Christmas Lites III

By Amy Eye

The Christmas season is upon us yet again. Yes, my friends, it is a time of giving, loving, and sharing. Within these pages is a way you can help many people desperately in need of love, support, and goodness: the victims of domestic crime. By purchasing this anthology, you are sending every last dime made off this book to the National Coalition Against Domestic Violence. The NCADV is an amazing charity that saves these people and lets them know there is still hope, still goodness, and still a reason to carry on.
Twenty-one authors have joined in this year, giving their time and their stories to these people – and to you. We all hope you enjoy our holiday tales captured in bite-size pieces. Whether you read this on the bus, before bed, or snuggled by the fire, please, do read – and share.
Participating authors:
Addison Moore
A.F. Stewart
Amy Eye
Angela Yuriko Smith
Ben Warden
Cassie McCown
Elizabeth Evans
J.A. Clement
JG Faherty
Jonathan Tidball
M.L. Sherwood
Monica La Porta
Ottilie Weber
Patrick Freivald
Phil Cantrill
Robert Gray
Ron C. Nieto
S. Patrick Pothier
Tricia Kristufek
Vered Ehsani
Brandon Eye bonus story
C.S. Splitter bonus story

• Language: English
• Publisher: CreativeReviewPub
• Release date: Dec 1, 2013
• ISBN: 9781310906541

Book preview

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Christmas Lites III

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Compiled by Amy Eye

CHRISTMAS LITES III Copyright © 2013 Amy Eye

Smashwords Edition

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof, in any form without written permission except for the use of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

All stories are copyright of their respective creators as indicated herein, and are reproduced here with permission

Edited by Amy Eye, The Eyes for Editing

www.theeyesforediting.com

Interior design and typesetting by Amy Eye,

The Eyes for Editing

Cover design by Kyra Cato

Title page art by Crystal Bozeman Clifton

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

ISBN-13: 978-1494314507 (print)

ISBN-10: 1494314509 (print)

Smashwords License agreement

This ebook is for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this ebook with another person, please purchase any additional copy for each reader. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

FOREWARD

Domestic violence. That is what this book is here for. To help provide some comfort and peace to all those who are suffering under its talons. There are stories in here that range from romantic tales of accidental love, to Santa not quite being the fat, jolly man of lore, to a woman suffering from the effects of dealing with a spouse with a sexual addiction. But all were written with one intention—to help raise money for people in need. These tales come from all over the globe, so spellings and phrasings may be different than what you are accustomed to. So keep an open mind and an open heart and give to those around you, and please, consider sharing this book with a friend.  The more we spread the word, the more we can do to help. It is the season of giving, and we hope you enjoy the stories we are giving to you as much as the victims of domestic crime will enjoy the benefits the revenue from this book provides.

Happy Holidays To All

~Amy Eye

Dedication

To C.S. Splitter, Christopher Vinson-Nieves, and Dan Spoon Wagner.

The sun shines a little less bright without your magnificence to help it glow.

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Christmas in Your Heart

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Cassie McCown

Dedicated to the three most important men in my life:

Grandpa - my first best friend.

Daddy - gone much too soon.

Jason - my love, who has helped lift many of

my burdens through our years.

I wrapped my gloved hands around the steaming cappuccino and stared out the frosted window toward the tree farm. It stretched for what seemed like miles, though it was probably less than one. The veiny crystallization of the snow and ice at the edges of the glass crept into my field of vision, already blurred by my pounding emotions.

Oh how I wished I could just blink it all away like I blinked to clear my sight. But it wasn’t that easy. It would never be that easy.

The bell above the door jangled and pulled me from my wallowing if only for a moment. A short, stubby man with fogging, thick-lensed glasses stepped in and stomped the snow off his boots onto the rustic wood floor. How rude… I only hoped the next person who came in didn’t slip on the icy remnants.

May I help you? Mrs. Cuthbert asked from behind the long counter where she’d been reading her Southern Living magazine. Her glasses slipped another centimeter down her pinched nose as she rose to greet the rude intruder. Okay, customer, but he and his mucky boots had intruded on my peace, if you’d even call it that.

Yes, I need a tree. A large tree. And someone to help, if that wouldn’t be too much trouble. His snippy demeanor took all hope of politeness from his request.

Absolutely, sir, Mrs. Cuthbert replied with her sweet smile. Nothing ruffled her feathers. I was almost jealous. "Tessa, could you please help Mr.…?

