I’d never had anyone laugh in my face. I’d been the head of a company for probably longer than she’d been out of college.

  She twisted to slide off the couch then set the iPad on the coffee table. “Don’t be so sore about it. Writing copy is a gift. And while you might have won all the awards for looks and smarts, that particular one passed you by.”

  I linked my hands between my legs as I spread out a little now that I had the couch to myself. “Now I see why you’re here instead of New York City.”

  She paused in the kitchen for a moment, then resumed getting the bottle of wine. “Is that so?”

  “Not exactly the way to talk to an employer.”

  She took down two glasses from an upper cabinet, then expertly uncorked the bottle. “Handy that you’re not my boss or my client. We have a mutually beneficial holiday experiment going on.”

  I laced my hands over my belly as I sat back. Client rolled off her lips easily. Enough that I wondered just how she was so knowledgeable and worked in the gift shop. I knew for a fact that Taylor was the general manager under Laverne, so Rachel was obviously being wasted.

  She padded back into the room and held out the wine to me. “I figured a merlot would work with pizza.”

  “Thanks.” I took the glass from her. Mine was a goblet shape with a squat neck. Definitely not made for wine, but yet seemed to suit her personality. Hers was an irregular shaped traditional wine glass. It probably should have hit the recycler, but a cheery bell hung from the stem as if it were one of her favorites.

  I’d bet five hundred dollars she used it the most.

  I took a sip. Not a seven-dollar bottle from the local liquor store. Then again, the Ronsons were particular about their food and drink, so it didn’t surprise me their niece would be the same way—even in a small town.

  She took a sip then set it on the coffee table before retrieving her iPad once more. “So, those hybrids. Hmm. Can you send me the details about them? I’ll make it easy to understand for people.”

  “Catchy?”

  Her lips twitched before sliding into a wry grin. “Maybe.”

  I rested the goblet on my belt. She kept looking at my knee as if to silently tell me to move. I wondered, perversely, how long it would take her to complain about my manspreading.

  “So, I’m assuming you’ll do the copy for the newsletter? I’ll have Mary check in with you.”

  She nodded. “Sure. I’ve been teaching her how to write them, but she’d rather be working with the wreaths you guys are adding to the menu.”

  “Yeah, that was her idea. We did a small batch last year and they sold out in less than a week. Then it got too busy for her to make more. I had to send her home at the end of each day. She’d literally work until her fingers were red and sometimes bleeding.”

  She toyed with her pencil. “Glad you noticed and didn’t let her work herself to death. Most people wouldn’t care.” She didn’t look up from her screen.

  “My people are far more important than money.”

  She lifted her gaze to mine before looking away again. She cleared her throat. “Well, if we do the newsletter and then do a tree lighting, we’ll both have a lot of work to do.”

  “I’ll do what I can remotely, but I work in the city during the week.”

  She cupped her hands around her glass. “What do you do?”

  “This and that.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “Is that ‘I secretly am an enforcer for the mob’ kind of this or that? Or ‘I’m an entrepreneur’ kind of this or that?”

  “You have an interesting imagination.”

  But something kept stopping me from giving her specifics. I liked the anonymity I was afforded by keeping to myself. I came in on the weekends, which was also a busy time for Happy Acres in general, and lit out by Sunday.

  I got my Turnbull fix and went back to my responsibilities.

  Handily, the overlap between Turnbull and Manhattan was nonexistent and I’d never had to explain myself. Laverne had always been the more curious of the group. Beckett probably knew more than he let on since we’d done the paperwork, but it had been easy enough to use one of my LLCs when I purchased the land.

  The first few years had been more tax write-off than profit, but that had never been the point of the Christmas tree farm.

  She tilted her head and gave me a very focused stare.

  I shrugged and took a sip of the very good wine. “I work in tech.”

  “Like ‘I’m a hacker’ tech?”

  My eyebrows shot up. “You have a very suspicious mind.”

  She curled her feet up again. “I like Dan Brown books.”

  “Well, there’s no Illuminati in my world. Just lots of boring code.” Not that I’d written code in a good five years, but I still kept my hand in as much as I could. These days, I was more the masthead than creator.

  “What made you decide to make it a Christmas tree farm?”

  “I like being outside, and I like getting out of the city during the holidays.” And even more, I liked getting out of the romantic entanglements my grandfather kept trying to push on me during the season.

  I wasn’t interested in linking up with a socialite for show, because loving me was never a good idea. I didn’t want to lead anyone on.

  She sipped her wine without saying anything.

  “And of course there’s the tax write-off.” A knock on the door freed me up from any other questions.

  She rolled her eyes. “That’s the real answer.”

  If she only knew.

  I got up and met Ransom on the porch. “Took you long enough.”

  “Cute girl behind the counter.” Ransom grinned. “She gave our pie some extra love.”

  “Our?”

  He balanced the box on his palm. “What? I don’t get any pizza?”

  “No. Rachel’s place is a shoebox. We’ll be tripping over each other.”

  “So. We’ve been in tinier places.” Ransom’s smile widened. “Or, I’m firmly in third wheel status.”

  “No. It’s a work thing.”

  “Right.”

