Christmas at Yuletide Farm: A Small-Town Christmas Romance Novel Read online

  Groaning, Kate fished her phone from her handbag and flipped the screen around. She winced when her face came into view. This was not what she had signed up for, but there was a clear challenge in Courtney’s tone that Kate couldn’t shake. While her boss’s words indicated her confidence in Kate’s abilities, her inflection conveyed anything but that. The opposite, in fact. For that very reason, Kate was determined to knock this assignment right out of the park. She wouldn’t let an unanticipated change in direction derail everything she’d worked for, even if Kate had recently questioned whether or not the station would be her permanent landing place, profession-wise. Admittedly, she’d grown a bit restless in recent years.

  Pressing the record button, she straightened in her seat and started right in.

  “Good afternoon, Sacramento!” she began as she smiled broadly into the phone’s small camera. “Kate Carmichael here and once again, I’m on the job to bring you an inside look at some of the most interesting, note-worthy and uncommon professions around. As you’ll see, this month we’ve added a bit of holiday flair. While many of us are still trying to work off that recent Thanksgiving meal, for others, the Christmas season is already in full swing. And there’s no other place where that is more evident than here at Yuletide Tree Farm, located in the snowy hills of Northern California. Over the next two weeks, I’ll be bringing content a little differently than we have in the past. Each day, you’ll be able to follow my journey online as I learn just what it takes to be a Christmas tree farmer. I’ll be chronicling my experience with my camera and will post daily for you to view, share, and leave a comment on. I’m excited about this new and interactive opportunity to share my experiences as they play out, while also giving you a firsthand look at the tree farming industry. So put on your Santa caps, Sacramento, because it’s sure beginning to look a lot like Christmas!”

  Kate hit the button again and tossed the phone to her lap.

  “Well, that was ridiculous,” she muttered under an exasperated breath.

  This was going to be a much larger challenge than she had ever anticipated.

  Deacon

  “Just slapped another coat of paint on the reindeer cutouts but I think we’ll have to completely replace them next year. They’re looking a little shoddy. Had to reattach three different antlers and one red nose.” Cody Winters flicked the bristles of the wet paintbrush against his thigh, then jammed it into his back pocket. “What next?”

  Deacon’s eyes focused on his younger brother and then down at the clipboard in his hands. There were roughly a thousand jobs to complete and just under two days to do them. Even Santa and his magical elves couldn’t crank out this list in time.

  He grunted. “Are the parking cones out yet?”

  “Yep. Did that this morning.”

  “And the outhouses?”

  “Ordered those, too. They’ll be dropped off tomorrow afternoon.”

  Opening up the tree farm to the public was no small feat. It took hours of planning and preparation, along with flexibility and ingenuity when something would inevitably go wrong. He wanted to say they’d become a well-oiled machine over the years, but that was a stretch. More like a clunky, sputtering engine that did its best to make things work.

  “What about the tree funnels?”

  Cody slapped a palm squarely between Deacon’s shoulder blades that shoved him forward a bit with the movement. “Already hauled all five of those out of the storage barn. And the netting will be here Friday. We’ll be rocking and rolling and ready to open things up come Saturday morning.”

  Deacon wasn’t so sure about that, but he liked his brother’s confidence.

  “Sorry you had to do all of that on your own,” Deacon apologized. “I really thought our farmhand would be here by now.”

  “I am! I’m right here!”

  At the sound of the high pitched voice, the two men whirled around. There, just under their farm entrance sign, was a woman scurrying across the gravel in wobbly heels that were good for nothing but twisting ankles.

  “I’m so sorry. I set out on the road later than I’d planned. Got caught in traffic coming over the hill.” She came to a stop right in front of the bewildered Winters men and shoved a hand into the empty space. “Kate Carmichael.”

  Deacon exchanged a look with his brother. “You’re the farm hand?”

  “Yup.” She took hold of his gloved hand when he hesitantly offered it and gave an overly enthusiastic shake. “Here to be of service and to learn all things tree farm related.”

