Chapter 12
The low growl of electricity carries on the air, and the world starts back up again. Still drowsy with sleep, I lift my head. When I discover the warm, hard body curled around me, I sigh.
Once again, I’m waking up with Hank.
A four-letter word that means bad decisions.
Once we started last night, we couldn’t stop. We started on the couch. We ended up in the shower and then the bed. I’m surprised I can still feel my legs.
One thing’s for certain: I really need to stop sleeping with my ex-husband.
And yet I nuzzle closer, kissing the curve of his broad shoulder, the constellation of freckles there. He lies on his stomach, his head turned, arms curled beneath the pillows. A shock of golden-brown hair falls over his brow.
The man’s too attractive for his own damn good.
This feels too right for my own damn good.
Waking up, limbs tangled. Weekends spent together. A partner who really understood me. That was Hank.
The thought hollows me out. Hurts my heart.
Could we get that back if we tried? Do we want to? Does he want to?
A war rages inside me. I want Hank. Yet do I deserve him?
I kiss the curve of his shoulder, then slip out of bed and change into leggings and a long sweater. “Mmm, don’t go,” he mumbles, eyes closed, broad hand patting the bed in an effort to find me.
“Tree time,” I say, gripping the ladder. “I’ll make coffee.”
Downstairs, Zelda wriggles around me and paws at my leg. After a round of ear scratches, hugs and kisses, I pour her kibble in the chipped pie plate we use as a bowl. I make coffee, thanking the electricity gods for bestowing upon me the ability to caffeinate.
The morning sun has found its way into the cabin, casting brilliant rays through the windows.
Stepping close, I inspect the tree. Inhale the scent of pine and crisp snow. Even after my whole near-death experience, it’s as pretty now as when I first saw it.
As I sip my coffee, I fluff the branches and spread them out to cover any holes. I fill the stand with water, then I drag out the box of Christmas decorations.
Even as I work, my mind’s everywhere but on decorating. I don’t know what Hank and I are doing. It feels right, but is it? I have to go back to San Francisco in three days. We’re moving so fast, and we’ve made no promises. Who’s to say this isn’t just a friends-with-Christmas-benefits kind of deal?
But how do I tell Zelda goodbye again? And Papa Blue? I didn’t expect to come back and fall in love with them all over again.
A noise behind me knocks me out of my wandering thoughts.
I turn, finding Hank climbing down the ladder.
He shuffles sleepily into the kitchen and pours a cup of coffee.
His gray sweatpants sit low on his hips, his toned chest bare, golden skin on full display.
Heat warms my ears when I note the bite mark on his neck, the happy trail that runs down his tan stomach.
Chuckling, he lifts the mug to his lips. “It’s time?”
“It’s time. Tomorrow’s Christmas Eve. It has to be done today.” Typically, I decorate my tree the week after Thanksgiving. Waiting this long is a travesty.
Crouching, I crack the lid on the plastic box. When I’m met with a snarl of Christmas lights, I groan.
“I can help.” He pads toward me, but instead of moving for the box, he loops an arm around my waist and gathers me close.
“This isn’t helping,” I murmur as he sweeps his lips against mine. Once again, Hank Blue’s making me ignore all my responsibilities.
Ex-husband, dummy, my brain screams.
Let me be happy, retorts my heart.
Because with Hank, I always was.
“Looks like it’s time to break out the tinsel.” Surveying the boxes, he rubs his hands together.
I groan. “No tinsel.”
He slips a hand into my hair, distracting me.
I nearly purr at the sensation. “Don’t you need to be on the farm?”
“Nah, not today.” His lips lift, though the smile is forced.
I stare up into those bright blue eyes. “Are you sure?”
His focus drifts to the Christmas tree, and he steps away. Pain and sorrow stain his handsome face. He’s hiding something.
As he pretends to evaluate the tree, I chew on my bottom lip and replay Papa Blue’s comment from yesterday.
“Hank?” I cock my head. “What did Papa Blue mean when he said ‘One last Christmas rush’?”
He opens his mouth, snaps it closed again, like he’s looking for the words.
I stare at him, an uneasiness moving through me.
He rolls his head to the side and meets my gaze. His face looks carved as stone. “We have to sell the tree farm.”
