Chapter 16
Carla
The morning after the baby shower, I approached the arena clutching my carefully assembled supplies and the thermos of cocoa warm in my gloved hands.
The cloth bag containing Hail’s handmade pottery mugs bumped against my hip with each step, and the container of Christmas cookies I’d made with Jessi last night kept trying to slip from my grasp.
My breath formed little clouds in the frigid morning air, but excitement bubbled through me like champagne.
It was Friday, and today, we were cutting the Christmas tree for the town square. I was finally going to experience one of those magical holiday traditions I’d only seen in movies and other people’s Instagram posts.
This felt different from every other job, every other town.
Usually by now I'd be mentally packing, already researching my next destination.
I never stayed anywhere, or with anyone, long enough for it to matter when I left.
A year was my limit with romantic relationships, six months for most jobs.
Keep moving, keep building the resume, keep the walls up.
It had worked for ten years. So why did the thought of leaving Lonesome Creek feel like I was ripping something vital out of my chest?
Becken stood near the sorhox pen, watching the beasts graze. When he spotted me approaching with my collection of supplies, his dark eyebrows rose.
“Planning an expedition or are we cutting down a tree?” he asked, eyeing the thermos and bag.
“Both, obviously.” I grinned, too excited to be embarrassed by my enthusiasm or bothered by his usual grinchy-ness. “I brought cocoa and cookies. You can’t have a proper tree-cutting adventure without refreshments.”
“Adventure.” He repeated the word like it was foreign to him. “It’s one tree, Carla. We cut it down, bring it back. We’re not even erecting it.”
“See, that’s where you’re wrong.” I shifted the thermos to one arm so I could gesture properly. “It’s not just cutting down a tree. It’s the experience. The tradition. The magic of finding the perfect tree and knowing it’s going to bring joy to the whole town.”
His mouth twitched in what might’ve been a smile. “More of that Christmas magic.”
“Don’t mock me. I know you think I’m being silly, but I’ve never done this before. I want it to be as fun as it can be.”
His expression softened. “You’re not silly. You’re…amazing, Carla. Don’t you know that?”
My chest warmed in a way that had nothing to do with the sun shining down from overhead. “Thank you. That’s…sweet of you to say.” And what was I supposed to say in reply? Suddenly flustered, I focused on the treats I’d brought. “You’ll appreciate the cocoa when your fingers are numb from the cold.”
“My fingers don’t get numb. Orc physiology.”
“Show off.”
This time, he definitely smiled. “Ready to go find this amazing tree of yours?”
“More than ready.” He called Peeka over to the fence.
I glanced around the arena. “Where’s Dester? I thought we’d both ride.”
He opened the gate to let Peeka out. “Dester needs more training.”
His jaw held a tension that didn’t match his casual words, and he was being very careful not to look at me. But before I could analyze it further, he was boosting me up onto Peeka’s back.
“Sharing a mount is more practical,” he said, securing the axe to Peeka’s neck spike and then leaping up behind me. “Easier to coordinate.”
His arm settled around my waist, and I forgot all about questioning his reasoning. The solid warmth of his chest pressed against my back, and his thighs bracketed mine. Even through layers of winter clothing, I could feel his strength, the careful way he held me secure without being possessive.
We’d spent the past few days skirting around what happened, focusing on plans for the rodeo and holiday festivities and never talking about us.
I’d almost begun to believe he would be happy to see me leave, and that was pretty much gutting me.
It was all I could do to lift a smile when I heard Christmas music or stared out my hotel window at night at the lights.
“Comfortable?” Becken’s voice rumbled near my ear, sending a shiver across my skin.
“Very.” I leaned back, letting myself enjoy the contact. The more I thought about leaving, the less I wanted to go. But it wasn’t like he’d asked me to stay.
We rode across the plain and entered the forest, following trails I never would’ve found on my own.
Snow-laden pine branches created a cathedral around us, and the only sounds were Peeka’s steady hoofbeats and the whisper of wind through the trees.
The world felt hushed, like we were the only two people for miles.
“How are we going to find our tree?” I asked.
“Tark explained what they were looking for and told me where to find the best choices. From what he described, I think we need to consider trees that’ve had full sun exposure, proper spacing, and the right soil drainage.
” His arm tightened around me as we navigated around a fallen log.
