The Art of Walking in Snow - 1. Chapter 1

Jamie squinted to make out the faded words: Seasonal Help Wanted.

Most would likely mistake the white-washed lettering as part of the painted landscape of the sign. Arched over a field of evergreen trees, nestled in a bed of snow, red stenciled lettering proclaimed Echo Valley Tree Farm was hiring—turn right at Perkins Market and drive a mile to the top of the hill.

Jamie wouldn’t be driving.

He hoisted his threadbare backpack higher on his shoulder while he debated. A mile in good weather was nothing. A mile in thirty-four degree driving rain with no promise of employment at the end wasn’t the sort of gamble a sane, reasonable man took.

He glanced skyward. The rain had held off all night, but with the temperature dropping, a harbinger of the impending cold front, the bloated clouds could start spitting icy water any minute. Better to push on closer to the center of town and hope for shelter and the odd job there.

The stoplight flashed yellow, casting a glimmer over the low-hanging fog. Cars slowed and Jamie stepped off the curb, prepared to cross the intersection in the direction of Cannonstown, population 4,812. A sharp wind whipped at his back, buffeting his jacket and slicing through his jeans. A drop of rain splashed against his cheek.

The sign beckoned.

He wasn’t so dead emotionally that the impulse to turn toward the Christmas tree farm shocked him. Winter in the Midwest could suck the happiness from the staunchest optimist. Snow cover and the promise of Christmas made December bearable, but this year the hills were bare and brown, reaching toward a slate-gray sky. The damp air left a shine of water on Jamie’s hands and face, though the serious rain had yet to fall. Temperatures hovered in the mid-thirties. It tasted like snow, but wishing for it wouldn’t change raindrops to ice crystals.

Christmas trees swimming in a pristine field of snow. An image from happier times.

Ignoring the inner voice calling him crazy, Jamie turned up the hill, ducking his chin against the worst of the cold breeze. Few cars passed; most traveled the busier road behind him that led into Cannonstown. Alone, he trudged the several hundred yards to Perkins Market—currently dark and empty—and turned right down an even narrower road.

Another sign met him as he turned a bend, this one mounted more securely between two wooden posts and topped with a shingled roof. A virtual twin to the one he’d seen on the main road. Jamie paused, wiping the misty rain from his face. There. In the lower left corner, in black paint this time, urging him on: Seasonal Help Needed.

Wanted was nebulous, often frivolous. Needed, on the other hand, was a word that boded well for Jamie. Young and fit, if bedraggled, he knew how to work and didn’t turn his nose up at doing it for long stretches of time. He might have a roof over his head for Christmas this year.

The mist became tiny drops that splashed off the end of his nose. Zipping his coat as far as it would go, Jamie walked on. By the time he reached the entrance to Echo Valley Tree Farm, he was damp to the skin and shivering.

The farm straddled the road. On one side stood a compact wooden building with a pavilion. Garlands of evergreen punctuated with bright red bows draped its posts, door, and windows. A metal contraption with rolled netting dominated the structure.

Jamie took it in, noting the lack of people, and turned to examine the white farmhouse across the road. A few outbuildings, also white with black trim, filled out the spacious yard, sandwiching a red barn between them. Cobblestone paths connected the structures. Artificial candle lights shone in the windows of the house, and pine swags adorned the window boxes.

A sharp pain squeezed his chest, so fleeting that by the time Jamie lifted a cold hand to rub at the ache it had disappeared.

“Hello? Can I help you?”

Jamie started, turning toward the voice where there had been nobody just moments before. The man behind him flashed Jamie a crooked smile. It did little to soften his size and appearance. His black, curly hair stood up in tufts, framing a scruffy, but youthful face. He shook out his arms, shedding the rain droplets that had beaded on the sleeves of his coat. “Hi,” Jamie said, then cleared his throat when the word emerged as a croak.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d said something out loud.

“I’m here about the seasonal help you’re advertising for?” He hunched his shoulders, trying to appear non-threatening, though he’d have trouble intimidating a mouse. That’s what his mother had always said—that he’d had the look of an angel. And the soul of the damned, but that had been a separate conversation, many years later. Their last, as it happened.

“Oh yeah?” The man’s smile didn’t fade, but the eyes assessed and measured. “It’s hard work, just so you know. Busy. Long hours. Not always warm and dry.” He swept a hand over his dripping hair.

Jamie nodded. “I understand.”

“Doesn’t pay much, either.”

“That’s okay.” His tastes weren’t fancy. Food and the occasional secondhand book. “I’m used to hard work and long hours. I was hoping….”

The man cocked his head. His hands dropped from his hips to hang at his sides. Jamie watched the body language carefully. “Go ahead, kid,” the man said gently.

Jamie bristled. He hadn’t been a kid for years. Swallowing the resentment, not successfully judging by how the guy’s mouth twitched with laughter, he schooled his features and tone to blank indifference. “I was hoping it would be okay if I stayed in your barn.” He made a vague gesture across the road, which the guy’s eyes followed. “Just someplace dry would be good. I won’t be any trouble.”

“That barn’s barely fit for animals. I’d call it mostly dry, but cold as hell. It’s a glorified storage shed, to be honest.” The man let the words rest between them, obviously waiting for Jamie to balk. He wouldn’t. Being on the move since he was fifteen meant he’d seen a lot—had learned to do the same measuring he was getting now in turn. The man’s words weren’t flip or the tone dismissive. He’d been stating fact, not making fun. Jamie began to breathe a little easier.

“I can manage the cold. It’s being wet that I hate.”

With a grunt, the guy stepped forward, stripped off a glove, and held out his hand. “I’m John.”

“Jamie.” He might have held on too long to John’s fingers, seduced by the warmth. Feeling colder when they parted, he thrust his hands into his pockets. “So you think this could work?”

He frowned at his own plaintive tone. Charity wasn’t something he allowed himself. But if John noticed, he gave no sign. He opened a small door behind him and gestured Jamie inside. “Let’s talk where it’s a bit warmer.”

The promise of heat drew Jamie forward before his good sense kicked in. First impressions aside, following a stranger inside a closed space wasn’t the sort of stupidity he engaged in. Once, he wouldn’t have given it a second thought. Once was all it had taken.

Inside, a wood-burning stove threw delicious heat, and the smell of fresh-brewed coffee made the ramshackle sales shed as close to heaven as possible. John poured two mugs from a battered, stained coffee pot and handed one over, watchful eyes on Jamie’s shivering. “Get that down. Warm up a bit and we’ll talk about the kind of help I need.”

