Stoker tossed his bag against the locker, snorting as the entire metal box rocked. He glared up at the wall clock, more than cognizant he was late to the morning meeting. What the fuck did he care? He loved his job, even though almost everyone would call him insane given the enhanced danger. From firefighter to smokejumper, a dream come true. If only his continuous nightmares would stay locked in the very dark closet.

He snarled as he stormed toward the open room, standing a solid five feet away from everyone else. While he was learning to control his anger, certain ugly demons rallied every once in a while, threatening to consume his very soul. Jessica understood. In fact, she’d been one of the few to help calm the rage, a leftover from several tours with the Marines, his capture and imprisonment for months.

Captain Phillips lifted a single eyebrow but otherwise didn’t react. “As I was saying. We’re going up to an area of Blackfoot to cut down a series of trees. We remain in a drought this year and the area has been identified as a potential fire hazard. We should get through the work today. Cut what you can. Burn the rest. You know the drill.”

“Yes, sir!” the collective group said.

“We leave in ten minutes.” The captain nodded before heading toward his office.

Stoker rubbed his aching head. Four aspirin had done nothing to ease the nagging pain. He could tell one of his best friends, also a former firefighter, was glaring at him, the same admonishing expression he’d seen at least once a week. He sensed other members of the exclusive smokejumping team were mumbling under their breaths, wondering what was wrong this time. “Go ahead. Say it.”

Garcia Puevos tapped his watch, grinning as he walked forward. “That sweet thang almost made you late, buddy. Granted, I get why, but that dog of yours must have pissed in your Wheaties this morning.” A deep chuckle was followed by a wink.

“Whatever.” Stoker turned sharply, moving back toward the locker room. He clenched his fist, breathing out to control his increasing rage. This time, the damning was all about his ridiculous behavior. He wished he was as happy go lucky as Garcia, but he would never be the same man he’d been before the war.

Garcia grabbed him by the arm, yanking him back. “What gives? You’re livid.”

“Jessica is gone.”

“Gone? What the hell do you mean gone? As in she left you?” Garcia’s eyes opened wide.

“The big bad hero couldn’t keep a little woman?” Riker teased as he walked by, punching Stoker on the arm.

Stoker reared back, ready to throw a punch. Riker Sheffield was a bad dude, a Harley ridin’ inked man who took no shit from anyone. He was also one of the best jumpers on the team.

Riker moved in front of Stoker, his eyes narrowing. “Teasing, brother. You need to learn to lighten the fuck up.”

Garcia snagged Stoker’s arm. “Whoa. What in the fuck is going on with you?” He nodded toward Riker. “I got him.”

“Uh-huh. The man needs a cage,” Riker stated then walked away.

“Nothing. Just leave me alone.” He slapped his hand against the locker, his thoughts remaining in the damn argument. She’d left that morning without saying goodbye. Nothing. Not a word. Yeah, maybe he’d overreacted, but goddamn it!

“You don’t get off that easily.” He flanked Stoker’s side, folding his arms. “What’s going on?”

“She had to go to fucking Cali-fucking-fornia.”

“Jessica. That is who we’re talking about here.”

Snorting, Stoker tossed his head back. “Hell, yes.”

“For her recording contract, the one you’ve talked about at least a dozen times, happy as could be?”

He shifted, another snarl perched on his lips. “Yeah.”

“It’s her career, man. Come on. When is she coming back?” Garcia shook his head, a smile on his face.

“Five days. Five long days.”

“Geez. I thought you were going to say a month. This is important to her. You know that. Playing music is all she ever talks about, other than you, ya big asshole lug. She has a new chance, a record deal. Do you have any idea how amazing that is? Second chances don’t come along often. Even a hardheaded ass like you has to know that.”

Stoker registered the lilting voice, the attempt at pulling him out of the quicksand. Jessica had worked hard to regain momentum, turning into quite the special country music star. He liked to think he had even a small part in her recent success. Right now, he wasn’t certain of anything except the fact he was pushing her away. “I know. I am excited for her and I’m her biggest fan!”

