2

 

Dillon hoisted a Fraser fir onto his shoulder and carried it over to the tree baler. A quick wrap of netting would render the tree ready for transport. Nestled safely in her mother’s arms a few yards away, little Tilly Parker drank in his every move with dancing blue eyes. The machine whirred and sang. Then Tilly giggled as Dillon grabbed the modest tree from the baler and carried it to an SUV where the back hatch stood wide as a yawning mouth. He slid the tree in over a tarp and gathered a length of yellow rope. A few knots through the bumper, and the fir was ready to go.

“Thank you.” Joyce Parker nodded appreciatively as Dillon handed her a receipt for her purchase. Her auburn hair, once a fiery halo, had been trimmed to a short, spiky length since Tilly’s birth three years ago. “I appreciate the help since Kevin got caught up at work and couldn’t meet me. You’ve made Tilly’s night.”

They’d been high school friends of his—Kevin and Joyce high school and college sweethearts, as well. The three shared a handful of adventurous memories and one best-forgotten scrape with the law.

“My pleasure.” Dillon tweaked Tilly’s rosy nose and then adjusted her toboggan over ringlets of light red curls. “I suppose Santa will bring a load of gifts for you, Tilly, since you’ve been such a good little girl this year.”

“Yes, sir.” She nodded. “’cept for pullin’ Cousin Billy’s hair.”

“I don’t suppose Santa will hold that against you. You mind your mama now, though, and be sure to leave a few extra cookies for Santa’s reindeer, OK?”

“I will. Thanks Mr. Dillon.”

He waved them off and then turned as an older-model pickup pulled into the lot and jockeyed into a space along the fence. The truck could use some maintenance; the rattle of the engine echoed off the hills beyond and muffled the Christmas melody. No wonder; the vehicle was ancient. Maybe he’d suggest the driver run it by Gunnar’s garage for a tune-up.

Floodlights, sensitive to the growing darkness, switched on as swollen snow clouds gathered along the horizon. At the nursery’s entrance, the tree that Maddie had decorated danced merrily with light. O Holy Night played over the loudspeakers and Dillon found himself humming happily along; the song remained one of his all-time favorites. With the dinner hour upon them, the nursery crowd had thinned significantly. Things would pick up again later that evening, providing the storm backed off, when families ventured beneath the moonlight to tree-hunt.

The driver of the pickup switched off the engine, drawing Dillon’s attention back as a run-on knock lingered. Yeah, the truck definitely needed some serious attention. The door creaked on rusted hinges and a blonde head bobbed through the opening. Long, loose strands of hair whipped as a breeze kicked up. A red knit hat fell to the ground and skittered across the gravel. Dillon rushed to retrieve it.

“Oh, thanks.” The voice was positively female and held a slight southern accent that Dillon found vaguely familiar. He turned back, arm outstretched with the hat, to find the woman smiling at him. She took it from him and tugged it back over her ears. “I didn’t expect such a breeze. It’s really picking up. And just look at the sky to the—what is that, west?”

“Uh huh. Storm’s coming over the mountains.” Already, powdery flakes two-stepped through the air. White specks clung to the woman’s eyelashes, illuminating eyes the color of rich, sweet toffee. “It’s going to dump some snow.”

“The first snow of the season…Gramps always claimed it was magical.” She sighed and glossed lips rounded into a little, whimsical O. “It’s the perfect day to take home a tree to trim. Can you help me find what I’m looking for?”

He knew her. How? From where?

Dillon studied her as he answered. “That depends. What, exactly, are you looking for?”

About his age, chin-height, she had sleek blonde hair and eyes large enough to get lost in. And that slight tilt of her chin and toss of her hair…

Not to mention the soft lilt of her voice…so familiar. “I’m not sure. Something tall, green, fragrant, and yearning to be decorated…Gramps said I would know when I saw it.”

“That sounds about right. So sure, I can help you.” He turned and motioned her to follow. “Let’s head this way.”

