Where the Heart Is (12 page)

 

S
HOWERED AND
dressed with nowhere to go but hell apparently, Derek paced his loft on Saturday morning. He'd come so close to calling Chloe last night, but every time he thought of her in that house—his house—his blood had run cold and he'd found something else to do. In the end, he'd sat on his couch, which now reminded him torturously of Chloe, and stared blindly at the TV until far too late.

His door buzzed and he froze. He wasn't expecting anyone. Leaden feet carried him to the entry because he was fairly certain who was standing on the other side: Chloe had the day off.

He opened the door and his heart ached at Chloe's sunny beauty. She wore a cute gray hat over her blond hair and she smiled broadly at him while holding up two cups. “You order a chai?”

Why hadn't he called her? His negligence seemed so awful and so pointless just then. Warm emotion overwhelmed him and he couldn't help but smile at her in return. “I might have.”

“Grab your coat. And gloves. And whatever else you need to cut me down a Christmas tree. I really have no idea what's required. Do you have a chainsaw stashed in that swanky loft somewhere?” She made a show of peering around him.

“You don't need a chainsaw. The farms have handsaws. The key is making sure they've been sharpened recently. There's nothing worse than trying to fell a Christmas tree with a dull blade.”

“Sounds important.” She raked her gaze over him, sending heat through him, particularly to regions south of his waist. “Get a move on, then; I don't want all the good trees to be gone.”

He laughed. “It's not like a tree lot. You could literally spend all day searching for the perfect tree. I've had to hit four or five different farms before.”

She arched a brow. “I had no idea you were such a high-maintenance tree snob.”

He grabbed his heavy winter coat from the hook, knowing there were gloves stashed in the pockets. But he'd need his work gloves for the tree cutting. “We need to stop by my car so I can get my gloves.”

“Actually, you're driving,” she said, handing him his chai. She turned and started toward the elevator. “I walked over. I figured you should drive since I haven't a clue where to go.”

She'd walked over—just like she said she would. From his house. Her house. Dammit, he had to stop thinking of it like that. It wasn't really his house. It was just a place where he'd lived with his mom for what, eight years? It wasn't even the place he'd lived the longest. That had been Tacoma. With both of his parents. Ice pricked the back of his neck, and his feet faltered.

Chloe punched the elevator button and pivoted toward him. “Aren't you coming?”

He heard just the faintest note of uncertainty in her voice and hated himself. Why was he doing this to her? He could either deal with the house—
her
house—or he couldn't. Time to man up.

“Yeah.” He locked the door behind himself and joined her.

A few minutes later they were ensconced in his car, seat warmers turned on full blast. He pulled out of his garage and drove out of town up into the Red Hills. He took her to the farm where he'd gotten his tree, but after only five minutes she said, “Nope.”

“How can you tell?” he asked. “You've barely looked.”

“Everything's too tall. I only want a five-footer or so. I have exactly two strings of LED lights and three packages of cheap ornaments I bought at Target yesterday.”

“I think I know where to go next.” They climbed back into the car and he drove her to a small farm run by a retired fellow and his wife. This was one of their “down” years, in that the farmer was waiting for his crop to replenish. He had some good trees, but most were too small yet.

Chloe jumped out of the SUV and smiled. “Much better. How am I ever going to choose?”

Mr. Shaefer came toward them with a broad smile. “Derek, I didn't think I'd see you this year. I know you like your trees pretty tall.”

“Yes sir, but my girlfriend needs a smaller tree. About five feet or so.”

“Came to the right place then.” He handed Derek a saw. “Here you go. You know the drill. Tree that size will only set you back twenty-five dollars.”

Derek took the saw in one hand and Chloe's hand in the other. “Sounds about right. We'll see you in a bit.”

Chloe bounced along beside him as they set off amongst the trees. “Girlfriend?” she asked.

“Was I supposed to introduce you as my one-night-stand?”

She stopped, tugging his hand so he stopped too. “You're kidding, right?”

Ice dampened his mood as he realized she was really—and legitimately—upset. He faced her, wanting to alleviate her concern. He owed her at least that much, but likely way more. “Of course I am. I've been a complete asshole. I should've called you last night. I meant to. I just . . .” He glanced away, “Now,
I'm
a broken record.”

She squeezed his hand. “You're not broken. Not as a record, not in any way. I'm capable of being very patient. I know my moving into your old house hasn't been easy. And I don't expect you to be perfect with it overnight. But I'm not going anywhere. Not unless you tell me to—and you'd better be specific. Don't just leave me hanging or I might have to tell the Archers what a creep you are.”

“Ouch.” He was grateful for the humor laced in her tone. More than that, he was utterly amazed at her supportiveness and generosity. “So I can still call you my girlfriend?”

“You'd better.” She flashed him a saucy smile and he couldn't resist pulling on her hand until she came hard against his chest. He stared at her a long moment before kissing her, and that magic he always felt with her wound its way through his veins and wrapped tight around his heart.

She broke away, but didn't let go of his hand. “Come on, it looks like it wants to rain.”

The sky was gray, a typical December day, but she was right that the clouds seemed to be thickening.

They looked at the trees and discussed their various attributes. “Too skinny,” she said at one Derek pointed out.

“Skinny looks better in my loft,” he said.

Her lids lowered briefly, seductively. “I want something with a little more curve.”

He caressed the arc of her hip and settled his palm flat against her butt. “Me too.”

She laughed and skipped away from him. “Lech.”