“Sure. Then, dear God, I hope her enemies are not quite as formidable.” Garcia slapped him on the back. “Whatever you did, talk to her. Find a way. Send her flowers. Stop acting like a controlling Neanderthal.”

“Not that easy. We had an argument. She doesn’t want me to call her. At all. No contact.” When Garcia said nothing, he looked away. “I don’t know if I can do that.”

“You can and you will. Give the lady some time. Okay?”

He slumped down on the bench, grabbing his gear. “This was supposed to be a special holiday. For us. The two of us.”

“Then, make that happen. You can if you get your head out of your ass,” Garcia stated then walked away. He stopped and looked over his shoulder. “Give and take in a relationship. That much I understand. Give her support, dude, or you just might lose her.”

As Garcia walked away, he placed his head into his hands. The thought had crossed his mind more than once. He pulled out his phone, glaring at the screen. He should call her, apologize for his atrocious behavior. Fingering the screen, he pulled up her number, ready to hit ‘call’.

“Come on, boys. The van leaves in four minutes.”

He heard Antonio Giovanni’s voice and knew he had to go, but damn this shit! He loved Jessica more than he’d ever loved anyone in his life. Losing her wasn’t an option. Remaining on the bench, he watched as each man on the team jogged toward the back door. Antonio was an Italian asshole, a thorn in his side, but he knew his shit. Sawyer Lincoln was the eldest, but damn the forty-seven-year-old remained in top shape. Considered papa bear, he would give his life for any of them. Boone Martin was also a top bull rider, the career change was a shock to his family. Landen Weaver was the newbie, but had proven himself to be a team player. They would all die for each other. Jessica had been one hundred percent correct in her assessment. This job meant everything to him. Almost…

“Hansen. Get your ass in gear,” Captain Phillips said as he strolled into the room. “I’d like to be done before dark. I have a party to go to.”

“Way to go, Cap’n!” Landen whistled.

“You go, sir!” Sawyer added.

The captain grinned as he shifted his gear bag from one hand to the other. “The wife deserves the best.”

The best. The words echoed in Stoker’s head, creating another series of heart palpitations. He’d figure out a way to show her how much he respected her career. Somehow. He quickly changed and snagged his ax and bag, heading out of the hanger. He’d never been this unhappy, so unsure of his actions in his life. As he climbed onto the van, he looked up at the mountains, wondering where and how she was. Jessica. His life.

“Sit down, gentlemen, and we’ll go over the details,” Captain Phillips stated as he motioned the jumpers to sit.

Garcia eased into the seat beside him. “What caused the argument?”

“A phone call,” Stoker said under his breath. “We were just trying to get a Christmas tree, a damn tree.”

“And why didn’t you?”

“The Michaels’ lot is shut down this year. No idea why. He had the best trees in the business.”

“Don’t you know what happened to him?” Garcia asked as he shoved his bag under the seat. “To the family I mean?”

“No idea.”

“All right boys, listen up,” Captain Phillips said as the driver rolled out of the parking lot.

Sighing, Garcia turned to look at Stoker. “His kid. He has a little boy and he’s sick with leukemia. They don’t have insurance and no money for the treatment.”

Stoker shrunk back, swallowing hard. No one should have to live with such extreme difficulties. “His kid?”

“Only one,” Garcia whispered.

“Remember, the goal today is to save as many of the good trees as we can.”

He heard the captain, knew what the man was saying. He was also well aware of the area. An idea dawning, he raised his hand. “Captain. The area is full of spruce trees. Right?”

“Yeah, a hell of a lot of pine, which means fuel,” Captain Phillips answered. “Why do you ask, Hansen?”

Stoker shifted in his seat. “What if we cut them down and brought them back?”

“For what reason?” Landen chortled.

Smiling, he nodded as the idea formed into a mission. “What if we sold them, for Christmas trees?”

“Why in the hell would we do that?” Boone asked, the tone full of sarcasm.

