Chapter 18
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
LINC
The morning sun was just beginning to rise over the ridge when I stepped onto the porch, coffee mug in hand.
Frost shimmered across the fields, turning every fencepost silver.
The air held that clean winter stillness right before the day woke up, when sound traveled farther and sharper.
I took a sip, the coffee hot enough to sting my tongue, and inhaled the wood smoke curling from the chimney.
The sky glowed pale gold at the edges, with clouds thin and bright.
It was tree day.
Around here, that meant controlled chaos, laughter, and more snowball fights than any sane person wanted before nine in the morning.
The whole ranch crew, every partner, every wife, and every kid, piled into trucks and trailers, headed for Gwen and Wes’s Christmas tree farm.
It was tradition. Loud, messy, and perfect.
Kristin stepped out behind me, pulling on her gloves.
Her cheeks were flushed pink from the cold, and her breath billowed out in small clouds.
She wore my old flannel under a heavy jacket, her hair tucked into a cream-colored beanie.
The sight hit me hard. She looked both domestic and wild, the kind of beauty that made me forget how to think straight.
“What?” she asked when she caught me staring.
“Nothing,” I said, leaning back against the railing. “Just thinking you make winter look good.”
She smirked, tugging her hat lower. “You say that now. Wait until I make you haul a twelve-foot spruce through three feet of snow.”
“I’ll survive.” I took another sip of coffee, watching the frost glint on her jacket. “Can’t be worse than breaking colts with Kipp.”
Kristin laughed, a sound that always caught me off guard. It carried warmth through the cold morning, brighter than the sunlight hitting the fields. “You’re out of practice, babe.”
The word rolled off her tongue like sugar, and if I “Maybe,” I said. “Guess I could use the workout.”
Before she could fire back, a string of honks broke the quiet.
Two trucks rolled into the yard, tires crunching over ice, engines growling low.
Kipp and Nora in one, Ryder and Lexie in the other, both loaded with kids.
Doors flew open like gates at a rodeo chute, chaos spilling out in every direction.
Cooper darted out first, snow already flying from his hands toward Nash’s truck before Nash even parked.
Nora chased him, half laughing, half scolding, while Kipp yelled something about not hitting the windshield.
Fallon climbed down from Nash’s truck next, followed by Josie and Lottie, both bundled in coats so big they could barely move.
They waddled through the snow, giggling.
Griff and Elle’s kids, Parker and Cora, tumbled after, shrieking when cold powder found its way down their collars.
Lexie’s crew arrived next: Ruby, Sawyer, Sara, Andrew, West, and Wyatt—each louder than the last. Boots crunched, laughter echoed, and someone’s dog barked from the bed of a truck.
I set my coffee on the porch railing and stepped off to meet them, the cold biting through my jeans. “Morning, everyone,” I called.
Ryder gave me a lazy salute. “Morning. Are you ready for this?”
“Define ready,” I said.
“Prepared for mayhem,” Nash added, lifting his daughter down from the tailgate.
“Then no,” I said, grinning. “Not even close.”
Julie and Phil’s truck rolled in last, the engine backfiring loud enough to make half the horses in the barn jump. Julie leaned out the window, scarf flapping like a flag. “You boys done talking? We’re burning daylight!”
Kristin laughed beside me, shaking her head. Her breath puffed in front of her, catching the light. “You sure we can’t just go back into the house and hide?”
“They’ll find us,” I grumbled. “Let’s go find a tree, then we can hide for days.”
The convoy leaving the yard looked like a parade from some small-town holiday postcard: three trucks, a trailer, and a swirling cloud of snow dust behind us. Music drifted faintly from Ryder’s cab, and every so often a kid’s laugh carried through the open windows.
By the time we pulled into Gwen and Wes’s long drive, the farm was already buzzing.
Rows of evergreens stretched over the rolling hills, each one brushed with snow.
The barn was strung with Christmas lights, their warm glow flickering against the frost. A hand-painted sign read HARP TREE FARM, the letters curling in Gwen’s careful script.
The air smelled like cedar, fresh sap, and strong coffee.
Smoke rose in a thin line from the chimney of the farm store, dissolving into the bright morning sky.
Gwen stood near the sleigh corral, waving both arms as we parked.
