The Christmas Tree Read online

Chapter Four

  Sadie’s knees ached as she knelt on the cement. What the heck was that guy’s problem? She didn’t even know what he was accusing her of. She rose to her feet and waited until he returned with more bags and a power drill.

  “What is wrong with you?” she asked. He had the nerve to look surprised at her question. “I am done beating myself up over this. I made a mistake and I’m sorry. But get over it. It was just a truck and it will be replaced.”

  His eyes narrowed, but he merely crossed his arms over his burly chest. She bit back a snarl. The silent intimidation tactic. She knew that one well. Even tried it herself a few times. Unfortunately, it worked much better when employed by a large man. Well, she wouldn’t let it work on her.

  “I’ve tried to be nice to you. I’ve tried to be understanding. Now I am just going to be professional. We will work together to get this tree decorated and then we never have to see each other again. But I’m done being insulted by you. Do you understand me?” Sadie tried to mirror his aggressive stance, but her thick parka made it difficult to cross her arms over her chest. She settled for resting her hands on her hips.

  He shifted forward. At five foot nine, Sadie was usually able to look men in the eyes. With Colt standing close, she had to tilt her head to look up at him and she didn’t appreciate the advantage it gave him. His green eyes pinned her in place. “I understand you perfectly, princess. To people like you, everything is replaceable. Wreck someone else’s car, who cares, insurance will cover it.”

  “That’s not what I meant!”

  “I don’t even care anymore. Let’s get to work. You’ve spent the past two hours chatting up men. Let’s not waste the rest of the day.” He turned away from her, but she grabbed his arm. Even through his jacket, Sadie could feel his biceps flexing beneath her fingers and she hastily removed her hand.

  She took a deep breath. “Look, you left me here. There were no ornaments, no lights. It’s not as though I could start decorating.” She pulled a dog-eared notebook from her inside pocket and shoved it in his hand. “But I was working. I was sketching some possible tree designs.”

  Colt examined the pages she indicated. “Tree design?” He sounded skeptical. “It’s a tree. We throw some lights on and hang some ornaments. No need to turn it into an art project.”

  “It’s not an art project. It’s a design. A plan. As a contractor, you are used to working with those, right?”

  His lips whitened, a pale crease surrounded by chestnut bristle. “Decorating a tree is not the same as building a home.”

  “A design can aid in any situation.” She depressed the button at the top of her pen, the rapid-fire clicks cutting through the air. He scowled at her hand and she stopped her nervous motion. Using the tip of the pen, she pointed at her sketch. “Since you already bought the ornaments, I’ll have to modify—”

  “No modifications. No design plans. I’m going to tell you this again, and I can’t stress it enough, but this”—he waved his hands up and down at the blue spruce, pages from her pad flapping wildly—“is a tree. It’s just a tree.”

  “Fine.” Her jaw was clenched so tightly it was hard to force the words through. “Let’s just get to work.” She reached for her notebook, but he held it out of reach while he flipped through the other pages. His lips twitched suspiciously.

  “What are these?” he asked silkily.

  She stretched her lean frame, her fingertips just brushing the notebook. “Just some doodling. Give it back.” Oh crap, crap, crap. The last thing this man needed was more ammunition for ridicule.

  He raised an eyebrow. “Doodling? This looks like more than doodling.” He flipped to another page. “Awww...is that Cinderella and her prince?”

  “No, it’s Arthur and the Lady of the Lake.” Her cheeks flamed as she jumped to try to snatch back her notebook. She’d tried to make that sound as though it was different, less weird than drawing Cinderella. She knew it was just as silly, but damn it, it was only a doodle. Ever since she was a child she had taken to drawing out scenes from books she was reading. A book of tales of King Arthur and his court was currently sitting on her bedside table at home. A meaningless habit, but she had never intended anyone to see her sketches. Maybe if she kicked him in the shin, he’d bend over and she could grab her notebook . . .

  He snorted. “Does the princess actually want to be a princess? Aren’t you a little old for fairy tales?”

