Page 2 of Her Christmas Lumberjack

Focus, Aurora.

I wind my way through the happy families, toward a smiling middle-aged woman dressed as an elf, handing out cups of cocoa.

Jeez, this place belongs in a Disney movie.

“Excuse me,” I say. “I’m looking for the owner.”

“Which one?” she asks with a chuckle. “The Thorne brothers co-own this place.”

“Either of them.”

“Well, Declan is probably busy with his new girlfriend, as usual.” She rolls her eyes, giving me a knowing wink. “But Nolan should be available. He’s out cutting trees somewhere.”

“Thank you.”

I’m about to turn away, but she presses a cup of cocoa into my hands first. “Merry Christmas!”

“Oh…thanks! Merry Christmas to you too.”

I hurry outside and breathe in the crisp December air with a sigh of relief. I’m all for a little festive cheer—Christmas is my favorite time of year, and usually, Mistletoe Christmas Tree Farm would have my name written all over it. But it’s hard to feel much holiday spirit when I remember why I’m here. No Christmas trees for me. I’m here to dig up information that will help my boss prove this land belongs to Samuel Thorne.

Bah humbug.

But like it or not, I have a job to do. Liz is counting on me, and even if I’m not Samuel Thorne’s biggest fan, he’s our client. So I wrap my coat tighter around me and walk through the maze of trees, following the sound of an axe thudding against wood nearby.

2

NOLAN

I hackat the base of the fir, swinging my axe until the tree falls to the ground, muffled by the snow. With quick hands, I wrap it in netting and tie it with rope before handing it over to Oscar, one of our seasonal workers, who carries it back to the barn. It’s like clockwork. I’ve been busting my ass all month long, but it’s not over yet. This is the final rush before Christmas, and the farm is heaving with people looking for a last-minute bargain.

“Hey,” I call as Oscar reemerges from the barn, “is Declan in there?”

He shrugs. “I think so. Last I saw, he was in the backroom with Margot.”

Goddammit.

Declan is getting more distracted by the day. My brother is obsessed with his new girlfriend and keeps sneaking off with her instead of working. Why the hell did he have to find love just before Christmas? We run a Christmas Tree Farm, for God’s sake! Of all the seasons to get distracted…

But as much as I want to be mad at my brother, I can’t. Ever since our dad passed away in March, Declan has been even more sullen than usual. Then he met Margot a few weeks back, and it was like the clouds parted. I’ve never seen him so happy, and I’mnot going to ruin this for him, no matter how much I want to kick his ass into gear.

Despite Declan and Margot’s regular disappearances into the barn’s backroom, the farm is booming, and this is shaping up to be our most profitable December yet. But hell, it’s just not the same. No amount of money can change that. Dad was the heart and soul of Mistletoe Christmas Tree Farm, and his absence is like a gaping hole, sad and empty.

It sure looks the part, though. The barn is all decked out; there’s cocoa on tap; happy families are picking out their perfect Christmas tree, the seasonal workers are dressed as elves. We even hired an old man to put on a Santa suit and welcome guests. Everybody who visits instantly falls in love with this place, but to me, it feels as hollow as a glittery bauble now that Dad’s gone.

With a sigh, I stride deeper into the trees, looking for another one to fell. My eyes land on a blue spruce, but something stops me in my tracks. There’s movement at the bottom of the tree, and a pair of chocolate-brown eyes blink at me as a dog emerges.

“Hey there. Wondered when I’d see you again,” I mutter.

The dog stares at me. He’s a border collie with a matted black-and-white coat. I’ve seen him a few times around the farm, but he always bolts if I get too close, so I stay where I am and crouch down. “Come here, boy.”

He stares at me for a few moments longer before taking a step forward. Then, a loud laugh sounds from a family nearby, and he turns on his tail, shooting back through the trees and out of sight, leaving nothing but paw prints in the snow.

“Shit.”

Making a mental note to buy some dog food, I reach the spruce and examine the base, scoring it with my blade at the perfect place to cut. With a series of rapid swipes, it tumbles to the ground.

“Excuse me, are you Nolan Thorne?”

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