Lifting the steaming mug to his lips, Jamie nodded. The coffee was scalding hot and strong enough to curl his toes. Perfect. He closed his eyes, letting the steam wash over his face, blinking them open several seconds later when the silence turned ominous.

Perched on the edge of a table, John watched him, hands cupped around his mug where it rested on his knee. “Good?”

“You have no idea,” Jamie breathed.

“I like it pretty strong.”

“It’s perfect,” Jamie said with complete honesty. “Thanks.”

John sipped from his mug. “You walk here from town?”

“Not exactly.” He’d never made it as far as town. Some stubborn impulse had him hesitating to volunteer that information. “So you sell Christmas trees?”

His deflection hadn’t gone unnoted. John acknowledged it with a wry smile. “That’s the bulk of my business, yeah. Trees, greens, wreaths, swags. I get some landscaping deals in the spring and summer, but we’re mainly a Christmas tree farm. I cut some fresh every day, for the folks who don’t want the full experience of trudging out and cutting one themselves.” Jamie hid his smile behind his cup, but John caught a hint of it. “What?”

Just that it brought back memories. Not all terrible, for once. “I remember the first time we went out and cut ours down.”

“Oh?” John tugged at his second glove. “Was it fun?”

It had been everything an eight-year-old could’ve hoped for. The pang in Jamie’s chest held less bite this time, but still stole his breath. “Yeah. It was fun,” he said, choking up on the last word. A mouthful of scalding coffee helped to open his throat. He blinked at his shoes until the memory faded and died.

The sign with its rows and rows of trees. The cheery house with candles in the windows.

On second thought, coming here had been a terrible idea. He swallowed the last of the coffee and handed the cup back. John accepted it without a word. Clearing his throat, Jamie reached for the backpack he’d set beside him. “Thanks for that. You know what, though, I think—” He sidestepped toward the door.

“Jamie.”

Jamie flinched. “Sorry for wasting your time.”

“Jamie, stop.”

The tone held the perfect blend of authority and kindness. Jamie froze, hand on the knob. Sighing, John came to stand beside him, leaning on the long counter lined with ready-made satin bows. “Listen. I really could use the help, and you don’t have to sleep in a haystack either. There’s a small apartment over my garage. It’s not fancy, but hell, it’s not the barn. It’s got heat and a bed. If you can give me nine hours a day, I can pay you for six and the apartment’s all yours until the week after Christmas. How does that sound?”

Too good to be true. Jamie didn’t let go of the door handle. “What’s the catch?”

John’s shoulders sagged. He reached up to clasp Jamie’s shoulder but dropped his hand when Jamie shied away. “No catch.” He smiled sadly. “Trust me. It’s a win, win.”

It left a few other considerations. Food, for one. But if there really was an apartment, he could buy groceries in town and not worry about where to store them. He’d be sleeping in a bed. Bad memories or no, he wasn’t going to get a better offer. He unclenched his fingers from the door handle. “Yeah. Okay.”

John’s smile transformed his features, reaching his eyes and erasing the hesitation on his face. Jamie swallowed the last of his cynicism. “It’s December first. I figure you’ll be busy really soon if you’re not already. I can start today if you want.”

John reached behind Jamie to open the door. “That’d be great. Let me show you the apartment.”

They trekked across the road in a line, John scanning both directions for cars before leading the way. Jamie found his eyes straying to his new employer more than was strictly proper. John moved effortlessly, his stride long and sure, his arms swinging loosely at his sides. Unselfconscious and at ease. It had been ages since Jamie had seen someone so carefree.

“It’s just me and my mother here. My dad… he lives in a home a few hours away.” John glanced over his shoulder. “Alzheimer’s.”

Jamie bit his lip. “Sorry.”

“Thanks. It’s worked out okay. It’s a good place. We kept him here as long as we could, but he took to wandering out among the trees. The last time was during a cold snap in February. He nearly froze before we found him. That helped decide things.”

Jamie followed John around the side of the house, careful to keep his eyes turned away. “Still…” Still what? It had to have been hard? Of course it had been. Jamie despised trite platitudes, but had a sudden desire to make John know he understood. “My grandma got it. Alzheimer’s. She lived with us. It was hard to sleep at night, thinking she might get it in her head to leave.”

John hesitated at the side of the two-story garage. He didn’t turn but nodded. “Yeah. Lots of sleepless nights.” He opened a door and gestured Jamie inside. “This is it. Right up those steps.”

Jamie went where directed, aware of John’s clomping footfalls behind him. The stairs opened onto a tiled landing and a compact, white-walled living room, empty but for a blue plaid couch sitting kitty-corner against the opposite walls. A kitchenette took up the other corner—a stretch of speckled laminate countertop and tired-looking appliances. Through separate doorways he saw a bathroom and the edge of a bare mattress.

“So this is it,” John said. “Just the basics. Sorry. There’s a set of dishes and pots. Silverware—”

He broke off. Jamie turned in a slow circle, wondering why John sounded nervous. “It’s great. I mean it. More than I expected.” Or deserved, for three lousy unpaid hours a day. He caught John’s eye, cataloging the pity in a heartbeat. Misplaced compassion made him defensive as a rule, so he couldn’t explain the third, and most painful, pang in his chest any more than he could explain why he felt safe in this place.

“It’s early,” John said into the strained silence. “I don’t open for another hour. Why don’t you get settled and come over to the house for breakfast. I can’t promise lunch will be on time or lengthy. Better eat something now.”

He didn’t wait for Jamie’s yea or nay, just smiled and trudged down the stairs in his heavy boots, adjusting the thermostat on his way. Somewhere in the bowels of the garage, Jamie heard the furnace kick on with a low rumble. Then the door closed, and he was alone.

“There you are,” a kind, feminine voice greeted him. “John said you’d be by. Jamie, is it?”

Jamie hadn’t been sure which door was more proper: the front, which looked mostly unused, or the back, which, even in the cold, stood open so Jamie could see through the glassed storm door into the room beyond. In the end, he’d knocked on the back, childhood memories so rampant he had trouble speaking at first. “Yeah, that’s me.”

A slim woman with sandy blonde upswept hair took him by the arm and drew him inside. “Perfect timing. The eggs are ready.”