  “Just to get things straight, you were hired on by Marla Winters to help us around the farm for the holiday season?”

  The woman thumbed her chin as though really pondering the question, then dropped her hands and shrugged. “Yes. I think that was her name but I’m not one-hundred percent sure. I’d have to look back at my notes.”

  “Yuletide Tree Farm?”

  “Right.” She nodded in slow motion, like maybe Deacon was the one having a difficult time understanding things. “Yuletide Tree Farm. The very one.”

  Slapping his shoulder again before jogging backward and giving his older brother a salute, Cody said, “I’ll leave you to sort this one out, brother.”

  Just like Cody to leave Deacon high and dry when it came to dealing with employees. Cody was great managing tasks and to-do’s, less great with managing people. Not that Deacon was any better. Their father had been the people-person in the family, a trait he’d failed to pass down to his sons.

  Kate dug out her phone from within her purse and looked up at Deacon with a wide, innocent gaze that bore a glimmer of hope Deacon couldn’t pinpoint. “Before we get started, I was hoping to interview you. Nothing fancy. Just a quick little Q&A.”

  Deacon all but choked, a laugh getting wedged dead-center in his throat. “You want to interview me? I’m pretty sure my mother took care of the interviewing process when she lined things up for you to work here.”

  A small line creased the space between Kate’s eyebrows. “I’m sorry, but I think there’s been some sort of misunderstanding.”

  That was evident. “Yes. I agree.”

  “Your mother didn’t tell you who I am?”

  This was getting ridiculous. “Listen. Kate, is it?”

  She nodded excitedly. “Yes. Kate. Kate Carmichael.”

  “Okay, Kate Carmichael. As far as I’m concerned, the interviewing process already occurred. If my mother thought you’d be fit to work the farm with us this season, then so be it. I don’t quite see it, what with the stilettos and designer handbag, but that’s none of my concern. So long as you’ve got a pair of boots in your luggage and some grit stowed away in that small frame of yours, you’ll get on just fine.”

  “So she didn’t tell you who I am.”

  “No, but you already have. Kate Carmichael. We’ve been over this a couple times now.”

  The woman looked up at Deacon, laughter alight in blue eyes so intense he had to blink just so he didn’t stare. They were the exact color of the deepest part of his beloved Lake Tahoe. “And that doesn’t sound the slightest bit familiar to you at all?”

  Deacon pulled his hat from his head and raked a hand through matted hair that was in need of a good trim. “Is it supposed to?”

  “On the Job with Kate Carmichael?”

  He shook his head, his expression as blank as fresh snowfall.

  “Nothing?”

  “Listen, Kate. I’ve got a whole heap of things to do and playing this ‘guess my identity’ game isn’t on the list. Head on up to the barn loft and get yourself situated and when you’re ready to work—and dressed appropriately for it—come back down.”

  “Okay.” She vacillated. “Sure. But I’d still really like to interview you first if you’ll just give me five minutes.”

  Deacon’s hands shot into the air. “I don’t understand why you insist on interviewing me! I’m the boss here. I do the interviewing. Now please, go get ready.”

  “This news segment is
going to be really boring if it’s just me talking into the camera.”

  “What on earth are you talking about?”

  “The piece I’m doing about your tree farm for Channel 14 News. It’s going to be a real snooze if I can’t get some decent footage and insider info from the guy actually running the place.”

  Like a crossing guard, Deacon lifted a halting hand. “Hold on.” He pinched his eyes shut for the measure of a breath before reopening them but his jaw remained clenched, even when he spoke. “I need to go conduct an interview of my own real quick.”

  “Yeah?” Kate’s tone lifted. “Who with?”

  His mouth turned downward when he answered in an irritated, cross voice, “My mother.”

  “What would make you think any part of this was a good idea?”