Garcia turned his head, his eyes opening wide. “To help out a Missoula father. Shaun Michaels and his wife are having a terrible time. Their kid is sick, and they barely have enough food on their table. Mr. Michaels can’t man the lot, let alone doesn’t have the money to purchase the trees.”

Stoker grinned and patted his buddy on his leg. “Exactly right.”

Captain Phillips inched closer as the van rattled along the road. “That’s very sad to hear. What do you have in mind, son?”

“What if we sold the trees in order to give at least some money to Mr. Michaels, even for a few presents or some food?” Stoker continued to formulate the concept in his head.

“And what if we did a fundraiser as well? You know, the season of giving?” Garcia added, excitement in his voice.

“That’s not a bad idea,” Sawyer said as he inched forward.

“Okay. Who’s going to man the lot?” Boone chimed in. “We’re all kind of busy.”

“That’s not true. This is the down season,” Antonio chimed in.

Stoker thought about the question. “He’s right. All of us can man the lot. At different times. Think about how much money we could raise, and these trees have to go anyway.”

“Yeah, and there’s a sick little boy in need of help.” Garcia hung over the back of the seat.

Captain Phillips frowned, his eyes darting back and forth. “I like the idea. Very creative. We have a fundraiser for food as well as money for the family.”

“And toys!” Landen suggested.

“I think that will be a significant help,” Stoker said quietly.

“I know the man. He’s going through a rough time. I like the idea a hell of a lot. What do you think, guys? We cut and save?” The captain had a twinkle in his eyes.

“I think that sounds awesome,” Landen commented.

Smiling, Stoker nodded as the team looked in his direction. Maybe this would help soothe his personal demons as well as give Jessica a reason to reconsider any decisions. He clenched his fist. Their months together had been special, giving him a sense of peace, but Garcia was right. Jessica needed space as well as an opportunity to get her career back on track.

“All right. Settle back and enjoy the ride,” Captain Phillips said, then looked directly at Stoker. “I’ll arrange to have the trees picked up and taken to the lot. You, gentlemen, are responsible for working on the schedule. I trust you’ll share in this endeavor equally.”

“You bet!” Sawyer slapped the back of the seat. “We are the Jackals.”

“Jackals! Jackals! Jackals!”

As the men chanted, Stoker looked out the window. He had another idea in mind for becoming Father Christmas. Jessica would have the best tree in the state.

* * *

“Ms. Dunn. Thank you for coming on such short notice. I’m Tanya Yearwood, Mr. Gillespie’s assistant.” Extending her hand, the young woman had a curt smile.

“Jessica and thank you.” Jessica eased the guitar case onto the sidewalk, shook her hand and squinted from the glare of the sun. The ride had been bumpy, delayed by a thunderstorm. She remained on edge, her thoughts never far from Stoker. How many times had she grabbed her phone, longing to give him a call? Too many. The man needed to learn. But what? About her career? With each step, she bit back a smile. The spanking still stung.

“We are already late for a meeting. Let’s get going. I’ll help you with your bags.”

She’d haphazardly shoved clothes and toiletries into two bags and could only remember a few of the items. So much for planning. She had taken her favorite guitar, perhaps hoping the beautiful instrument would give her luck or courage. Maybe both.

Tanya reached down, grabbing the handle on the guitar case.

“I’ll take that. This is special.” She resisted slapping the girl’s hand. No one would ever handle this guitar. The gift from Stoker would remain her favorite.

“O-kay.” She rolled her eyes before grabbing the larger suitcase.

“Who are we meeting with?”

“Mr. Gillespie, of course, and two other executives from the record company as well as a new guitarist.”

“What happened to the old one?” Jessica asked between clenched teeth. This was the change Mr. Gillespie had alluded to. Every day there seemed to be a shift in the production team, a replacement in the band. She would be ancient by the time this record was produced.

Tanya hesitated as she shoved the luggage into the trunk of her car. “Honestly, I’m not privy to that information.”

“Right.” For whatever reason, the woman was lying to her and it must mean a scandal. She slid the guitar in the back seat, rubbing the edge and seeing Stoker’s face. The infuriating man had given her a rough time for touching the instrument when she’d first met him, almost throwing her out of his house.