And the bacon, judging by the scent wafting from the oven. Jamie swayed through a wave of hunger and hoped his stomach wouldn’t betray him. “You don’t need to feed me, ma’am. I just came by to see if there was anything I could do to get started early.”

“There is, as a matter of fact.” Her hand closed over his shoulder and pushed him into a seat. “You can eat breakfast.”

He wasn’t a charity case, but opening his mouth to refuse the food only got it stuffed full of something light and doughy that tasted of apples.

“How is that? You know John won’t be honest with me. To him everything I make is good. Too yeasty? Too sweet? I’m such a poor judge of these things.”

Jamie doubted that. The concoction melted in his mouth, the subtle apple flavor melting into the sweet tang of butter. “It’s amazing,” he said, meeting her gaze.

“Oh my, aren’t you an angel,” she said with a laugh. Long fingers twined through his bangs. “You could pass for one, with that golden hair and bright blue eyes. How old are you, sweetheart. You don’t look a day over sixteen.”

“Mom.”

They both glanced to the door. John made a sharp gesture, fingers slicing across his throat. “Enough with the questions. He’s not a stray puppy.”

Eyes glued to John, Jamie answered without thinking. “Twenty. I’m twenty.”

He doubted they’d believe him. Most people didn’t. But John’s mother surprised him. “Old eyes,” she mused, tilting his face up. “Yes, I see that now.”

“Mom.”

“Oh, stop fussing,” she said, but released Jamie and glided to the stove. “Sit and eat. It’s all ready.”

John came in, taking up an enormous amount of space in the kitchen. Without the coat and boots, he should have seemed smaller. Instead, the complete opposite was true. Jamie had seen a hint of the blue flannel shirt under the parka, but the full effect left him tongue-tied, the way it stretched across a set of broad shoulders, and how John had it rolled up past thick wrists.

Shutting down his instinctive reaction was more difficult than usual. Jamie tried to keep his sudden inability to draw a breath to himself and slid out of his seat. His heart hammered in his ears. “Um… I—”

“Jamie, sit down,” John said without looking up.

Again with the tone that brooked no argument. Kind, but firm. Shaking, Jamie sank back into the seat, gripping the edges to keep from bolting. Across the kitchen, John’s mother plated eggs, bacon, and toast, humming under her breath, oblivious to Jamie’s turmoil.

Next to him, John reached under the table and laid a warm hand over Jamie’s cold, trembling one. “It’s all right,” he whispered. “It’s fine. You’re perfectly safe here.”

It was all Jamie could do to muffle the inappropriate laughter bubbling up his throat. John had no idea; Jamie wasn’t scared of him. All that kindness and understanding and damn dominance stirred a craving. And if he didn’t rein it in, he’d be kicked out before he could sleep on his soft, borrowed bed.

Flush with self-disgust, Jamie picked up his fork. He couldn’t say John looked satisfied, but at least he removed his hand. Mouth bowed into a pensive frown, he attacked his breakfast while Jamie, for all his hunger, choked it down bite by bite.

John took him back across the street after breakfast. Jamie stumbled along behind in a dry coat and warm boots (John’s), feeling far too full and sleepy to work. Drunk on warm, cinnamon-scented air, he listened through John’s explanation of what tasks needed done daily. The soft rain became a downpour while they spoke.

“Well.” John sighed. “We’re not going to get anybody in this.”

Maybe asking for a nap wouldn’t be too far out of line. Jamie grimaced and poured himself another cup of coffee instead. “I’m sure there’s stuff I could do.”

“Absolutely.” Pulling two stools from under a workbench, John gestured to the pine greens scattered about the table. “I can make window swags and wreaths. I wouldn’t ask you to do something like that on your first day, but you can watch and see how it’s done. And maybe add the bows at the end. That would help.”

Frowning, Jamie straddled the stool. It didn’t seem a fair trade for the bed and food, but John smiled. “No worries. There will be hard work aplenty soon enough. And it’s not time wasted. I promise.” He showed Jamie a finished swag. “I make most of these from scrap cuttings and charge nine bucks a pop.”

Working the numbers in his head, Jamie whistled. “Nice return.”

“You bet. Just watch for right now. You’ll get the hang of it quickly. I honestly can’t make them fast enough. People buy them by the dozen.”

Watch and learn—two skills time had honed. Jamie set his chin in his palm.

John said little as he worked, hypnotizing Jamie with how his hands twisted holly, fir, and pine branches into artful bow-shaped swags. He’d kept his gloves on but pushed up his sleeves. A few minutes later, he shrugged out of his coat. “Warming up?” he asked, sparing Jamie a glance before returning to his task.

Jamie ran his tongue over his teeth, nodded, and left his own coat buttoned. John shifted, stretched, and wove branches together, working faster as the minutes passed. “You’re really good at that,” Jamie said, breaking the silence.

“Been at it for more years than I want to admit. Bored?”

“No. I like watching you.” Hearing the words spoken, and worse, seeing John’s fingers pause in their work, had Jamie’s heart stuttering for several beats. “Sorry. I mean, it’s—”

“It’s okay.” John set the last completed swag in front of Jamie. The chaotic jumble of greens had become a dozen perfectly-shaped nine dollar decorations. “Don’t apologize for being honest.” He stood, leaning behind Jamie to grab a stack of satin bows. It could have passed for a loose embrace, and Jamie allowed himself the five-second fantasy. “Are you still cold?” John asked when he trembled.

Jamie shrugged. The heat from the wood burner had left his mouth dry, and his borrowed coat was down-filled, perfect for the snow but overwarm in the shed. It carried a scent that short-circuited his thoughts every time he took a breath. Wood smoke. Pinesap. John.

He couldn’t bring himself to take it off.

Aware he had too much of John’s attention, he snatched a handful of satin ribbon from the table. “Let me help.”

Florist wire held the bow together, and the ends dangled long and loose at the back. Jamie picked up a batch of greens, balanced it on his lap, and set the bow over the top.

“Like this,” John said helpfully, fencing Jamie in with long arms. “Twist the wires together about ten times and tuck the loose ends in.” He attached the bow, staying pressed to Jamie’s back when it was done. His hands came to rest on Jamie’s thighs.

Electrified, conflicted, aroused, Jamie didn’t dare to move. Warm breath washed over his ear, and he lost his grip on the ribbon when John’s lips brushed his cheek. His fingers and toes curled as his body went tight and hot.

John wanted him.

