7. Christian
Christian
The sun spills through the towering pines, casting a soft, golden glow over the frost-covered land. The air is crisp enough to make my lungs ache with every inhale, a brutal reminder that Mother Nature’s a cruel bitch when she wants to be.
And yet it’s still my favorite place on earth.
Preston and I are bundled up in flannel and thick jackets.
We’re two idiots fighting against a cold that seeps straight to the bone while our breath turns to mist in the early morning air.
But none of that matters when there’s work to be done, and the farm never slows down—not in December.
Even with the seasonal crew we bring in this time of year, the work never stops.
The heavy lifting that leaves your back screaming, the constant maintenance, and the relentless grind of keeping everything running smoothly—it’s a lot to think about, a never-ending list of tasks that pile up faster than I can cross them off.
Thank God for Billy.
My best ranch hand has already stepped in, handling the morning feedings and cattle checks before I even have to ask.
He never waits for instructions. He just sees what needs to be done and does it, which means I can focus on everything else instead of worrying about whether the horses are getting their grain on time .
I reach up, shaking the powder loose that clings to the branches, watching it fall like confetti around my shoulders.The trees stand tall all around me, endless rows of evergreens dusted in white, stretching toward the pale morning sky.
Usually, standing here in the quiet morning with my boots planted in the earth is my peace. My sanctuary. But today, I can’t settle. All I can think about is Piper and how I let the animal inside me take control in my kitchen this morning.
The last thing I want is for her to feel uncomfortable around me or to see disgust in her eyes. I’d rather suffer in silence, watching her from across rooms and pretending my heart doesn’t stop beating when she walks by, than risk pushing her so far she never looks my way again.
“Did Travis and Piper make it in?” Preston’s breath clouds in the frigid air as he meets me at the tent. Two industrial heaters are going full blast inside, but it’s never enough. The cold still seeps in, wearing you down in that slow, bone-deep way that makes a man feel older than he really is.
“Yeah. Haven’t seen him this morning though.”
“Well, he’s got”—Preston checks his watch—“six whole minutes, and you know he’ll get here at the last second.”
Preston’s been part of this place since I was nothing more than a baby in diapers, working shoulder-to-shoulder with my old man when they were both young bucks.
Even now, semi-retired and long past the point of needing to prove anything, he still shows up most mornings, boots shuffling across the frozen ground like clockwork.
Not because anyone expects him to. Lord knows he’s earned his rest. But because these mountains call to him the same way they call to me—with a voice that gets into your blood and changes you from the inside out, until you can’t imagine existing anywhere else.
That, and I think he likes getting out from under Ivy’s watchful eye for a few hours. His wife’s a tornado in human form, but Preston worships the ground she walks on.
Hell, we all adore that woman.
Still, I know he needs moments among the pines. It’s Preston’s way of holding onto who he’s always been .
Every fence post gets checked, and every horse gets a gruff “Mornin’” and a pat on the head.
It’s his way of saying I’m still here, and I still matter.
“You ever think—” I start but trail off before I can say anything worth finishing. Instead, I shake my head and turn my attention back to my phone, scrolling through the list of deliveries.
I feel a large hand settle on my shoulder, and even though I’m a forty-one-year-old man, I still find comfort in the guy who’s always been here for me. Every step of the way, Preston’s seen it all. The good, the bad, and the shit I’d rather forget.
“You did what you could, son,” Preston says quietly, his gaze steady on the horizon. “We become the people we choose to be. Can’t blame our circumstances forever.”
If anyone’s taken the full force of Travis’s cruelty, it’s Preston. He’s been on the receiving end of the lies and the manipulation, yet here he is, still treating him with a kind of patience I can’t understand because Travis has never earned it, and he sure as hell doesn’t deserve it.
The sound of someone trudging through the snow makes us both look toward the house, where Travis is marching in our direction.
“Okay, what can I do then? Give me my orders,” Travis asks, blowing into his hands like someone who’s never felt a cold day in his life.
“Surprised you made it out with two minutes to spare,” I say, eyeing him as he shifts from foot to foot.
“He’s got a woman in his bed, Christian. Pretty sure you wouldn’t be on time either.”
The words hit me like a punch.
Yeah, I still fucking hate it.
“I’d agree if that woman wasn’t cold as a goddamn corpse on the other side of the bed,” Travis continues. “Piper’s got about as much warmth as this farm.”
Before I can think twice, I’m shoving the delivery papers into his chest hard enough that the thick stack thumps against his sternum.
The relief of knowing she didn’t wake up in his bed, tangled around him, wars with the urge to introduce his smart mouth to the nearest tree just for talking about her like that .
