“You’re kind of surly tonight.”
“I’m sorry. I have a ton of work to do and lots on my mind.”
And instead of tending to those things, Holden was trying to help me out. Not that I asked him to.
“It’s pretty out here,” I admitted. The moonlight shined like an ethereal navigational system, while festive lights outlined farm houses spaced acres apart. I thought of my mother, who loved the high rises and the congestion of big cities, and knew she would never see the beauty in this part of Sugar Creek.
“This is my friend Miller’s farm.” Holden pointed to the left. “It’s three hundred acres and growing.”
“I’m not really in the mood for a visit with more cows.”
“Miller’s place is so much more than that.” He shot me a quick look as he drove us down a long driveway. “You’ll love it. I promise.” Holden pointed to a barn as big as a Walmart. “He holds training classes there and uses it for equine therapy.” The truck ambled on a way before Holden spoke again. “Down the road are the fields for the pumpkins and sunflowers. He’ll sell them both next year, with the funds going back into the farm.”
I didn’t understand how this was relevant, and it was impossible to see much in the dark. It was just field after field. A red button near the truck radio caught my eye, and I pushed it. Heat immediately radiated from the seat. Ahhh. Toasty buns. Now that was something I could get excited about.
“To your left is a field of Guernsey cows. Back by the barn are some beehives, and of course there are the free range chickens.”
“Holden, this is great, but how does it apply to my party?” Maybe this friend would let us use his big barn?
“Miller’s land supports his nonprofit called Homestead for Heroes. He works with a few local counselors, and together they’ve created the only farm therapy in the area. It serves military veterans with PTSD. They also grow food in the huge gardens, which is sold to area restaurants. ” He pointed toward a crop of trees. “Over there is the eight-year old Christmas tree farm that Miller won’t cut until next winter.”
The truck slowed to a stop and, before I could crank up the bun warmers, Holden opened my door and helped me out. The headlights shined on the evergreens, and it felt like we were sneaking into Santa’s backyard under the cover of night.
Holden’s hand held mine as I took the last step off the running board. “Are you catching my vision?”
“I think all I’m catching is a cold.”
“Our living room and kitchen are nearly finished. We start the party there, catered by one or two of the restaurants Miller’s been supplying. Then we transport everyone here for a holiday stroll through the Christmas trees. We could recruit Cordelia to decorate a few. Use one of Miller’s trailers to serve hot chocolate.”
The museum had a history of amazing parties at some of the finest restaurants and venues. We’d held last year’s celebration at the funky building called the Gazette that once upon a time printed the area’s first newspaper. We’d rented a mansion on the golf course and used the basement bowling alley until two in the morning. There was the time we used the outdoor ice skating rink downtown and ate gourmet food while the Arkansas symphony played Christmas carols. And his idea, though a very thoughtful one, was to walk around a farm in the frigid temps of winter and drink cocoa?
“Holden, I’m touched you’d go to the trouble to bring me out here and try to help me.”
“But you hate the idea.”
“I think for our group, it’s a little too…rural.”
“Cordelia’s a whiz of a seasonal decorator. She could turn this place into a winter village.”
We’d still be outside. Freezing our stocking caps off. “It’s not going to work.” I rose on tiptoe and kissed his scratchy cheek. “But thank you for the thought.” The brisk wind suspended. Pine needles ceased their splintered songs. Hidden woodland creatures stopped rustling. I’d yet to move and found I couldn’t. Holden’s heated gaze fused me to the spot. When did my hand come to rest on his shoulder? Move it! I loved Wyatt. I adored his cousin. “I…”
Holden’s thumb traced a light path over my cheek, the pad of his finger rough, yet his touch achingly gentle. His head dipped lower, descending. There was a magnetic force between his lips and mine, and—
A crash in the trees startled the both us, and I jumped out of Holden’s embrace. A brown cat bounded from the branches and darted after an invisible foe.
The wind resumed its intensity, the trees swayed and danced. Nature was through waiting.
“Barn cat.” Holden ran a hand through his disheveled hair, then studied the toe of his boot as it scuffed the dirt. “Probably on the hunt.”
My heart beat like a wild ruckus beneath my shirt. “See, this place is a little too outdoorsy for the party.” And clearly there was romantic voodoo here, and I wanted no part of that. How else could I explain what had just happened? These sparkling things bubbling in my system were not feelings. No way was I having romantic inclinations for Holden Thomas. I put steps between us, needing space to breathe and not smell the cedar dust and shaving cream on Holden’s skin. “We should go.”
“Yeah.” His eyes said he wanted to say more, but Holden instead led the way to the truck. “I need to get back to work on the house.”
We shut ourselves in the vehicle, and I turned down the heat.
“No longer cold?” He spared me a quick glance before putting the Toyota in drive.
“Quite warm,” I said. “Quite warm.”
Chapter Seventeen
If I were being honest with myself, I’d have admitted I liked my husband.
Holden was kind, and he saw me. Though he was still a bit of a mystery. He worked on the old house like a man possessed by a fury and, when pressed, didn’t have much to say about it. I knew how powerful memories and sentimentality could be. A comfort even.
The ride back to the house was a quiet one. Holden wasn’t much of one for small talk, but somehow we always found ourselves chatting. But not this evening. He seemed to be stuck in his head, a place I wouldn’t have further access to tonight. As the two of us walked back inside the house, I sensed something had shifted between us. Pieces had moved, reorganized. We were a Scrabble tray of letters where none of the tiles formed logical words.
“I’ll clean up tonight,” I said en route to the kitchen. “You go back to the hammering and drilling stuff you do.”
“It won’t take any time if we both tackle the kitchen.”
“Nope. You’re already behind schedule on my account, so off you go.” He didn’t protest, but instead headed upstairs. “Holden?”
His feet paused on the fifth step. “Yeah?”
“Thank you. For trying to solve my party disaster.”
“You’ve already thanked me.”
Was he recalling our almost kiss? “Right.”
“Sometimes you act like you’re not used to help.”
“Sometimes you act like you’re not used to a day without flannel.”
He laughed as he ascended. “You love my sexy work clothes, and you know it. The editorial staff of GQ will probably be calling me any day for fashion advice.”