Jamie was no innocent. Nor was he blind or stupid. Clearly his interest wasn’t one-sided.

Which meant they’d reached the part of the script where Jamie collected his belongings and left, before he got it in his head to reciprocate. He shrugged John’s arms off and shot to his feet, overbalancing into the table. The stool tipped backward and crashed onto the floor. “Sorry,” he gasped, the manners he’d been raised with automatic and undeniable.

“Whoa.” John steadied him before stepping back. “Okay, Jamie. It’s all right. Calm down.”

Useless to try to fight that no-nonsense tone. Wired to respond to firm commands, Jamie’s brain obeyed, easing the adrenaline rush. Calm down. The tension dropped from his shoulders through his stomach, leaving him dizzy. He gripped the table, swaying. “I’m calm,” he wheezed.

“I’m sorry I spooked you. I wasn’t even thinking.” John lifted the upended stool and slid it across the floor. Jamie hooked it with his foot and sat just before his legs buckled. “I’m sorry,” John repeated. He stood three paces away, hand outstretched, like Jamie was a timid kitten. Or a rabid dog. He grimaced, but kept his distance. “Okay. Here’s the truth. I was thinking. I wanted to touch you, but I shouldn’t have. I had no right. Especially knowing what I do.”

Jamie digested the words, making little sense of them. “What do you know?”

“That you’re jumpy as hell, and scared, and I’ve got no clue why, but it’s none of my business.”

It wasn’t. Jamie’s secrets had deep roots. They were important to one person: himself, and powerful enough to keep him on the run from anything that threatened to make him feel good. He wouldn’t survive having another precious thing ripped away, and deep down he wanted to survive… so nothing could become precious. Not a cozy farmhouse or a woman who liked to bake apple fritters and ruffle his hair. And especially not a man who wouldn’t run away or beat him up when he found out Jamie wanted to touch him too.

He had to gather the words from deep inside. “I have to go. I can’t stay.”

“Like hell,” John growled. “You can’t leave now.”

“You’ll find somebody else to help.”

“I’m sure I will. That’s not what I meant. The weather’s going to turn overnight. Cold and snowy. If you don’t want to be around me, that’s fine. Stay in the apartment. But don’t try to leave until the weather breaks.”

Jamie fought his compulsion to agree. “I’ll find somewhere to stay.”

“If you don’t and something happens, I couldn’t live with myself.” John blew out a breath. “And my mother would kill me.”

Jamie’s surprised himself by laughing. “You’ve got about ten inches and sixty pounds on her.”

“Seriously?” John rolled his eyes. “She’s my mother. I may be almost thirty, but that doesn’t make this household a democracy.”

Jamie dropped his eyes. His knees had stopped shaking, and the ache in his chest had disappeared. When had that happened? He inhaled and warm, dry air rushed into his lungs. It cleared his head so he did it again.

John breathed in time with him. “Are we okay?”

Jamie gave his sense of doom a brutal shove to the back of his mind. “Yeah.”

“You’re not going to take off when I’ve got my back turned?”

The man moved like a wary cat, intent and hyper aware despite the languid eyes. “Are you ever going to turn your back?” Jamie asked.

“Around you?” John collected the ruby-colored bows that had spilled onto the floor. “I’m thinking no.”

Threatening words, taken out of context. Promising, considering the visual cues. Jamie tore his eyes from John’s soft, fond gaze. “I’m not looking to get involved,” he lied, convincingly judging by John’s wince.

Swallowing, John nodded. “Enough said. I’ll back off. And this has nothing to do with the job I hired you for, so don’t worry about that.”

“Great,” Jamie said, then bit his tongue until he tasted blood.

John’s mother, Marion, announced breakfast would be at seven. “For God’s sake,” John muttered as Jamie got ready to walk back to the apartment after dinner, “show up hungry.”

“Will I get in trouble if I don’t eat like a pig?”

“I’ll get in trouble. She probably already set your alarm clock when she went to make your bed up this afternoon. She takes breakfast very seriously.” John’s large hand prodded him forward, pushing him out into the cold even as his fingers curled into the loose folds of Jamie’s jacket. “Get some sleep. See you in the morning.”

There’d been a command in the tone and a subtle possessiveness to the touch that Jamie was sure John hadn’t noticed. He felt a blush rise on his cheeks and swallowed the “yes sir” that sprang to his lips.

The apartment was warm, but dark, and Jamie stumbled though the empty rooms rather than search for light switches, falling onto the spread of quilts and sheets that had appeared at some point during the day.

It felt mere moments later when he woke, wrapped in a cocoon of bed linens, body nestled in the slight sag in the center of the mattress. The digital alarm blared on the nightstand. Six-thirty a.m. Jamie smacked at the clock until the beeping stopped.

He discovered a new toothbrush on the sink and shampoo in the shower. Calculating the cost of each donated item eventually necessitated a pencil and paper—there was milk and bread in the fridge and a handful of dried goods in the pantry. Jamie made meticulous notes, determined to pay back every cent. Marion had a heart of gold, but, like her son, had trouble with the word no.

He’d accepted both lunch and dinner yesterday, the latter without any measure of grace, and finally John had thrown his hands in the air and promised to drive Jamie to town for groceries the next day. But in the meantime, sit your ass down and eat. I told you the work would be taxing. Just because it was an easy day doesn’t mean tomorrow will be the same.

Jamie had found the day many things. Easy hadn’t been among them. Despite their agreement, John remained close and attentive, watchful and protective. He called this run-of-the-mill friendliness? Casual concern? Being the center of his focus would leave Jamie burned through. So why did he feel so safe and comfortable? Stupidly, he had let the question tickle the edge of his mind as he fell asleep.

The morning was pitch black, and his door opened to calf-deep snow and a swirling curtain of wet, sound-muffling flakes. The air felt packed with cotton. Jamie squinted, trying to make out the shape of the house across the large yard. With a resolved breath, he stepped away from the garage and out into the storm, focused on what looked like lamplight in the distance.

A gust of wind had him turning his face, and when he swiveled back, the light was gone and the shadowy outline of the house had blended in with the surrounding trees. Confused, Jamie stopped, breathing into his hands while he fought the disorientation.

Like a beacon, the back door opened, throwing light into the maelstrom. “Jamie?” The snow muffled John’s call, but Jamie heard the concern in it.

“Here,” he called, following the guiding light to the porch steps. “Some storm.”

