Meet Me Under the Mistletoe

“Christmas tree sales,” he said mullingly, as if to appease her. “Personally, I’m not a Christmas kind of person, but maybe professionally it could make sense.”

Don’t pursue it, Hanna begged herself. It was way too personal. But he was the one who had mentioned it.

“What does that mean, not a Christmas kind of person?” She had remembered he had also said something tonight about not even shopping for a tree. And not being a sipping cocoa kind of guy, either. So, despite his denial, he still was a bit of a renegade, out of step with the very kind of wholesome family image this business catered to.

Sam hesitated. When he spoke his voice was gruff, stripped of emotion.

“I always just felt, in that season of good cheer and merriment, I was on the outside looking in. We never even had a tree when I was a kid.”

He looked as if he regretted having said that, instantly.

She regretted his saying it, too, because it was hard enough keeping up your defenses around such a good-looking, confident man.

But then to picture him as a small child, feeling left out on Christmas, wrenched at Hanna’s soft heart. “Oh, Sam, we always had some we gave away. Fully decorated. We had a contest every year. You could have had a tree.”

He gave her an annoyed look that rejected her sympathy at the same time as letting her know the impossibility of what she was suggesting.

She felt driven to show him he might not be alone in his sentiments about Christmas.

And so Hanna offered something, too. “I’m not sure it was much better being on the inside looking out. I haven’t bothered with a tree since I left here, either.”

“Really?”

“I grew up believing artificial trees were the devil’s own work, and somehow I couldn’t bring myself to pay what they wanted for a real one in the city. Never mind working out the logistics of getting it home and thinking what to do with it in my tiny apartment once I got there.”

It was, of course, way more complicated than that.

“Oh, well, I’m sure they always had a giant one up when you arrived home.”

Easier to let him think they had remained the family he thought they were, and not to share the truth about that with him, and yet the words came out of her.

“My dad died the year after I finished high school. My mom remarried and moved away, which is why it was left to managers to run. This farm hasn’t been home for me for quite some time. And Christmas...well, Christmas.” Her voice drifted away.

He was looking at her way too closely. “I’m sorry,” he said softly.

“Nothing to be sorry for,” she said tartly.

“So,” he took her cue and changed the subject, suddenly all business, “a real tree fetches a pretty good price in the city?”

Hanna nodded. “A king’s ransom. Mistletoe is even more dear.”

Oh, gee, did she have to bring up mistletoe around him, of all people? she berated herself, silently cringing. Mistletoe girl seemed to suddenly be there between them.

“Oh, I know mistletoe is pricey,” he said. “I bought some once.”

Not remembering mistletoe girl at all then, but something else, from the faraway look on his face.

“You have never bought a tree but you bought mistletoe?” Crazy to be curious, but she was. “Why?”

He still looked off into the distance. “I think I had this cheesy idea that if I carried it around in my pocket, I could haul it out and hold it over my head, and collect lots of free Christmas kisses.”

“Did it work?” She felt a shiver along her spine at the thought of meeting Sam under the mistletoe.

“Lost my nerve,” he said, but she had a feeling she was not hearing all of this story, and she wasn’t sure why.

“You know, mistletoe was popular around the turn of the last century because the only time people could kiss in public was underneath it. That would hardly seem to be the case today.” Least of all for a guy like him.

But he was not going to have his personal kissing history probed. His interest in mistletoe, now at least, was all about business.

“Do you grow that here?” he finally asked. “I remember you selling it, all those years ago.”

“No, we imported it,” she said stiffly, “from a grower in Texas.”

“Hmm. Mistletoe. Trees.”

“Wreaths,” she filled in helpfully, trying to stay focused on what was between them now, which was strictly business.

“I already have the stores, and keeping local product at the forefront can be a problem during the winter months. I wonder. I’ll check on the viability of a line of Christmas products. It could be a good fit for our company.”

Hanna was taken completely by surprise by what she felt when he said that, because it seemed to her any research on his part would only serve to seal the fate of the farm.

She already knew what he would find out. Christmas products of the natural, home-grown variety were not particularly viable. Or at least they hadn’t been on her family’s farm, certainly not in comparison to a success story like Old Apple Crate.

For as long as she could remember, her family’s business had limped along from year to year, barely making ends meet.

And so why, at the thought of it not being a Christmas tree farm anymore, would she feel these emotions? Loss. Sadness. It seemed impossible. She should feel nothing but relief. And yet...that’s not what she felt.

Not at all.

CHAPTER FIVE (#ulink_1aa06ff5-918e-5f1e-b333-efc3fb1b6ce6)

HANNA WAS TRYING not to let all the feelings that were washing through her show on her face.

“That would be ironic,” Sam said. “Me, getting into the Christmas tree business.”

“And me getting out of it,” she added softly. Out of the business, her last remaining link to her family. Good grief! She had the awful feeling she might start crying.

He was looking at her too closely and she turned away from him, acting as if she had just noticed she had a horse on the loose.

“You’re here a day early,” she said, her tone neutral. “You should come back tomorrow. I’ll be ready for you, then.”

She’d been in the house only briefly, to grab a jacket and boots, and she had barely glanced at the barn when she had run in to get a halter and lead rope. But even peripherally, it had been hard to miss that things looked a touch shabby. If she had until tomorrow at noon, when he was supposed to arrive, she could do a few cosmetic spruce-ups.

And talk to Mr. Dewey, and then be on her way.

“My appointment was for tonight,” he said.

She certainly wasn’t going to argue with his word against Mr. Dewey’s.