Evergreens and Angels (3 page)

Brynn still remembered the tears that shimmered in Gramps's eyes, the hitch of his voice as he spoke. Her gifts had been placed beneath the shelter of boughs to be opened on Christmas morning.

Dillon's prediction of “girly things” had been spot on, much to Brynn's relief. She still had the diary, which she'd quickly filled from cover to cover with thoughts of Dillon and this magical holiday season. It lay safely tucked in a dresser drawer. A silver heart necklace had graced her neck each day since, and she thought of Dillon every time it caught the light.

The Cutlers' kindness was strong and lasting. It had ignited in Brynn the desire to help others, which led to a degree in pediatric nursing. The knowledge afforded her the ability to care for Nana following her car accident and to keep watch over Gramps as he fretted because he'd been the one driving.

Wind moaned through trees outside the bedroom window, drawing Brynn from her memories. Gran shifted in the bed and sighed through a dream as her body continued its journey toward healing. Once again, Brynn thanked God that neither Gran nor Gramps had been injured worse in the car accident along Highway 441, that in time Gran's fractured arm would heal and Gramps's bruises would fade and he'd fully recover. It was a miracle, for sure, given the speed of impact and the state of their SUV.

Totaled—completely.

A chill whispered as Brynn delved into the basket on the floor beside the rocker, that Gran kept stocked with magazines. Settling on a periodical graced with a bright splash of blooms along the cover, she spread it open across her lap and thumbed through the articles, gasping as she came to one sprawled along the centerfold.

“Cutler Nursery Draws Acclaim…”
The article was paired with a portrait photo. The caption read,
“Youngest Cutler sibling arrives home to round out the family team.”

It was him…the handsome boy from that snowy December night.

Dillon Cutler.

There was no mistaking the slight, mischievous grin paired with a tousle of coal-black hair and chocolate eyes. Only now he was grown up…
all
grown up. Brynn wondered if Dillon's thoughts on the merits of mistletoe had changed.

She scanned the article, trying her best to focus on the content. But her gaze kept drifting back to the photo, her memories to that snowy night so long ago. Her fingers latched onto the silver heart tucked beneath the collar of her blouse.

“Brynn, honey?” Gramps lumbered into the room, stretching kinks from his back and pressing a palm to his midsection. His nap had been short and wrinkles creased the corners of his eyes, still shadowed by bruises. His voice was gruff with remnants of sleep. “Would you mind to run an errand for me?”

“Not at all.” Brynn stilled the rocker, whispering so as not to wake Gran. “What do you need, Gramps?”

“You know how your Gran loves the holidays. She took care of me—you too—that year I lay flat on my back with pneumonia. Now it's my turn to lift her up. I do believe a Christmas tree, with all of the trimmings, is in order. Would you head to Cutler Nursery and pick up one of their Frasier firs?”

“I…” Her gaze drifted back to the magazine spread across her lap. Dillon's photo stared back at her. Did he even remember that long-ago night when they'd shared cookies? Did he ever think of
her
? There was only one way to find out. She nodded to Gramps as she closed the magazine and slipped it back into the basket. “Of course I will. I think that's a great idea. We can decorate the tree when Gran wakes up. She'll like that.”

“Good. I'll phone ahead then to let Hattie Cutler know you're coming that way. She'll have one of her sons waiting on you to load the tree into the truck after you make your selection.”

“Big, small, or something in between…what do you prefer, Gramps?”

“No preference. Let your heart be your guide. You'll know when you've found the right one.” He winked, his rheumy gray eyes twinkling with delight while his mottled pate, now completely bald, reflected muted light that filtered through the window. “And bring one of Hattie's mistletoe wreaths, too.”

 

 

 

 

2

 

Dillon hoisted a Fraser fir onto his shoulder and carried it over to the tree baler. A quick wrap of netting would render the tree ready for transport. Nestled safely in her mother's arms a few yards away, little Tilly Parker drank in his every move with dancing blue eyes. The machine whirred and sang. Then Tilly giggled as Dillon grabbed the modest tree from the baler and carried it to an SUV where the back hatch stood wide as a yawning mouth. He slid the tree in over a tarp and gathered a length of yellow rope. A few knots through the bumper, and the fir was ready to go.