“Yeah.” John sounded grim. “Get up here. You shouldn’t be wandering around. Too easy to get lost in conditions like this.”

“Sorry.” Breathless, Jamie let John hook him by the arm and draw him up under the covered porch. John’s eyes tracked up and down his body before softening. Jamie blinked. “I’m okay.”

John said nothing else for a moment. His gaze wandered over Jamie’s snow-dusted hair, and he brushed loose flakes from his face. “Should get ‘em off before they melt,” he said gruffly.

Flushing hot then cold, Jamie shivered. “Thanks.”

“Breakfast!” Marion called from the kitchen.

After daybreak, they stood at the living room’s bay window and peered through weak, diffused daylight to the stand across the road.

“You can’t even tell where the street is,” Jamie muttered.

“They’ll plow it, but last, after everything else. Their first priority will be getting the main roads clear for later, when all the idiots who went to work need to make it home.”

“How long is the storm supposed to last?”

John glanced over his shoulder to the laptop perched on the coffee table. A Doppler image of the storm moved across the screen. “This morning they said it could snow all day. The local channel’s calling for twelve inches at least.”

Jamie scoffed. “It’s barely eight in the morning and there’s already six or seven on the ground. If it snows like this all day, we’ll have more than a foot.”

And he wouldn’t be out in it. He had a quiet space with a bed and a door that locked. The heat blew hot and dry and reliably, and Marion had left a stack of books on Jamie’s small nightstand. She’d chosen mysteries for the most part. And one classic: A Christmas Carol. Two weeks ago, being warm with nothing to do but read would have sounded like paradise. Today, the thought of being away from John all day left his stomach tight.

As usual, John reached into his head and stole his thoughts. “What would you have done in the past when weather like this came up? If you were between jobs, I mean.”

Homeless, he meant, and that was okay. Jamie crossed his arms and sank onto the window seat, keeping his eyes firmly on the swirling snow. “Well, to be honest, I usually try to spend the winter months in the south. There’s always work in Florida and Texas, usually with citrus or other cool weather crops.”

John leaned against the window, keeping his gaze just shy of piercing. “Hard work. Citrus harvest.”

“Honest work.” Jamie shrugged.

“Honest work,” John repeated, nodding. “That’s important to you.”

Since it hadn’t been a question, Jamie made no reply. “Won’t all this snow hurt your business?”

“Nah. Gets people in the Christmas spirit. Then you can get away with things like, ‘Gorgeous, isn’t it? You know what would look perfect against all this snow? A second tree on your front porch. Wouldn’t that be the talk of the neighborhood?’”

Jamie burst into laughter. “People fall for that?”

“Are you kidding? They eat it up.” Grinning, John settled on the window seat beside him. Their thighs brushed, and Jamie swallowed the air he’d meant to draw into suddenly tight lungs. “If you know the ladies by name, and I do, quite a few, then you can capitalize on their obsession for being like Martha Stewart. ‘Hey there, Donna. Your neighbor, Mrs. Donnelley, stopped by to order fifteen widow swags and three wreaths. Won’t her house be beautiful this year?’”

Head in his hands, Jamie groaned. “You’re shameless.” The lazy smile he got in return tumbled his thoughts. Wrapping his arms around himself, he shifted to look out the window. It added six inches between them. Not enough, but something. Aware his heart was racing, he cast about for another deflecting topic.

John spoke first. “Are you all right?”

Calm down. “Yeah. I just… it’s fine. I’m sorry.”

“Why are you apologizing?” John asked. Too astute, and the quiet words were more demand than question.

To say why would be agonizing and exposing. Jamie bolted from the window, only remembering to slow his flight into something resembling nonchalance when he was halfway across the room. “I’m okay,” he said firmly. “I’m fine.” And then again, “I’m fine,” when John followed to stand at his side.

“Hey.” John’s hands settled on his shoulders, keeping hold when Jamie tried to twist away. “It’s okay.”

It wasn’t. He was at the edge of all the fears he thought he’d left behind, yearning, years of numbness rent by a gentle touch and a gruff voice.

John’s hands slid down his arms, each fingertip leaving a scalding trail behind it. “Jamie,” he rumbled. “Tell me what’s scaring you. Talk to me.”

“You can’t help.”

“You don’t know that.”

All John could do was make it worse, through no fault of his own. All the weakness belonged to Jamie. An addiction he’d never beat. “Just let it go,” he whispered, unleashing the last of his countermeasures. “You don’t want me. Really, you don’t. I’m all messed up.”

“How ’bout you let me be the judge of what I want.”

Firmly spoken, the words had Jamie nodding. John pressed his advantage. “Come here,” he said, voice rumbling, close enough to a growl that Jamie swayed closer and tilted his head back, sighing when John’s hand slid up over his throat and jaw. He couldn’t get a full breath. Air whistled through his lungs. “John, please.”

“Please what.” John’s thumb swiped over Jamie’s lips.

Jamie drew the words back, then snapped them forward with all his strength. “You said you’d leave me alone.”

The stroking stopped. John retreated so quickly that Jamie stumbled and reached out for him. “I’m sorr—”

“Stop saying you’re sorry.” Turned away, John couldn’t have seen how the sharp words hurt, how Jamie flinched, but he tempered his tone regardless. “You have nothing to apologize for. I do. You’re right. I promised I’d leave you alone.” He squared his shoulders and put more cold, empty air between them, stalking away to lean against the window. “Like I said, we won’t get any business today. I’m not even going to bother opening. Why don’t you get some more sleep. Relax and enjoy the day off.”

Go away. No matter how many nice words he used or how soft his tone, Jamie heard the command. Chest aching and throat tight, he obeyed.

By that afternoon, the snowfall had become weak flurries, and Marion waded through the drifts to bring him enough roast and mashed potatoes to last the week. Jamie ate slowly, watching out his window while John shoveled the walk, plowed the driveway, and forged a path between the back porch and the door that led to Jamie’s apartment. Afterward, he took a broom to the icicles hanging on the eaves around the porch. Then he stepped out of his boots and into the kitchen, closing the door behind him.

Not once did his gaze stray to the apartment’s windows.

Ridiculously, Jamie overslept, even though he’d barely left his bed the day before. By the time he’d trudged across the road to the Christmas tree stand, John had plowed the small parking lot as well as the walkways between the rows of pre-cut trees. He waved as Jamie ran across the road, killing the engine on the small tractor.

