Chapter 6
KENT
Ipulled over on the side of the road just around the bend from the tree farm, far enough away that nobody could see me from the property but close enough that I could still feel the Christmas spirit wafting through the air.
The Fraser fir was still strapped to the roof of my rental car, secured with what had to be the most complicated series of knots I had ever encountered.
That Ozzo kid might have been built like a linebacker, but apparently he’d learned rope-tying from a fucking sailor. Or a Boy Scout with all his badges.
I was cold, irritated, and rapidly losing what little patience I had started the day with.
My fingers were already numb, despite my expensive leather gloves.
The wind was cutting through my peacoat like it was made of tissue paper.
This whole situation was ridiculous. What kind of grown man bought a Christmas tree he didn’t want and then had to figure out how to dispose of it on the side of a mountain road?
The answer was simple: the kind of grown man who let a beautiful woman’s enthusiasm override his common sense.
I started working on the knots, trying to untangle the mess of rope that was holding the tree in place.
But whatever maritime expertise Ozzo had channeled during the loading process, he’d apparently tied these knots to survive a category five hurricane.
Every time I thought I was making progress, I would discover another loop or twist that seemed to tighten rather than loosen as I worked on it.
“Come on, you piece of shit,” I muttered. My breath came out in white puffs as I struggled with a particularly stubborn knot near the rear of the car.
There was no way in hell I was driving around this godforsaken place with a fucking tree tied to the roof like a fucking Griswold.
Five minutes in, I was sweating despite the cold. Ten minutes in, I was cursing creatively enough to make a longshoreman blush. Fifteen minutes in, I said fuck it and decided to just drag the tree out from under the rope.
That turned out to be a mistake.
The Fraser fir came free all right, but not without taking its revenge.
Branches scraped and squealed against the paint job as I yanked it off the roof, leaving what I was pretty sure were some impressive scratches on the paint.
Pine needles scattered everywhere, sticking to my coat and somehow finding their way inside my collar.
Whatever. I could afford to pay for the damage. The rental car company would probably charge me an arm and a leg for the scratches, but that was a problem for future Kent to deal with. I should have gotten the damn insurance.
With a grunt of effort, I hefted the tree and tossed it into the snowy ditch beside the road.
That felt good.
I dusted the snow and pine needles off my hands and coat, shaking my head at the absurdity of the whole situation.
I got back into the car and cranked the heat, grateful for the blast of warm air that immediately started defrosting my frozen extremities. At least now I could get out of this winter wonderland nightmare and find somewhere civilized to stay for the night.
I put the car in drive, pushed the gas pedal, and prepared to speed away. Unfortunately, the car had other ideas. It coughed and then died.
“Oh hell no.”
I tried again. The engine turned over once, made a pathetic whimpering sound, and then died completely.
“You’re kidding me,” I grumbled, staring at the dashboard in disbelief.
I tried the ignition again. And again. And again. Each attempt was met with progressively weaker responses from the engine until finally, nothing at all. Not even a click.
I sat there for a moment, processing the fact that I was apparently stranded on a mountain road with no working vehicle and no idea how far the nearest town was.
I pulled out my phone to call for help, only to discover what I probably should have expected: no cell service. Of course. Because why would there be cell service in the middle of nowhere? That would make entirely too much sense.
I spent another ten minutes trying everything I could think of. I didn’t know shit about cars. I knew I liked nice sports cars but that was it. I tried the classic move of hitting the dashboard, as if that might magically restore the car to working order.
Nothing worked.
Which left me with exactly one option, walking back to the tree farm to ask for help.
The humiliation was almost physical. I pulled my coat tighter around myself and started the trek back up the road, my expensive leather shoes immediately proving themselves completely inadequate for hiking through snow.
By the time I made it back to the tree farm, my feet were soaked, my legs were frozen, and my pride was thoroughly battered. I found Sylvie in the payment booth, looking warm and cozy as she rang up another customer’s tree purchase.
She looked up as I approached. Surprise flickered across her face. “Kent?”
“My car died,” I said flatly. “Just down the road. It won’t… go.”
She arched a brow. “It won’t go?”
“It died. I tried to start it a few times and now the lights won’t even turn on.”
“I can drive you back there with some jumper cables. You probably killed the battery trying to start it.”
The offer should have been a relief, but instead it felt deeply emasculating. Here I was, having to be rescued by the same woman I’d been mentally dismissing as a small-town Christmas fanatic just an hour earlier.
It was only a little humiliating that she knew what might be wrong with the car.
“I’d appreciate that,” I said, because what other choice did I have?
“We’ve got some cables in the truck,” she said. “Come on.”
I followed her to what had to be the most pathetic excuse for a vehicle I’d ever seen. The truck was a rusted bucket of shit. I was being rescued by a woman that drove a truck that had no business being on the road.
I was certain my day could not get worse.
“It’s not much to look at,” she said, apparently reading my expression. “But it runs. Most of the time.”
We climbed into the cab, and she started the engine, which coughed and wheezed before settling into what sounded like a death rattle. But it moved when she put it in gear, so I supposed that counted as functional by local standards.
