Jingle Bell Mate (Reindeer Mate for Christmas #2)

Chapter 1

ONE

REED

I'd been talking to Douglas for about twenty minutes when I chuckled and slapped my brow. I was probably losing my mind but hey, if this was me cracking up, it wasn’t a bad place to be.

“The thing is,” I adjusted the string of Christmas lights that had tangled around Doug's lower branches overnight. How the heck did that happen? Perhaps Santa’s elves were playing tricks late at night when I was asleep.

“Anyway, I know you want to make some family happy for Christmas. But Mrs. Ledger already picked out that Blue Spruce over in Section C, and Doug, don’t be disappointed. You’ll find someone to love you.”

Doug rustled his needles which I interpreted as an agreement.

The morning breeze helped, but I was convinced he had opinions about these things.

Maybe it was his branches leaning toward me or how his needles were more radiant after our morning chats.

Aunt Mollie used to insist the trees responded to kindness, and after spending three years with them, I agreed.

I admired my handiwork with the lights. Every year, I decorated as many of the trees as I could so the farm, Right as Rain(deer), would appear more festive.

Aunt Mollie had started the tradition and though she’d been gone for three years, I was continuing it.

The Christmas tree lot was more alive with lights scattered throughout the rows of evergreens, and I wanted first-time visitors surrounded by a winter wonderland.

Right as Rain(deer) was kinda an odd name for a Christmas tree farm—Aunt Mollie had people tell her over the years she should change it— but my aunt maintained the soil on this land was special.

She loved to tell the story of seeing reindeer wandering through the lot on her first Christmas Eve here.

I was pretty sure that was a tall tale but I had loved hearing it every December and had adored her quirky personality.

The winter air carried the sharp scent of pine and the earthier smell of decomposing leaves from the oak trees that bordered the property. I moved closer to check Doug's watering system, making sure he was getting enough moisture to keep his needles fresh and vibrant.

“You're going to make someone's Christmas magical.”

The phone buzzed in my pocket. Probably another bill I couldn't pay. Perhaps it was my friend, Gemma, telling me how I should sell the place and get a real job. Her latest voicemail had included a suggestion that I could work at her husband's accounting firm. Ugh!

Being cooped up in a tiny cubicle instead of being outdoors with the trees would be nightmarish. I refused to throw away the time and effort it’s taken to keep this tree farm running.

I ignored the phone and moved onto the paths between the Fraser Firs.

Each section of the farm had its own personality.

The Noble Firs were tall and dignified. The Frasers clustered together as if they were gossiping while the Douglas Firs sprawled out, holding their heads high because they were haughty and proud of themselves.

Right as Rain(deer) had been in my family for more than thirty years.

Aunt Mollie had bought the land on a whim after inheriting money from a relative.

She planted her first seedlings with no idea what she was doing and turned the place into a beloved Christmas tree farm.

She talked to the trees as if they were her children, commiserating with them on bad days and celebrating their growth spurts.

Three years after inheriting this unprofitable farm, I understood. The trees did listen and they responded to kindness. But being nice to my trees didn't pay the mortgage.

The numbers were getting worse every month.

The seasonal income from Christmas tree sales barely covered the property taxes, let alone the equipment and maintenance along with the endless repairs to the old farmhouse.

I'd been supplementing my income with jobs in town, ones I could do outside because I’d stifle in a cubicle, similar to a tree left without water.

But the money wasn't enough and the bank had been sending threatening letters.

Aunt Mollie had brought in extra income from renting out the cabins over the hill. But I’d stopped that practice because the buildings needed extensive repairs.

I made my way over to the Noble Fir section, where Noelle was showing off her perfect symmetry.

“Morning, Noelle. You're looking majestic today.”

Her branches swayed gently in response. She was going to be somebody's centerpiece this year if I could keep the farm running long enough to find the right family.

The rattle of loose stones on the driveway interrupted my morning routine. A car door slammed followed by footsteps. My stomach dropped. Please don't be the bank. Please don't be someone from the county.

I wove between the Fraser Firs and tried not to trip over the extension cord powering the office's ancient heater.

The little wooden building that served as an office looked kinda bleak in the morning light with its peeling paint and dirty windows.

But Aunt Mollie's hand-painted sign above the door, “Welcome to Right as Rain(deer)” gave me the courage to meet my guest.

The tall man with dark hair standing beside a black sedan had a jawline that needed to be stroked and peppered with kisses, and I stared at him for longer than I should have.

I was intimidated by the confidence that radiated from him, which was helped by his caramel-colored coat that I wanted to run my hands over.

I hunched my shoulders, protecting myself from whatever he was going to say.

He was studying the farm and he did a 360, taking in the decorated trees, the old office building with holly growing near the door, and my home enclosed with a fence and an old gate that hung on one hinge.

I tensed, thinking he disapproved but I’d like to see him try to run this place and make a huge profit, especially when most of my trees were balled and burlapped (B&B) so families could enjoy them inside for Christmas and plant them in the garden afterward.

They were more expensive than cut trees but they were environmentally friendly.

But I did have smaller ones in pots for apartments that were cheaper.

When the guy turned his gaze on me, it was as though I’d been zapped with a stun gun. Yikes. If his glance did that, I wondered what his… Whoa. Nope I wasn’t going there.

“Can I help you?” I jogged the last few steps, trying not to appear as frazzled as I felt while pine needles clung to my flannel shirt. “If you're looking for a tree, you're welcome to browse.”

“Reed Keller?” That voice suggested he knew who I was and I braced myself for whatever bad news he was here to deliver.

“That's me.” I wiped my hands on my jeans, aware of the contrast between us. He was wearing a smart coat and I’d been wrestling with Christmas trees. At least I smelled good from pine sap.

“Are you from the county? Because I filed all the paperwork, and if there's an issue with the lighting display—”

“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 fed up 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 was struggling. 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 lights were 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. I was in 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 the branches 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?”