“Sorry,” Jamie huffed. The air was arctic enough to send sharp pains through his chest when he pulled too much at once. “Why didn’t you come get me?”

John stripped off his knit cap. “It was early,” he said, shaking off the frost kicked up by the snow plow.

Fuming, Jamie stepped over a drift and onto path. He stamped his boots free of snow. “Next time, wake me up,” he grumbled.

“I’ll think about it,” John answered, grinning.

The hat had left John’s hair sticking up every which way, and the wind had stung his cheeks pink. Jamie turned away from the sight, pretending to shield his eyes from the sun. “What needs doing?”

“I can’t get the tractor under the pavilion and there’s quite a bit of snow drifted up in there. That’ll need shoveling, if you don’t mind, and also the paths around the shed need cleared. If you could shake the snow off the wreaths and swags, too, I’d appreciate it.”

“Sure.” Jamie tromped away, nursing righteous anger. He was hired help. Here to work, take instruction. Not to be coddled by the guy who was supposed to be his boss, but who insisted on being his friend. He gave all the greens a brutal shake, dropping several inches of packed snow to the ground, then attacked the area with one of the wide snow shovels until the pavement underneath was clean.

He was leaning on the handle of the shovel, panting and admiring his work, when John’s hand landed on his shoulder. “Okay, Superman. It looks great. Now come in, have a cup of coffee, and warm up.”

Jamie almost refused on principle. John cut him off with an unyielding hand on his back. “No arguing. In. Now.”

When he said things that way, refusing was impossible. Shoulders slumped, Jamie rested and drank coffee. John made no mention of his sullen mood, and the silence grew until it clawed at Jamie’s resolve to be well-behaved. He finished the coffee in one gulp and stood. “What next?”

“You stop hopping around like the Energizer bunny, for one,” John replied mildly.

“We open in an hour.” Jamie stabbed a finger at the clock above the cash register.

“Plenty of time.”

“For what?” Jamie asked through clenched teeth.

John said nothing, but he did reach out and snag Jamie’s arm. Jamie yelped, swallowing a second cry when John pulled him back to his stool. He leaned close, bending slightly so they were eye to eye. Voice low and even, he said, “Sit. Down.”

Jamie sat so fast his teeth banged together.

“Now look at me.” Cool, gloveless fingers tilted his chin up. John had stayed on his feet, forcing Jamie to crane his neck to hold the stare. “You’re doing a great job. Thank you. But things will get busy soon enough. There’s no reason to rush through tasks we have plenty of time for.” Whatever he saw in Jamie’s face made him falter. His fingers slipped away. “Anyway, we only have one thing left, and while it will take the better part of the next hour, we need to go at it slowly and carefully. Okay?”

“Okay,” Jamie’s mouth echoed independently of his brain.

John’s lips quirked into a brief smile. “Ever used snowshoes?”

“N-no,” Jamie stammered. “Who has?”

Apparently everyone who lived in a place where it snowed sixty inches per year.

“After a hard snow, I like to shake a few of the trees clean. Usually the first in each row. We’ll only need to go about halfway up the hill this morning. People won’t venture much beyond that with the snow this deep. Even if they have sleds and shoes.”

He meant snowshoes, Jamie realized, as John turned to snatch a pair from under the counter. “There’s an art to these,” he said, holding up a contraption made of bright orange aluminum tubing and nylon mesh. “But once you get the hang of it, it’s easy.”

Jamie took the offered shoes with the same enthusiasm he would have cuddled a poisonous snake. “Um. Okay.”

“Like this.” John sat to strap his on. Jamie copied his movements, then shuffled over the wood floor, through the door, and into the snow. John led him to the edge of the pavilion, spouting instructions while Jamie frowned at his feet. He balanced on each in turn. How hard could this be? John’s voice droned in the background. Words Jamie heard but didn’t bother deciphering. Walking was walking. One foot in front of the other. He’d been doing it for almost twenty years, and on his own for the past five. He’d logged thousands of miles; he could cross one snow-covered field without any trouble.

Confident, he lifted his right foot and stepped. The edge caught and dragged against the left shoe and Jamie went face-first into a wet pile of snow. Before he could embarrass himself by trying to stand, John scooped him up, walked them both backward—effortlessly, damn him—and set Jamie against one of the pavilion’s beams. “Are you all right?”

No laughter or censure despite Jamie’s adolescent behavior. The only emotion in John’s voice was concern. Jamie heaved a sigh. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

“Were you not listening or just too stubborn to do it my way?”

“Both,” Jamie admitted under his breath.

John shook his head. “Why is accepting help so difficult for you? You don’t have to do everything on your own.”

Of course he did. The other option was out of the question. No dependency. No debt. No emotional ties.

No emotion. No disappointment.

A gentle snow began to fall. Jamie closed his eyes against the wet flakes. “You don’t get it.”

“Then explain it to me,” John said.

That he felt even the slightest bit tempted said much. Too much. His heart began to gallop, and John set his hands on Jamie’s shoulders and gently kneaded against his rising tension. “Okay. It’s all right. Never mind.”

Kindly said, it made Jamie’s stomach hurt. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“I told you to stop saying that. We’ll get there. It doesn’t have to be today.”

Jamie turned the words around in his head, latching on to the varied meanings and implications. They tasted like promises.

“Ready to try the shoes again?”

Jamie licked his lips. “No.”

“Giving up already?”

“It’s not giving up,” Jamie protested, blustering through the blatant lie. “I’m not looking forward to falling on my face again.”

John snorted. “If all you’re worried about is falling, you won’t go two steps without it happening.” Ignoring the sharp look, he stepped back. “Even strides. Lift your foot slightly and slide the inner edges over each other as you step.”

As with most things, following directions helped. Jamie walked a wide circle around John without mishap, and at the other man’s signal, set off behind him across the field and up the hill, throwing a curious glance at the long, hooked pole John carried.

“You learn quickly.” Somehow John turned to say this over his shoulder without overbalancing. Jamie didn’t dare risk anything so fancy.

“Always have. It’s come in handy over the years. Everybody wants to hire a quick study. Makes the task go faster. Less training. They don’t need to look over my shoulder to make sure the work’s getting done.”

“I’m quite sure of that,” John said dryly.

The tone hadn’t invited conversation, but having John close without the intimacy of eye contact loosened Jamie’s tongue. “I don’t like people hovering.” He could see the barest hint of John’s profile, the crescent of his cheek and his dark eyelashes. “I don’t like them too close.”

