Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
Hollie
“It’s Christmas Eve Eve,” Annie announces, skipping into my room the next morning, “and I have plans. So get your ass out of bed, chica, and come have some breakfast. Dad’s making pancakes.”
“Your dad is a saint,” I say. “Do you think he’d move to Rockview and become my own personal chef?”
“Nope,” Annie says, spinning on her toes and skipping straight out of the room again. “Be downstairs in 15 minutes.”
My spirits are feeling much brighter this morning, and I emerge from my bed with a big smile on my face.
I think that’s probably partly to do with all the beautiful scenery here on Big Sky Ranch.
And to be clear, when I say scenery, I’m talking Alphas.
I can’t help thinking about the tree chopping, the bale throwing, and the horse grooming.
Plus, my conversation with Nash keeps floating into my head.
I’ve never met a man like that before – straight-talking and yet sensitive.
And Tucker – he makes me laugh in a way I haven’t done for months.
And then there’s Clay. I still haven’t made my mind up about him.
But I remind myself as I head for the shower and decide I ought to select the coldest setting: I’m not here to gawk at Alphas.
I’m here to spend time with my best friend.
A best friend who’s waiting for me downstairs.
Once I’m dressed, I set off out of my door to find Dolly the dog and Kenny her shadow, the rabbit, both sitting on the landing.
“Well, hello there,” I say to them both.
“Good morning to you and a happy Christmas Eve Eve.” I bend down and tickle first Dolly under the chin and then stroke along Kenny’s ears.
They both clearly enjoy the attention. Dolly’s tail starts wagging furiously, and I continue to tell them both how beautiful they are as I oblige them with further chin scratches.
That is until I hear a loud cough behind me and the smell of pine fills my nostrils.
I curl back up and spin around to find Tucker standing right behind me with his trademark grin plastered across his face.
I realize that’s because I’m wearing my tight jeans today and, folded over like that, I just gave him a very clear view of my ass.
If the smile on his face is any indication, he seemed to appreciate it.
“That’s one way to brighten my morning,” he says with a wink.
“I agree,” I tell him, pretending not to understand. “What more could you want than a greeting from these two?” I point at the rabbit and the dog.
“They’re cute,” he agrees, “but neither has an ass like yours.”
I don’t know whether to slap him round the face or burst into a fit of giggles. I decide to adopt a fake outrage.
“I assure you,” I tell him, “my ass is nowhere near as cute as Dolly’s or Kenny’s. It’s not fluffy, for starters.”
“Good to know,” Tucker answers. “Where are you heading to? You lost?”
“Nope,” I say. “Heading down for breakfast. Mr. J’s made pancakes this morning.”
“Then I think I may have to make a little detour,” he says.
We walk down the stairs together and I try my best not to inhale his fresh pine scent or notice how in sync our steps seem to be or recall how good his arm felt wrapped around my waist when we were dancing.
“How did you sleep?” he says.
“Like a log. It’s so quiet out here. The traffic in Rockview’s insane. There’s always a siren blaring or a horn blasting. I didn’t realize how noisy it was until this visit.”
“Yeah,” he says. “It’s one of the things I like most about this place – open space, the tranquility – so damn peaceful.”
“Don’t you miss excitement?” I say.
“Trust me,” he says, “trying to herd several hundred head of cattle gives me all the excitement I need.”
“So you’re a real cowboy,” I say.
“You bet, sweetheart. One hundred percent.”
This time I do giggle, which has my best friend swinging around and staring at me as we walk into the kitchen together.
“Where did you spring from, Tucker Parker?” she asks him with a suspicious look.
“Had to go get something from the attic,” he says, patting his jacket pocket.
“Hmm,” Annie says, obviously not quite convinced by his explanation.
He takes a seat with us at the kitchen table. “Then I heard about pancakes,” he tells her.
“There may not be enough for you,” Annie says.
“There’s plenty,” Mr. J says, flipping one down on my plate and another on Tucker’s.
Tucker immediately starts piling his pancake with syrup, cream, and choc chips.
“Oh my goodness,” I say, “that will seriously rot your teeth.”
“You’ll be happy to know, Hollie, I own all my own teeth.” He draws back his lips to show off two rows of white, straight teeth. “And it’s Christmas. Plus, I’ve got a hard, hard day’s work ahead of me. I need all the sugar I can get.”
“You’re working today, even though it’s Christmas Eve Eve?” I ask.
“Absolutely,” he says. “Work never stops on the ranch.”
Annie nods in agreement.
I sprinkle my own pancake with some bananas and smear some peanut butter over the top. I haven’t eaten something like this in years.
“So what are these big plans you have for us today?” I ask my best friend.
“We’re heading into town to do a little more gift buying.”
“You need to buy yet more presents? Annie, you wrapped about a hundred last night.”
“Yes, but there are still one or two little things I need to get.”
“What you have to understand about Annie,” her dad says, “is that she prides herself on being a present-buying, gift-giving expert.”
“The expert,” Annie corrects. “I buy the best gifts ever.”
I nod. I have to agree. My best friend has always given me the most thoughtful, lovely little gifts for as long as I’ve known her.
