3. Knox
KNOX
By the time Elliot’s pear crumble had been devoured like we were all a bunch of hungry teenagers, I’d had several IPAs and found myself having a good time.
At some point, Caspian Moon had come out from the kitchen to say hello. We’d all complimented him on a spectacular dinner.
“We’re happy to hear it. This is your month to celebrate,” Caspian said. “If there’s anything you’d like on the menu, there’s a suggestion box at the hostess desk. No promises, but we’ll see what we can do.”
Elliot came up from behind him. “And now, off you go to the tree lighting. Enjoy it.”
“Bundle up, everybody,” Finley sang out, appearing at the head of the table in a parka and a knit hat with a pom the size of a grapefruit.
“Then head out to the big fir next to the campfire for the tree lighting. We’ll have a bonfire after.
With cocoa and something stronger for anyone who wishes to partake. ”
The whole crew funneled toward the door, tugging on coats and jackets.
I noticed Madeleine pulling a red knit hat over her long hair and a puffy jacket that seemed more appropriate for the weather than the overcoat she’d worn earlier.
She wore a pair of jeans, which was noteworthy in itself.
In the ten years she’d been working with the band, I’d never seen her in jeans before.
Between that and the negotiation she made to benefit Luci’s clinic, I was slightly shaken.
Was it possible there was more to Madeleine Price than I thought?
Outside, the cold was a shock after the warmth of the restaurant. I tugged a hat out of my jacket pocket and pulled it low over my ears. I’d left my cowboy hat in my cabin.
“Eighty percent of heat’s lost through the head,” Madeleine said, falling into pace with me.
“No way?”
“Look it up,” Madeleine said.
“I’ll take your word for it.”
“No push back? You’re getting soft on the first day in Montana. I can’t imagine the rest of the month.”
“Don’t get used to it,” I said.
It had stopped snowing while we ate, and the sky had opened into a deep purple scattered with stars.
The ranch lay under fresh snow, blue-white in the dark.
I stopped for a second, just to take it all in, thinking about my Gramps.
He would have told me to stop, look up and take notice of the beauty right in front of me.
I could almost hear him saying, Nights like these are a gift.
Like it always did when I thought of my grandfather, a lump formed at the back of my throat.
He’d died when I was in high school, a loss that had hurt more than anything else in my life.
But the stubborn old fool seemed to have lingered behind to talk in my ear whenever he pleased instead of just enjoying heaven.
He loved to give me song lyrics in my sleep.
Don’t ask me how he did it, because I don’t know.
Someday maybe I’d have the chance to ask him.
Our group formed a loose half-circle around the fire. I’d planned on skipping out and heading to my cabin to get some shut eye, but instead I lingered, feeling slightly foolish about waiting around to see some lights turned on.
Everyone pressed together in the cold, peering up at the tree. Beck ended up next to me. “How you doing?” He took off his glasses and wiped the lenses with a cloth he drew from the inner pocket of his jacket.
“I’m good. You?”
“Well, thank you.” Beck had been raised in a suburb of Atlanta.
His father’s side came from old Southern money—lawyers, reputation, tradition, country club manners, and futures mapped out before a kid even entered pre-school.
His mother had been from the classical music world and had expected her talented son to follow that same route.
From what he’d said, his mother’s people were disciplined, exacting people who treated music as something to be mastered, perfected, and respected.
They had no time for country music. Regardless, Beck had felt the call toward country music, despite his classical piano degree from Juilliard.
He walked away from the life his mother expected for him, and she couldn’t forgive him for it.
Country music was in his blood and, although it had cost him a relationship with his parents, there was no angst or anger in the man.
He was simply gentle and incredibly gifted.
“The filmmaker’s pretty,” Beck said softly. “Don’t you think?”
I glanced at her again. She was a beauty, with a heart-shaped face and big eyes. “She is, yeah. You looking for a December hook up?”
“You know I’m not really a hook up kind of guy,” Beck said.
That was the truth. The guy lived like a monk, even with women throwing themselves at us on the regular.
I glanced around at the men who were like brothers to me.
Jack had his arm around Ivy. Rhett stood on the other end of our semicircle next to Madeleine and Holly.
I’d been introduced to Holly before dinner, and I’d immediately liked her.
She was tall, with legs that went on for days, long brown hair and big brown eyes.
