Chapter 7 #2
“Could have fooled me.” Archer’s voice was cold. “Let’s go.”
He gestured to Brett to get moving, and he spun and started walking.
I started after him, but the barrel of the shotgun fell into my path, stopping me.
Halting, I glared over the metal at Archer.
His expression was unreadable, and then he pulled the gun down and started walking, putting himself between me and Brett.
I clicked off the light and followed behind him silently, wondering what the hell his problem was. Paul and Brett were standing beside the open passenger side door when Archer veered off to get behind the wheel.
The cab light was dim when Archer started up the engine.
“Shall we?” I asked.
“After you,” Paul invited, sweeping his hand out for me to get in first.
If I got in first, I’d be squished up against Archer.
“Uh,” I uttered, looking back at the father and son. Their expressions were hopeful and maybe a little pleading, and I barked out a laugh. “Scared of him, are you?”
“Not at all,” Paul said, then cleared his throat. “He’s just, ah, a bit prickly this time of year.”
I snorted. “You mean all year.”
Paul’s brow furrowed. “Well, no. Sure, he keeps to himself most times, but he is busy running this farm. But around this time of year, he gets a little… well, grinchy. You seem to handle it well.”
He thinks I handle Archer well? If he only knew.
But Archer being grinchy this time of year was news to me. Not that I really kept up on news about Archer.
Fine. I asked my mom about the farm sometimes. But I never asked about Christmas.
I didn’t say anything else, just climbed into the cab and slid across the bench seat. Archer glanced at me from the corner of his eye and then went back to looking out the windshield as I settled beside him, careful not to touch him.
Brett climbed in next and his father right after, closing the door behind him.
Seconds later, the light went out, plunging us all into darkness. Heat blasted from the vents, filling the air with a slight rattling sound.
Brett jostled into me, and I fell sideways, coming right up against Archer’s side.
His body stiffened, and I sucked in a breath.
“Sorry,” Brett said even as he slid a little closer.
The muscles in my legs contracted as I tried to hold myself stiff so I touched the driver as little as possible.
“This truck is just not big enough for four people,” Paul observed.
Archer put the truck in drive and turned in a large arc so we could go back the way we came. With the swift turn, my weight fell into Brett’s side, and I felt myself blush.
“I’m sorry,” I said, trying to strain away.
He laughed under his breath. “It’s all right.”
My arms were pinned in front of my chest as I tried to be as small as possible, and the muscles in my legs were starting to quiver from effort.
“That does not look comfortable,” Brett noted and pulled his arm up.
A flash of panic cracked over me when I realized he intended to drape it around my shoulders as a way to give me more room. But before his arm could settle, another arm snaked around my torso and pulled me flush against Archer.
The scent of fresh pine overwhelmed my senses, and the heat radiating from his body instantly relaxed my stressed muscles. I went slack almost instantly, practically melting into the worn flannel covering his upper half.
He made the barest of sounds—seriously, did I imagine that?—and then the heavy weight of his arm settled over my shoulders.
Exhaling, I leaned farther into him before realizing what exactly I was doing. I tensed anew, but he made another one of those soundless sounds and widened his legs so that, from the hip down, we were velcroed together.
The fight in me surrendered, and I rested against him once more.
“Can you drive like that?” Brett questioned Archer. Then to me, “Maybe you should slide over here.” He lifted his arm again, and Archer practically growled.
“He’s fine.”
After that, the cab was quiet, and beyond the headlights of the old truck, darkness swallowed the farm. The rattle of the heater and the warmth of the solid body practically supporting mine lulled me into some kind of hypnotic state that made my lids start to droop.
It could have been minutes or seconds later when Paul’s voice had my lashes fluttering. “Well, look at that. Half the town must be here already.”
From beneath the weight of Archer’s arm, I perked up, peering through the windshield at the illuminated string lights around the property and lining the barn and shop.
In the center of it all was a bonfire, which was well on its way to impressive, and people in coats and hats milled around.
“What’s that?” I asked, pointing to a line on the opposite side of the fire.
“It’s the hot chocolate stand,” Archer replied.
“Wow,” I said, sweeping over it all. I understood now why Brandy said it wasn’t just a bonfire. It was a Yuletide bonfire.
“The band is setting up,” Brett noted, pointing.
“Do you know them?” I asked. He’d mentioned the band back at the clinic too.
Brett nodded. “I went to high school with them.”
“It’s Doc Hatfield’s youngest daughter.” Archer elaborated.
Surprise made me sit up. “Really?”
Brett nodded. “Yeah, she was the best singer in the whole school. When she graduated, she moved to New York and has done a few Broadway shows.”
“Whoa, really?”
Brett nodded.
“What’s she doing here, then?” I wondered.
“Some people actually come home for the holidays,” Archer quipped.
Was that bitterness in his tone?
As he steered the truck right up beside one of the barns, I saw his mom, Connie, step out of a cute little shop that was decorated to the nines for Christmas. Above the door was a sign that read Hodge Podge.
“My mom told me you opened a store,” I said, watching her walk toward us with a basket in hand.
“The guests like it,” he replied tersely as he shut off the engine.
Mayor Schroder was the first to push open his door. He and Brett slid out quickly, and I ducked under Archer’s arm and followed without looking back. The air outside compared to inside the truck was breath-stealing, and I tugged the fur lining the hood of my coat a little closer around my neck.
“Tobias Thomas,” Connie Hodge called, quickening her footsteps. “Just look at you!”
I smiled wide and turned to meet her halfway.