Her red coat looked like something out of a Christmas card, her white hair tucked beneath a knitted hood.
Wes stood beside her, layered in denim and flannel, his beard silvered with frost and his grin wide enough to melt half the snow on the hill.
“Well, look who decided to show up!” Gwen hollered, voice bright enough to carry over the sound of engines and shouting kids. “I thought the big city barrel racer forgot all about us!”
Kristin laughed and strode straight over to hug her. “You know I wouldn’t miss this.”
Wes clapped me on the shoulder as I joined them. His grip was solid, the kind that meant something. “Glad to see you, son. Heard rumors she finally stopped running and let you catch her.”
Kristin rolled her eyes, but her cheeks turned redder than the cold could make them. “You heard right.” I grinned. “Chased her all across this country and finally caught up to her in Vegas.”
Behind us, the yard had turned into a full-blown snow battlefield.
Cooper had already built a fort and declared war on Ruby and Sawyer.
Josie and Lottie were arming themselves with snowballs half their size, and even the older boys who pretended they were too grown for it were soon diving into the fray, yelling and laughing.
Lexie and Fallon tried to keep hats on heads and scarves wrapped, while Elle helped Gwen pour steaming cocoa into tin mugs from a dented thermos. The smell of chocolate and pine filled the cold air.
“Alright!” Gwen called, clapping her hands. “You know the rules. One tree per family, no fighting over the trees, there's plenty to choose from, and Wes gets credit for every straight one.”
“That’s a lie,” Wes said, chuckling. “The straight ones are hers.”
Laughter rippled through the crowd. Kristin wrapped her arm around mine. “Come on, cowboy. Let’s find ours.”
We walked between the rows of trees, hand in hand.
The snow came up to our knees in spots, crunching under our boots with that soft squeak that only comes on the coldest mornings.
Sunlight slipped through the branches, scattering gold across the drifts.
Every breath hung in the air before fading away, thin as smoke.
Kristin stopped every few steps to study another tree, tilting her head, eyes narrowed in concentration. “Too tall.” She moved on to the next one. “Too bare.” Another pause. “Too lopsided.”
I leaned against a trunk, watching her, my breath curling in front of me. The light caught in her hair, streaks of gold against the snow. “You’re really picky for someone who once decorated a cactus with tinsel.”
“That was a low point,” she said, pretending to be serious. “I was homesick. Wait, how do you know that?”
“You were stubborn,” I told her. “Didn’t want to admit you missed home, and I told you I always knew where you were.”
She looked back at me over her shoulder, eyes soft but sharp at the same time. “Maybe I was homesick. You ever think that maybe home isn’t the place, it’s the people?”
The words hit harder than she knew. I pushed off the tree, walked up behind her, and slid an arm around her waist. The warmth of her back soaked through my jacket. I rested my chin on her shoulder, breathing in the clean scent of snow and cedar. “Yeah. I think that a lot.”
She leaned back into me for a heartbeat, quiet, the laughter of the kids echoing faintly through the pines. Then she lifted her gloved hand and pointed ahead. “That one.”
It was perfect—tall, full, symmetrical, dusted with snow like sugar.
I handed her the saw. “Your turn, Mrs. Felder.”
She laughed as she crouched down, the sound rising warm and familiar. “You just like watchin’ me work.”
“That’s part of it,” I said, kneeling beside her, lifting the edge of her jacket to peer at her ass.
The teeth of the saw bit into the trunk with a steady rhythm. I held it steady while she worked, the scent of fresh pine rising sharp in the cold. The trunk gave way with a soft crack, and the tree tipped, falling slowly before landing in the snow with a muffled thud.
Kristin looked up at me, cheeks flushed, hair tangled, eyes bright. “We did it.”
“Damn right we did.” I leaned in and kissed her, quick and sure, before she could say another word.
A chorus of whistles exploded from somewhere behind us.
“Hey!” Ryder shouted. “Family-friendly event!”
Kristin laughed against my chest and buried her face there to hide her smile. “They’re terrible.”
“Yep,” I said, not letting go. “And they’re ours.”
By the time we dragged the tree back to the clearing, the others were already loading theirs onto trailers.
Nora had found a perfect spruce while Kipp insisted it was too wide to fit through their doorway.