Dillon strode toward the grove as she fell in step beside him. She wore faded jeans that disappeared into ankle boots, and a hunter-green blouse flapped in the breeze. A waterfall of hair spilled loose over her shoulders, nearly kissing her slim waist. His brain whirled with a tug of memories. He knew this woman; the slight curve of her lips and the way she twirled a lock of hair around her index finger jostled something inside him. They’d met once before, but when and where?

He was about to ask when they turned a corner to find his mom heading toward them. A huge smile plastered her face and her arms were outstretched as if welcoming home a long lost friend.

“Brynn, oh my! Is it really you?”

Brynn. Dillon stopped dead in his tracks as the name brought everything back in a single snapshot…the long-ago winter evening, a Christmas tree, and oatmeal cookies.

Mistletoe.

But back then, Brynn had been slight—almost scrawny—with braces and wire-framed glasses propped on her lightly-freckled nose. She’d talked non-stop, burning his ears with her incessant chatter, until he wanted to plunge his fingers into them and take off running. That would have earned him a none-too-gentle lecture from Dad, though, so he’d endured the torture.

The cookies were worth it…he definitely remembered the delicious oatmeal-raisin delights coupled with a glass of cold milk Mrs. Jansen had offered. Pure Heaven.

He also recalled a hint of sadness that had clouded Brynn’s eyes when he asked why she had to leave Clover Cove again.

And now, as Brynn rushed ahead in a flurry of curves and glossy hair to meet his mother, he wondered why he hadn’t chucked the cookies in favor of her. The knit cap slipped from her head once more as she reached his mom. Her delighted squeal rent the air. “Mrs. Cutler?”

“Please, to you I’m Hattie, dear. It’s so good to see you again.”

Dillon gaped as his mom wrapped her arms around Brynn and drew her in for a tight bear hug. Again, He wondered how the cookies jockeyed to the highlight of that evening instead of the girl who had somehow morphed into this woman. What had he been thinking? “Just look at you, all grown up. You’re a beauty, honey.”

“Thank you.” Brynn stepped back, smoothing snowflakes from her hair. She wrapped her arms over her midsection and huddled against the wind. “You haven’t changed a bit, either, Hattie.”

“Oh, such a sweetie.” Hattie patted her cheek. “How are you? How are your grandparents?”

“I’m fine and Gramps is on the mend. You’d hardly know he’s been in an accident except for the binding over his ribs and a few fading bruises. Gran’s doing well, too. She came through surgery just fine; her arm’s on the mend and the swelling’s gone down around her ankle. She’s able to hobble around a bit, though it tuckers her pretty quickly. She had a check-up today, and the doctor says she’ll be good as new in no time.”

“Such an awful collision. Angels were watching over them both, for sure.”

“I know. I can’t imagine if the airbag hadn’t deployed, or if the other car had collided at a slightly different angle or faster speed. One of the little girls in the other vehicle sustained some major injuries. Gramps feels awful, since he was driving.”

“I heard a deer bounded into the road?”

“That’s right. It crashed right through the front windshield of the SUV and landed in Gramps’s lap. The police photos...oh, my…” Brynn shuddered. “They had to use the Jaws of Life to cut Janie from her car.”

“Little Janie Mitchell. We’re all praying for her. And her mom, Sarah…so young and all alone since she lost her husband last July. It’s just awful.”

“I know. Gramps is beside himself, Gran too. Gran sings with Sarah in the church choir. If anything happens to her little girl…”

“Don’t even go there, honey. There’s no need.” Hattie patted her shoulder. “It’s in God’s hands now, and there’s plenty of prayer interceding on that child’s behalf. You just tell your grandparents the Cutlers will have a meal headed their way soon. And if you need anything at all, don’t hesitate to call on us.”

“Thank you. That’s so kind.”

“It’s how we do things here in Clover Cove.”

How we do things…The words reminded Dillon of his dad, gone five years now. The phrase had been one of his favorite aphorisms.