Winton. Charles Winton.

Please help Mr. Winton with a tree, dear.

Yes, ma’am. I stood and discarded my coffee, knowing it would be cold by the time I returned. Before I approached the door, I quickly snatched the broom and swept the melting snow into a dustpan before I was the one to fall and break my neck.

Right this way, Mr. Winton. I offered a tight-lipped grin but made sure to keep the resentment in my eyes. Charlesy didn’t seem to notice.

I pulled my fur-trimmed hood over my head as we exited the shop, serenaded by the familiar tinkling of the doorbell. We barely made it ten feet down the gravel path before I heard Mr. Winton’s labored breathing behind me. I figured a little more walking might do him some good, but I also knew he wouldn’t be much help dragging a tree out of the lot.

This tree has to be impressive, he huffed out. It’s for the foyer of our office, and I’m hosting the association Christmas party this year.

Mm-hmm. I really couldn’t care less. I’ll take you to the back lot where the oldest trees are. These were chosen less often because they were usually too large for the average home. Each year, we had to cut down at least half to make room for new seedlings. Plus, if they got too big, they didn’t even look like Christmas trees anymore. But if he wanted impressive, this is where we’d find it.

I double-checked the box on the back of the ATV for the chainsaw, netting, ropes, and chains we’d need. I slid into the driver’s seat and patted the vinyl across from me. When he finally squeezed in, I started the engine and took off with a bit of a jerk on purpose. I bit my chilled lips to hide my smile when Charles flailed his hands and secured himself with a death grip on the side rails.

In a couple minutes, we were completely surrounded by looming, full-bodied firs dusted with a magical layer of snow.

Just have a look around and let me know if you see something you like, I said as I cut the engine and watched Mr. Winton roll himself out of the vehicle. This job was oh so entertaining…

After about ten minutes of looking at the same three trees, Charles finally waddled back over to me. I’ll take that one over there. He indicated a twelve-footer about twenty yards from where we parked.

I had a feeling this choice was made more because of its proximity rather than its unequaled beauty. Whatever. I slipped on my safety glasses and pulled the chainsaw from the lockbox.

Please stay here by the ATV while I cut it down. Didn’t need the guy losing a limb out here.

I’d been working at Cuthbert’s Christmas Tree Farm since I was fourteen, when my grandfather’s lifelong friends suggested I was old enough to wield a chainsaw. Of course they didn’t just toss me into the wilderness. I spent the first tree season mopping up ice, shoveling the pathways, and running the register when Mrs. Cuthbert had to take a restroom break or on the rare occasions she was under the weather and unable to come in to the shop.

Grandpa James had been helping Mr. Cuthbert my entire life, and he took it upon himself to show me the ropes of the lot those first couple of years. Each year since, I spent more and more time outdoors and gained my independence as a Christmas tree lot attendant.

And then last summer, Grandpa got really sick. Before I could even make it to the hospital, he’d had so many strokes his brain was practically dead. But they kept him alive just so I could say my good-byes. I wasn’t sure if I was grateful or indifferent. He was gone long before I walked through those ICU doors. That wasn’t my grandpa lying there. That was just a lifeless shell of the man I knew, the man who had held my hand and walked me through the rows and rows of trees and told me countless stories of his life.

I sliced back through the base of the trunk and pushed slightly on the tree to make sure it fell away from me. We were supposed to yell timber or something, but I knew we were the only ones out here.

Jesus Christ!

Well, I thought we were the only ones…

I ran around in time to see Mr. Winton’s tree land on the puffy jacketed back of someone. From the voice that had called out to the birthday boy himself, I deduced it was a male.

Oh crap! Are you okay… sir?

Thankfully, the bulk of the branches had been a little more off to his side, so he was able to slide himself out fairly easily.

I just stood with my chainsaw in hand and a dumb look on my face—I was sure.

Uh… yeah. Aren’t you supposed to yell timber or something?

Well, yeah. So? Why are you out here? I have a little issue with my filter. Like, it doesn’t really exist.

Mrs. Cuthbert sent me out here to see if you needed help. She saw you driving to the back lot and realized the tree might be too big to handle on your own.

And she probably knew Charlsey wouldn’t be any help. Exhibit A: he was sitting in the ATV, watching our little encounter, not even offering to call 9-1-1.

And you are…?

Thomas. He held out his snow-covered glove.

