Chapter 9
SYLVIE
Around eight o’clock, a parade of tearful children came trudging through the front doors of the lodge, their cheeks red from cold. I looked up from where I’d been helping clear dinner plates to see what the commotion was about.
Aspen was among the group, her little face scrunched up in a way that meant she was working up to a full-scale meltdown. She made a beeline for her mother, who was stacking dishes near the kitchen entrance.
“Mama!” Aspen wailed, throwing herself against Stacy’s legs with dramatic flair. “The big mean man threw a snowball at me!”
I felt my stomach drop. Big mean man? There was only one person that could refer to, and sure enough, Kent Bancroft came strolling through the front doors a moment later with Alder by his side.
Both of them were acting like absolute hooligans, faces bright red from the cold, eyes glassy and wild, snow still clinging to their hair and coats.
They were laughing together like old friends, completely oblivious to the trail of crying children they’d apparently left in their wake.
“That was awesome!” Alder was saying, practically bouncing with excitement. “Did you see when you got Tommy right in the face? And when Kylie tried to hide behind the tree but you totally got her anyway?”
Kent was grinning in a way that made him look years younger, but also slightly unhinged. “Kid, that wasn’t even my best work. You should see what I can do with proper ammunition. Me and my brothers used to have the most epic fights.”
Stacy’s expression had gone from confused to furious in about two seconds flat. She gently disentangled herself from Aspen’s grip and fixed Kent with a stare that could have frozen hell over.
Mama Bear mode activated.
“Alder,” she said, her voice dangerously calm. “Take your sister to your room. Now.”
“But, Mom—”
“Now, Alder.”
The tone brooked no argument. Alder’s enthusiasm deflated immediately. He shot Kent an apologetic look before trudging off toward the back of the lodge where their family’s private quarters were located. Aspen followed, still sniffling dramatically.
Once her children were out of earshot, Stacy turned her full attention to Kent. I’d seen my sister-in-law in protective mama mode before, but this was next level. She looked like she was considering whether it would be worth the legal consequences to throw Kent out into the snow personally.
Thank God the ground was frozen because I had no doubt she was contemplating digging a hole for the six-foot-something man.
“I know who your family is,” she said, her voice low but carrying clearly across the lobby. “I know what the Bancrofts are about. And I don’t like you being around here one bit.”
Kent’s post-snowball-fight glow faded slightly, replaced by something more guarded. “I was just having some fun with the kids.”
“You made half of them cry.”
“They’ll get over it.”
Wrong thing to say. Stacy’s eyes flashed dangerously, and for a moment I thought she might actually take a swing at him. Instead, she took a deep breath and stepped back.
“Stay away from my children,” she said simply, then turned and followed Alder and Aspen toward their quarters, leaving Kent standing in the lobby looking like he wasn’t quite sure what had just happened.
I watched the whole exchange with a growing sense of unease. Kent might be infuriating and arrogant, but watching him with the kids, seeing him laugh and act like he actually was familiar with the idea of fun had been oddly endearing.
Kent looked around the now-quiet lobby, then focused on me. “Where can a guy get a good drink around here?”
“We’re a dry lodge,” I said automatically.
His expression fell so dramatically that I almost felt sorry for him. “You people are insufferably dull.”
I couldn’t help but smile at his obvious distress. The look on his face was like someone had just told him Christmas was canceled permanently.
“Just kidding,” I said, and watched relief flood his features. “It was too easy.”
He shook his head, but I caught the hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “You’re evil.”
“Come on,” I said, gesturing toward the front door. “I’ll show you where we keep the good stuff.”
I led him outside and around the wraparound porch to a small outbuilding that jutted off from the back of the lodge. It had been our bar back in the day, though we hadn’t used it in at least two years.
The door creaked ominously as I pushed it open. The smell of dust and disuse wafted out. I felt around for the light switch, flicking it on to reveal what had once been the heart of our evening entertainment.
It was a simple but well-designed space, a proper bar with enough seating on high-top stools for about eight people, plus a few small tables scattered around the room.
Like everywhere else in the lodge, the walls were covered with framed photographs depicting the property’s history, though these focused more on the social aspects.
Pictures of wedding receptions, holiday parties, summer barbecues from decades past.
The bar itself was still well stocked. Bottles of whiskey, rum, vodka, and various mixers lined the shelves behind the bar, covered in a thin layer of dust but otherwise intact.
“This place hasn’t seen much action lately,” I said, moving behind the bar and running my finger along the surface, leaving a clean line in the dust. “We used to have someone to run it, but…”
I trailed off, not wanting to get into the details of our staffing cuts and budget constraints with someone who clearly wouldn’t understand what it meant to choose between paying an employee and keeping the lights on.