“Gramps sent me to fetch a tree.” Brynn motioned toward the pines, smiling to flash teeth that were perfectly straight. The braces had certainly done their job. “He thought it might cheer up Gran.”

“Yes, your grandfather called me to say you were on your way. I was just about to give Dillon a heads-up, but I see you’ve already found each other.”

“Yes, we have. He rescued my hat—again.” Brynn took the hat Dillon had retrieved for a second time and twirled it on her index finger before tugging it back over her crown of snow-dampened hair. “Good thing, too. It’s cold out here.”

“Too cold to traipse around without a coat.” Dillon’s mom waggled a finger at Brynn. He feared a sound lecture might follow. No one—aged two-to-ninety—was immune to his mom’s lectures if she thought the situation warranted one. “A smart girl like you…what were you thinking?”

“I suppose I wasn’t. The weather turned so quickly. It’s hardly ever this cold so early in the season, and I was in a hurry to get here.”

“Take mine.” Dillon shrugged from his insulated work jacket and handed it to Brynn as she shivered against the wind. “Put it on. It will swallow you up, but at least it’s warm.”

“But, what about you?”

“Don’t worry about me.” Dillon shook his head as she attempted to return the jacket. “I’m layered up in thermals and flannel, and I’m used to the cold. Just put on the jacket.”

Hattie smiled as Brynn slipped her arms into the sleeves. “That’s my Dillon...always a gentleman.” She gave Brynn one more quick hug before turning away. “You two carry on then. Be sure to stop by the greenhouse for one of my mistletoe wreaths and a cup of hot chocolate before you leave. And don’t be a stranger, Brynn.”

“Thank you, Hattie.”

As his mother tromped through a dusting of snow toward the greenhouse, Dillon eased in beside Brynn. The scent of her perfume, light and citrusy, mingled with scotch pine and the Italian food baking across the street at Pappy’s Pizzeria.

“You’re right. Your jacket’s just a little too big for me.” In fact, the jacket swallowed Brynn. She flapped her arms, her hands buried somewhere inside the sleeves. “Oh, this is silly. I feel like a complete fool.”

“Don’t feel bad. It’s OK.” Dillon took her by the shoulders and drew her close. He rolled each sleeve carefully until her fingers peeked through. “There, that’s better.”

“Thank you.” Brynn drew a deep breath and clenched her hands as though trying to get the blood flowing to her fingertips. “You’re very kind.”

“You caught me on a good day, Brynn Jansen.” Dillon winked and clasped her left hand, warming it between his. Her fingers were elongated ice cubes. “We’ve met before, haven’t we?”

“You remember the Christmas tree?”

“That’s right. Yes. I knew it.” Satisfied when the chill eased, he moved to her right hand. “Your grandparents’ house when your gramps was sick with pneumonia. That was—”

“Twelve years ago this holiday. You brought us the most beautiful tree and a box of food for our Christmas dinner.”

“And you shared the most delectable oatmeal cookies I’ve ever had. Does your grandmother still bake them?”

“She does. And she handed down the recipe to me, taught me how to whip up a batch in a jiffy. I made several dozen this afternoon. I’d be happy to share them again.”

“I’d be delighted to let you.” His gaze locked with hers, held, and he was rewarded with a smile. “Did you ever manage to hang the mistletoe?”

“I did.” Brynn’s eyes shimmered beneath the floodlights as snow began to fall in earnest. She pressed a palm to her lips as a sudden bout of laughter bubbled up.

Dillon frowned. “What’s so funny?”

“Just thinking about what you said that night when you handed me the mistletoe wreath.” Now, the laughter spilled over. Brynn clutched her belly. “It was…quite humorous.”

“Great.” Dillon swiped wet from his brow and wished he’d thought to wear a ball cap. “I don’t remember what I said.”

“Well, I certainly do.” Brynn’s gaze rose toward the heavens while snowflakes turned her knit cap from red to white. “And, looking back, it wasn’t just funny, but kind of sweet, too.”