“Yes, you do.”

Quiet and sure, the words were nevertheless a wall, and Jamie ran right into it. Flinging his arms out for balance, he tried to deny it. “No.”

“Jamie.” John made a graceful turn to face him. The tips of their snowshoes kissed. “You’ve been living with hardship for so long you’ve forgotten that it’s possible to rise above it.”

The words sliced and shredded as effectively as the frigid air. “You don’t know anything about me.”

“Don’t I?”

“Keep your pop psychology crap to yourself.” The tears were close, too close. Jamie froze them before the wind had a chance. “Just let me work and stop—”

Hands on his hips, John towered over him. “Stop?”

Jamie slid past on his snowshoes, swiping at his cheeks. The first tree in the row looked like an upside-down icicle. Jamie plunged his hand through the snowpack to the trunk and shook. A mini avalanche rained down, cooling his face and filling his mouth. For a moment, the temptation to stand still, stay covered in snow, keep hidden no matter the danger, overpowered everything else.

Then a hand began to brush his disguise away. “Okay,” John said, his smile obvious, “you’ve got the right idea. But there’s a trick to staying dry, if you’re interested.”

Was he? The weight of the snow on his shoulders had been a shock, but head-clearing, and John’s touch was tender, even through his wool gloves. He wiped the wetness from Jamie’s face, not all of it melted snowflakes.

“Watch and learn,” John said, tracing one last path over Jamie’s eyelids. “That’s what you’re good at, right? We only really need to expose the first one in each row. That way people know which kind of tree they’re looking at. The rest we can leave for people to shake themselves.”

“They do that?” Jamie asked with a sniff.

“How else can they tell if the special one they’re looking for is underneath?” With a wink, John trudged to the next row, taking up the long pole Jamie had noticed before. Hook-first, he guided it through the snow-laden branches to the trunk, grabbed, and shook. Like a dog shedding water from its coat, the tree shuddered and snow fell. John presented the clean, glistening needles with a sweeping hand, and Jamie surprised himself by laughing.

“Okay, your way has merit.”

The crowd thinned before dinnertime, as the winter sun set early. John had a string of festive globe lights strung around the perimeter of the pavilion, and he turned them on as a hazy, orange dusk fell.

“More snow tonight,” Jamie’s customer said as he handed over his money. “Just take a look at that sky. The air has that glow to it.”

Jamie flashed an indulgent smile and made change. He had no idea about the glow, but the air felt different. Heavy. Still. The hills surrounding the house fell silent as the last car pulled away, as if holding their breath for the oncoming storm—a fanciful thought Jamie didn’t speak aloud.

“Need to make a run up the spine,” John said as he turned the crank to lower the service counter doors.

The spine: a central path that led away from the stand and up the hillside. Rows of trees branched off of it for a quarter mile, the different colors and textures cascading like a cresting wave. The soft needles and full forms of the Scots pines, the spindly Frasers, the sharp blue spruces, and the graceful white pines and Douglas firs.

Jamie squinted up the rise. The furthest reach of the slope was already lost in the dying light. “What for?”

“Make a check for saws or sleds left behind. Coats. Purses. You’d be surprised what people forget. Found a puppy up there once, tied to a tree.” His terse expression said plenty on that. “Better safe than sorry. I’ll show you how to close up when I get back.”

Jamie stayed his hand when he reached for a pair of snowshoes. “Let me go.”

“Jamie—”

“I’ll do it. You finish up here, and we’ll be done that much quicker.”

John’s eyes drifted to the path, then to the setting sun. “The snow’s deep.”

It wasn’t what he’d wanted to say, and Jamie could have kissed him for it. What had it cost to bite back his protective instincts? Especially when he knew—or strongly suspected—he wouldn’t get a fight if he pushed the issue.

“I want to do it,” he stressed as John waffled.

“Why?”

He could’ve made something up. It might have even held a kernel of truth. Instead, Jamie took a deep breath and jumped. “I don’t know exactly. I just… want to.” Their fingers brushed as the snowshoes changed hands. Jamie kept his eyes on the cold-reddened skin of John’s knuckles. He studied the fingers with their trimmed nails, the smattering of hair peeking from John’s shirt cuff, and the dime-sized bruise on his wrist.

John’s breath made thick clouds in the air between them. His index finger lifted, stretched, and found the back of Jamie’s hand. “Be careful.”

“I will,” Jamie breathed.

John let go, jerking his head in the direction of the spine. “Better get moving before it’s full dark.”

He turned to his other tasks, and Jamie took advantage, buckling his boots into the snowshoes and setting off up the hill. The spine was slick in spots, beat down by the day’s foot traffic. Jamie paused at each row, peering left then right for anything that looked out of place. Halfway up, he found one of their plastic orange sleds, lent to customers to drag their trees down the hill. Mumbling under his breath, he pulled it onto the wide avenue of the spine and stuck it upright in a drift.

The sun dipped below the tree line. Jamie paused to blow warm air into his hands and glance back to the stand. Far below, John moved to and fro, setting the day’s chaos straight. The string of globe lights twinkled. Beyond, the farmhouse leaked cheery warmth into the evening. Jamie imagined Marion was fixing dinner, maybe even throwing glances across the road, wondering when they would be home.

Home.

Close to the top, his eye caught a flash of orange, the edge of a buried sled far back along the row. How the hell had that got there? Nobody had broken trail here today, though the ground was crisscrossed with rabbit and chipmunk tracks. Sighing, he left the spine and trekked between the dense row of trees. The snow resisted his harried pace, pulling him several inches deep, clutching at the shoes until he lost his balance and went down.

The fall had been cotton-soft, but the snow’s press made him instantly claustrophobic. He turned his cheek against the fluffy powder and sank both hands into the snowpack, searching for leverage and finding none. It was too deep.

“You can do this.” He spit out a mouthful of snow. Rolling, he eased into a sitting position, then fought to his feet. He was thigh-deep. The trick would be climbing back onto the surface without sinking again. “Slow and steady,” he said, then began a clumsy shuffle up and out of the hole.

In the end, he gained his feet easily, crawling the few feet back to the snow-packed trail along the spine. There, he stood and glared back at the wayward sled. It was a piece of plastic, not a puppy. It could wait for when there was more daylight, or less snow, or…

Jamie snapped the thread of excuses. He hadn’t backed down from anything in five years. This was no different—except that if he fell again, climbing out would be close to impossible.