“You’ll learn that Mr. Gillespie is formidable.”

And he’ll learn, so am I. Before climbing into the car, she studied the surrounding landscape. Palm trees were everywhere, swinging in the light breeze. Even in December, flowers bloomed, vivid hues of orange and fuchsia mixing with a rich green. Everything seemed fake, plastic as if the thousands of dollars had been spent for tourists alone. The buildings were also decorated for Christmas, but nothing seemed right, everything garish and fake. The entire area was a far cry from the majestic beauty of Missoula. Her home. A slice of sadness eased into her heart. Maybe she wasn’t cut out to be a star. She fiddled with her diamond engagement ring as she sat down, closing the door. Being a wife and mother might be more of her style. She laughed out loud and noticed Tanya’s curious expression. She just wanted to get this over with.

“I have your itinerary and we’re on a very tight schedule.” Tanya started the car then handed Jessica a file.

She peered at the spreadsheet and sighed. “A makeover?”

“Well, of course. You’re being interviewed for Vanity Fair on Tuesday. You need to look the part of the lead singer of Coppervent.”

“What the hell is Coppervent?”

Tanya seemed flustered. “The name of the band? Mr. Gillespie has everything laid out including a full promotional tour starting just after Christmas.”

After Christmas. She was supposed to be planning a wedding at some point. Seething, she settled into the seat, a flurry of nasty words racing through her mind. “We’ll see about that. Let’s get there as fast as possible.” She dumped the file into her briefcase and glared out the passenger window. The CD launch was anticipated in less than two months. With changes in band members and a new concept? “I assume that my agent was contacted?”

“Um, there’s been a change with that too.” This time, Tanya was sheepish, her face reddening.

Don’t shoot the messenger. She could hear the words. “Jasper has been with me through thick and thin. He’s in or I’m out.” She had no room to issues demands, but being a compliant child wasn’t her style.

“I don’t make the decisions, Ms. Dunn. You must know that.”

Jessica chuckled. She had no doubt the girl had every decision made for her from her sexy attire and hairstyle to the copious amount of perfume. “Uh-huh.”

An awkward silence settled in.

“I’ll take you to your hotel after the meeting, so you can freshen up for the party tonight. If you don’t have an appropriate dress, I’ve been authorized to take you shopping.” This time, Tanya’s voice was clipped, almost breathless.

Everything on the list had been checked off. Go here. Buy this. Look this way. Fix your hair. Her little black dress would do just fine. She exhaled, her thoughts drifting back to Stoker and the very first time she’d met him. On a road, in the middle of the night, with a gun in his hand. She bit back a laugh, remembering her behavior at the time. You bet she’d been a handful. She’d had no idea about a ranch, horses, cowboys or anything regarding smokejumpers. Boy, had she learned.

Rode hard and put away wet. Heat crept up from her neck to her cheeks. She fanned her face and squirmed. Thinking about riding him like a wild bronco always gave her hot flashes.

“Are you okay?” Tanya asked.

“Fine. Just dandy.” The first time they’d made love had been amazing, the way his cock throbbed, filling her tight pussy. The way his hands roamed down her legs, his fingers digging into her skin. The way his mouth and tongue worked on her clit, her cunt lips. She bit her finger to keep from crying out. She missed everything about the man. His scent. His adorable smile. His goofy looks. The way he kissed. She closed her eyes, envisioning his naked body, so muscular, chiseled in a way no man could ever be. Yet he was. Hard work, a dangerous job had turned him into an incredible… She fiddled with the seatbelt strap. The man was also full of anger and sadness. But she didn’t care. Then why are you refusing to call him?

To teach him a lesson? To punish him? She reached inside her purse, tugging her phone into the light, longing to see a message, a text. Anything from him. Nothing. “Damn it.”