  “Shut up. Just give me the pizza.”

  Maybe it was a little too cozy in there with just the two of us. I looked over my shoulder at her through the door. She sat on the loveseat with the cat firmly in her arms.

  And a frown on her face.

  “Go find the cute counter girl and take her out.” I took the box and stepped back through the threshold, closing the door.

  Ransom toed his boot in, jamming it open. “Hey, where’s my tip?”

  I dug in my pocket. “I only have a twenty.”

  He snaked his arm through the crack in the door. “Sounds about right.” He snatched it before whistling his way down the stairs.

  “You’re welcome,” I hollered after him.

  Ransom held up his middle finger then slipped into his SUV.

  I turned around and leaned back on the door, facing her. “Delivery.”

  “You almost killed my cat again.”

  I tipped back my head. “I’m a skilled goalie.”

  “Like last time?”

  “I wasn’t prepared.” I detoured around her small living room, placing the box on her postage stamp-sized counter.

  She got up with the kitten still in her arms and peered around me at the box. Her scent twined around me, leaving the delicious smell of garlic and cheese in the dust. “Is it still hot? I hate cold pizza.”

  I opened it and the steaming cheese was a welcome surprise. Knowing Ransom, he probably had a portable pizza oven in the trunk along with enough gear to escape from a high rise or a barn.

  He liked to keep his options open.

  “Why don’t you grab some plates and we’ll make a plan for the soft launch?”

  She cuddled the cat into her neck. “Right. It’s a business dinner, after all.”

  I had to keep telling myself that. But never fear, I was pretty sure Rachel wouldn’t mind reminding me.

  Chapter 8

  Rachel

  Don’t Fall In Love With Me

  I yawned as I locked up my cabin, coffee in hand. I flipped the strap of my bag over my head, securing it around my back as I streaked down my stairs. The trail down to the tree farm was blessedly short, but the morning was brisk. The frost on the leaves and grass glittered in the sunshine.

  It was barely past dawn and even the orchard was quiet. Mornings were my favorite since I’d come back to Happy Acres. In the city, I’d had so many evening parties that I’d often find myself sleeping well past ten.

  Here?

  Not so much.

  My boots crunched over the leaves that had blown around the night before. Beck tried to keep the trails cleaned off for me. I tried not to be annoyed that I still got special treatment, but I’d been in pretty rough shape when I’d first come back.

  Enough that I’d been winded just doing a short walk around the main house. Now my muscles were pleasantly warming as I wound my way down the meandering trail that led to the orchard.

  It was a little longer walk to Clay’s part of the property, but by the time I spotted the van, I’d shaken off the cold. I slowed as I spotted someone climbing out of the back of the VW Bus.

  I lifted my arm against the streaming sun. Justin rarely roused himself this early.

  “It couldn’t be,” I muttered as I walked faster.

  Clay had told me last night he was heading back into the city for work. The closer I got, I noticed a pair of sawhorses and wood set up on top. The peal of a circular hand saw pierced the air.

  “What are you doing?” I yelled.

  He ignored me. Or couldn’t hear me. I didn’t know which. I lengthened my stride enough that I was winded by the time I got into the clearing.

  The van had been moved to where I’d requested by the barn. Lumber and what looked like a bench seat was beside it. He had on large over-the-ear headphones and a pair of safety glasses against the flying sawdust.

  There was nothing designer about him today. In fact, the Levis he wore had a big enough hole at the base of the back pocket to show off a yellow and black bit of something underneath.

  I shouted his name again, but he kept sawing.

  I didn’t want him to lose a finger, so I slowly moved around him and waved until he noticed me. The quick and stunning smile he flashed me upped my already irrational anger.

  He slid the headphones off to hang around his neck. I could hear the tinny sound of music. Was that “Toxic” playing?

  “Morning. I brought coffee and fritters if you’re hungry. They might even still be warm.”

  My mouth watered. I hadn’t eaten breakfast since I was too excited to get down here and work—alone.

  And now that was ruined.

  “What are you doing?”

  His smile slipped into a smirk. He held up the hand held saw. “Working?”

  “You said you were going back to the city.”

  “Yeah.” He put the saw down and swiped at his damp forehead with the back of his hand leaving a trail of sawdust sticking to his skin and clinging to his curls. “I thought I’d check in on you first. But I beat you and found some supplies in the barn I thought we could use.”

  “And you thought you’d just start?”

  His smirk stayed put. “Like you were going to?”

  I folded my arms. “Well, you put me in charge of this.”

  “I did? I think that would be you.”

  I flipped my bag off and set it next to me in the scattered pine needles. “You were the one who came to Laverne.”

  “I know. And now I’m excited to get on it. I thought you were too.”

  “I am. That’s why I’m here at the crack of dawn.”

  “No, I was here at the crack of dawn.”

  I stomped my foot. “Yeah, well, you have a car.”

  “Actually, I took a run down here this morning from my place.”

  My eyebrows shot up. “In jeans?”

  “Nah. I changed.”

  “Where?”

  He shrugged. “In the barn. Why? Upset you didn’t get here in time to catch me in my boxers?”

