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John pulled off to the side of the road when he crested the big hill before the farm. His first glimpse of home caused a lump to form in his throat. He’d grown up in this beautiful place. However, his feelings were complicated by how long he’d purposefully stayed away.
A familiar wave of guilt washed over him.
He’d kept in touch with his father. At least that’s what he told himself. But he never could face coming home after losing his mother.
Stepping from the car, he took a deep breath of cold country air. The sweet smell of pine filled him with memories. He closed his eyes, recalling the close-knit family they’d once been. Yet everything changed with one phone call.
“Your mom is gone, Johnny Boy.”
With a long, ragged sigh, he surveyed the scenery in the fading winter light. Nearly a decade hadn’t changed much about the farm at first glance. The land was more developed now than in his younger years. His father had shared some details about the upgrades. Doubling the plantings on the seventy-five acres Pops inherited from his father, who inherited from his. Gridley land for over a century. A real generational farm.
Until I broke the chain by enlisting in the Army.
His mother understood he wanted more than small-town life. But Pops hadn’t. “This farm is in your blood, it’s your birthright. You should be workin’ this land with me, not traipsing around the globe.”
Today Gridley Meadows Farm had thirty thousand Christmas trees growing in various stages. Spread out before his eyes in sprawling rows of deep green and silvery sage. From six and seven-footers—considered standard height trees—to mini tabletops, thin apartment-sized, and even fifteen-foot Cathedral-heights. Something for everyone. Folks could traipse off into the rolling hills to cut their own or choose from the pre-cuts down by the barn.
According to Pops, they kept a small gift shop these days. Ground Zero for Christmas shoppers. The first stop on the holiday bucket list for many locals. Still others came from miles away because it was tradition to get their tree here.
John tried to explain all this to Kim when his father first called, but she wasn’t buying it.
“Can’t he just hire someone? I’m sure there are people looking to make extra holiday cash.”
Yet the farm required so much more sacrifice.
His father was like a soil scientist, testing and adjusting the rich earth with each season. Crop planning and yield management influenced every decision throughout the year. Planting seedlings in the spring, shearing, and shaping all summer long. An ongoing cycle of harvest and renewal.
“Just go cut a few trees and get it over with,” she’d argued. “Then come home.”
But this was home. Whether he’d admitted it or not.
After all these years, he knew the old man would never ask for help if he didn’t truly need it. Tom Gridley wasn’t an easygoing man. He’d likely held off asking until he was stretched beyond reason. Not a good thing for a man in his late sixties.
Which meant there was no easy exit strategy. This was a long-haul mission.
With one last look around—trees, glistening with frost as the sun dropped behind blue hills—John resigned himself to being home.
A few minutes later, he entered the old red barn near the front of the property. “Pops, you in here? I smelled the smoke from the wood stove the second I pulled in.”
“Ho, Johnny Boy. In here,” his old man called from the shop side of the building.
John met him in the wide-open space, and the two men clasped hands and then awkwardly embraced.
Tom Gridley leaned back and pushed smudged glasses up his ruddy nose. “Let me look at ya, boy. Damn, if you’re not a sight for sore eyes.” He patted John’s arms and shoulders through his jacket. “Still workin’ out, I see. Any new tattoos under there?”
“Old habits die hard, Pops,” John admitted. Then he rubbed his belly. “Bit paunchier now though. I eat out way too much. I’m thinkin’ you’ll work the soft spots outa me. You always did.”
His father’s tentative smile fell away, and he turned back to what he’d been working on—sanding the tops of old worktables. “Sorry to drag you away from your life, John. You know I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t need you. Manager leavin’ with little more than a day’s notice. Dealt me a powerful blow. It’s harvest time, and folks will be coming like there’s a snow shovel sale day before a blizzard. I can’t handle it alone.”
“I know, Pops, that’s why I’m here.” John glanced around, looking for familiar things. “You’ve done a lot with this old place. Looks downright presentable. No more cobwebs and tools hanging everywhere. Shelves and special lighting? What are you doing with these old tables?”
“Sprucin’ ’em up. I had the notion to bring in some holiday books to sell. You know...the kind your mother always loved.”
John gave a curt nod at the mention of his mother.
“You’ve no idea what customers are like now. They don’t just pick a tree and leave. They want the whole holiday experience. Hot cocoa and sleigh rides. Christmas music piped in. That old wood stove, crackling away. It’s no longer just to keep the icicles off your nose. It’s for what they call ambiance.”
“Ambiance?” John grunted. “And sleigh rides and cocoa? How the hell do you pull that off?”
“Got two Danish draft horses now, in addition to some petting zoo animals. Goats and rabbits. That crabby old sheep is still alive.”