She opened her arms and flung them around me, hugging me the way she had when I was young. “It’s so good to have you home,” she whispered in my ear as we embraced.
Home. My stomach dipped a little, hearing her words, and I hugged her a little tighter.
“Just look at you,” Connie repeated, pulling back and cupping the side of my face with her hand. “The pictures your mom shows me just don’t do you justice. My goodness, are you handsome.”
I laughed, and she patted my cheek.
“Me?” I said, smiling down at her. “What about you? You haven’t aged a day.”
“Still a terrible liar,” she teased.
“The only liar around here is your birth certificate.”
She swatted at me. “You’re going to make me blush.”
“The farm sure has grown since I’ve been here,” I observed, looking toward Hodge Podge. “You have your own shop now.”
“Archer insisted we needed somewhere to sell my secret spice,” Connie mused. “And it just kind of grew from there. It keeps me busy.”
“I want a tour.”
“I’d love that.” She agreed. “But first…” She held up the basket clutched in her hand. It was filled with little bundles of what looked like cinnamon sticks.
“What are those?” I asked.
“Wishes!”
“Wishes?” I echoed.
“More like a marketing gimmick,” Archer said, joining in the conversation.
“Archer Hodge, there’s no room for cynicism at Christmas,” Connie admonished. “Don’t you be saying that nonsense too loud. Our guests will hear.”
“Yeah.” I backed her up. “Think of the guests.”
Archer rolled his eyes.
“Connie, I’m going to need one of those fancy bows you make for the mistletoe we just harvested,” Mayor Schroder said, holding up the mesh bag with the large bundle inside.
“Oh, look at the size of that,” Connie cooed. “I wonder if there’s extra magic in it this year.”
“I have work,” Archer said, sounding constipated. He turned to leave without another word, but his mother stopped him.
“Just a minute.”
He stopped with a hefty sigh but didn’t turn around.
“First, the wish.”
“Mom, you know I don’t—”
“How would it look if the man who created this Yuletide bonfire and the fireside wish didn’t participate in his own tradition?”
Raising my eyebrows, I stared at Archer’s broad back. “You created all of this?”
He turned back, scowl marring his bearded face. “It’s business.”
“It’s tradition.” Connie corrected, reaching into her basket to hand bundles to Brett, Paul, and me.
I glanced down at the cinnamon sticks tied together with twine.
In between the sticks were dried orange peel and a sprig of dried pine.
A small white tag was attached to the twine that said mistletoe kisses and fireside wishes. ”
After reading it, I looked up, seeing Archer already staring. I pointed to the tag. “You came up with this?”
I beg your finest pardon for repeating myself, but I was in a state of shock.
“Well, of course, dear,” Connie said as if it were obvious.
It was, in fact, not.
You’re telling me that the man who thought the mistletoe legend was a hoax and refused to kiss under it came up with a cutesy little sashay of spices and labeled it for kisses and wishes?
Yeah right.
“This is for a wish?” I wondered, still trying to wrap my head around it.
Brett nodded. “Yeah. Every year at the bonfire, they hand out these little bundles, and you are supposed to close your eyes and make a wish, then throw them into the fire.”
“The scent of Christmas fills the air along with everyone’s wishes,” Connie added.
Wow. That was… sweet.
“Are you sure this wasn’t your idea?” I asked Connie.
She smacked me with a cinnamon bundle. “You know Archer is the romantic one.”
“Mom,” he warned.
“Archer?” I scoffed. “He’s about as romantic as a cavity.”
Brett laughed.
I went on. “Hallmark is going to file a restraining order.”
“I’d rather have a root canal than stand here with you another second,” Archer groused.
“That’s enough, boys.” Connie stepped between us. “Surely, you can set aside whatever it is between you two for the holiday season.”
We glared at each other.
“Come on, then, to the fire.” She herded her son, me, Brett, and Paul to the edge of the bonfire where people were already standing close and making wishes of their own before tossing the bundles in.
Inhaling, I noted there was already a hint of spice in the air, the cinnamon warm and slightly sharp mingling with the sweet citrus of the orange. It mixed perfectly with the strong scent of pine. It was nostalgic and exactly the way Christmas always smelled.
“Hold it like this,” Connie instructed, wrapping her hand around her own bundle and pulling it into her chest.
I followed her instructions.
“Close your eyes.”
When I did, the world around me came even more alive.
The crackle and pop of the bonfire filled my ears along with the hum of people’s voices.
At my back, the winter air was cold, but on my face, the fire was warm.
Somewhere on the other side of the fire, bells jingled and the band started to play a classic Christmas song.
“Think about something you want. Not just any old thing, though. Something meaningful. Something you’ve always wanted but has been out of reach,” Connie said, refocusing my attention on the bundle gripped in my fingers.
Something flashed into my mind immediately, the answer so definitive it was disconcerting, especially because it wasn’t even what I wanted. Not at all.
“You got it?” Connie asked.
I started to tell her no.
“Now toss your bundle into the fire.”
I opened my eyes just as she and Archer tossed theirs into the flames.
“Go on, Toby,” Connie encouraged.
I tossed it without thinking, watching it spark just a little when the cinnamon disappeared.
“You just made your first fireside wish,” Connie said, giving me a one-armed hug.
“What did you wish for?” Brett asked.
Connie gasped. “Do not tell him! Your wishes are for you. Telling people will keep them from coming true.”
I should definitely, definitely, tell someone, then.
But even as I thought it, my lips stayed sealed.