“What?” I whisper, my throat constricting. “What are you talking about?”
He bows his head, runs a hand through his hair. “We owe back taxes. We’ve been working to pay it off, but if we can’t get the money, the state’s gonna auction the farm off after Christmas.”
“But—but the mountain is yours. It’s named after your family. You can’t lose it.”
“You can when you owe the government.” A frustrated, bitter sound pushes past his lips. “The city changed our mailing address from a PO Box to a street, and we never got any of the bills.”
“That’s their fault, not yours.”
“They don’t care; they just want their money.
” His voice rises, not loud, but heated.
Zelda barks in affirmation. “I’ve been tryin’ to come up with it.
I sold off the horses.” His cheeks burn at the lie he told me.
“My Bronco, some saddles, but…Pops won’t let me sell the ranch house.
And I sure as hell won’t let him sell his. ”
“Oh my God.” I press a trembling hand to my lips. If the tree farm sells, that means the cabin goes with it. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“It’s not your problem, Bell,” he says firmly. “Not anymore.”
My eyes burn with hot, angry tears. Stubborn, idiotic man.
He’s wrong.
He might be my ex-husband, but no one’s more important than Papa Blue. Nothing means more to me than our Christmas tree farm.
I prop my hands on my hips, fire lighting through me. “Tough shit. I’m gonna make it my problem.”
He laughs, probably amused by my indignation. “What are you gonna do, sugar, go down to the bank and break their legs?”
I pull my shoulders back, lift my chin. “I could.”
“Bell, this ain’t on you to fix. It’s on me.” Now he’s unsmiling. Pacing. He rips another hand through his hair and this time keeps it there. His eyes are shiny, that jaw set. “And like fuckin’ everything, I can’t. I let him down. I fucked it all up.”
He’s speaking about his father, but the words are deeper. They’re directed at everything, especially us.
My stomach drops. “How much do you owe?”
“Bell.”
“Tell me, Hank.” I clip the words out, stern. “Now.”
“Twenty grand.”
I gasp.
The strong lines of his shoulders tense. That muscled jaw flexes. Hank’s always been the type to want to fix things. He always tried his damnedest to get my life right in .3 seconds, whether I was upset or hurt or just hangry. And if he couldn’t, he’d find another solution.
It’s got to be killing him that he can’t fix this.
“What about a loan?” I ask.
“Can’t get one,” he murmurs. “Not when we owe back taxes.”
“My money, then.” I exhale a breath, clarity settling inside me.
He frowns, eyebrows slanted low.
“The money in our divorce settlement,” I clarify. “It’s exactly twenty grand.”
“That’s yours.”
“No,” I say quietly, moving toward him. “That was ours.”
“You need that.”
“I don’t. I haven’t spent a penny of it. I-I—” couldn’t. It’s what I want to say, but instead, I stick with “I haven’t.”
His eyes haven’t left me, but he doesn’t respond.
“I was saving it for a rainy day,” I urge. “And this is the rainiest.”
His lips tug, deepening his scowl. “I can’t accept that.”
“Yes, you can. Don’t be a stubborn, grumpy cowboy about this.” I palm the sharp line of his whiskery jaw and guide his gaze to mine. “You need to take it, Hank. This farm is everything you love. I love it too.” I stare up into his eyes, praying he hears the truth in my words. “You can’t lose it.”
His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows hard.
Denying him the chance to refuse, I drop my hand and tangle my fingers with his. “Please. Let me help you.”
He chuckles, some of the light coming back into his eyes. “What about the tree?”
“Fuck the tree.”
He laughs. “Now who’s the scrooge?”
“C’mon.” I tug on his arm. “The bank’s open today, isn’t it? Tomorrow it’ll be too late.” I pucker out my bottom lip. “It’s our farm and we’re going to save it.”
His hands fall to my hips. A ragged breath shakes his chest. He kisses me, relief on his handsome face. “Thank you.”
My heart surges. I am alight with hunger and love and lust.
He kisses me again, squeezes my arm. “I’ll call Pops.” He steps back, patting his back pocket for his cell phone, then hustles for the kitchen.
Zelda looks at me like you’re screwed now
I bite my lip, widening my eyes at her. “Don’t I know it.”