“But?” Kent prompted, settling onto one of the barstools.
I grabbed a bottle of bourbon, something that looked expensive enough that Kent wouldn’t complain.
“We’re in dire straits,” I said finally.
“We don’t have the money to pay someone to staff the bar anymore.
We used to have a small winery on the property, served our own wine.
Had an extended family member who ran a brewery too, but that shut down a few years ago. ”
I poured the bourbon into two glasses, adding a splash of ginger ale to mine and leaving his neat. The confession felt strangely liberating, like naming the problem out loud made it more manageable somehow.
“The whole town is suffering,” I continued, surprised by how easy it was to talk to him. “The Northwood family owns more than half of Northwood Township, and we employ over fifty percent of the locals across all our various businesses. If the tree farm goes down…”
I didn’t finish the thought, but Kent seemed to understand.
“Domino effect,” he said.
“Exactly. And then there won’t be anywhere left for me here. This is all I’ve ever known, all I’ve ever wanted to do. If we lose the farm, I lose everything.”
“Maybe that’s not a bad thing,” he said.
“Excuse me?”
“Change isn’t always a bad thing,” he said. “Some fresh blood. It might hurt because it doesn’t look the way your family pictured it, but maybe something good and new could come out of the fall of their mini empire.”
I stared at him. I wanted to be mad but knowing there might be some truth to his words. I kept my mouth shut. I didn’t want to think about Northwood being potentially better without the Northwoods.
I handed him his drink and took a sip of mine, immediately regretting it when the bourbon hit my throat like liquid fire. I started coughing and sputtering, my eyes watering.
Kent, meanwhile, took a long pull from his glass like he was drinking water. “Smooth,” he said approvingly.
“How are you not dying right now?” I gasped, still trying to clear the burning sensation from my throat.
He laughed. “Practice. This is good bourbon, by the way.”
“I wouldn’t know. I’m more like a cider and mulled wine type.”
“Like I said,” he added with a teasing grin. “Dull.”
I rolled my eyes. “I am not dull.”
“Cider. Mulled wine. Christmas trees. What’s next, hot chocolate and cookie decorating?”
“Don’t knock cookie decorating until you’ve tried it,” I said, trying to keep my tone light even though his words stung a little. “There’s an art to it.”
We fell into easy conversation then, the bourbon loosening my tongue and making me forget why I’d been so irritated with him earlier. Kent was actually funny when he wasn’t being deliberately provocative. His dry, sarcastic humor made me laugh.
When his glass was empty, I refilled it and found myself reaching for his hand without really thinking about it.
“Come on,” I said, tugging him toward the door. “I want to show you something.”
We stepped back out onto the porch, and I immediately regretted not grabbing our coats from inside the lodge. The cold air cut through my sweater but I had just enough bourbon on board to make it manageable.
I reached over and opened the front door just wide enough to access the light switch on the wall. When I flipped off the exterior lodge lights, the transformation was immediate and magical.
Without the bright porch lights competing for attention, the twinkling lights strung throughout the Christmas tree farm seemed to glow brighter. The fresh snow on the tops of the trees caught and reflected the light, making everything sparkle like it had been dusted with glitter.
In the distance, Santa’s cabin glowed cheerfully, its own string of lights adding to the festive atmosphere. And above it all, the star-filled sky stretched out in a canopy so clear and bright that it took my breath away.
“Us Northwoods are a lot of things,” I said, looking out over the magical winter scene that my family had created and maintained for generations. “But we’re not dull.”
Kent was quiet beside me. When I glanced over at him, I was surprised by the expression on his face. He looked moved, somehow. Like he was seeing something he’d never expected to see.
The thoughts running through my mind about Kent Bancroft were anything but dull, too.
Standing next to him and watching him take in the beauty of our property with what looked like genuine appreciation, I found myself noticing things about him that had nothing to do with his expensive clothes or arrogant attitude.
The way his hair was perfectly mussed. It was likely a very expensive haircut that made it look so good. The strong line of his jaw. The fact that he was still holding my hand from when I had led him outside was making me think about things I didn’t want to think about.
I pushed those thoughts down firmly. I didn’t need this kind of distraction, not now. Not when everything my family had built was hanging by a thread and I needed to focus on saving it.
Tomorrow, Santa would be making his first official appearance at the tree farm for the season. With any luck, families would flock to the property for the experience, and we would actually have a busy day for once.
I couldn’t afford to let myself get distracted by a mysterious stranger with too much money and an infuriating smile, no matter how good he looked in the starlight.