“Just don’t think about it,” he muttered and started forward a second time. It helped to keep his eyes on the prize and his thoughts above where the snowshoes were cutting a fresh trail. Instead, he focused on the trees. Where one was cut down, John had explained, another was planted the following spring, so that each row looked like a mismatched line of soldiers. Short and fat kept company with tall and thin. Nine-foot giants stood guard over saplings. In a way, the line of firs told the story of Echo Hill and its Christmases past.

More fanciful musings.

His snowshoe hit the splash of orange, and Jamie stumbled. Not a buried sled, but a knit hunting cap. “Huh,” he grunted, staring at it then back at the spine. Grinning, he stuffed the hat in his pocket and turned carefully back to the trail he’d blazed on the way in.

He saw John striding up the hill as he turned onto the spine and offered a reassuring wave. They met by the sled Jamie had found earlier. John’s eyes missed nothing, even in the gloom. His flashlight panned over Jamie’s wet pants and coat before lifting to his face. “Are you all right?”

Jamie laughed. “I’m fine. Got stuck up near the top, but got myself out.”

The flashlight beam fell to the snow between them as John stepped close. “We should get you down and inside. You look half-frozen.”

“I am.” Which didn’t account for why his smile felt wide and real and stubbornly in place. “But I own these shoes.”

“Do you?” John’s grin grew to match Jamie’s. “Got the hang of it now?”

“Definitely.” He ended the word with a full-body shiver, and John took his arm, leading him to the plastic orange toboggan he’d found earlier.

“Now isn’t this handy?” He laid it flat and pointed it downhill. “Take off the snowshoes.”

“No way.” Jamie tried to pull free, then gave up and stooped to work the straps open. “You can’t be serious.”

“As hypothermia. Get in the sled.”

“But it’s dark. And sled riding isn’t—” He tugged again halfheartedly, but John’s grip didn’t loosen. “It’s for kids,” Jamie settled on, even if the words didn’t adequately explain his refusal.

“Ridiculous.” And that, to Jamie’s chagrin, was all John said on the matter. He pulled Jamie back against his chest, bullied him into straddling the sled, then yanked. Jamie landed mostly in John’s lap, and the toboggan slid forward several inches. John planted his heels into the snow. “Feet in,” he ordered, breath tickling Jamie’s ear as he took up the loop of yellow rope.

Jamie’s legs moved without permission, finding leverage against the bow of the sled. John surrounded him: solid heat at his back, strong legs at his sides, and thick arms curled about his chest. The biting wind that had been whipping at Jamie’s damp clothes did little more than ruffle his hair and sting his cheeks. Everywhere else he was warm. Head buzzing, he eased back into John’s arms, nuzzling against his chin.

A low, visceral sound passed John’s lips. Then he reached back and gave a mighty push.

The sled inched forward, and for a moment Jamie thought it might stall. His sweet relief lasted the two seconds it took for wind and gravity to kick in and pull them inevitably downward.

The sales stand looked very far away, the space between it and the sled filled with shadowy obstacles. “I’m scared,” Jamie blurted as they picked up speed.

“Don’t be.” And John smiled against his cheek.

The sled hit a slick patch and shot forward, topping a low drift so that for a split second they were airborne. Jamie caught his breath and latched onto John’s thighs. The rows of trees sped by, blending into a patchwork of grays and greens, and a gust swept in from the left, tilting them dangerously. John laughed and leaned into the wind. The sled righted itself, losing no speed despite the near disaster.

Two-thirds of the way down, when the air began to whistle through his teeth, Jamie realized he was grinning.

They tipped again as they pulled even with the shed—too suddenly for John to compensate—and tumbled into the snow. The sled, free of their weight, skated forward into a row of cut trees. The spruces went down like dominoes. Jamie had been laughing since he’d been dumped onto the ground, but John’s choice words as the trees fell made the situation all the funnier.

Cackling, he wiped snow out of his eyes and stumbled under the pavilion’s roof. John shot the toboggan a frown suited for a misbehaving puppy before following. “Are you all right?” he asked, brushing snow from his pants.

Jamie nodded.

“Sorry about that.”

“Don’t be. It was—” Jamie sobered when the words wouldn’t come. John had been right: he had forgotten. He looked uphill to the trees, now nothing more than vague shapes in the encroaching darkness. In the pavilion, the string of globe lights drew a halo around the two of them. “It was awesome. Really. It’s been years since I’ve done anything like that.”

John gave up on brushing his jeans clean. “Why?”

“Because I…” Jamie swallowed. “All I think about is falling.”

“Falling,” John echoed faintly. He clamped a hand around the back of Jamie’s neck and steered him through the door of the sales shed, into hot, dry air that smelled of pinesap and wood smoke, and reached for the frozen zipper on Jamie’s coat. “That was the first thing I thought, you know, when I saw you.” He skimmed the zipper down, and Jamie shrugged fee of the sopping material. The shivering that had eased the moment he stepped inside the building gained fresh momentum as John’s fingers strayed to the buttons on the shirt beneath.

“What do you mean?”

John’s fingers lost interest in the shirt and eased under the collar to cup Jamie’s throat. “Hmmm?”

“When you saw me, what did you think?” Jamie pressed.

John huffed a laugh and made to pull away, a retreat Jamie prevented with one touch against his lips. John went instantly still, pliant against the cool pad of Jamie’s index finger. The power crackling between them wasn’t one-sided; Jamie had known that for a while now.

John cleared his throat. “It’s just… you were standing there, like some kind of fallen angel, dripping wet and looking like someone had just died.”

Jamie cocked his head, sliding his finger along John’s mouth. “And you thought maybe you could save me?”

“Um, no,” John answered with a healthy dose of wry humor. “That’s honestly not what crossed my mind. I’m not the selfless hero you’re making me out to be.” His fingers stroked along Jamie’s neck.

“That’s okay. I’m not the naïve kid you think I am. Just… kind of screwed up.” With emotional baggage to spare, all of it overdue to be unpacked, and a partiality for dominant men—none of which was news to John. Jamie lifted his chin. “Think you can deal with that?”

John snorted. His one hand found Jamie’s cheek; the other he snuck around his waist, reeling him close. “I can deal. Ready to call it a day and head home?”

Stretching onto his toes, Jamie brushed his lips against John’s welcoming ones.