  “The Lady of the Lake was not a princess, you uneducated jerk. And it’s just a doodle. Now give it back!” One hand was wrapped in the collar of his jacket, trying to pull him down, but his hard body was immovable. With a growl, Sadie wedged her knee into the top of his thigh and, with her grip on his jacket, tried to lever her way up his body to grab her book. She made it about three inches before her knee slipped.

  Colt snagged her before she fell, holding her body tight to his. “Jesus, woman! What the hell?” His eyes, inches away, widened in disbelief. “Were you trying to climb me?”

  Her gaze darted everywhere but his face. So much for professionalism. Pressed against his chest, she felt each of his breaths as though they were her own. His woodsy scent invaded her senses, sending an electric current down her spine. Colt’s hands had grabbed whatever was available. The arm holding her notebook had banded around her back, keeping her secure, steady. His other hand had grabbed hold of the back of her thigh. As Sadie slid to her feet, her leg moved down and his hand went up. He was cupping her butt and he didn’t even seem to realize it. But her body reacted to his firm grip. Her blush deepened.

  She pushed away from him. “You, uh, wouldn’t give me back my notebook.”

  “Of course, grounds for assault.” He shook his head and handed her the pad. “You and your brothers and sisters must have been hell on wheels for your parents.”

  She squatted down and started pulling boxes of ornaments out of bags. She took a deep breath, then another. If she focused on her task, maybe her body would forget how good it had felt pressed against his. She refused to let him see that he affected her. The big jerk would only use that knowledge for evil. So she focused on the ornaments that Colt had bought, without any color scheme in mind, of course, and picked up where his conversation had left off. Just like a woman who wasn’t at all attracted to a man would do. “I’m an only child. Any problems my parents had were caused solely by me.”

  He was silent for a long moment. “That’s too bad,” he finally said, and began setting up the ladders. He positioned three in a triangle around the tree. “So what were you and Carelli talking about?”

  The conversation shift threw Sadie for a loop. She sat back on her heels. “You don’t seem to like David very much.”

  He shot her an annoyed look. “David is a business competitor. And I suspect he plays dirty.”

  “Huh. I guess he does come off as slightly . . . oily, when you first meet him.” She duck-walked to another bag. “But some people are like that when they’re nervous. Maybe he has a hard time talking to new people.”

  Colt snorted. “That man could talk a nun out of her habit. He’s not shy. He’s grown his contracting company threefold since he opened ten years ago, and it’s not because his workmanship is so great. He’s good at pressing palms, wining and dining clients.”

  Sadie stacked boxes of lights in a semicircle around her. “Well, he’s branching out from contracting now. I guess he’s a real go-getter.” She frowned and dug through the bags again, hoping for more lights. Different lights.

  “What do you mean he’s branching out?”

  “Huh? Oh, he flips houses, too. He wants to buy my grandmother’s house.” She looked from the boxes of lights to Colt and back again. She bit her lip. “Colt?”

  “Flipping houses?” He muttered something to himself.

  “Colt?”

  “Is she going to sell to him?” he asked.

  “My grandmother’s passed. It’s my house now and I don’t know. I haven’t thought about it yet. But Colt”—Sadie
stood up and pointed at the boxes—“you bought the wrong lights.”

  He scratched at his scruffy chin. “What do you mean ‘the wrong lights’? The town always has white lights and that’s what I got.”

  “Yes, but you bought white lights with white cords. We need white lights with green cords.”

  “Why?” His arms crossed his chest.

  “The tree is green. The light strands need to blend in.” He continued to look at her with one brow raised. She blew her bangs away from her eyes. “It would look stupid to have white strands going around the tree. This is Tree Decorating 101.”

  Colt stalked over to her and began thrusting the boxes of lights back into their bags. “God forbid this tree look stupid.”

  She gritted her teeth. “It really is just common sense. White lights with green strands.”

  “Fine,” he snapped.

  “Fine.”

  He shoved the bags into the backseat of her car.

  “And pick up some more ornaments while you’re there,” she shouted to him. “You didn’t buy nearly enough.”

  He tore out of the parking space without a backward glance.

