“I agree with you. This definitely is the one.” Buddy tipped his chin toward the grand evergreen. “What do you think, Scout?”
The dog let out a single bark.
“Looks like we have a winner.” He folded the perforated line on the tree’s tag and tore off the bottom section. “I’m going to take this up to the barn to pay for it. Would you mind staying here with Scout to stand guard? Believe it or not, I actually had a tree stolen one year when I mistakenly let it out of my sight.”
“A Christmas tree caper?”
An appreciative laugh pulled Buddy’s lips into a dimpled grin. “You could say that.”
“Don’t worry. Scout and I will make sure no one absconds with this beauty.”
His eyes locked with Rachel’s for a few breaths, then he cut his gaze up the hill. “Great. I’ll be back in a jiffy.”
Rachel sighed as she watched him jog through the rows of greenery.
She’d said too much in the car without really saying anything at all. It was strange how that could happen. Their conversation had slipped into territory she wished to avoid, and yet she’d found herself teetering dangerously close to confession’s edge.
Love wasn’t in the cards for her, and she knew it.
Goodness, her entire history had proven that. Even the recent tale her mother had shared about Holden Hart asking her to the dance all the way back in the eighth grade. Rachel’s competitive nature sure had a way of clouding everything even remotely romantic in her life, shutting the opportunity for it completely out.
What would have happened if she’d gone to the dance with Holden instead of Cody? Would she still have spent the better portion of her teenage years seeing him as an academic, athletic, and all-around threat?
Rachel had silenced all of that back when she’d knocked him out of the running for valedictorian and earned the only scholarship offered from the small town’s Chamber of Commerce.
She still remembered the essay prompt:What does success mean to you?
Back then, it meant getting into a top school with competitive internships that funneled into prestigious professions. It was a route Rachel had gladly taken.
And yet, she found herself at a dead end.
Her fingers absentmindedly stroked the tree’s branches. A few needles fell into her palm.
“Rachel?” The shrill voice at her back pulled her spine ramrod straight. “Rachel Katherine Joy, is that you?”
She’d had trouble placing the faces and names of her hometown neighbors, but that nasally voice brought with it a flood of adolescent memories. “Monica Hastings. How on earth are you?”
The old high school acquaintance stood there, holding the midline on the trunk of a freshly cut tree. Her overly lipsticked mouth gaped like a fish, eyes bugging like one too. “How on earth am I? I think I should be the one doing the asking. What on earth areyoudoing here? Never in my wildest dreams did I think you’d set foot back in this town. You were in such a huge hurry to get out of here!”
“I’m just back for the holidays. My parents needed a little help with some tasks around the house for Christmas. I’m not staying long.”
“And by tasks, you mean that Christmas tree competition?”
How had she known? And why did Rachel’s stomach wrench at being found out so easily?
“Not sure I can really help them in that department,” Rachel attempted to justify. “Pretty sure Mother Nature has it all taken care of.”
“Well, we know that’s not entirely true.” Judgment flashed through Monica’s eyes. “I can hear that constant rotation of Christmas songs all the way up at my chalet on the ridge.”
Embarrassment flushed Rachel’s cheeks a warm pink. Her shoulders gave a little hop. “Whatever helps, right?”
“You’re not the only crazy Christmas people around here.” Monica leaned in and cut her volume in half, speaking behind her hand when she whispered, “I hear the Harts are just as fanatic. Would you believe they make a compost tea for their tree? It supposedly has nutrients and microbes and a bunch of other stuff I can’t pronounce. I don’t even make tea for myself; I can’t imagine brewing up an entire batch for a backyard tree!”
Monica looked down, suddenly noticing Scout’s presence at her feet. “How adorable. Is this your dog?”
“It’s a friend’s.”
“What a sweet little face.” The woman’s adenoidal tone warped into baby talk. Scout’s ears flattened against her head. When she reached down for a scratch, Scout bared her teeth behind pulled lips. “Oh! Goodness.”