Fortunately for Tanya, the way too young girl didn’t banter on the ride to the meeting. Jessica would have ripped her eyes out. By the time they were in the elevator, she already some choice words for the music mogul. Yeah, the powerhouse had launched some important careers, mentoring everyone from rappers to rock stars, netting them millions, but did she even want that level of a music career any longer? The concept had been ever present in her mind over the last two months. The single reason why? Stoker. Life with the man had changed everything.

“Okay. We’re here.” Tanya’s plastered on smile had returned, but her eyes held another emotion. Fear. “The guitar will be just fine. I assure you. This is a very secure area. I’ll take you upstairs.”

Jessica held her briefcase with a clenched hand and adjusted her jacket, thankful she’d worn business attire. The only suit she owned would create an aura of control, at least for a little while. Red was, after all, her color.

“Just down this hall.” Tanya took short steps, her tall heels clicking against the marble floor.

Everything about the reception area screamed of money: from the gothic artwork to the towering statues, floor to ceiling windows and high sheen receptionist desk. Jessica held her head high as she trailed behind. She’d met with Mr. Gillespie on two previous occasions, his manners just as nice as his smile. Then she’d been fawned off to assistants for the remainder of the trips. She suspected he wouldn’t have the downhome good ol’ boy style today.

The moment she was ushered into an expansive conference room, she wished she’d purchased a lottery ticket. The men in the room had more money in their European suits and polished wingtips than her entire worth. She held back a snicker as the men stood, scrutinizing every inch.

“Jessica. I’m so glad you’re here. Come in and make yourself comfortable.” Mr. Gillespie finally walked in her direction. He didn’t bother to shake her hand, nor did he immediately introduce the others in the room. “Tanya. Champagne is in order. Hurry now.”

“Yes, sir.” Tanya left the room within two seconds.

A well-trained slave. Jessica nodded to the others and sat down. “Since I know time is of the essence, I suggest we get started. I have some question as well as desires. You can certainly understand.”

Mr. Gillespie’s smile faded as his eyes darted in the other executive’s direction. “Of course. But first, I’d like you to meet your new guitar player, Dagger.”

Dagger. As another door opened and a man strutted into the room, she knew she was doomed. Tattoos covered every inch of his arms and neck. The black leather pants were obviously custom made, highlighting the very package God had given him and the short cropped shocking blond hair would grab attention in any room. She was slip sliding straight into Hell. “Dagger. Well, the name suits you I suppose. Mr. Gillespie, I should ask you a question.” She turned her attention to the balding man, her smile just as practiced as Tanya’s. “Just what kind of band do you think I’m going to be fronting?”

Mr. Gillespie didn’t falter or give away any nervous tics. He also didn’t blink as he leaned across the table. “One that sells records, Jessica, dear, something you and your old band weren’t able to do.”

The cut was exactly as she’d anticipated.

“I assure you that I know my country music. I’ve worked with some of the biggest names in the industry,” Dagger began as his intense blue eyes remained locked in her direction.

She wasn’t paying any attention as he rattled off what could be an impressive resume. She was in way over her head and wanted nothing more than to crawl under the covers, snuggled up against Stoker. The realization gave her the courage she needed. “I’m certain you’re a fabulous musician, Dagger, but my idea of a band as well as my music is simple. I want to reach the masses of my fans, men and women who work hard for a living and probably don’t have very much money. They need real music, the kind that bursts from my soul, my heart. They need a reason to get up every day when they can’t pay their bills or have difficulty feeding their children. I want to make them smile and laugh, be able to share the music with their entire families, including kids. My music is about family, not just selling records.”

A collective hush fell over the entire room. When Tanya walked in, she shrunk back in the corner, as if seeing the executive’s pensive faces was enough to terrify her even further.

Jessica stood, grabbing her briefcase. “I apologize if I was unclear in any of my earlier emails, phone calls or meetings. You’re right. I’m no longer with Fringe. I no longer wear leather and a wild hairstyle. I’m Jessica Dunn, down to earth country singer and one way or the other, I will play music, but perhaps not with this record company. Thank you for your time.”

Tossing back her hair, she smiled and walked toward the door. The moment she was in the hallway, she realized she’d been holding her breath. “What the hell did I just do?”