  Marla didn’t lift her eyes from the wreath in front of her. She’d made over a dozen already and placed them in various nooks and crannies within the small, on-site store they operated during the holidays. There were glittering ornaments bearing their farm name hung on a recently harvested tree standing proud in the corner. Denim, button-up shirts and trucker hats with their logo filled a chipped, red bookcase on the far wall. Instrumental holiday music played softly over the speakers and Marla hummed along with the well-known tunes, her voice sweet, melodic, and as comforting as an heirloom quilt. Next week, they’d get a delivery of candles from their favorite maker and that would catapult the shop to an entirely new level of holiday cheer. The sights, the sounds, and the smells of Christmas would fill their farm store completely to the brim.

  Deacon loved this little space, but right now he couldn’t afford any distraction from his mission. He needed answers. Pronto.

  “Mom,” Deacon repeated, his patience worn paper thin. “Seriously, what is going on here?”

  Tucking a fresh evergreen sprig into the chicken wire frame, Marla held up the wreath and smiled approvingly at her workmanship. “This is my best one yet. Still not as good as Grandma Kay’s, but I think she’d be proud. Don’t you?”

  “Huh?” Deacon yanked his hat from his head and speared his fingers through his hair. “Yes. Sure. It looks great.” He shoved the hat back on and took a step closer. “Mom, I really need answers. Who is this Kate Carmichael and why is she here?”

  “Oh! So you’ve met Kate?” Marla’s lips spread into a grin that was two parts devilry, one part innocence.

  “Yes, I met Kate.”

  “And what did you think?” Walking away while she spoke, Marla gathered the finished wreath and placed it onto an empty wall hook, right next to a painted wooden sign that read Farm Fresh Christmas Trees.

  “Based on the way she was dressed and how unprepared she seemed for a day on the farm, I’d say she’s about the least qualified hand you’ve hired yet. And that’s saying a lot, Mom. Mack Hudson was a train wreck.”

  “I liked Mack.” Marla smiled wistfully as she adjusted the big red bow on the wreath. “He had some focus issues, I’ll give you that. But he was a good kid. Nice family.”

  “Sure. Fine. He was fine. But really, Mom, why this Kate woman?”

  Moving to the register and instructing her son to follow with a small beckoning wave, Marla opened the drawer. She removed a handful of papers from beneath the till, gave them a troubled glance, and then slid them across the counter toward Deacon.

  “What’s this?” He gathered the sheets and flipped through them hastily.

  “Our numbers from the last five years.”

  “I know our numbers, Mom.” He dropped the pile and pushed them back. “I do our books.”

  “Then you’d know that our income was down the last two years running.” She removed her wire reading glasses from her nose and tucked them into her shirt pocket before crossing her arms over her chest as though bracing herself to deliver the news. “And you’d also know that eighty-percent of our sales are from customers residing within a twenty-mile radius of the farm.”

  “Yes. I know that.”

  “So don’t you think it’s time to broaden our reach?”

  It probably was, but they’d been getting on just fine. And if Deacon were being honest, he didn’t have the skills required—nor the interest necessary—to dump any time or money into a big-scale marketing plan. He knew how to grow, harvest, sell, and deliver trees. He didn’t know the first thing about promotion.

  “It probably wouldn’t be a bad idea to expand our reach a little,” he ultimately conceded.

  “I’m glad you agree. That’s why I picked Kate. It’s a win-win all around.”

  Deacon shook his head. “I’m still not understanding—”

  “On the Job with Kate Carmichael has a viewership of over twenty-thousand people. You know I’m no good at math, but I did a little calculating and if just five-percent of those viewers headed up the hill to buy their trees from us, that would amount to a thousand new customers. We’ve certainly got the inventory. We just need the publicity,” Marla explained, like this was something she’d spent a long time pondering. “And Kate’s comes for free.”

  Deacon blew out a long, slow sigh. “Not entirely free. It’ll cost us—in the form of more work placed on my shoulders during an already hectic time.”

  “Why are you so quick to write this woman off? For all we know, she could be an incredibly hard worker. In fact, I’d put money on it. This is what she does, you know. Job training to learn new skills so she can report back on her television show. She’s a bit of a renaissance woman, if you ask me.”