There was something reassuring about her presence, like no matter what disaster came our way, she’d handle it without breaking a sweat.
Apparently, Holly and Rhett were a thing back in high school.
But that was a long time ago. I couldn’t imagine the two of them together now.
He was slick and savvy and relentlessly ambitious.
From what I understood, she’d gone back to Stonehaven after getting a degree and now was on a one woman crusade to save their dying hometown.
Luci and Grant stood in the middle of the group, talking quietly to each other.
Grant’s expression told me too much. He had feelings for Luci.
Not that he would ever act on them. His relationship with Jack and the rest of us was too important.
The drummer in a band did not date the frontman’s little sister.
“All right!” Finley called out. “Everybody ready? We’ll count off together. On three. One—
—two”—the whole group joining in—
“three!”
The tree came alive. Thousands of warm-white lights waking branch by branch until the whole thing twinkled in the dark.
“Oh, how pretty,” Holly said.
Ivy clapped, bouncing on her toes. “So pretty.”
For a moment, I felt about six years old.
I glanced over at Madeleine. She was staring up at the tree, her face tipped up, lips parted, eyes wide and shining like she couldn’t believe what she was seeing.
It made me wonder—what had her childhood been like?
She’d never said much about her personal life.
I’d kind of assumed she didn’t have one, like maybe she’d just been hatched from some kind of egg grown in a lab fully formed, wearing a sweater dress and pumps.
But at dinner tonight, Ivy had said she grew up poor.
That was news to me. Was it possible we have some things in common?
Like crappy Christmases with trees bought on the last day the lot was open so we could get the scraggly leftover little Charlie Brown trees for half off the regular price?
Lights with only half the bulbs actually working?
She must have felt my stare because she looked over at me and rearranged her face into its usual composure.
Just like that she was back to being Madeleine Price, savvy business woman instead of an awed little girl.
I averted my gaze as quickly as I could, but she’d caught me staring for the second time that day.
She hated me enough already without me staring at her like a creep.
I wandered away from the group, grabbed another beer from the drink cart one of the staff had magically placed not far from the fire pit and sat in one of the chairs around the fire.
Madeleine, with a glass of red wine in her hand sidled over next to me. I’m not sure why. There were plenty of other seats. She didn’t say anything to me, just crossed one shapely leg over the other.
The others got drinks and joined the circle. Madeleine turned to me and said, “You should grab your guitar.”
I blinked, sure I’d misheard her. “Why?”
“Because music and a fire pit go together,” Madeleine said. “And no one can make the strings sing like you can.”
Although flattered, my instinct was to resist. Regardless, I got up and went to fetch my guitar like the woman wanted.
By the time I returned to the fire, everyone was settled. Ivy’s parents and Jack’s mom had apparently gone to bed because it was just the young folks now.
“Oh, let’s play a game,” Ivy said after seeing that I’d brought my guitar. “Let’s see if we can stump Knox.”
“Stump him how?” Madeleine asked, sounding delighted by the prospect of pulling one over on me.
“We’ll throw out a Christmas song and see if he can play the first few bars of it on his guitar,” Ivy said.
“Y’all aren’t gonna win this one,” Grant said, his drawl bringing to mind a jar of warm honey. “My boy can’t be stumped.”
I grinned. “Let’s see about that, shall we?” Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed that Nick was filming us. Blake had her phone raised, doing the same thing. I decided not to care.
“Okay, first one,” Jack said. “God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen.”
“Child’s play,” I said, picking the first couple lines with ease.
“Give him a harder one,” Luci said. “One of you, because I can’t think of anything but ‘Jingle Bells.’”
“Fine, I’ve got one.” Rhett leaned forward, elbows on his knees, grinning. “Carol of the Bells.”
A couple of people groaned.
“Come on now, do you want me to show off?” I asked, grinning back at Rhett, knowing he’d chosen it because it was fast and hard to play. “My fingers were made for this song.”
“Let’s hear it,” Rhett said.
I rattled off the first frantic bars, the notes tumbling over each other, and he sat back with a satisfied look in his eyes. “That’s how it’s done, my friends.”
“Show off,” Madeleine murmured beside me.
“You know it,” I said. “Ten-thousand hours and all that.”
“You know about that theory?” Madeleine asked.