I gripped just the fingertips and shook once, sending a sprinkling of ice onto his boots.

Tessa.

Yes, I know. Nice to meet you.

Likewise. I narrowed my eyes at him. Why didn’t you drive an ATV? Did you walk up here?

Ran. Good for the lungs. He chuckled. What a dork.

Okay… Well, let’s get this tree wrapped… if you’re sure your kidney isn’t bruised or anything.

Nah… I’m good. Little ol’ tree ain’t gonna take me out.

I was already walking back to the vehicle to get the netting and ropes.

Mr. Winton, I’m going to need to back the ATV up to the tree after we get it bundled. Do you want to step out or ride?

I’ll ride.

Of course you will.

Silent, Thomas and I rolled the tree onto the netting and secured it tightly with the orange twine. He had done this before. Was he new here? How had I missed this? I didn’t recall Mrs. Cuthbert mentioning hiring anyone. But I had been a little out of it lately.

When I backed up to the tree, he already had the chains around the trunk and ready to latch to the ATV. Efficient too…

Okay, hop on.

I think I’ll run back down. Give my bruised kidney a little exercise.

Well… I huffed. He had already taken off down the lane toward the lower lots and the shop.

I had to take my time heading in, so naturally, he had beaten us by the time we braked behind Mr. Winton’s SUV. At least he didn’t roll up in a tiny smart car or something. I wouldn’t be able to contain myself if I had to watch him squeeze into a little clown car with a twelve-footer tied on top.

Why don’t you and Mr. Winton go inside while Jay and me load her up? Thomas’s voice startled me. I already have you a cappuccino on the counter, Tess. He winked his chocolate-brown eye.

What the heck? I felt heat creep up my neck and onto my cheeks. I only hoped the cold wind had already rosied them up so he wouldn’t notice. Without another word, I spun and took off for the shop, letting Mr. Winton trail at his own pace. I made a big show of scraping off my boots outside so maybe Charles would follow suit. No such luck. He stomped right on in the door, letting it slam in my face.

When I made it inside, sweeping aside his snow with the edge of my boot, Mrs. Cuthbert was handing over a steaming Styrofoam cup and then ringing up his purchase. At least we were getting a decent sum for that massive tree out there.

Thank you so much, Mr. Winton, she said when he handed over the check and scooped up his coffee. Have a wonderful Christmas.

Yes, ma’am, he grunted. It was the most polite thing I’d heard from him thus far.

After mopping up the watery ice I’d pushed aside, I grabbed my cup from the end of the counter and resumed my position at the window.

Mrs. Cuthbert’s quivering hand landed gently on my shoulder. So you met my Thomas, then?

Her Thomas? Yes, ma’am. I smiled up at her. About killed him with Charlsey—I mean, Mr. Winton’s tree.

What, dear? Oh, never mind. Yep, nothing ruffled her. He’s a looker, isn’t he? She wagged her thin, barely there eyebrows.

I sighed. Honestly, I didn’t get that good of a look at him. Though, I had a sudden hankering for some milk chocolate to go with this French vanilla goodness I held on to for dear life.

Well, he’s decided to stay with Barney and me this season, and he’ll be helping out around here. You two will have plenty of time to get to know one another. She winked, and I suddenly saw where he got those bright browns.

So… Thomas is your…?

Grandson, dear. She clucked. I told you our grandson was coming to visit. Last week, remember?

No, I really didn’t. I didn’t remember much these days. Defense mechanism, I suppose.

Remember, I told you this is Rick’s son. From his first marriage.

I vaguely recalled some conversation about the woman running off with the child and them not having much contact with him.

Yes, ma’am. I’m sorry. Slipped my mind. I took a sip of the coffee, careful not to scorch my tongue.

It’s been a few years since he’s visited. You’ll have to make sure he follows the rules. She winked again and slowly walked back to her counter.

Rules like yelling timber before you push a tree over on someone. Check.

The grinding of boots outside the door signaled we were about to have company. When the bell sounded, Jay was the first to step through. Mrs. Cuthbert had hired Jay a few years ago when Mr. Cuthbert was diagnosed with cancer and began treatments. He was in his early forties and had apparently been through some tough times. The Cuthberts let him take up residence in the little guest cabin on their property. He worked, both on the tree farm and doing other odd jobs, to pay his rent and earn a little extra cash for food, though I knew for a fact Mrs. Cuthbert fed him at least one hearty meal each day.