  “That’s just it, Mom. I didn’t ask you. Not to hire this woman and certainly not to have our farm filmed and under a microscope when what we really need to do is focus on our trees and our customers.”

  “Give her a chance, Deacon,” Marla pleaded, covering her son’s hands with her own. He ignored the wink his mother tacked on when she added, “Kate Carmichael just might surprise you.”

  Kate

  Kate chucked her favorite pair of heels across the room, wincing when they collided with a wooden picture frame holding a photo of what had to be the Winters family. There were at least a dozen people within the shot, all wearing denim pants, crisp white shirts, and matching smiles. Her eyes hung on Deacon who stood a good half-foot taller than the rest, his imposing stature making him the most prominent. He had an arm slipped over the shoulder of a beautiful brunette and a happy looking dog at his feet. Deacon appeared content. Joyful. The polar opposite of the man she’d been introduced to just moments earlier.

  “Sorry,” Kate apologized to no one in particular as she righted the frame and collected her discarded shoe.

  Flopping back onto the bed, and sinking into the lumpy mattress, she stared up at the barn loft ceiling. Cobwebs wove into the corners like forgotten Halloween decorations that never made their way back into storage boxes. There was an unlit candle perched on the nightstand and the thick layer of dust coating the wax hinted it was more for looks than function. At least the quilt was soft and the pillows firm. This loft certainly couldn’t be mistaken for a popular weekend rental. In fact, Kate would be surprised to learn if anyone had stayed in it since the previous holiday season. Still, she would just have to make do.

  Deacon seemed glaringly unimpressed by her presence. She wasn’t about to put up a fuss about her living quarters and give him any sort of justification for that outlandish reaction. She made a mental note to look for a broom and a duster the next morning to take care of things on her own. In no time flat, the barn would be cleaned up and feeling just like home, not that her own downtown address held any more significance.

  Just as she was about to unpack her limited belongings, she heard the buzz of an incoming call from her phone nestled on the nightstand. When she saw the name on the screen, a grin burst onto her face.

  “Toby!” she shouted into the receiver upon answering.

  “Just wanted to make sure you made it to the tree farm okay.”

  Kate wedged the phone between her jaw and shoulder as she made quick work
of unpacking her things and stowing them into an old oak dresser, one of the few pieces of furniture in the little room. “You’re so sweet to check on me. I did. Safe and sound.”

  “And how is the place?”

  Pulling back the sheer curtain on the only window in the loft, Kate cast her gaze out over the rolling hills swathed in deep forest green. “The farm is absolutely beautiful. Feels like Christmas everywhere you look. Evergreen trees for days.”

  “Shouldn’t be too much of a challenge to get some great footage of that, then. If you need any pointers or tips, I’m just a phone call away. I’m happy to help however I can. I still feel bad that I can’t be there with you.”

  “I appreciate that, Toby. And you’re right; I won’t have any trouble with that side of things. It’s the interviewing portion that I think is going to be the real struggle.”

  “You think so? But that’s your bread and butter.”

  “You wouldn’t believe the guy that runs the place. Apparently, he had no idea I was even coming here to begin with. His mother hired me without his knowledge—or approval—it seems. He’s not keen on me being here, much less recording any part of my experience. I’ve really got my work cut out for me with this.”

  Kate could hear the reassuring smile in Toby’s voice when he said, “If there’s anyone that can do it, Kate, it’s you.”

  “I appreciate the vote of confidence, Toby,” she said. “I should probably head on down before I get scolded for taking too long to get ready.”

  “I don’t want to keep you. Just know I’m here if you need me. You’ve got this.”

  Kate beamed as they exchanged their goodbyes. She had relied on Toby over the years not just as her cameraman, but as a sounding board and confidant. In truth, the man had practically become her security blanket. While she knew things would be easier with him at her side, maybe this was exactly the push she needed to finally propel herself out of her well-worn comfort zone.