“Mutton Chops?” John laughed. “He’s part of a petting zoo? Serves his smelly old hide right.”
“Hired some local kids to help me out.”
“Kids?”
“You’re all kids to me.” Tom shook his white-haired head. “Brian is one, and a couple of his friends. Animal Science majors over at the university. They care for all the creatures as part of their schooling. And Wendy...she graduated last year with a business degree. She operates the store and does all the ‘social stuff.’ Got us a fancy website now. Plus, she handles the cocoa part.” His eyes twinkled with mischief. “Did I mention there are cookies and muffins as big as your fists? Wendy partnered with a local bakery—Leslie’s Bakes & More—to bring in special holiday treats. Visitors lap ’em up for real money.”
John outright laughed then. “Sounds as if I’m gonna like being back.”
“I hope so, son.” Pop’s voice turned somber. “I’ve been doing some real soul searching on whether I should sell after this season. It’s hard work. Hate to admit it, but I’m too old to do it alone. A real estate man has been calling me for months. Fella makes a strong case for selling. Still, I always hoped...”
John tensed as their age-old argument resurfaced. “Let’s just get through this season before you make any decisions, okay?”
The weathered man met his uneasy gaze and nodded. “I’m glad you’re home, John. You always did step up when someone needed you.”
***
“I HAVE A SURPRISE FOR you,” Heather sang as she opened her daughter’s window shades, spilling soft winter sunshine into the room.
“Ugh, it’s Saturday.” Hailey groaned, covering her head with blankets.
“Yes, but it’s the first Saturday in December, and that means the start of the holiday season at Gridley Meadows Farm. Our tradition, remember?”
Hailey struggled to a sitting position and rubbed her sleepy eyes. “They have animals this year. Can we go?”
Heather sat on the edge of the bed. “We can. It’s a beautiful day, but it’s cold. Dress warm.”
Forty-five minutes later they were in the car, headed for one of their all-time favorite places and events.
“I’m going through the drive-thru to get coffee. Do you want some OJ or chocolate milk?” Heather asked her still-sluggish daughter.
“Do you have to stop? We need to get there. All the good trees will be gone.”
“Sweetie, there are thousands of trees at the farm. They won’t run out just because I stop for coffee.”
“But we need to find the perfect one. Especially now that Snowball is missing.”
“Hailey...Mom needs coffee to wake up, otherwise I won’t be able to see the trees.”
“Fine. I don’t want anything.”
It was a four-year-old tradition for them, getting their Christmas tree from the locally owned farm just outside of Dickens. The start of their mother-daughter countdown to Christmas.
“Oh, wow, look at the line,” Heather exclaimed a short time later as they approached the entrance.
“What do you mean? We can still go, right?”
“Don’t worry. Let me see if I can sneak around to where the workers park. We need to be near the back entrance of the store anyway to deliver these books.”
Sure enough, there was a tight spot behind the barn.
“Yes,” Hailey exclaimed when Heather slipped in with her little car and shut off the engine.
Together they loaded the boxes of books onto a handcart and started for the building.
Just as Heather reached the back door, it thrust open, popping the lid on her coffee cup, and spilling the full contents all over the front of her jacket. “Whoa,” she cried, stunned to be soaked and steaming in the frosty morning air.
“Mom!”
“Sorry, I didn’t see you,” a deep masculine voice shocked Heather further. “Let me help.”
Suddenly, there were big man hands in work gloves, swiping at her clothes and patting down her chest. Coffee droplets splattered her face. “I’m fine. Really. It’s okay. Stop,” she yelled, swatting the stranger’s hands away.
Her gaze rose to assess the coffee-dumping culprit. Six foot something of hulking man. Dark hair, beard, wearing a red Gridley Meadows Farm sweatshirt with a black scarf.
Heather’s mouth opened and closed. Nothing, not even a breath, squeaked out as she gaped at him. The guy was drop-dead gorgeous. Strong features sharpened by concern. His eyes? Dark grey, like an impending snowstorm.
Hailey tugged her sleeve and Heather’s gaze dropped to her anxious daughter. “What are we gonna do now? You’re all wet.”
Heather touched her jacket before meeting the man’s penetrating stare again. “I...I don’t know. I—”
“Let me get you another,” he rushed to say. “Coat, I mean. You can borrow one of mine. I work here.” He scowled, shook his head, and started over. “I’m John Gridley, the owner’s son. If you don’t want a loaner, I can give you a sweatshirt from the gift shop. Your call.”
A hesitant smile teased the corners of Heather’s lips. “You’re Tom’s son? He talks about you all the time. I thought you were away in the military.”
It was the tall man’s turn to look surprised. “You know my father?”