“Thank you.” Joyce Parker nodded appreciatively as Dillon handed her a receipt for her purchase. Her auburn hair, once a fiery halo, had been trimmed to a short, spiky length since Tilly's birth three years ago. “I appreciate the help since Kevin got caught up at work and couldn't meet me. You've made Tilly's night.”

They'd been high school friends of his—Kevin and Joyce high school and college sweethearts, as well. The three shared a handful of adventurous memories and one best-forgotten scrape with the law.

“My pleasure.” Dillon tweaked Tilly's rosy nose and then adjusted her toboggan over ringlets of light red curls. “I suppose Santa will bring a load of gifts for you, Tilly, since you've been such a good little girl this year.”

“Yes, sir.” She nodded. “'cept for pullin' Cousin Billy's hair.”

“I don't suppose Santa will hold that against you. You mind your mama now, though, and be sure to leave a few extra cookies for Santa's reindeer, OK?”

“I will. Thanks Mr. Dillon.”

He waved them off and then turned as an older-model pickup pulled into the lot and jockeyed into a space along the fence. The truck could use some maintenance; the rattle of the engine echoed off the hills beyond and muffled the Christmas melody. No wonder; the vehicle was ancient. Maybe he'd suggest the driver run it by Gunnar's garage for a tune-up.

Floodlights, sensitive to the growing darkness, switched on as swollen snow clouds gathered along the horizon. At the nursery's entrance, the tree that Maddie had decorated danced merrily with light
. O Holy Night
played over the loudspeakers and Dillon found himself humming happily along; the song remained one of his all-time favorites. With the dinner hour upon them, the nursery crowd had thinned significantly. Things would pick up again later that evening, providing the storm backed off, when families ventured beneath the moonlight to tree-hunt.

The driver of the pickup switched off the engine, drawing Dillon's attention back as a run-on knock lingered. Yeah, the truck definitely needed some serious attention. The door creaked on rusted hinges and a blonde head bobbed through the opening. Long, loose strands of hair whipped as a breeze kicked up. A red knit hat fell to the ground and skittered across the gravel. Dillon rushed to retrieve it.

“Oh, thanks.” The voice was positively female and held a slight southern accent that Dillon found vaguely familiar. He turned back, arm outstretched with the hat, to find the woman smiling at him. She took it from him and tugged it back over her ears. “I didn't expect such a breeze. It's really picking up. And just look at the sky to the—what is that, west?”

“Uh huh. Storm's coming over the mountains.” Already, powdery flakes two-stepped through the air. White specks clung to the woman's eyelashes, illuminating eyes the color of rich, sweet toffee. “It's going to dump some snow.”

“The first snow of the season…Gramps always claimed it was magical.” She sighed and glossed lips rounded into a little, whimsical
O
. “It's the perfect day to take home a tree to trim. Can you help me find what I'm looking for?”

He
knew
her. How? From where?

Dillon studied her as he answered. “That depends. What, exactly,
are
you looking for?”

About his age, chin-height, she had sleek blonde hair and eyes large enough to get lost in. And that slight tilt of her chin and toss of her hair…

Not to mention the soft lilt of her voice…so familiar. “I'm not sure. Something tall, green, fragrant, and yearning to be decorated…Gramps said I would know when I saw it.”

“That sounds about right. So sure, I can help you.” He turned and motioned her to follow. “Let's head this way.”

Dillon strode toward the grove as she fell in step beside him. She wore faded jeans that disappeared into ankle boots, and a hunter-green blouse flapped in the breeze. A waterfall of hair spilled loose over her shoulders, nearly kissing her slim waist. His brain whirled with a tug of memories. He knew this woman; the slight curve of her lips and the way she twirled a lock of hair around her index finger jostled something inside him. They'd met once before, but when and where?

He was about to ask when they turned a corner to find his mom heading toward them. A huge smile plastered her face and her arms were outstretched as if welcoming home a long lost friend.

“Brynn, oh my! Is it really you?”

