Shaking his head to get rid of those thoughts, Tanner muttered, “This is a video game, not a lesson in equal opportunity.”
“But it could be,” she said, arguing her point. “Oh, don’t get me wrong, I suppose every woman wants her white knight, whether she’ll admit it or not. But what happens when the brave menfolk aren’t around? Shouldn’t we be strong enough to save ourselves?”
His eyes locked onto hers as he tried to see past her interest in the game to what lay behind her words. Her eyes were soft, but with a shadow in them that looked a lot like old pain. Concern awakened inside him, pushing past the desire still choking him and he heard himself ask, “Speaking from experience? Has your own white knight let you down lately?”
Her smile faded abruptly and those shadows in her eyes darkened before sliding into the background. “I don’t have one. A knight, that is. Not anymore.”
Pain flickered on her expression and then disappeared again so quickly Tanner wasn’t entirely sure he’d seen it at all. But whether he had or not, she clearly didn’t want to discuss it and he knew better than anyone how it felt to want to keep your private life private. So he let it go.
For now.
But he knew that sooner or later, he would want to know what—or who—had hurt her. What he didn’t know was why he needed to know.
“Okay then,” he looked back to the sketch in front of him and asked, “So how do you see Lady Gwen escaping on her own?”
“It has to be impressive…”
“Oh,” he said, “naturally.”
If she heard the sarcasm in his tone, she ignored it.
“What if Lady Gwen is a sorceress? What if she breaks through the portal by wielding a spell that draws on her knight’s love for her?”
Tanner thought about that for a moment, then turned back to his sketch pad, his mind alive with ideas. Quick strokes became a drawing rich in detail in no time at all and before he knew it, he and Ivy were brainstorming solutions that were nothing short of brilliant.
He was so caught up in what they were creating together that when she leaned in close again, he almost avoided getting lost in her scent again.
Almost.
“We’re nearly finished with the shearing, Ivy.” Dan Collins swung one arm out and indicated the back half of the acreage. “We’ve got a couple teams back there right now.”
Ivy frowned a little and squinted out at the trees. It was hard to concentrate on what Dan was saying because she was so exhausted it felt as though there was a fog hanging over her brain. Hadn’t gotten much sleep the night before. Mainly because after she’d left Tanner’s house, her mind had been so full of him, she hadn’t been able to close her eyes without seeing his image.
She’d had a good time with him, darn it. She hadn’t counted on actually liking the man. And now she was feeling guilty. He was being…nice. And she was lying to him. Tricking him.
“Ivy?” Dan laid one big hand on her shoulder and asked, “You okay?”
“Yeah,” she said, forcing a smile, “I’m fine. Just tired.”
“Not surprising since you’re running back and forth between the farm and the rich guy’s place. You sure working for him is a good idea?” In his fifties, Dan looked at her as one of his own kids. He’d been working at the tree farm since before Ivy was born and he knew the place—and her—very well. “You’re burning your candle at both ends and in the middle. Girl, you can’t run the farm and the gift shop during the day and work for King at night without wearing yourself out.”
“I’m fine,” she insisted, tipping her head back to let the sunshine beat against her closed eyes. “Really, Dan. You know why I’m working for him.”
“I do, but that doesn’t mean I like it.”
“Now you sound like Mike.”
“Smart man.”
She tipped her head to one side, opened her eyes and grinned up at Dan. “You two are peas in a pod. I swear I don’t know why Pop’s worried about leaving me as long as you’re around.”
But he didn’t smile as she’d hoped. Instead, worry lines dug themselves more deeply into the furrow between his eyes.
“We got a right to be worried. All of us. That King fella could make us some serious trouble.” His mouth worked as if his words tasted bitter. “All the complaining that man’s done about the farm, it’s only a matter of time before he does something bigger. Like a lawsuit or something.”
Just what Ivy had been worrying about before she’d actually met Tanner. Now, she wasn’t so sure.
“I don’t think he will,” she said, wondering if that was merely wishful thinking. “But turning down the volume on the music can’t hurt.”
He scowled and shook his head. “Who doesn’t like Christmas music? I want to know.”
Ivy laughed and tucked her arm through his as she started leading him off in the direction of the shearing crew. “It’ll all work out, Dan. Once we pull off the big wedding, we can take care of the more immediate payment. And with the extra money I’m making now, the two weddings we just booked and the birthday parties we have scheduled, I can pay off the bank loan that much sooner and we can continue the expansion.”
“I just don’t like seeing you work yourself into the ground is all,” he muttered.
“I’m fine. Honestly. Now,” she said firmly, shifting the subject back to business, “I know we should have had the last of the trees shaped by the first of July, but with things as busy as they are…”
Dan slid into the new conversation gratefully. “Doesn’t matter, really. We’ve got time. The ones we’re working on now won’t be up for purchase until next year anyway.”
Ivy listened, and inspected the trees they passed along the way. The annual shearing was a big job, but it had to be done and at the right time, too. The idea was to cut off new growth as soon as it was developed—before it had a chance to get tough and woody. Shearing controlled the shape and density of the trees themselves.
Took a lot of work to get that perfect, proportional Christmas tree shape. And some of the guys who worked for Angel tree farm were downright territorial over the shearing process. Some preferred working with the Scotch pines and a couple thought the Douglas fir, that didn’t really require shearing, was the better tree anyway.
But, Ivy thought, that’s why Angel trees offered a choice. Everyone had their own idea of the perfect Christmas tree. To her though, they were all perfect.