It was Friday, and today, we were cutting the Christmas tree for the town square. I was finally going to experience one of those magical holiday traditions I’d only seen in movies and other people’s Instagram posts.
This felt different from every other job, every other town. Usually by now I'd be mentally packing, already researching my next destination. I never stayed anywhere, or with anyone, long enough for it to matter when I left. A year was my limit with romantic relationships, six months for most jobs. Keep moving, keep building the resume, keep the walls up.
It had worked for ten years. So why did the thought of leaving Lonesome Creek feel like I was ripping something vital out of my chest?
Becken stood near the sorhox pen, watching the beasts graze. When he spotted me approaching with my collection of supplies, his dark eyebrows rose.
“Planning an expedition or are we cutting down a tree?” he asked, eyeing the thermos and bag.
“Both, obviously.” I grinned, too excited to be embarrassed by my enthusiasm or bothered by his usual grinchy-ness. “I brought cocoa and cookies. You can’t have a proper tree-cutting adventure without refreshments.”
“Adventure.” He repeated the word like it was foreign to him. “It’s one tree, Carla. We cut it down, bring it back. We’re not even erecting it.”
“See, that’s where you’re wrong.” I shifted the thermos to one arm so I could gesture properly. “It’s not just cutting down a tree. It’s the experience. The tradition. The magic of finding the perfect tree and knowing it’s going to bring joy to the whole town.”
His mouth twitched in what might’ve been a smile. “More of that Christmas magic.”
“Don’t mock me. I know you think I’m being silly, but I’ve never done this before. I want it to be as fun as it can be.”
His expression softened. “You’re not silly. You’re…amazing, Carla. Don’t you know that?”
My chest warmed in a way that had nothing to do with the sun shining down from overhead. “Thank you. That’s…sweet of you to say.” And what was I supposed to say in reply? Suddenly flustered, I focused on the treats I’d brought. “You’ll appreciate the cocoa when your fingers are numb from the cold.”
“My fingers don’t get numb. Orc physiology.”
“Show off.”
This time, he definitely smiled. “Ready to go find this amazing tree of yours?”
“More than ready.” He called Peeka over to the fence.
I glanced around the arena. “Where’s Dester? I thought we’d both ride.”
He opened the gate to let Peeka out. “Dester needs more training.”
His jaw held a tension that didn’t match his casual words, and he was being very careful not to look at me. But before I could analyze it further, he was boosting me up onto Peeka’s back.
“Sharing a mount is more practical,” he said, securing the axe to Peeka’s neck spike and then leaping up behind me. “Easier to coordinate.”
His arm settled around my waist, and I forgot all about questioning his reasoning. The solid warmth of his chest pressed against my back, and his thighs bracketed mine. Even through layers of winter clothing, I could feel his strength, the careful way he held me secure without being possessive.
We’d spent the past few days skirting around what happened, focusing on plans for the rodeo and holiday festivities and never talking about us. I’d almost begun to believe he would be happy to see me leave, and that was pretty much gutting me. It was all I could do to lift a smile when I heard Christmas music or stared out my hotel window at night at the lights.
“Comfortable?” Becken’s voice rumbled near my ear, sending a shiver across my skin.
“Very.” I leaned back, letting myself enjoy the contact. The more I thought about leaving, the less I wanted to go. But it wasn’t like he’d asked me to stay.
We rode across the plain and entered the forest, following trails I never would’ve found on my own. Snow-laden pine branches created a cathedral around us, and the only soundswere Peeka’s steady hoofbeats and the whisper of wind through the trees. The world felt hushed, like we were the only two people for miles.
“How are we going to find our tree?” I asked.
“Tark explained what they were looking for and told me where to find the best choices. From what he described, I think we need to consider trees that’ve had full sun exposure, proper spacing, and the right soil drainage.” His arm tightened around me as we navigated around a fallen log. “It also needs to be accessible. No point finding the perfect tree if we can’t get it back to town.”
“We’re dragging it back?”
“A few of my cousins will come collect it. We don’t want to break the branches, so they’ll load it in a wagon.”
“Very practical and wise.”