“It also needs to be accessible. No point finding the perfect tree if we can’t get it back to town. ”
“We’re dragging it back?”
“A few of my cousins will come collect it. We don’t want to break the branches, so they’ll load it in a wagon.”
“Very practical and wise.”
“Someone has to be, especially when you’re operating on Christmas magic and holiday enthusiasm.”
“Hey, Christmas magic is a perfectly valid operating principle.” I twisted in his arms to look back at him, which put our faces closer together. “When we find the right tree, you’ll feel it too.”
His gaze dropped to my mouth before returning to my eyes. “Feel what?”
“The holiday magic,” I whispered, suddenly breathless.
We stared at each other, the air between us crackling with awareness. Then Peeka shifted beneath us, and I turned forward quickly, my cheeks burning.
The rest of the ride passed in charged silence.
We found our first candidate in a small clearing where several pine trees grew in formation. We slid off Peeka’s back, and I hurried over to circle the largest one, studying it from every angle.
“Too sparse on the left side,” I said. “It would look lopsided in the town square.”
Becken examined the tree with the same serious attention I’d given it. “The trunk’s straight. Good height. The branches look strong enough to hold decorations.”
“But look at this gap here.” I pointed to a bare spot near the middle. “And the top isn’t quite centered.”
“It’s a tree, not a sculpture.”
“It’s the tree. The centerpiece of our Christmas celebration.” I walked over to the next candidate. “This one’s better. See how full the branches are? And the proportions are exactly what we’re looking for.”
“The trunk has a slight curve.”
“That adds character. This one’s dignified but approachable. Stately without being intimidating. The kind of tree that makes children dream about Christmas morning.”
“You can tell all that from looking at it?”
“Obviously.” I grinned at him. “Don’t tell me orcs don’t believe trees have personalities.”
“In the orc kingdom, we judge trees by practical considerations. Height, wood density, whether they’ll provide adequate shelter or building materials.”
“How depressingly logical.”
“How successfully survival oriented.”
We moved around the clearing, debating the merits of each potential tree. Becken’s criteria focused on structural integrity and ease of transport. Mine centered on aesthetic appeal and Christmas spirit, which made him shake his head but didn’t stop him from listening to my reasoning.
“That one,” I said, stopping in front of a magnificent pine tree that stood slightly apart from the others. “That’s the one.”
Becken circled it, checking the trunk, testing the flexibility of the branches. “It’s larger than the others. It’ll be heavier to transport.”
“But look at it.” I spread my arms wide, gesturing at the tree’s perfect symmetry. “It’s absolutely gorgeous. The branches are full all the way around, the color is that perfect deep green, and the top looks like it was meant to wear a star.”
“It is well-formed,” he said.
“This is the tree that’s going to make children gasp when they see it lit up. This is the tree that’s going to make people stop and remember why they love Christmas.”
Something in my voice must have convinced him because he nodded. “This one, then.”
“Really?”
“You’re right. It’s perfect.”
The simple agreement sent heat rushing through me. “I knew you’d feel the Christmas magic eventually.”
“I feel something,” he said, but when I looked at him, his expression was unreadable.
“We should probably cut down this tree before someone steals it from us.”
He frowned, peering around. “There’s no one else here.” With a shake of his head, Becken retrieved an axe and approached the pine tree. “Stand back. This might be unpredictable.”
“Can I try first?”
He looked from the enormous axe to me. “Can you even lift this, let alone swing it?”
I shrugged. “I want to try.”
He handed it over, his frown remaining locked on his face.
I hefted the axe that must weigh more than a golden retriever and wrangled it toward the tree. I tumbled through the snow along with it, landing on my knees while the blade barely nicked the trunk. My laughter burst out. “This is so much fun!”
He shouldered his way past the snow-covered branches, helping me to my feet, his hands and voice incredibly gentle. “Let me do it. You’re going to get hurt.”
“This magical axe wouldn’t hurt me.”
“It would gut me to see you harmed.”
My breath froze in my lungs. “Are you just saying that or—”
“I mean it, Carla. Please let me do it.”
I blinked up at him, hoping he’d say more, but when his mouth thinned, I backed away. The moment was lost. Feeling suddenly bereft, I plowed my way through the snow to a place where I could see but was out of the way.
He shrugged off his jacket, revealing a short-sleeved shirt beneath that clung to his body and showed off his bulging arm muscles.
Talk about swoon.