The next one he pointed out didn't fare any better. “Too spindly,” she said. “I like some muscle on my trees.” She caressed the front of his coat, her palm pressing into his chest. “Too bad you're wearing so much,” she sighed.

Totally too bad. He was already half-erect thinking about a repeat performance in his shower. Screw that, what was wrong with a little lovemaking among the Christmas trees? Aside from the near-freezing temperature and total lack of privacy. Although the latter was actually a little bit of a turn-on, he realized with surprise.

With that thought in mind, he pulled Chloe against his chest again and spun her to a place between two rather bushy trees that afforded at least a little bit of a screen—not that the farm was crawling with people. There were maybe two other cars here.

“These trees are too thick,” she said.

“I'll show you something thick,” he said in his cheesiest voice just before he kissed her laughing mouth.

Things sobered pretty quickly as her tongue met his, and soon the heat between them threatened to burn the farm to the ground. She clutched at his back, her body burrowing into his with sweet abandon. He groaned softly, wishing they weren't so far away from . . . anywhere that would afford a modicum of warmth.

Suddenly she pulled back. “There!” She pointed behind him.

He turned and saw a five-foot tree that wasn't too wide, nor was it too skinny, nor was it too sparse. “That's the one?”

“That's the one,” she said, her voice tinged with wonder.

He realized she was looking at him, not her tree. The moment held, but then he looked away and strode toward the tree. What was wrong with him? She was perfect. He . . . loved her? Maybe. Probably. Hell, he wasn't sure he knew what that even felt like. But he knew the ache in his chest only intensified when he thought about a future with her. The problem was, he couldn't decide if it was a good ache or a bad ache. He'd only ever had bad ones.

“How do we do this?” she asked, not showing any sign that he'd just ditched a totally romantic moment.

“I take my coat off because this is going to make me hot.”

Her brows climbed her forehead and she gave him a seductive look. “Sweaty?”

“Uh-huh.” God, he was too lucky. “I lay it on the ground so I don't get dirty.”

“But your coat gets dirty.”

“Thoroughly. That's to be expected.” He shucked off his coat, shivered at the cold, and laid the garment flat next to her tree. “Then I get down here.” He dropped to the ground and lay on his side.

“Oh,” she said, sounding breathless—perhaps artificially so, which made him smile. “I didn't realize you'd be lying down. Do I get to help?”

“Of course. But sadly, you'll need to stand. I'm going to cut through the trunk halfway and then I'll have you push on the trunk up there to help me cut through the rest.”

“Then it will fall down?”

He nodded.

“And who says ‘timber,' me or you?”

He laughed. “You can say it.”

“Will do.”

Derek set to cutting the tree. He sawed for a couple of minutes, then stopped to take a breather. He rolled slightly to his back and looked up at her.

“What's wrong?” she asked.

“Just taking a rest, if that's okay with you, Mistress,” he said playfully.

“Oh! Of course. Take all the time you need. Though the longer you lie down there, the more tempted I am to join you and then what's going to happen to my half-cut tree?” She tapped her purple-gloved finger against her lip. “On the other hand, if you go faster, we'll be home that much faster. Where there's warmth. And a bed.”

He rolled back to his side and started cutting faster, to the delightful sound of her laugh. A minute or so later, he called up to her, “Okay, push the trunk away from me.”

She stood close to him, her feet near his butt, and leaned over to push the tree. “Like this?”

The trunk bent and he redoubled his cutting efforts. A moment later, he heard her yell, “Tim-berrrrr!”

When he got up, she was grinning from ear to ear. “You're right, there's no better way to get a tree!”

He picked up his coat and pulled it on, zipping up the front. “Okay, lumberjill, let's get this tree to the car. You grab the top and I'll carry the trunk.”

She saluted. “Yes sir!”

A minute later, they were weaving back through the trees toward his SUV. He didn't remember the last time he'd felt so good—maybe never. Tree hunting had certainly never been so much fun. He was so glad she'd come to his loft that morning. He didn't know what he'd done to deserve her, but he knew that he'd better figure it out quick so he could keep doing it.

Mr. Shaefer plied them with hot cocoa and little candy canes while the tree went through the binding machine. Then he helped Derek tie it to the roof of the car.

On the way back into town, she chattered about how much better this was than getting a tree back home, and all the while he thought about how today was pretty much better than anything. He was beginning to believe the ache in his chest was definitely a good one.

As he pulled into Ribbon Ridge proper, the ache in his chest intensified and was soon accompanied by that familiar cold sweat. Because he realized where he was going—her house. He managed to steer the car in that direction and as he pulled up Fifth—a street he went out of his way to avoid—his entire body felt like ice.

He pulled into the driveway that led to the double detached garage tucked at the back of the lot and put the car in park, though he didn't shut the engine off. He simply stared at the gingerbread decorating the familiar porch and the barren arms of the dogwood tree his mother had planted.

His throat felt thick and raw. He couldn't speak.

She reached over and touched his hand. “Derek?”

He nodded, somehow forcing his head and neck to move. “I'm fine,” he croaked, but obviously she could tell he wasn't. He didn't want her to see him like this. He didn't want to
be
like this. He thought he could do this, but he couldn't. He'd get the tree down, but then he had to go. He couldn't look at her. She deserved better than some head case who couldn't even
look
at a stupid house without freaking out.

“Chloe, I have to go.”

She pulled his hand into her lap and held it. “No, you don't. We'll just sit here a minute.”

“I can't. Let me get the tree off the car for you, but then I . . . I have to go.”