  Sadie was left alone, again, with nothing to do. The power drill lying on its side in front of the tree caught her eye. Well, there was one thing she could do. She glanced over her shoulder, chewed her bottom lip. A lot of men she knew didn’t like it when someone else touched their tools. She squared her shoulders. Well, Mr. Lumberjack would just have to deal with it.

  She picked up the drill, made sure the battery pack was locked in its base. The drill bits were different from anything she had ever seen before. Instead of the slender metal rods she was used to, there was an assortment of metal circles, each with a jagged rim on one side. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that they cut circles much larger than a regular drill bit ever would. She picked up the largest circle, about two inches in diameter, and fiddled with it until it clicked into the drill. She pulled the trigger and was delighted when the modified saw roared to life.

  It was dirty, sweaty work, but within twenty minutes Sadie had drilled three holes large enough to hold the extra branches Officer Davis had brought. One of the added boughs wobbled a bit and she wondered if she should add some wood glue. She wiggled it again. She could just imagine what her co-decorator would have to say about that return trip to the store. She scrounged around for some leaves and stuffed them between the branch and the trunk. There. Barely any wiggle. Good enough.

  She brushed spruce needles out of her hair. A coffee shop across the street caught her eye, the red lettering of its name, The Pantry, wrapped with green garlands of tinsel. Power tools made her thirsty and she decided to take advantage of Colt’s absence. Crossing Main Street, she smiled when she drew near the restaurant. The front windows were divided into three large panes of glass, each one brightly painted with lively winter scenes. Children building a snowman, a Dalmatian wearing a fireman’s hat sledding down a hill, and a Nativity scene set amidst a snowdrift, with reindeer instead of camels being led by the wise men.

  Stepping inside, she was assaulted with the noisy clinking of silverware and the hum of a crowded room. The diner was decorated like a fifties hangout, complete with black-and-white checked floors and red Formica tables with vinyl booths. After a quick trip to the restroom to clean up, she spotted an available seat at the counter and slid in, hanging her coat on the back of the chair.

  “What can I get you, honey?” a woman with tousled platinum blond hair asked. She was dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, unlike the other waitresses, who were in uniform.

  “Coffee for now,” Sadie said. She reached out and snagged a menu from between the napkin dispenser and the condiment basket. “I need to look this over.”

  “Sure thing.” The woman hustled off and quickly reappeared, a steaming mug in hand. “Here you go. Cream and sugar are right here.” She nudged the basket forward. “You new in town?”

  “I’m just here for a week.” Sadie smiled politely and sipped her coffee.

  The other woman’s eyes narrowed in satisfaction. “You’re Sadie Wilson.”

  A splash of coffee wet Sadie’s hand. She reached for a napkin. “How did you know that?”

  “Everyone in town knows a Sadie Wilson took out a light pole, destroyed Colt’s truck, and has been sentenced to a week of decorating our Christmas tree. You’re famous,” she said with a wink. “And I’m one of the first to get to talk to the celebrity. My Twitter ranking will go through the roof.”

  Sadie chuckled. “Well, you already know my name.” She extended her hand. “And you are?”

  “Allison Stuart, at your service. Literally, it would seem.” She cocked a hip against the counter and crossed her arms over her ample chest. “So I hear Colt’s giving you a tough time, huh? I know from personal experience he can be a real bear, but basically he’s a good guy.”

  Sadie raised an eyebrow. Was this a girlfriend of the lumberjack’s? She couldn’t imagine any woman putting up with his attitude for more than a couple of hours, much less long enough to have an honest-to-goodness relationship with the jerk. She thought of his broad chest and bulging biceps. Well, maybe if he kept his mouth shut a relationship could last for a good day or two.

  “We went to high school together,” Allison clarified.

  “Ah. Well, he’s still really upset about his truck,” Sadie said.

  “Well, he would be.”

  Sadie sipped at her coffee but didn’t say anything. Was everyone in this town car crazy?

  Allison waved a dismissive hand to a customer down the counter trying to get her attention. “He might be a pain in the neck to work with, but he sure is nice to look at.”

  “Ah . . .” Sadie didn’t want to admit that she found him attractive as well.