Fallon was trying to convince Nash that their crooked tree had character.
Elle knelt with Parker and Cora, helping them hang garland on a tiny tree they’d claimed as their own.
Lexie’s crew had dissolved into pure chaos. Ruby and Sara were singing Christmas carols off-key while Sawyer dumped snow down Wyatt’s coat. Julie stood laughing, her gloved hands wrapped around a mug of cocoa, while Phil brandished a snow shovel like it was a sword and pretended to restore order.
The air smelled of pine, cinnamon, and wood smoke. Gwen had set out a long table of cookies beside a stack of hay bales, and Nora passed them around while kids waited for sleigh rides. The horses stamped their hooves, steam rising from their backs, harness bells jingling softly.
Kristin knelt beside Josie and Lottie near the fence, helping them wrap garland around a small tree. Both girls beamed up at her like she was someone they’d dreamed about meeting.
“My teacher showed us your championship run,” Josie said shyly. “You’re so fast.”
Kristin’s face softened. “You think so?”
Lottie nodded hard enough to make her hat slip down over her eyes. “My dad says barrel racing isn’t a real job, but I think it is. And I think he says that just to bug Mommy.” Josie looked over at her parents who were locked in their own embrace.
Kristin smiled and tugged the hat back into place. “Your dad’s not wrong, and I’m pretty sure he says it to bug your mom. But if you love something enough to chase it and make it your career, that’s what makes it real.”
The girls stared up at her, eyes wide with awe.
I stood a few feet away, watching, pride tightening in my chest until it almost hurt. When she rose, I couldn’t stop myself. I walked to her, slipped an arm around her waist, and kissed the top of her head. “You always were good with kids.”
She looked up at me with that quiet smile. “You were watching?”
“Always.”
Ryder groaned loud enough for half the farm to hear. “For the love of mistletoe, get a room!”
“Leave ’em alone,” Fallon said through laughter. “It’s about time.”
Even Gwen called over, “You two are making this place look like a Hallmark movie!”
Kristin’s cheeks turned pink again, but she didn’t pull away. Her fingers found mine, small and strong against the cold.
The rest of the afternoon blurred into laughter and falling snow.
We hauled the trees, took turns on the sleigh, and watched the sun dip low behind the ridge.
Gwen passed around another round of cocoa and a small flask she claimed was for “warming purposes only.” Phil ended up racing Cooper and Parker on sleds down the hill until Nora scolded him for nearly wiping out the cookie table.
Twilight painted the sky soft pink and gold. The snow glittered beneath the last light, turning every track into silver lines. We tied the final tree to our truck, the branches brushing the tailgate, and said our goodbyes.
“Don’t wait until next Christmas to come back,” Gwen said, hugging us both.
“We won’t,” Kristin promised.
Wes grinned, shaking my hand. “And Linc, take care of Mrs. Felder. She’s the best thing that ever happened to you.”
“Don’t I know it,” I said, smiling back.
The drive home was quiet, the convoy ahead full of sleeping kids and tired laughter. The heater hummed low, Christmas music drifting through the cab. Kristin leaned against me, her head on my shoulder, humming softly along with the song.
“Today was good,” she said.
“It was,” I agreed. “Real good.”
She smiled, half-asleep, and I brushed my thumb across her knuckles, the faint rhythm of her breath syncing with mine.
Then I saw it.
A dark shape parked just beyond the treeline as we turned off the main road. Too far to make out, but the angle was wrong. Headlights off. Engine silent. Just there. Watching.
My stomach tightened.
“Everything alright?” Kristin murmured, eyes still closed.
“Yeah,” I said softly. “Just thinking about where we’re gonna put the tree.”
She smiled, content, and drifted back toward sleep.
I kept my eyes on the mirror all the way home. The truck behind us turned onto Kipp’s lane. The one in the trees didn’t move.
Not until I pulled through our gate. Then, for just a second, its lights flared—two sharp beams cutting through the dark—before it turned and disappeared down the road.
I didn’t say a word. Not tonight.
The house was waiting, the tree needed lights, and the woman beside me was still humming a tune that sounded a lot like peace.
But out beyond the fences, something unseen had started to move.
And the quiet that followed carried a promise I could feel in my bones.