“I do, quite well. I’m Heather Murphy. I own The Library Cat Bookstore in town.” She pointed to the handcart. “I brought these books for your father. He ordered them for the shop. I figured he’d want them for his first big weekend of the season.”
“Are we going to get a tree now?” Hailey asked, bored with their conversation.
Heather smiled. “This is my daughter, Hailey.”
John cracked a big grin, causing Heather’s heart to do a little flip flop.
“Morning, little lady. So, you’re here to cut a tree?”
Hailey kicked dirt and driveway pebbles before peeking up into his encouraging face. “We don’t cut ours. Mom says she’s not strong enough. It used to be my dad’s job to cut the tree.”
“Oh.” His smile vanished.
John’s questioning stare flipped back to Heather, and she could almost hear the thoughts, churning in his head.
“We have help for anyone wanting to cut but not lug. Take a hayride out to one of the fields and tag the tree you want. We’ll do the rest.”
“Can we? Please, please, please.” Hailey jumped up and down, totally over the coffee debacle.
Before Heather could answer, John grabbed the handle of the cart and led the way into the barn, through the work area, to exit into the gift shop.
“Wendy,” he hollered across the busy room. “I’m taking a sweatshirt.”
“Got it,” the young woman behind the register yelled back over the noise.
“And these are the old man’s books. I’m gonna leave them in this back corner until you can tag them.”
“Yes, sir.” Wendy saluted.
John walked straight to a rack of red sweatshirts and began rifling through them. He glanced at Heather a couple of times and then shuffled more hangers. “I only see small kid’s sizes and Extra, Extra Large Adult. I know there are more. Let me check with—”
“No, it’s fine. I’m not picky.” Heather peeled off her wet jacket and handed it to him. The man’s gaze went from her bustline to her exposed midriff. She quickly smoothed her skin-tight turtleneck down. He must have noticed because he turned away quickly and cleared his throat. Yanking the oversized sweatshirt over her head, she declared, “Perfect fit. Thank you, Mr. Gridley.”
One dark brow arched. “John. Just John,” he mumbled.
“Or sir?” she teased with a mock salute.
An instant smile brightened his handsome face, and he chuckled. “Folks around here like to get their digs in. I swear I’m not an idiot boss.”
“Mom, can we go?” Hailey clasped her hand. “I want to see the animals.”
John backed away. “Go, I’ll hang your coat out back to dry and stow the handcart. Wendy can grab them for you when you’re ready to leave.” He pointed to Hailey as he walked away. “Watch out for that old sheep. He is an idiot.”
In a heartbeat, John was gone, and all Heather could do was stare after him. There was something unsettling about the way those cold stormy eyes warmed when he looked at her. She couldn’t hold off a little shiver. It’d been a long time since a man had flustered her.
“Come on, Mom, let’s go.”
Mother and daughter exited the gift shop, spilling out into the busy barnyard filled with holiday music, pre-cut trees, and all sorts of trappings.
Hailey ran ahead to join the mob by the paddocks.
“Heather Murphy, is that you?”
Heather stopped in her tracks and cringed. She knew that shrill voice. “Courtney. What a...surprise.”
Courtney Cole looked her up and down. “My, if you aren’t festive in your Gridley Meadows Farm shirt. It’s rather large for you, don’t you think?” The overbearing woman dropped her designer sunglasses to study her more closely. “You’re not pregnant, are you?”
Heather choked and sputtered on her own laughter. “Heavens, no. It’s a fashion statement,” she fibbed with a deadpan expression.
“Oh. Well.” Courtney’s perky nose rose several notches in obvious disdain. She glanced around before leaning close. “Did you hear the latest news? Tom Gridley’s son has returned after all these years.”
“I didn’t hear anything. But I did just meet him,” she admitted.
“Tsk, tsk, tsk, such a shame. Father and son have been estranged ever since the mother died. As the only son, the man totally shirked his responsibilities by not helping with the farm. He’s been traipsing around; God only knows where. A real vagabond.” She got right up in Heather’s face. “What’s he like? Word on the street is he’s a big brute of a fellow, covered in tattoos. He came from the west coast, you know.”
Heather stepped back, and Courtney’s red stilettos sank into the farmyard mulch, causing her to lose her balance. She flailed her arms like a windmill, struggling to right herself.
“He seems nice enough to me.”
Courtney scowled, obviously frustrated by her refusal to partake in small-town gossip. “Well, I for one would like to meet this man of mystery.”
Heather’s gaze snapped to the man himself, as he waded through the yard. “There he goes.” She glanced down at the other woman’s shoes and smirked. “Maybe if you hurry, you’ll catch him.”
“Oh my God,” Courtney declared with a gasp. “If he isn’t a handsome devil.”