“I’m not.”
Okay, so he had to be from the bank though no banker from town ever looked like this guy. They wore suits, and ties that were askew because they were fedup having to travel outside town or they’d taken two wrong turns before getting here.
He reached into his briefcase and pulled out a folder. I glared at it, wondering how its contents would change my life, and willing him not to open it.
“My name is Roscoe Curran. I represent a group that's interested in this property.”
Gods not another one. He may as well have tossed ice water over me. I shivered and stamped my feet before tucking my gloved hands under my armpits.
“You're here about buying the farm.”
Hearing why he’d come wasn’t a shock because I’d been getting calls, letters, and visits for months from developers and investors who'd heard that the farm wasstruggling. They were all the same with their name brand sunglasses and confidence they’d secure the deal and turn the land into a housing development or anything other than a Christmas tree farm.
“Not exactly.”
Roscoe glanced at his feet as he shuffled them. Was he embarrassed at my distress because me blinking away tears was broadcasting how upset I was?
“I’d like to discuss a potential arrangement regarding this property, if you have time. My ummm clients are looking for suitable land, and this farm has qualities that might work for everyone."
I studied the rows of trees. Doug’s Christmas lightswere still tangled but Noelle was showing off her branches. My gaze trailed over the dozens of other evergreens I'd nurtured. Looking in the other direction brought me to the office where Aunt Mollie's coffee mug still sat on the windowsill. I swiveled to take in the wooden sign she'd made for my eighth birthday that said “Reed's Corner” and marked the spot where she'd let me plant my first seedling.
“Mr. Curran.” I straightened my spine because I was not going to let anyone bully me, not that he had as yet. “I’ll be honest, if your clients want to buy this place and turn it into condos or a shopping center, I'm not interested. This farm means everything to me.” It was my life.
There was something about his eyes, how they surveyed me as if he was looking right through me and I shoved my hands in my coat pockets. He probably thought I’d ask where I could sign as I was desperate for money. Iwasin debt but I was hanging on by my fingertips.
“I understand your attachment. But what I'm proposing isn't about taking the farm away from you. My clients need land but they're not developers. They're a community group and they would help to preserve what you've built here.”
A gust of wind swept through the farm, stronger than the gentle breeze that had been rustling thebranches earlier. All the trees swayed and their needles ‘sang’ in harmony. I couldn’t understand what they were saying but it had to be disapproval, though it was charming, making me want to dance. But no way would my trees welcome this man and his group here.
Roscoe’s face reminded of the expression deer in the headlights. His head snapped to the side and he studied the trees as they waved their branches. There was a faint smile on his face. But the wind died and the trees quietened.
“Would you like coffee?” Shoot no, why had I said that? This man and his jaw needed to leave and find someone else’s land. Not that I wanted anyone else to be taken in by that jaw.
“It's freezing out here, and we could both use some caffeine. Fair warning, though I make terrible coffee.” I was rabbiting on like I was making a new friend.
Roscoe searched my face before he replied. “Coffee would be great.”
He sounded uncertain but if he’d spent hours or days trawling the countryside for land to snatch away from people buried by debt, he probably didn’t get offered coffee.
As I led him toward the office, I caught him glancing at the trees. Did he just nod? No one else did that but me. That was weird.But I talked to them like they were my friends, so I couldn’t judge him.Instead,I was open to hearing more about his community group even though my answer at the end of his spiel would be no, no thanks and another no thank you.
The trees rustled softly as we walked past and I shrugged and mouthed, “What?”
TWO
ROSCOE
I'd rehearsed this conversation a dozen times on the drive, starting with an introduction. That would be followed by an explanation of our reindeer pack's need for land, without mentioning we were either reindeers or a pack. And lastly, I’d provide our reasonable lease terms and the clincher which was the fair compensation.
This was similar to the negotiation I'd handled for the past eight years as an environmental consultant and the pack’s Beta.
But those plans were tossed out the window when I met Reed Keller and his irresistible smile. Not that he was coming on to me. Nope. I was pretty certain he was suspicious before I opened my mouth.
“Sorry about the mess.” He nudged open the officedoor with his shoulder. “Aunt Mollie used to say this place had personality but in reality it’s falling apart.”
Perhaps this was his strategy to get more money by pointing out how the place was in need of repair.
The small space was cluttered with decades of dusty files, old signs leaning against the wall and a collection of Christmas ornaments atop an ancientcabinet. But like Reed, and the air outside, it scented of pine, with the added bonus of stale coffee. But in this confined space, the human’s scent tickled my nose, and I stifled a sneeze.