It was doing more than the damn rental. Luxury vehicle, my ass.
The drive back to my car took only a few minutes, but it was long enough for me to notice that cinnamon and vanilla scent.
She pulled up behind my dark vehicle and got out to survey the situation. I was climbing out of the passenger side when I heard her gasp.
“You threw it in the ditch?”
I looked over to see her staring at the tree I had discarded, her expression one of complete horror, like I’d just shot the finger at a puppy.
“I didn’t need it,” I said dismissively.
“But it’s a Christmas tree!”
“And?”
She turned to stare at me, her green eyes wide with disbelief. “And you just… threw it away? Like garbage?”
I shrugged. “I paid for it. I can do whatever I want with it.”
“This is so not the spirit of Christmas,” she said, shaking her head like I’d just confessed to some kind of holiday heresy.
“The spirit of Christmas is intangible,” I pointed out. “How would you know what my Christmas spirit looks like?”
She opened her mouth to respond, then seemed to think better of it. “I’m not sure I want to know.”
“Maybe I enjoy abandoning Christmas trees on the side of the road,” I added, mostly just to see how she’d react. “Maybe that’s my version of holiday tradition.”
She rolled her eyes and muttered something under her breath that I couldn’t quite catch. Then she grabbed the jumper cables and popped the hood of her truck.
“Let’s just get your car started so you can go back to wherever you came from,” she said, her tone noticeably cooler than it had been before.
The jump itself went smoothly enough. Her ancient truck might have looked like it was one breakdown away from the scrapyard, but apparently it had enough life left in it to resurrect my dead battery. The engine turned over on the first try, purring back to life like nothing had ever been wrong.
“Thanks,” I said, rubbing the back of my neck.
“Don’t mention it,” she replied, already coiling up the jumper cables.
“I might have left the door open while I untied the tree.”
She shook her head as she headed back to her truck. “Sounds like your Christmas tradition came back to bite you in the butt.”
Speaking of butts, I couldn’t help but notice hers as she walked away. The woman had wide hips a man could grab a hold of, really get some leverage while he filled her with Christmas cheer.
Fuck the rental. She had my engine revving like a racecar at the starting line.
I banished the thoughts and got back into my car, ready to finally escape this winter wonderland and find somewhere civilized to spend the night. But when I tried to back up, the wheels just spun uselessly in the snow.
I tried rocking the car back and forth, gunning the engine in reverse and then forward, but all I managed to do was dig myself in deeper. The rear wheels were completely buried now, and from the sound of things, they weren’t going anywhere without serious help.
Sylvie appeared at my window, which I rolled down, looking like she was trying very hard not to laugh. “Looks like that tradition of yours has been nothing but trouble.”
“I don’t suppose you get a cell signal out here?” I asked bitterly.
“Nope. And a tow truck will take hours to get out here.” Sylvie looked up at the sky. “It’s going to snow. You won’t be getting out of here anytime soon. You should come back to the lodge for the night.”
The suggestion made perfect sense, but it also felt like admitting defeat. I’d spent the better part of an hour trying to escape this place, and now I was going to end up staying here anyway.
I couldn’t see any other option though.
“Fine.” I closed the window, got out, and grabbed my overnight bag from the trunk. I started toward her truck, but she held up a hand to stop me.
“You can get in when you get that tree out of the ditch and into the truck bed.”
I stared at her. “Seriously?”
“Seriously. You want my help, you better treat that tree with some respect.”
“Fuck my life,” I muttered under my breath.
I tossed my bag in the truck and climbed down into the ditch. Getting it loaded in the back of her truck was going to be cold, wet, miserable work.
But I was stuck, literally and figuratively, and she was my only option if I didn’t want to freeze to death out in the woods.
I grabbed the trunk of the Fraser fir, trying to ignore the way the cold snow immediately soaked through my leather gloves. Wrestling it out of the ditch turned out to be significantly more difficult than tossing it in had been.
And she offered no help. She sat in the truck and watched me.
“Happy now?” I asked as I climbed into the passenger seat of her truck.
She didn’t answer immediately, but I caught the slight smile she was trying to hide as she started the engine.
The cab of the truck was warm despite the ancient heater. I found myself hyperaware of her presence beside me. She said nothing as she drove.
I had irritated her. The Christmas tree disposal had genuinely offended her, and my casual dismissal of her concerns had made it worse.
Why that bothered me, I wasn’t sure. I’d never particularly cared whether I offended people before, especially people I barely knew. But something about the disappointment in Sylvie’s green eyes made me feel like I had failed some test I hadn’t even known I was taking.
“That tree grew for eight years to be someone’s Christmas memory,” she said finally as she drove. “And you just threw it away like garbage.”
I wanted to point out that it was just a tree, but I found myself keeping those thoughts to myself. She looked sweet and innocent, but I had a feeling she’d had enough of my bullshit. She would leave me outside to fend for myself if I pushed too hard.
I bit my tongue and stayed silent.