  “I bet you’ll get a real nice view when you hold the ladder for him,” Allison said, her eyes unfocused, a soft smile on her lips.

  Sadie coughed. “Yes, well. I don’t want to monopolize your time. I don’t want to get you in trouble.”

  “No worries on that score,” Allison said. “I own this greasy spoon.” She turned and yelled down the counter, “Yeah, yeah. I see you waving your mug around. Hold your horses.”

  Sadie’s mouth dropped open. If she had treated her customers like that she would have been out of business . . . well, a lot sooner than she was. She snapped the menu shut. “Can I have the pancakes, please? Banana nut.”

  “You got it, honey.” Allison pushed away from the counter. “And I’ll make it a triple stack. You’ll need your strength.”

  As she moved away, Sadie wondered if strength was needed for decorating the tree, or for dealing with Colt. She thought she was going to have a lot harder time with the man.

  She settled in and enjoyed the warmth of the coffee shop and the chatter around her. She caught several curious stares, but no one else approached. It had been a while since she had just sat, with nothing to do but sip coffee and relax. The slower pace was nice. One she could get used to.

  A woman’s voice behind her rose in outrage as she discussed the local crime blotter with her friend. Apparently, Pineville had a thief. Someone was stealing Christmas decorations from people’s front yards. She smiled at the thought that Christmas-decoration theft was the big crime in Pineville, then paused, her mug inches from her mouth. Would the town tree need a guard? She couldn’t afford to take more time off if her community service assignment was ruined by a local prankster.

  A stack of pancakes, each one as wide around as the plate, was placed in front of her. She stared at Allison. “I’ll never be able to eat all of that.”

  “Never back down from a challenge, Sadie.”

  “That’s not a challenge. That’s gastrointestinal suicide.” She sniffed. They did smell sublime, a hint of cinnamon mixed in with the banana.

  “Well, in that case”—Allison put an empty plate in the vacant spot next to Sadie—“I’ll just have to help you out. I wouldn’t want your death on
my head.” She walked around the counter and plopped down next to her, the cushion on her chair releasing a soft hiss of air. She used a knife and fork to slide a pancake onto her plate, then slathered it with butter and syrup. Taking a bite, she rolled her eyes. “Damn, I do good food.”

  Sadie could only laugh. “You’re a little crazy, you know that, right?” She took a bite and did a little eye-rolling of her own. “But you’re not lying.”

  “So what’s your story, Sadie Wilson?” At Allison’s question, Sadie noticed a group of women at the table next to her perk their ears her way, hoping to hear the dirt. Small-town life took some getting used to.

  She sipped her coffee. “I own my own business in Ann Arbor. I stage houses. But my grandmother used to live here. She died about eight months ago and I was in town to look at her house, see what needs to be done to sell it. And you know why my stay has been extended.”

  “Eight months? Are you Arlene Chavitz’s granddaughter?” Sadie nodded around a forkful of pancake. “Well, hell’s bells. I know you!”

  “Well, yes, we just introduced ourselves . . .”

  “No, no, no.” Allison flapped her hand, shushing Sadie. “I mean I knew you. When we were kids. We played together one summer.”

  Sadie thought back to the summer she had spent in Pineville. She had run around backyards with a couple of neighborhood girls. She didn’t remember their names, however. “Did you wear those bright yellow shorts every day? Or were you the girl who chewed on her braid?”

  Allison snorted. “That was Connie Wilkerson. Crazy Connie as we called her in high school. She used to date Caleb back then.” Allison paused, lost in thought. Snapping out of it, she smiled at Sadie. “Nope, I was the fashion-impaired one. My mother had to burn those shorts after that summer.”

  “How crazy is it that we knew each other as kids?” Sadie said. “I had a lot of fun that summer.”

  “Maybe we can have some fun this week before you go back home. I don’t have a lot of single friends anymore and I hate going out to bars by myself.”

  “I’m not really a bar kind of person,” Sadie said. “Besides, I have a lot of work to do with this tree. Which I should be getting back to.” She tilted her head, and peered out a section of the window not covered in paint. “But Colt isn’t back yet with the lights.”