* * *

Stoker wiped sweat from his brow and took a step back, surveying the lot. They’d worked until almost nine setting up the tree lot after cutting and burning all day. They were hot, grimy and exhausted. He stood next to his truck, yanking a beer from the cooler.

“We did good,” Riker said as he flanked Stoker’s side. He jerked off his gloves, shoving them in his jean’s pocket. “A hell of a lot of work, but impressive. Toss me one of those, will ya?”

As Stoker pulled another beer, he had a moment of self-doubt. They were technically trespassing.

“I’ll take one of those as well,” Garcia commented. “The lights add a festive appeal.”

“Hopefully we’ll get some customers.” Stoker glanced at the busy street, longing to flag down a few cars. The lights were barely enough to draw anyone in.

“Two hundred trees and counting,” Landen said as he walked toward them, a notebook in his hand. “I think we need Christmas music and plenty of additional flashing lights in various colors. We can string them along the fence as well as even a few sets in the trees. Extension cords. Forgot about those,” he mumbled as he wrote on his pad, hovering under the single street light. “Then we need a bigger sign. That will help draw people in. Shit. What about the prices? We need to let folks know we’re doing this for a charity.”

“He’s a regular elf. Needs a Santa hat,” Garcia teased. Wiping his face on his tee-shirt, he pointed to the small sign lettered in red. “He’s right about the sign though. Pathetic if you ask me.”

“He needs an entire Santa suit,” Antonio added, snorting as he patted Landen on the back. “We all did good work. Amazing idea.”

“Hey, I’m trying to keep everything straight, you morons,” Landen huffed. “Somebody has to. Leaving this up to you guys would spell disaster.”

They all laughed, and Stoker was more than grateful for their help. The project had brought them closer.

“I’ll get a sign printed in the morning,” Boone offered. “The charity idea is good.” He reached into the back of Stoker’s truck, grabbing two beers.

Stoker noticed Boone heading toward them, a huge cardboard box in his hands. “What do you have there?”

“I stopped by the house on the way here. Had a bunch of Christmas shit. Not even sure why. Haven’t put up a tree in years.”

The sentiment seemed to be the same across the team. “We are one sorry bunch of people,” Stoker said, only half joking.

“Nobody to share it with, I guess.” Sawyer looked away.

The team stood quietly, drinking beer as they stared at the trees.

“We need to get a damn life.” Garcia finally laughed, breaking the mood.

Boone hunkered down, dragging out several strings of lights as well as extension cords. “Let’s see what we have.”

“Why don’t we head over to Ziggy’s for a drink?” Landen suggested.

Ziggy’s. The very place the group went almost every time. Knowing the owner, a feisty redhead, did have its perks. Shannon was also Jessica’s best friend. He refused to tell her what a dumbass he’d been.

“Hell, I’ll go,” Antonio stated, then as every man glanced in his direction, he shrugged. “I know. I’ve been absent. Just busy.”

“Busy,” Garcia laughed. “I think he has a girlfriend.”

“Lucky bastard.” Boone shook his head.

“Ziggy’s it is!” Garcia howled then did a little dance.

“Looking like this?” Riker gasped then shook his head. “The dirty and rugged look is in.”

“I could use more than a beer.” Sawyer grabbed a handful of lights. “You are kidding me about these lights, right? They’re about a hundred years old.”

Stoker walked closer, fingering a branch of the closest tree. He’d wanted to share everything about decorating with Jessica. Maybe when she returned. If she returned.

“You’re doing a great thing here,” Garcia said from behind.

“I know.”

“And Jessica will be thrilled.”

“If I get a chance to tell her,” Stoker grumbled.

Garcia placed his hand on Stoker’s shoulder. “Let’s grab a beer. We won’t sell anything tonight.”

“Sounds good. You go ahead. There’s something I need to do first.”

“Okay, buddy, but you better get your ass to Ziggy’s. I will hunt you down.”

Snickering, he nodded and pulled a needle from the tree. The scent was fresh, invigorating. He headed back to the truck and grabbed a rag from the front seat. “I’ll catch you guys later.”

