Chapter Twelve
Caitlin stopped under the tree they’d spotted through binoculars. Taylor slung the half-full bag of mistletoe off his shoulder and stood next to her. As always, his nearness caused her body to bump the thermostat up a few degrees, which was good because even with all the layers, she was shivering.
Somewhere in the distance, Beau barked as Bethany and Uncle Rock filled their own bag.
“Traitor!” Taylor yelled to Beau.
“Maybe he’s spying and plans to bring you intel on Bethany’s secret weapon.”
He shook his head. “Maybe he wants some of the beef jerky Uncle Rock has in his pocket.”
“Ha! Probably. What does Grams do with all this mistletoe?” Caitlin asked, trying to distract herself. She was way too aware of him for her comfort. Now that Bethany and Rock had gone off on their own and she and Taylor were alone together, it seemed like her body was rallying to stage a coup over the very sound no-fooling-around logic.
He stared up at the dense green clumps sprouting from the bare branches. “She binds it into clusters and ties bows on them. Then, she delivers them to nursing homes and assisted living facilities for decorations. She’s been doing it as long as I can remember. Her big thing is spreading the love.”
Right. Like Grams seemed to be trying to do between Taylor and her. Caitlin walked under the canopy, looking up. “It’s always been a weird tradition to me. Kissing under a plant that’s toxic and parasitic.”
“It’s a parasite for sure, but there has to be a lot of it to kill a tree,” Taylor said, pulling out the serrated knife he’d used to cut off the mistletoe at the last three trees.
Jane and Fiona’s nickname for Gary was parasite, and as she looked up at the evergreen clumps sapping nutrients from the dormant tree, she couldn’t agree more. Yeah. It took a lot to kill a host, but not much to weaken it. It wasn’t until she’d been free of Gary that she’d realized how much he’d drained her—how much her parents had drained her. And it wasn’t until spending time with Taylor’s family—with Taylor—that she realized how toxic those earlier relationships had been.
“I did an eighth grade report on mistletoe for my biology project,” she said, collecting a clump he had cut from a low-lying limb. “I don’t remember its scientific name anymore, but I remember it means ‘tree thief.’”
Another bunch hit the snow and she put it in the bag. Taylor had sealed the neck and armholes of his bag with duct tape so they could use it for the mistletoe, insisting she keep wearing her bag for extra protection. She didn’t argue since she was having to grit her teeth so they wouldn’t chatter.
“And, another fun fact. It’s also known as shit-on-a-stick,” she said.
“Obviously, your eighth grade biology class was vastly different than mine.” He cut off another clump, and she collected it. “Shit-on-a-stick, huh?”
“Evidently, folks long ago made the connection to mistletoe growing on limbs where there were bird droppings because that’s how the seeds are spread. In some old language, I can’t remember which one, it means dung-on-a-twig, so close enough.”
When she looked up, he was studying her, which made her heart pound.
“You’re a lot of fun, Caitlin.”
She wasn’t used to compliments, and it took everything in her not to cover her face or object. No one had ever called her fun before.
“I’m glad you accepted my bargain. I’m glad you’re here,” he said.
The flutters in her belly were the last thing she needed. She cursed those sincere, brown eyes. And then cursed his ridiculous eyelashes that were too long and thick for a man. “Me too.”
He turned his attention back to the tree. “We only need a few more bunches of it to fill that bag. I’ve gotten all the low ones, so we need to move on to another tree. He folded the knife and put it in his pocket.
Turning a three-sixty with the binoculars, she didn’t see any other infested trees nearby. And her feet were getting numb from the cold. “If you lift me up, I’d be able to reach those two clumps and that one.” She pointed to them.
“Another good idea,” he said, squatting down. “Climb on my shoulders.”
Good ideas and doable ideas were entirely different things, Caitlin realized as she threw a leg over Taylor’s broad shoulder. How on earth was she supposed to get the other one over without falling backwards?
He clamped down on her thigh with his hand. “Swing the other one over.”
Well, that’s how. Garbage bag crackling, she hefted her other leg, but only succeeded in kneeing him in the ribs since she didn’t have any place to hold on except his head.
“Oh, Taylor. I’m so sorry,” she said, sliding off and landing on her butt in the snow.
“I have on a sweatshirt and a heavy coat. You’d have to work harder than that to hurt me, Caitlin.” He offered his hand to help her up. “Face the tree,” he said. “Legs apart.”
Whoa. Instant inferno. Somehow that order didn’t piss her off so much. “Pardon?”
“I’ll come between your legs and lift you up, like playing chicken in the pool. You can use the tree for balance.”
She needed to use the tree for balance right now. She’d lost all equilibrium with the words “I’ll come between your legs.”
