”

  “Well, there you are!” Courtney’s nasally voice cut into the receiver. “Could you be a little harder to get ahold of?”

  Well, yes. I could, Kate mused but kept the snide comment to herself. She stepped out from the circle of Deacon’s arms. “Hi, Courtney. I’m glad we could finally connect. How are things at the station?”

  “Listen, I don’t have a lot of time, so I’m going to cut to the chase. I’m pulling you from the farm.”

  “You’re what?” Kate plunged her finger into her ear in an effort to catch that sentence again. There was no way she’d heard it correctly.

  “The farm piece is done.”

  Turning her back and stepping further out of earshot, away from Deacon who had busied himself with some impromptu stargazing, his eyes angling up toward the brilliant winter tapestry, Kate said in a hushed tone, “But I still have another week here. I’m only halfway done.”

  “Nope. Not anymore. It was cute and the social media thing was fine for that particular piece, but I’ve got a better lineup for you. Plus, we were able to hire a new cameraman more quickly than I anticipated, so I can move Toby back over to you. He’ll be heading your way tomorrow. He’s all yours again.”

  “Heading my way?” None of this made any sense. If Courtney truly wanted to put a premature end to the Yuletide Farm piece, Kate couldn’t understand why Toby would be coming to the Sierras. She just assumed she’d be the one packing up and driving down to the Sacramento valley.

  “He’s going to meet you at the address I’m about to give you. Be there tomorrow at noon and not a minute later. Do you have something you can write it down on?”

  “Hold on. I’ll put you on speaker so I can type it into my phone.” Kate noticed Deacon’s eyes dart her direction as she juggled the phone and clicked the appropriate button. “Okay, go ahead.”

  “It’s a chalet penthouse. The address is 5856 Ski Slope Lane in the North Lake area. You’re going to be blown away when you find out who it is.”

  “No hints?” Kate asked, her curiosity getting the better of her, briefly eclipsing the sadness she felt at the thought of leaving Yuletide Farm.

  “All I’m going to say is that this will be your most prestigious gig yet. No more measly tree farms for you. Get ready to take On the Job with Kate Carmichael to an entirely new level.” Courtney laughed into the phone when she added, “Or I suppose I should say, an entirely new altitude.”

  Deacon

  Deacon broke his own rule without even meaning to. That address tiptoed around his brain all night. By midnight, he had the street number typed into an internet search bar and a headshot of J.C. Patterson—women’s downhill Olympic gold medalist—smiling brightly through the screen.

  Smiling at him like she hadn’t upended his future.

  For the second time.<
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  Jennifer Christine Patterson was nicknamed the impossible dreamer. That’s what her father had labeled her early on and it stuck to her like glue. But Deacon never let Jenny believe there was any truth in that name. Mostly because he didn’t believe it. If Jenny set her mind to something, it would happen. Nothing was impossible. And now it looked as though all of her dreams—the very ones that ultimately led to the demise of their relationship and severed their brief engagement—were finally coming true.

  They’d met one December afternoon when Deacon had delivered a Christmas tree to her grandparents’ mountain cabin a few miles up the road from the farm. She’d just returned from Colorado to stay for the winter while she searched for a new trainer. An avid skier that dominated as a high school athlete, a college student with a full-ride, and then—at the time of their introduction—an Olympic hopeful with a promising future and unbeatable personal best, Jenny became the town darling. Everyone loved her. Including Deacon.

  He loved her so much that he strapped two slick, thin boards to his feet and catapulted down a perfectly good mountain at breakneck speed, just to have the opportunity to be by her side. He was an abominable skier, bailing more often than not, but skiing was Jenny’s passion and purpose and Deacon reveled in the chance to be a part of that, even if it meant risking life and limb on a daily basis just so he could remain in her sphere.

  Jenny’s enthusiasm was contagious, her zeal infectious. At that point in Deacon’s life, he not only needed that, but required it to go on. Like a salve to his grief, their relationship helped Deacon place one foot in front of the other after his father’s death. Maybe it was more like one ski in front of the other, but either way, the forward motion was good and necessary.

  Until the day she unveiled her biggest dream yet. In recent times, when Deacon would think back on this fateful moment, he’d often wonder if his kneejerk reaction had been the right one. But then all it took was saddling Bella to ride up and down the acres of their generational farm to confirm his decision was, in fact, the only one he could make.

  “Can’t you see it?” Jenny had said on a starless Christmas Eve night, her hand fanning over the tree-tipped valley below in an all-encompassing sweep. She had tugged on Deacon’s hand excitedly from their perch on a bench at the apex of the mountain. “I mean, it’s a little hard now, what with all the evergreens, but once those are cleared out, you’ll be able to envision it completely. It’ll be perfect.”

  The day his grandfather died—just two short years after Deacon’s own father’s passing—Deacon became a first-time land owner, to the tune of a fifteen-hundred-acre Christmas tree farm. He had never bothered to calculate the property’s monetary value because no amount of printed paper would ever cover its worth. It was as priceless as the lives of the men who farmed the land before him.

  When Deacon looked out over the acreage, he saw each individual tree, every growth ring in every trunk, every needle-covered branch meant for boasting strands of twinkle lights and heirloom ornaments.

  Jenny saw dollar signs.

  A ski resort, more specifically, run by a future Olympic hopeful. “It’s like this mountain was created to be skied on,” she’d say, each conversation another effort to twist Deacon’s arm. “The double black diamond will go where that old tree is. You know, the giant one with the plaque that says something about a bunch of needles. That terrain is made for it.”