“Which,” Annie continues, “drives my big brother nuts.”
“Nuts? How come?”
“Because he’s absolutely awful at choosing gifts. Like, the worst. Which means he always feels incredibly guilty when I buy him these thoughtful, incredible presents and he buys me trash. Which means, because he feels so guilty, he’s nice to me for at least the first three months of the year.”
“That is so damn crafty, Annie,” Tucker says, shaking his head with obvious admiration.
“I’m the little sister,” Annie says. “It’s in the job description.”
Once we’ve finished our breakfast, I wrap myself back up in that warm coat and those snow boots, and we pile into Annie’s truck.
It’s the first time I’ve been in her truck, and now I understand why her brother was so reluctant to let her drive it out to the airport.
It’s ancient, rusty in several places, and it takes her three turns of the key before the engine starts rumbling away.
It splutters and coughs like an old man suffering with pneumonia.
“Annie, is this truck going to make it into town?” I say with apprehension.
“She’s never let me down yet,” Annie says confidently.
“Why don’t you get a new one?” I mutter.
“Because I’m loyal, Hollie Bright,” she says. “As you know. That’s why I didn’t dump you as a best friend when you forgot to pass on that message from Professor Woo and I nearly failed her class, or that time you spilled red wine all down my white dress when we were at that seriously glitzy party.”
“I’m also loyal,” I remind her. “That’s why I haven’t dumped you for ditching me at the bar two nights ago.”
“Fair,” Annie says, pulling on the old shift stick and jerking us away along the track.
It’s a million times bumpier than it was in Mr. J’s truck or in Clay’s, but I have to admit the old girl does have some character to her.
Annie points out the different properties as we pass other ranches and then explains which family lives where and who owns what.
We pass some people out horseback riding.
And then we’re rumbling into town. She parks up on Main Street and announces that we’re going to the hardware store.
I whistle. “Gee whiz, Annie, you’re taking my virginity at every opportunity you can.”
“Don’t tell me,” she says. “You’ve never stepped inside a hardware store before.”
“Yeah,” I say. “Never have.”
“What have you done when you’ve needed to fix a leaky tap or hang up a painting?”
“I’ve called someone to do it for me.”
“Oh, Hollie,” she says. “That is pathetic.”
I shrug. “I have certain skills, and DIY is not one of them.”
“Certain skills, huh?” Annie says, waggling her eyebrows. “Care to elaborate?”
“Nope,” I say. “Let’s go examine the tools.”
Annie is after something in particular for her dad, and soon she’s in conversation with the owner, so I browse around the shop while they’re chatting, amazed that there could be so many different shapes and sizes of nails and screws. Honestly, can’t you just use the same thing for everything?
When Annie has what she needs, she collects me and we head for the door.
“This used to be my brother’s favorite shop when he was growing up,” she says. “He used to save all his pocket money to come here.”
I peek back over my shoulder. “I find that hard to believe,” I say. “What could he possibly spend his pocket money on – 10,000 different screws?”
Most teenage boys I knew would have spent their money on video games or, let’s face it, porn.
“He likes to build things,” Annie explains. “He always has. He was always making dens in the forest for us. He built us a tree house all by himself. That cabin they’re staying in now – he built that too. And he’s going to build the house, eventually.”
“Wow,” I say. “So he’s a cowboy and a builder. He’s just one of those all-round handy guys.”
“He’s quite useful to have around at times,” Annie admits.
“To fix a leaky tap,” I say with a grin, “or hang a picture.”
“Exactly. And I usually can get him to do it for free.”
We laugh as we stride down the main street. The people we pass stop to say hello to Annie and ask her how her parents are doing, wishing her happy Christmas.
Next we enter the craft shop, and the little old lady running the store seems to know Annie too.
“I’ve always wanted to learn how to crochet,” I mutter as we browse the shelves.
“Excellent,” Annie says. “Then you should learn.”
She takes my hand and takes me back to the counter where the little old lady with curly white hair and a pair of spectacles hanging around her neck on a chain is reading a magazine.
“Priscilla,” Annie says, “this is my friend Hollie. She wants to learn to crochet.”
Priscilla lifts her spectacles onto her nose and examines me through them. “An excellent hobby,” she says. “What crafting skills do you possess?”
“Absolutely none,” I tell her.
“So a beginner.” She steps out from behind the counter and hobbles to a shelf full of needles and balls of wool. Humming to herself, she picks a few things out and hands them to me along with a book.
“There are lots of videos on the YouTube,” she says. “Or – that’s what they tell me. But this book is a good place to start as well. Everything you need to know about crocheting.”
“Ah, okay,” I say. I’d only mentioned it, but now it seems I am going to have a new hobby.
“We’ll take it,” Annie announces, then whispers into my ear as Priscilla rings it up, “You can make me one of those cute little crochet dicks.”
“It’ll be my first project,” I tell her.
And maybe I’ll make a decoration for Mrs. J to hang on her tree and a pair of oven gloves for Mr. J.
My heart is light and happy and bursting and when we step out of the store, it’s snowing again.
I think I freaking love this place.