“You’re on deliveries today.”
“Hell no.”
“Don’t argue with me on this. It’s the least you can do.”
“Fine, let me wake Piper, and then we’ll start.”
“Leave her be.”
“Are you crazy? I can’t do these deliveries alone.”
“Gotta agree with your pops, kid. I wouldn’t have any woman of mine dragging trees around either.”
“Well, we’re not living in the fifties now, and women are capable of helping.”
“Just because they can,” he says, leveling Travis with a look, “doesn’t mean they should. Be a gentleman. Let her rest.”
Like a petulant child, Travis stomps off to the truck. His shoulders are drawn up tight around his ears, and every step radiates the attitude of someone who thinks he’s too good for the work he’s about to do.
I call Billy over to help, and we fall into our familiar rhythm of loading trees. Our shoulders bump as we haul them into the back of the truck, and the only sounds between us are the rustle of pine branches and the soft scrape of needles against our gloves.
“He doesn’t look too happy,” Billy mutters, trying not to glance at Travis through the windshield.
He’s sitting in the truck like a pouty princess, refusing to lift a finger to help load up. Honestly, I’m past caring. I’d rather have Billy’s steady hands than Travis’s half-hearted effort anyway.
“He’s not,” I say, shrugging. “And this is exactly what he’s getting every damn day until he pulls his head out of his ass and fixes his attitude.”
Billy laughs under his breath. He’s been around long enough to know Travis doesn’t like being told what to do, especially not by me.
“I wouldn’t want to be in your boots tonight. Bet he’ll be crying about it before he even walks through the door.”
“It’ll do him some good. He’s here to help, so that’s what he’s gonna do.”
We run through the orders twice just to be safe, and my pen scratches against the paper as I mark off numbers and names.
Every tree needs a tag, every delivery needs a destination, and I’m going over it all again because Travis can’t be trusted to find his ass, let alone keep track of holiday orders.
An hour slips by with the kind of ease that comes from doing the same dance for years.
Each wreath gets hung just right, while garlands are stretched into perfect lines.
I’m adjusting the last stand when Savannah’s coffee wagon rolls into view, all vintage charm and chipped red paint like it’s been plucked straight out of a small-town Christmas movie.
The tiny blonde hops out of the truck like some winter fairy, all bundled up in a pale-pink knit hat and an oversized scarf, grinning as she flips on the string lights that run along the wagon’s roof.
Within minutes, the warm scent of cinnamon and roasted espresso fills the air, blending with the fresh pine.
Christmas music blasts from her speaker, and she’s humming along to my brother’s holiday record like she helped write every damn song.
Along with my brothers, she’s watched me stumble through every version of myself.
She was there for the skinned knees and stupid dares; she stood by me through the teenage rage and those moments when missing my mom would hit so hard I couldn’t breathe.
She watched me make some bad decisions and never made me feel like a complete screwup, even when I probably deserved it.
And then, when life threw me the biggest curveball of all and I found out I was going to be someone’s father, she was right there holding me together while I tried to figure out how the hell a guy like me was supposed to raise a kid.
She’s my best friend and the sister I never had.
I work on setting up the cart, getting it ready for when Preston does the sleigh rides later—an old tradition that’s been around since I was a boy.
The kids love it, getting hauled around the farm in a wagon lined with hay bales and thick blankets while the horses puff out clouds of steam in the cold.
The whole thing is festive as hell, and it should make me happy, but it feels like the joy is happening around me, not inside me.
As much as I love this place, and it’s a huge part of me, I don’t have anyone to share it with.
Not really. My son doesn’t give a shit about any of it.
He has no interest in the farm, the traditions, or the people who keep this place alive, and that’s why I hold onto the ones who do care.
It’s why the people who work here aren’t just employees, they’re family.
They’re the ones who put in the work, who share the same love for this land, and make the long days and cold mornings worth it.
They’re the reason this place keeps running, why I keep going, and when Savannah hands me a coffee and the sun breaks through the trees, I remind myself that this right here is what matters.
“Mornin’,” she says, nudging me with her elbow.
“Morning yourself.” I nudge her back, trying to lose myself in the view of frost-tipped trees stretching out before us. But the weight in my chest won’t budge.
“What’s wrong?” When I just shake my head, she presses on. “Don’t even try it. I’ve known you too long. I can see it all over your face.”
I blow out a slow breath. “I’ve done something stupid.”
“Safe space, you know that.”
“I found Piper alone in my kitchen this morning…”
She stills. “Ah.” A pause. “Okay… I’m listening.”