He shed his thick coat and gloves, stuffing them into the pockets and hanging the coat on the hook near the door. He added his cap, uncovering a head of thick salt-and-pepper hair. Mrs. Cuthbert distributed his cup of black coffee, and he immediately took his position in front of the crackling fire near the back of the shop. There was a worn spot in the wood where his feet were planted. Evidence of years of back warming in that exact location.

Thomas came next, immediately meeting my gaze and offering a crooked grin. Instead of coffee, he got himself a cup of hot chocolate and headed my way. Like myself, he kept his coat and gloves on, only pulling back his hood to uncover his head crowned in an orange Carhartt knit cap.

Thanks for the cappuccino, I said sincerely. It was a nice gesture after I dropped a tree on him.

No problem. I just put in the order with Gram. She said it was your favorite. He pulled off the cap and his chestnut hair stuck up in all directions. It was actually cute. I wanted to punch myself in the face.

So Mrs. Cuthbert said you’re staying the season? I was grasping now. I didn’t know how to make small talk with this guy. This guy who made me feel all tingly and awkward.

Yeah, don’t know if you know much about our history, but I haven’t been able to spend much time with them. I thought it’d be nice, especially with G-pa being so sick. He looked into his chocolate as he swirled it around in the cup.

A sharp pain struck my heart. It was part sympathy and part jealousy. My grandpa had been taken from me so suddenly. At least Thomas had a chance to say good-bye, to really talk to him. And I hoped he did.

I know Mrs. Cuthbert is really excited to have you. And to have more help around here. It was my turn to be hypnotized by my drink.

I think you had everything under control, but I’m happy to help out.

Another customer pulled up in front of the shop, and Thomas retrieved his cap, pulling his hood up over his head. I’ll see ya later, Tess.

Tess. He’d called me that before. Grandpa always called me Tess. That stabbing pain was back, along with the burning of moisture in the backs of my eyes. I quickly looked to Mrs. Cuthbert, who gave me a sad look over her reading glasses. I just shook my head and looked back out the window, watching Thomas smiling and playing with the children as they wound their way through the lower lot, looking for the perfect family tree.

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Good morning, Tess, Thomas chirped as I stepped through the door and hung my coat on my hook. I was running the counter today because Mr. Cuthbert had some appointments and Mrs. Cuthbert had to drive him.

Morning, I replied less enthusiastically.

Not a morning person, then? he asked, sliding my cappuccino near the register. It had become an everyday habit—having my drink ready for me the moment I stepped through the door.

Thanks. I was a little kinder this time. No, not really. I’m not really a night owl, either. More like an afternoon chicken. I giggled and felt like a complete idiot. Still, after weeks of working with him, I couldn’t get ahold of myself when I was with Thomas.

It didn’t help that Mrs. Cuthbert prodded me every chance she got. And now Jay had joined in. They were determined to throw Thomas and me together before the end of the season. But if I were even interested, why would I want to start a relationship with a guy who would be leaving in just a few weeks?

Thankfully, the rumble of thunder helped cover my embarrassment.

I heard there was a storm coming in. It’ll probably be a slow day, he said, gazing out the front window.

Great. Lots of quality time together.

I immediately started wiping down the already spotless countertop.

What’s your deal, Tess? Thomas’s bluntness caught me completely off guard.

Huh? Still as eloquent as ever…

I’ve been working with you for weeks, and this is all I get from you. You’re completely closed off. You’re beautiful… and funny, but you won’t let yourself enjoy anything. Why?

He just called me beautiful.

Well… I… uh… I groaned, completely mortified.

Out of nowhere, two warm palms trapped my jaws and tilted my head up so I had little choice but to stare into his warm irises.

Tess…

And just like that, the dam burst. Nothing’s the same since Grandpa died. It was too fast, too soon. I wasn’t ready. Before I could even think, tears sprang up in my eyes and trailed down my cheeks.

Thomas wiped one away with his thumb, pulling his bottom lip through his teeth. Tess, no one can be ready. It doesn’t matter if it happens quickly or over years. We’re never prepared to let go of someone we love.

I know. It’s just… He just left me. He was… He was my best friend. And he’s just gone. I was trying hard not to completely break down. My chest burned. It was just below the surface now.

"Shh… He’s not gone, Tess. And you aren’t alone. You have Gram and G-pa… Jay… me." He had been speaking to my lips, but at the end, he looked directly into