  Try as he might, Deacon couldn’t create that scene, even in his imagination. Every weekend, Jenny would take him to the local slopes to test out a myriad of trails, as though all it would take was the perfect run down the mountain to suddenly be onboard. Deacon just couldn’t get there.

  And when he crashed like he figured he inevitably would, injuring himself sufficiently to be laid up in the hospital during the farm’s busiest season, he knew enough to recognize his own future crashing down around him, too.

  Jenny didn’t even press pause on her plans to transform the tree farm into the ski resort of her biggest and boldest dreams. The day she came to visit him at the hospital, cardboard tube of professional drawings in hand along with a note from a potential investor and a naïve, hope-filled smile on her face, Deacon did the only thing left to do. He ended their whirlwind engagement, wished her well, and closed the door on a life where someone else called the shots on his forever.

  He’d stuck to his vow and hadn’t looked her up until that night. He’d heard gossip around town as to her whereabouts, but he never truly kept tabs on her. That was his rule. Maybe he should have. Then he would have known that two years ago, she’d married mogul Bryce McCullough, a CEO from Park City and heir to his family’s brand of luxury ski chalets. It appeared Jenny had finally found someone to share the very specific vision for her future, and while Deacon felt a sliver of happiness over that outcome, he also felt cheated on the deepest level when it came to love.

  And now Kate was set to leave and his heart felt cheated all over again.

  “You have to tell her.” Marla flipped the serving spoon over and a clump of scrambled eggs plopped onto Deacon’s plate, right next to the links of maple sausage and dry piece of toast that spent a minute too long in the toaster slot. “She has to know, Deacon. It’s only fair.”

  He drank his coffee slowly and then lowered the mug to the table, spinning the handle around mindlessly as he shrugged. “What good will it do? You and I both know Kate. Out of conviction alone, she’ll put an end to it. This is a huge opportunity for her. Jenny is a big name and her husband is even bigger. I’m not going to jeopardize that.”

  Marla sighed. “I know. You’re right. But none of this feels right. What Jenny did to you—”

  “Jenny didn’t do anything to me, Mom. We just weren’t on the same page when it came to our futures.”

  “Don’t get me wrong, I liked her, I did. You can’t help but like Jenny. But the way she tried to diminish what this property means to you…What it means to our family…” Marla’s chin quivered. She shoved the back of her hand to her eyes and halted whatever impending emotion threatened to spill. “Well—I’m just not sure I’ll ever be over that.”

  Deacon touched his mother’s arm. Marla forced a smile, making her sadness take a backseat. “Can I top off your coffee for you?” She reached for Deacon’s half-full mug.

  “I’m good.” He didn’t need any more of the bitter drink churning and irritating his stomach. It already ached enough each time his thoughts circled back to Kate and her impending departure. When he’d overheard she’d be staying in the Sierras for her next assignment, he couldn’t help but settle into relief. They’d have more time together. They would need to work around their schedules and fit things in where they could, but she wouldn’t be gone forever.

  He wasn’t so sure that would be the case now.

  “Good morning!” Kate’s singsong greeting put Deacon’s head on swivel. She strolled into the dining room, her face as radiant as the morning sun that passed through the downstairs windows and backlit her in rich streams of honey-yellow light.

  “Morning, Kate.” Marla had recovered from her earlier falter in composure, no current sign of sorrow on her face. She slid out a chair for Kate and began making up a breakfast plate. “Take a seat. I’ve got a new pot of coffee percolating now. Should be ready in just a few.”

  “Thank you, Marla. This smells wonderful. But should you be on—?”

  “It’s a wasted effort,” Deacon interjected. “Believe me, I’ve tried.”

  Marla’s brow pinched and she gave a little frown of defiance. “I’ve stayed off this ankle for as long as I’m able to. You get to be my age and if you go too long without using something, it’ll quit on you altogether.”

  “Like your hearing?” Deacon teased. “Is that the issue?”

  “I can hear you just fine, son. I’m just not listening to you.”

  Kate chuckled. She picked up her fork and plunged it into the fluffy, golden eggs, then suspended the bite in front of her mouth. “If I don�
��t finish my plate, it has nothing to do with your cooking. My stomach is a million butterflies right now. Not sure there’s any space for food.”

  “You nervous about today?” Deacon lifted his mug.

  “Deacon.” She lowered the loaded fork to her plate and leaned over the table, her voice dipping to a whisper. “I looked that address up. Do you know who it belongs to?”

  The question was rhetorical and he didn’t want to lie, so he let the silence prompt Kate to continue.

  “J.C. Patterson.” Kate’s volume dialed up several decibels. “The Olympic gold medalist. Deacon, I’m going to learn how to downhill ski from one of the best athletes of our generation.” There was both awe and fear bound up in her words. “This is big. Really big.”

  “It sounds like an incredible opportunity.” He exchanged a brief look with his mother before Marla hobbled into the kitchen to check on the brewing coffee.

  “I’m going to see if I can bring you by for an introduction.”

  “Kate, you don’t have to—”

  “I mean, it might take a few days before I have the opportunity to ask, but I’m thinking your farm would be perfect to supply trees for their ski resort chalets. If you could get an account with the McCulloughs—I mean, gosh, can you even imagine? That would be really incredible, right?”

  Kate’s heart was in the right place—the perfect place, even—but Deacon couldn’t offer more than a smile that he hoped didn’t come across as disingenuous as it felt.