Chapter 23 Wren #2
Catfish groans, loudly. “Why am I in the middle of a field on a fucking horse right now? Can we just go back? Fuck the Christmas tree.”
I glance over my shoulder. “Now, that’s just bad grammar. Sounds like you want to go back and fuck the Christmas tree, not me.”
He shakes his head. “You need to shut up and let me cool my heels for five minutes before I have to get off this horse with a boner and an urgent need to spank your ass.”
“I mean, if I sat across your lap and rode you with my back to you, that would make it easier for you to kill two birds with one stone. Fuck and spank at the same time.”
In one swift move, Catfish throws his leg over Blaze and drops to the ground. “You’re gonna be the death of me,” he says, taking the reins and leading us in. “Maybe if I can’t feel you, smell you, or hear you, my cock’ll chill the fuck out.”
When I laugh, I realize it’s the first time I’ve really let go. Really found something so belly-deep funny that it’s impossible to keep it inside.
The Christmas tree-cutting setup comes into view.
It’s an impressive operation, and I see why there was a split at the clubhouse.
Up the right-hand side of the ranch, snowmobiles race around.
Even from this distance, I can hear them.
It wouldn’t be safe for anyone if the horses and snowmobiles took the same route.
I can see Fen running along the front row of evergreens, waving a plastic axe. Atom is laying out ropes and sleds to take two of the trees back to the clubhouse.
“Does Atom sell trees?” I ask.
Catfish shakes his head. “No. This is a tradition his grandfather started decades ago. They grow trees just for the club members so we can come out and do this every year.”
“What an amazing commitment to the club. Do most members have that legacy?”
Catfish slows Blaze by the fence line. “It’s about fifty-fifty. I don’t. But Atom’s family goes back three generations. Down you come.”
I swing my leg over, keeping my other foot firmly in the stirrup, like Catfish showed me the first time we rode together. “You know, I always wanted a lot of dogs. But I think future me would also really like a horse.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Catfish says.
“Oh, no. I wasn’t asking you to buy me a horse.”
Catfish winks. “I know.”
We keep our distance as we walk over to the simple folding table that’s been set up to hold drinks and snacks.
“Wren,” Raven shouts. “Come get this.” She offers me a travel mug.
“What’s in it?” I ask.
“Spiked hot chocolate. Club tradition. Trust me, it hits the spot.”
I take a sip and almost gasp as I swallow. The bourbon hits first, then the sweetness of the chocolate. “Damn. That’s good.”
Catfish grabs one and takes a deep swallow. “We don’t do half measures around here.”
“There you go,” Atom says, offering Catfish an axe. “Go find your tree and be ready.”
“Be ready for what?” I ask.
“The ultimate tree chopping competition,” Wraith says, brandishing a newly polished and sharpened axe.
“Oh my God, I want to take part in that,” I say.
Wraith offers me the axe he was holding. “Go fill your boots. Catfish usually takes a tree for his sister, anyway.”
The axe feels solid in my hands.
“Let’s go pick our trees,” Catfish says.
We wander through the trees, inspecting each one. Some have a tag tied onto them where someone has already picked it. Catfish stays close but doesn’t touch me. He doesn’t have to. The stirring looks he gives me when we’re temporarily alone among the trees is enough.
“What about this one?” I say.
Catfish eyes it carefully. “Too scrawny.”
I point to another. “This one?”
He tips his head from side to side. “It’s lopsided.”
I take a second look and realize he’s right. “Who knew you were such a tree perfectionist?”
“More a case of I’ve spent too many years fighting with ones that had a tendency to fall over. What about these two, side-by-side?”
They look like a pair, perfectly symmetrical. “Fine, those two.”
“Alright,” Atom shouts, finally. “You all know the rules. Fastest fall, fewest strokes, and cleanest cut are the winning categories. Crush those, you get bragging rights for the year and a bottle of whiskey.”
“Any last-minute tips?” I whisper to Catfish.
“Don’t have your hands too close on the handle. Other than that, you’re on your own, kiddo.”
Taco starts strong but goes wide on every third swing.
Jackal cheats by going after a tree that wouldn’t hold a squirrel’s weight.
“Disqualified,” Wraith shouts. “That’s a bush, not a tree.”
Jackal shrugs. “We don’t all live in massive houses.”
Grudge steps up to his tree, and that fucker isn’t small.
“You got this, babe,” Lucy shouts, doing something akin to a cheerleader flourish.
In fairness, he does. Twelve strokes.
But I’m watching. Learning. Assimilating. Taco wasted energy, but Grudge was clinical.
Atom does it in fourteen, but the way Ember hugs him afterwards makes me think he already feels like a champion.
“You’re up,” Jackal says, but he catches Shade’s eyes, and I swear I see something pass between the two of them. The kind of connection River and I are trying to hide. It’s so fleeting, I can’t be certain.
I grin. “You set such a high bar.”
“Fuck you,” he says, playfully shoulder checking me as I slip my coat off.
“Oh, Wren’s bringing the big guns,” Smoke says.
I flip him the bird. “Please be aware, this is my first attempt at cutting down a tree. Ever.”
Atom groans. “Oh, here we go with the excuses already.”
We trudge to my tree, and once we’re there, it looks a lot bigger and thicker than I remember. So, I look at Jackal. “Remember. Size matters.”
Shade catches my eye and winks.
For a moment, I forget the danger. I forget the cartel and the FBI. I’m with friends. Catfish folds his arms across his chest and tips his chin to the trunk, like I should get on with it and prove myself.
I swing the axe, and it thunks hard into the bark, and I laugh, giddy from the motion. It’s harder to pull out than I thought it would be. My next stroke hits the trunk, but about five inches higher than the first one.
“Yeah, Wren’s a real natural,” Jackal goads.
“Just finding my rhythm,” I say.
It takes thirty-seven strokes. And everyone applauds when my tree finally topples.
Shade shakes my hand. “Solid effort.”
“You’re being generous. I sucked.”
He chuckles at that. “Yeah. You did.”
Catfish swings his axe over his shoulder. “Let me show you how it’s done.”
He steps up to his tree. Controlled and measured. Every time his axe hits the tree, he hits his mark.
Fen counts excitedly, like he knows something I don’t.
The tree sways at four. And drops with a heavy rustle at seven.
There’s a groan around the crowd.
He raises his hand in the air. “Thank you. I will take all the titles and all the whiskey.”
“Fucker wins every single year,” Atom says over my shoulder.
“I’m not saying I’m the best in the world,” Catfish drawls, walking towards us. “But I do think I have the most refined wrist action.”
He motions like he’s jerking off.
I almost spit out my hot chocolate.