  “No.” I crossed my arms again. No, I wasn’t. Mostly. “I just wasn’t expecting you until later. I figured you’d stop by on your way out.”

  “And I ruined your plans.”

  “Stop smiling. You look like the Joker.” He didn’t, but he was distracting with that damn smile. I was used to his serious, slightly annoyed frowns.

  Right now, he was rocking a red plaid shirt over a white thermal shirt which accented his heavy scruff. If he went another day he’d probably have a full-blown beard.

  I lifted my shoulder to itch at my neck, imagining what it would feel like.

  This was ridiculous. What was my problem? It was his place. His van—well, Laverne’s van, but she’d offered it up as part of the package.

  He walked over to me and pulled my arms down to shake them out. “Come on, grouchy. Let me show you what I did, then we’ll get some sugar and coffee into you. Maybe it’ll put you in a better mood.”

  He didn’t let go of my hand when he led me over to the van.

  “I’m not grouchy.”

  He glanced over his shoulder at me. “Hmm.”

  He urged me ahead of him and the scent of pine and fresh wood with a side of cold, clean air made me lean in for another whiff. He grinned down at me as his hand slid along my lower back. “Check it out.”

  I shivered, but then gasped at the mostly gutted inside. I slipped my hand free and shot a startled glance up at him. “You did all this this morning?” I frowned. “What time did you get here?”

  He shrugged. “I couldn’t really sleep. Not sure what time.”

  I tapped the work light hanging from a cracked open window. He’d definitely been here before dawn. He’d taken the seats out and the whole thing seemed positively cavernous. The bolts had been ground down and he’d used some sort of filler to smooth out the floor.

  I turned around and found him right behind me. He couldn’t stand up straight, which meant he was leaning toward me in a crouch. I stumbled back and he looped an arm around me.

  “Careful.”

  I stepped back, but there was nowhere to go. His scent wrapped around me like one of the shawls I’d started to crochet and abandoned fifteen times.

  I bumped my head into the light.

  He made a soft hiss. “You okay?”

  “Fine.”

  He grinned at me. “Do I make you nervous?”

  I threw back my shoulders, which made me bump my elbow into the window. “Ow.” I wrapped my arm around my middle. “You’re ridiculous.”

  “You’re the one jumping like a scared cat. Hanging out with Gary too much?” He tucked a lock of my hair around my ear.

  I zipped around him and hopped out of the van, dragging in a deep lungful of cold air. I spotted the coffee and pastry bag sitting on the tailgate of his truck and rushed toward them.

  Coffee was much safer. I unscrewed the thermos cap and poured the fragrant lifeblood into a plastic mug, willing my hand not to shake.

  It was fine. I just wasn’t used to people in my space, was all. Not because he smelled so damn good.

  “Rachel?”

  I turned with the mug in my—thank God—steady hand. “It looks great in there. I can’t believe how much you got done. I wouldn’t have thought to do the filler on the floor.”

  He came closer to me until the tips of our boots touched.

  I stared at the faded red mug, wrapping both my hands around it for warmth.

  He took the mug from me and set it back on the tailgate, then tipped my head up with a thumb under my chin. “I have an important question.”

  “Sounds more like a statement,” I muttered.

  “Do I make you nervous—”

  I narrowed my eyes at him. “You wish.”

  He licked his lower lip. “Let me finish.” He rubbed my arms lightly. “Do I make you nervous as in you are afraid of me?”

  “No.” I wiggled until I could back up. “I just appreciate my own dance space, that’s all.”

  He quirked one eyebrow.

  “Never mind. I’ve watched Dirty Dancing too many times.”

  He lifted my hands until my arms made a large C-shape. “This is my dance space? This is your dance space?”

  I couldn’t stop the smile and firmed my arms to give us a healthy space. “No spaghetti arms here.”

  Suddenly, he slid his arm around my waist and drew me against him. “You sure you don’t like me in your space?”

  My arm slid up and around his neck. He curled my other hand against his chest. I could feel the steady beat of his heart under the cotton and flannel layers. It seemed like mine was tripping double time and his was as steady and calm as a lake.

  I pushed at his chest to make him step back. “You’re just toying with me and it’s rude.”

  He held tighter. “I don’t toy with women.” Something flickered in his eyes before they steadied again. “On purpose,” he added.

  “Well, it feels like you are.”

  He let me go. “I’m sorry.”

  He didn’t make any allowances. Just a firm apology. I frowned and jammed my hands into my vest pockets. “Apology accepted.”

  Clay took a few steps back and headed back to the bus. “Too bad. I really wanted to kiss you,” he said over his shoulder before he stepped inside.

  I stalked after him. “You can’t just say that and walk away.”

  He peeked his head out of the doorway. “I just did.” He grinned and disappeared back inside. I heard banging and the whole vehicle rocked.

  I climbed up and found him ripping out the remaining seat at the back of the bus. His arms were tightly corded with muscles bulging under the flannel.

  And dear Lord, his back muscles were things of beauty.

  A tech guy? In what world was that possible? The programmer guys I’d known in Manhattan had a whole different kind of body. Okay, so a few had been into fitness, but for the most part—yeah, definitely not like that.

  To be honest, I didn’t want to notice this much about him.