“Sure, man. We’ll see you there. Then again, I might still be here with these damn lights.” Boone issued a series of growls as he continued to try and untangle a huge mass.

Stoker jumped into the truck. He’d looked up the address on the van and as he drove out of the gravel parking lot, he shivered and attempted to wipe some of the grime from his face. Playing Santa Claus had its risks.

He found the address easily enough and as he pulled over across the street, shoving the gear into park, he allowed the engine to idle. The unassuming bungalow had no outside lights but given the two cars in the driveway, he knew someone was home. He twisted his hands on the steering wheel, nerves creating a pit in his stomach. After easing out and closing the door, he remained where he was, trying to figure out what to say. Leaning against the truck, he simply watched the few cars passing by. This area of town had seen better days.

Jogging across the street, he remained on the front porch for another full minute before pressing the bell. When he heard heavy footsteps approaching, he took a step back, wincing as the front light was turned on. The man answering the door was haggard, his eyes haunted.

“Can I help you?”

“Mr. Michaels?” Stoker realized he was a mess.

The man looked over Stoker’s shoulder. “Yes. What do you need, son?”

“I apologize for the interruption. I was wondering if I could talk to you for a few minutes?”

“It’s late,” Mr. Michaels said tentatively.

“I know. I just need a few minutes. I’m Stoker Hansen, a smokejumper here in town?” As if that would dissuade the man’s fears.

He wrinkled his brow and gave Stoker another hard look. “Let me grab a coat. We’ll talk outside. My boy’s asleep. Wait here.”

The door was closed with a hard thump and Stoker half anticipated the man wouldn’t return, perhaps even calling the sheriff’s office. He stepped off the porch and looked up at the sky. The stars had returned, burning brightly, even several twinkling. God, he loved the city, the mountains.

“Mr. Hansen. What’s on your mind?”

“I went by your lot yesterday. You’re not selling your trees.”

“That’s right.”

“And I know why.” He could see a mixture of emotions on Mr. Michael’s face, as if embarrassed he was having hard times.

“I just couldn’t do it this year, son. There’s…” His eyes misting over, he looked away. “My boy is sick, and every penny is spent on doctors.”

“I know, sir. I am very sorry.” Stoker found the words were almost impossible.

Coughing, Mr. Michaels turned back. “If you need a tree, I have a buddy who is selling them.”

“This isn’t about the trees. Well, yes, it is but…” He heard the strangled glitch in his voice. “Sir, I don’t mean to intrude but my team, smokejumpers, would like to sell trees on the lot. See, we had to cut down a few hundred spruce trees in order to protect an area on the mountain. I thought, well the team liked the idea too, we thought that selling them instead of destroying the beautiful trees might come in handy. If you don’t mind us using the lot I mean.”

Mr. Michaels narrowed his eyes.

“We’ll pay you for using your lot. That’s not an issue but we really want to give the money to charity. It’s Christmas.” Stoker lowered and shook his head. “I’m not certain if that made any sense at all.”

Reaching out, the man placed a shaking hand on Stoker’s arm. “Son, you gave me one of the only smiles I’ve had in a long time.”

“Really?” He dared look the quiet man in the eyes.

“I’ll make you a deal. I’ll rent the lot to you and your team for one dollar, but there’s one condition.”

“You name it.”

“Will you consider saving me a tree? We can’t afford one this year. Would mean an awful lot to my boy.”

Stoker blinked back tears and he held out his hand. “You have a deal.” The moment they shook, he allowed the tears to flow. He reached into his wallet and pulled out a ten-dollar bill. “This is all I have.”

“Then I guess I owe you. I always pay my debts. Always.”

“I’ll take your word for that.” Grinning, he took several steps back, a smile crossing his face. As he was about to turn around, he noticed a small face in the window, his tiny hand plastered against the glass. He managed to make it to the truck before dropping his head and weeping.

A little boy. A very sick young child with little hope of a Christmas. Dear God, what a crock of shit.

Merry Fucking Christmas.