Slowly, she turned and faced the tree. “Oookaaaay.”
He nudged her legs farther apart, and she gasped when his head brushed the inside of her thighs as he positioned himself and lifted her up. To her amazement, it worked. And it worked in more ways than one.
Once she’d gotten her garbage bag shirt out of his face and was balanced enough to hold the knife without being a danger to herself or Taylor, she’d been able to reach half a dozen clusters of mistletoe. The best part, though, was the feel of his hands on her thighs and sweet, unexpected friction in places she was grateful were covered with multiple layers of wool and Gore-Tex.
…
Taylor picked up another sprig of mistletoe and shoved it in the garbage bag.
“We did it!” Caitlin said, adding to the almost-full bag.
“Yes, we did.” And it had nearly driven him mad. Having her legs wrapped around him, even covered in enough layers to disguise her shape and even her species, made his imagination go wild. It had taken all of his willpower to keep his hands still on the top of her thighs, rather than rub them, like he wanted.
He noticed her teeth were chattering.
“You’re cold.”
“I’m fine.”
“That too. You’re cold and fine.” He grabbed the backpack and pulled out the thermos he’d filled before they’d left the house. “Come here.”
She didn’t move other than to narrow her eyes.
Dammit, her taking offense to any request without a zillion qualifying words in it was a pain in the ass. They really needed to address it if they were going to make it through the next day and a half. “I have hot chocolate. Come here and sit with me.” He sat on a log at the base of the tree and screwed the cup off the top of the thermos. Still, she stood.
Now she was just being ridiculous. “We’re a good thirty-minute walk from the cabins,” he said, “maybe more. This will warm you up. It’ll also give us a chance to talk. Please.”
As she neared, he scooted over on the log and handed her the cup, patting the space next to him. She sat. The steam from the warm cocoa swirled as she brought it to her lips.
“Mmm,” she said.
“Better?”
“Yeah.”
It was hard to focus on anything but the bit of chocolate on the corner of her mouth. “So, why did you dig your heels in just now?”
“You know why.” She took another sip, gloved hands wrapped around the cup. “I don’t like being told what to do.”
He leaned back against the tree and folded his arms over his chest, tucking his hands under his arms. “I understand that, but I don’t know why.”
“It doesn’t matter why,” she said, blowing on the chocolate, causing a cloud of steam to rise.
“It matters to me.” He focused on her eyes and not on her lips and how he wanted to lick the chocolate from them.
She met his eyes and her brow furrowed. “So answer honestly, Taylor. Do you like being told what to do?”
“Yes, I do.”
She rolled her eyes and snorted.
He lifted the cup from her hands and took a sip. Then another. “I willingly follow an order when it’s in my best interest or will enhance my performance or condition or that of those around me.”
She took the cup back. “And what if the order isn’t in your best interest?”
“If it’s not, then the person giving the order is not someone I should trust or work with.”
Mouth in a thin line, she looked away, back toward the fence line, and Taylor’s chest ached for whatever it was she’d been through.
He took the cup and set it aside, then placed his hand over hers. “It’s about trust, Caitlin. The only difference between ‘Come here’ and ‘Come here, pretty please’ is the extra words, though I understand your need to hear them, and I’ll try to be more sensitive to that.”
She remained focused somewhere past the fence.
He needed her to listen. To truly hear him. He’d grown to like this woman in the short time they’d spent together and hated to see her hurt every time someone used the imperative. Gently, he turned her face to his. “I know someone hurt you. Oppressed you somehow, and believe me, I’d like to kick the shit out of whoever did that.”
Blinking rapidly, she turned her face away. He leaned closer, willing her to take his words to heart. “But believe this also, I’m not about gratuitously barking out orders. I’m about trust, and if I trust someone, I understand that ‘please,’ and ‘I care,’ and ‘I have your best interests at heart’ are implied in every word they utter.”
She took a shuddering breath, then turned back to him. Good, she was listening.
“I didn’t say ‘come here’ a minute ago to get my rocks off,” he continued. “I said it to enhance your well-being. And I’ll try. I’ll try really hard to remember to use polite words to soften my requests, so we’re speaking the same language, but believe this, Caitlin Ramos, I will never order you around or give commands because I want to control you or take you down a peg or keep you off balance.”
He brushed her hair out of her eyes, tucking it back into her hat. “And I expect the same from you. If you want something from me that’s in my best interest, or yours, tell me to do it, and I will. Without hesitation. Without question.”
For the longest time, she stared at him, face unreadable. Then, she took a deep breath and commanded, “Kiss me.”
Surely he hadn’t heard her right.
“Without hesitation,” she repeated. “Without question. Kiss. Me. Now.”