Brynn. Dillon stopped dead in his tracks as the name brought everything back in a single snapshot…the long-ago winter evening, a Christmas tree, and oatmeal cookies.

Mistletoe.

But back then, Brynn had been slight—almost scrawny—with braces and wire-framed glasses propped on her lightly-freckled nose. She'd talked non-stop, burning his ears with her incessant chatter, until he wanted to plunge his fingers into them and take off running. That would have earned him a none-too-gentle lecture from Dad, though, so he'd endured the torture.

The cookies were worth it…he definitely remembered the delicious oatmeal-raisin delights coupled with a glass of cold milk Mrs. Jansen had offered. Pure Heaven.

He also recalled a hint of sadness that had clouded Brynn's eyes when he asked why she had to leave Clover Cove again.

And now, as Brynn rushed ahead in a flurry of curves and glossy hair to meet his mother, he wondered why he hadn't chucked the cookies in favor of her. The knit cap slipped from her head once more as she reached his mom. Her delighted squeal rent the air. “Mrs. Cutler?”

“Please, to you I'm Hattie, dear. It's so good to see you again.”

Dillon gaped as his mom wrapped her arms around Brynn and drew her in for a tight bear hug. Again, He wondered how the cookies jockeyed to the highlight of that evening instead of the girl who had somehow morphed into this woman. What had he been
thinking
? “Just look at you, all grown up. You're a beauty, honey.”

“Thank you.” Brynn stepped back, smoothing snowflakes from her hair. She wrapped her arms over her midsection and huddled against the wind. “You haven't changed a bit, either, Hattie.”

“Oh, such a sweetie.” Hattie patted her cheek. “How
are
you? How are your grandparents?”

“I'm fine and Gramps is on the mend. You'd hardly know he's been in an accident except for the binding over his ribs and a few fading bruises. Gran's doing well, too. She came through surgery just fine; her arm's on the mend and the swelling's gone down around her ankle. She's able to hobble around a bit, though it tuckers her pretty quickly. She had a check-up today, and the doctor says she'll be good as new in no time.”

“Such an awful collision. Angels were watching over them both, for sure.”

“I know. I can't imagine if the airbag hadn't deployed, or if the other car had collided at a slightly different angle or faster speed. One of the little girls in the other vehicle sustained some major injuries. Gramps feels awful, since he was driving.”

“I heard a deer bounded into the road?”

“That's right. It crashed right through the front windshield of the SUV and landed in Gramps's lap. The police photos...oh, my…” Brynn shuddered. “They had to use the Jaws of Life to cut Janie from her car.”

“Little Janie Mitchell. We're all praying for her. And her mom, Sarah…so young and all alone since she lost her husband last July. It's just awful.”

“I know. Gramps is beside himself, Gran too. Gran sings with Sarah in the church choir. If anything happens to her little girl…”

“Don't even go there, honey. There's no need.” Hattie patted her shoulder. “It's in God's hands now, and there's plenty of prayer interceding on that child's behalf. You just tell your grandparents the Cutlers will have a meal headed their way soon. And if you need anything at all, don't hesitate to call on us.”

“Thank you. That's so kind.”

“It's how we do things here in Clover Cove.”

How we do things…
The words reminded Dillon of his dad, gone five years now. The phrase had been one of his favorite aphorisms.

“Gramps sent me to fetch a tree.” Brynn motioned toward the pines, smiling to flash teeth that were perfectly straight. The braces had certainly done their job. “He thought it might cheer up Gran.”

“Yes, your grandfather called me to say you were on your way. I was just about to give Dillon a heads-up, but I see you've already found each other.”

“Yes, we have. He rescued my hat—again.” Brynn took the hat Dillon had retrieved for a second time and twirled it on her index finger before tugging it back over her crown of snow-dampened hair. “Good thing, too. It's cold out here.”

“Too cold to traipse around without a coat.” Dillon's mom waggled a finger at Brynn. He feared a sound lecture might follow. No one—aged two-to-ninety—was immune to his mom's lectures if she thought the situation warranted one. “A smart girl like you…what were you thinking?”

“I suppose I wasn't. The weather turned so quickly. It's hardly ever this cold so early in the season, and I was in a hurry to get here.”