Chapter 12
stocking up on excuses
Holly
“About yesterday,” Ivar said as the truck climbed deeper into the forest, “I hope I didn’t make you uncomfortable with the dog sledding. You were a good sport about it, but I crossed a line.”
“You didn’t. Honest. It was unexpected, but also fun.” Holly watched sunlight flicker through bare branches. “I’m a big girl. If I didn’t want to do it, I’d have said no.”
“Yeah, but still...” His hands tightened on the steering wheel. “The thing is, I know what it’s like to bury yourself in work until it stops being healthy.”
That caught her off guard. “I thought you loved your job.”
“I do. But before this, I did something else.”
She turned, studying him. “What? Lumberjack? Official maple syrup tester?”
“Video game developer.”
She blinked. “You’re joking.”
“No, ma’am.” His mouth curved, but not quite into a smile. “Ten years.”
She tried to picture this plaid-shirted outdoorsman behind a desk, under artificial light, typing code instead of trudging through snow. “I know we just met, but I can’t picture it.”
“Yeah. Most people can’t.”
“So, what happened?”
“That,” he said, turning off onto a narrow side road, “is a story for another time. Because we’re here.”
The truck slowed, tires crunching to a stop at the trailhead.
Ivar reached behind the seat and handed her a pair of snowshoes. “You’ll want these.”
They got out, boots sinking into the powder.
Today, she’d left her tablet behind, opting instead for her laminated, color-coded map courtesy of her father.
She laid it across the truck’s hood to get her bearings.
Ivar leaned closer, the faint scent of cedar and wood smoke following him. It was quite pleasant.
“I can’t get over this map. Do you have friends at NASA?”
“Not quite.” She hid a smile.
He pointed to a ridge on the east side of the forest. “We’re here. We’ll cut across to the basin. That’s where I’ve had the strongest feeling.”
“Feeling?”
“Never mind. It’s nothing.”
Placing a hand on his arm, she said, “I’d really like it if you told me.”
He rubbed the back of his neck, then reached into his coat pocket. “I have no idea why I’m showing you this, but… here.”
His map looked like it had survived a blizzard and then a decade in a drawer. The paper was worn thin, creased into soft squares. Hand-drawn grids, penciled notes, and dates overlapped like ghosts of past searches.
“No wonder you like mine. Yours looks like it was printed during the Reagan administration.”
“What can I say? It’s well-used. I started marking it up about three years ago. I’ve been searching for the place I wandered to while lost when I was a kid.”
Her eyebrows lifted. “Lost, as in rescue-mission lost?”
“Yeah. I was eight and somehow wandered away from my family. I ended up staying out in the forest overnight. And it was in the winter.”
He traced a finger around one rough circle on the map.
“I found shelter under a tree.” Ivar’s voice went quiet. “I don’t remember all of it, but I was warm. And I wasn’t afraid. Not really. Most likely, I was in shock. Or maybe...” His voice trailed off. “I guess I got lucky.”
“A tree kept you warm?” She forced her tone light, but her pulse had begun to race. Surprisingly, her watch didn’t start beeping, because this was exciting. This might be a clue as to the location of the Yule vein. “Not just sheltered from the snow. You’re sure?”
He didn’t look at her, obviously uncomfortable. But he continued all the same.
“Yeah. It sounds ridiculous, but there was something about it. Even as a child, I knew it wasn’t like the other trees.
You’re going to think I’m crazy, and I’m not sure why I’m telling you this, but it’s like it had an aura.
It didn’t glow, but...” He shrugged. “Kind of vibrated with energy. That memory haunts me to this day, so I’ve been searching for it to find the truth.
I don’t think I want to be right. I’m kind of hoping that it’s simply a species not typically found in this area. ”
For a moment, neither of them spoke. The forest seemed to still around them. And in that silence, the whisper of a memory she hadn’t touched in years surfaced.
Growing up, all the kids heard the legend of the Yule Tree. It was the epicenter of Christmas power. The place where every magical line began.
No one knew where it came from, or how old it was, but its roots extended across the globe as energy veins, providing the magical power that generated the Santa workshops.
Wherever it was, the surrounding land thrived.
The air itself grew softer. And those lucky enough to stand beneath its boughs would feel it.
A warmth that went beyond skin and bone, as if the forest itself had welcomed them.
The story was older than Santa. Most believed it to be nothing more than a myth about the origins of the magical Yule veins. But now, hearing Ivar’s quiet, matter-of-fact words, Holly wondered if the myth was reality in the Winterwood forest.
She folded her map, forcing her voice steady. “Well, I hope we both find what we came for.”
“You’re mocking me, aren’t you?”
“No. I told you my search here was about vibes. How different is that from what you’re after?”
He stared at her for the longest time. “Fine. Let’s get going.”
***
They snowshoed through the woods for a couple of hours, following deer trails and unmarked ridges.
Ivar led the way, pausing now and then to jot a note or take a picture.
Holly kept pace (despite the burning in her legs), pretending to focus on the topography when really her thoughts looped around his story.
The legend of the Yule Tree made for schoolyard stories and songs. Trees that glowed. Forests that whispered your name. People didn’t take them seriously. Not her family. Not her.
But hearing it from someone like Ivar—grounded, logical, so unmistakably human—made her wonder if there was some truth to it all. And if she found such a tree, what it would do for her career.
By the time they returned to the truck, the sun was lowering into the trees, turning the snow pale rose and blue. Holly’s legs ached to the point where bending over to unbuckle her snowshoes was almost impossible.
The second time she winced, Ivar came to her rescue. “Sore legs?” he asked.
“You have no idea.” Her attempt to suppress an embarrassed laugh failed. “I think if you weren’t here, I’d be in these for days.”
“Don’t worry,” he replied with a chuckle. “It’s more common that you think.”
“It is?”
“No. Not at all.”
Holly laughed outright, nearly losing her balance in the process. “Glad to know I’m setting new records in athletic grace.”
He bent to help, still grinning. “You’re doing great for someone who may never walk again.”
Their hands brushed as he bent over. It was brief, perhaps half a second, but it was enough to send an unexpected spark through her and chase off the winter chill. She brushed at her coat as if that would wipe the feeling away, grateful Ivar’s attention was on her feet.
As soon as he’d eased her feet out of the snowshoes, she turned to toss her pack in the cab.
And froze.
Nestled against a bag in Ivar’s truck bed was her broom.
Her. Broom.
For a moment she could only stare. It was as still as a regular old broom, yet a faint, electric pull made her bones practically buzz. How long had it been there? She hadn’t touched it since the night she arrived.
Had it come to her in the forest? To Ivar’s truck? That was crazier than Ivar’s magical tree.
His voice broke through her daze. “When did you toss that in there?”
“Right before we left. I told you it’s a good luck charm.”
He raised a brow. “I thought you said it was for sweeping away bad first impressions.”
“That too. It’s kind of a family thing.” She managed a faint smile.
“Okay.” He nodded, apparently satisfied, and turned back to the cab. “You know, you surprise me more and more each day.”
Holly climbed in and stared straight ahead as the truck rumbled to life.
Outside, the forest blurred by. Inside, her thoughts refused to still.
She was supposed to be here to assess logistics. Not legends. Scout a site, go home.
But Ivar Nilsen was searching for a tree that matched the description of a legend. And now, her broom wanted to join the search.
Something was happening in Winterwood. But what?