“Sweet?” Dillon jammed his hands into the front pockets of his jeans. “Are you sure I’m the one who said it?”

“Quite sure.”

“Well…are you going to leave me hanging?”

“For now. Maybe you’ll remember on your own.”

“That’s hardly fair.” Dillon shook his head, tossing wet snowflakes like a just-bathed dog. “Did you get a diary?”

“What?”

“That night…the gifts from Santa?”

“I sure did. Filled it cover to cover, too, within a week’s time.”

“That’s quick. Bet you scrawled plenty of girl stuff, right?”

“You could say that.” Her grin was a wisp of playfulness. “The second gift was a special Cross pen engraved with my initials. I still use it to this day.”

“And the third?”

Brynn dipped her fingers beneath the neckline of her blouse, drawing out the small silver heart on a delicate chain. “I received this, as well, with a card that said, ‘God knows the desires of your heart. Seek Him, always.’”

Dillon couldn’t help himself; curiosity nibbled at his gut. “And those desires?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” Brynn’s playful grin morphed to pure mischief. Her response was no more than a simple shrug.

 

****

 

“What are you doing? That’s not my truck.” Brynn stepped over to block Dillon’s path as he carried the seven-foot wrapped fir toward the lot. “There’s my truck.” She pointed to the red Chevy, circa nineteen eighty-one, that sported a chunky white pinstripe down each side and just enough dings and dents to give it a touch of character.

“It’s a keeper, for sure.”

“Hey, are you making fun of my vehicle?” Brynn spun back to level him a sizzling gaze. “Because if you are, it would be in your best interest to stop right there. I love my truck. It was a special gift from Gran and Gramps on my eighteenth birthday. They drove all the way to Pensacola to deliver it to me.”

“I’ll admit it’s got character. It’s just…” Dillon shook his head as he skirted around her and continued toward the lot, the tree hoisted over one shoulder as if it weighed no more than a pencil. “I’m perfectly aware we’re not headed toward your truck, because we’re going to use mine.”

“I don’t understand.” Brynn swung around and double-stepped to catch up as she swiped wet snowflakes from her chilled cheeks. The more she brushed the flakes away, the harder they seemed to fall. She was thankful Dillon had offered his jacket since the wind seemed determined to dip and swirl around them, churning the clouds like saltshakers.

“Nothing against older-model vehicles.” Dillon glanced back over his shoulder. “But my bet is your truck doesn’t have four-wheel drive.”

“No, it doesn’t. So—”

“You’re gonna need it in this. Look at the street.”

Brynn turned to find the road beyond swathed in white. Not a patch of asphalt peeked through. “It sure came down fast, didn’t it?”

“Yes, and it doesn’t look like it’s going to let up anytime soon.” Dillon paused as they approached his black extended-cab; not an older-model anything on it. No dings, no scratches, no…history. He lowered the tailgate and with one quick motion, slipped the tree into the bed before continuing. “So, I’m taking you home. Wyatt or Reese will help me get your truck back to you when things clear out. You won’t be able to use it before that, anyway. Not in this.”

“But it’s the only car we have since Gran’s was demolished in the accident. If she needs—”

Dillon lifted a hand traffic-cop style. “Hand me your cell phone.”

“What? Why?”

“If your grandparents—or you—need something, just give me a call.”

“Oh. OK.” Brynn reached into the back pocket of her jeans, pulled out her phone and handed it to him. With ease, he programed in his number.

“There you go.” He handed the phone back to her. “Now, go ahead and climb into the cab while I secure this. There’s no need for both of us to get soaked.”

“But I’m wearing your jacket.”

“Doesn’t matter. It will only take me a minute to tie down the tree—that is, if you’ll quit distracting me with your chatter.”

“Distracting…chatter?” Brynn longed to snatch the neon yellow rope from his hand and hog-tie him with it.

“You heard me.” He delved into his pocket for a set of keys, tossed them to Brynn. “So, get in. Crank her up and turn on the heat. I’ll secure the tree, and we’ll be on our way.”