Inheritance for Christmas (Holly Ridge Christmas #1)

8. Blake

8

BLAKE

I lead the Kinrades out toward the forest, Mrs. Kinrade rambling on about the tragedy of Mr. Dawson’s passing as her husband lingers back to look around with far too much interest. He’s making me nervous, particularly when Avery follows us outside with the other family.

What are they doing here?

From the second they walked into the store, I sensed that they weren’t here for a Christmas tree.

“I didn’t realize you had an interest in this place, Blake,” Mrs. Kinrade says as we wander deeper into the forest, a toboggan between us. I glance back again, ensuring Mr. Kinrade is still with us, and Avery isn’t far behind. At the same time, I don’t want Avery within earshot. I suspect that this conversation isn’t one she’s going to want to hear.

“I’m helping out Mr. Dawson’s granddaughter. She owns the farm now,” I explain.

“Isn’t that sweet of you?” she purrs, placing a gloved hand on my arm. “You’re always such a helpful guy, Blake. That’s why we like you so much. I was just saying to Mark that we should call you to do some more work on our property again soon. Everything you touch always turns out top-notch.”

I grimace and quicken my step. This couple makes me uneasy, and not just because of their indecent amount of wealth.

“This is a lot of land,” Mr. Kinrade announces, joining us. It’s the first thing he’s said since arriving, but I still exhale with relief now that he’s at our side again. I don’t like him out of my sight.

“Over a hundred acres,” I reply.

“Kind of a waste for just Christmas trees, isn’t it?” Mr. Kinrade chortles. “What kind of fools grow pine trees for a living?”

His wife casts him a reproving look, but Mr. Kinrade has no shame.

“I’m just saying, it’s a prime piece of land,” he adds quickly. “I can think of much better uses for it.”

The Kinrades don’t technically live in Holly Ridge, their estate on the outskirts of the county, straddling the city almost fifteen miles outside of town. I did some work for them over a year ago on that overwhelmingly large property, but they find themselves in town occasionally, usually when Mark Kinrade catches whiff of some investment he wants to sink his claws into. And I fully suspect that’s what he’s doing here right now. Everyone knows who they are, simply because they have more money than everyone in Holly Ridge combined.

“What?” Mr. Kinrade demands when his wife continues to scowl at him. “I can think of better uses for it!”

“Like what?” I ask, curiosity getting the better of me.

He stops in the snow, surprised by my question. His dark eyebrows shoot up into his black cap. “Why? You have some kind of stake in this property?”

“Oh, Mark,” his wife grumbles. “Can we ever just go out and enjoy ourselves for once without it turning into a business transaction?”

He ignores his wife and fixates on me. “Well?”

“I’m just asking,” I answer evasively. “What would you do with the property if you had claim to it?”

He studies me, and through my peripheral vision, I see Avery and the family turn down one of the row of spruces and out of view for the moment. I breathe easier, relieved she won’t overhear the discussion.

“Oh, I don’t know…” Mr. Kinrade drawls cockily. “I haven’t given it too much thought yet.”

Mrs. Kinrade grunts and wanders off, leaving us to chat for a moment, shaking her head as she mutters something about “talking business during Christmas.”

“This area will be expanding eventually,” he continues, paying no attention to his wife. “This land will be worth a great deal in the next ten to fifteen years, and I’m always in the market for good real estate.”

“Is it worth something now?”

Mr. Kinrade purses his lips. “Are you willing to sell it now?” He’s almost salivating at the prospect, and I realize he hasn’t come here for a tree at all.

“How much is it worth?” I press, wanting numbers before I tell him that I have no say in the property.

“I would need to have it appraised,” he answers, but I suspect he already has a value in his head. “But let’s be honest, is this farm actually turning a profit as it is?”

“Blake?” Avery’s voice rings out across the trees, and I back away from Mr. Kinrade.

“I’ll be back,” I promise him.

“Don’t bother,” the man tells me. “We can see ourselves out. You have my number if you want to talk seriously.”

“Blake? I need help with this, please?” Avery calls out again. Smothering a sigh, I hurry to assist her, my mind whirling with the potential offer. Mark Kinrade could give Avery a graceful out if she wants to take it.

I find her standing next to a blue spruce, halfway through the trunk with the saw. Sweat beads at the line of her wool cap, and I smother a grin.

“Allow me,” I say graciously, taking the tool from her hands.

The family titters appreciatively as I bow down to finish the job, and Avery shakes her head in embarrassment. “One of these days, I’ll get the hang of it,” she vows.

“Then you’ll have no use for me,” I reply lightly, toppling the tree. I hurry to retrieve the toboggan, and we all lug the pine back toward the store, the kids bursting into a rendition of Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer as they pelt snowballs at one another on the way. Their parents scold them as Avery and I linger behind with the tree. We walk slower on purpose.

“Are you okay?” she asks, glancing at me.

“Hm? Yeah, why?”

“You’re quieter than usual. What happened to your friends?”

Heat spikes through me, and I look over my shoulder, wondering if the Kinrades are still wandering through the forest.

“Something came up. They’ll be back another day.”

“Who are they?” she asks me bluntly. It’s my opportunity to tell her the truth about Mr. Kinrade’s offer, but I can’t bring myself to do it. I shouldn’t have even discussed the potential sale of the farm with him.

“The Kinrades. They’re a couple I did work for a year or so back. They’re very wealthy.”

I don’t know why I added that. Maybe I felt the need to give her some inkling of what they were doing here.

We arrive at the storefront, and I take the toboggan to the waiting car, loading the tree onto the tailgate of the family’s pickup.

“Thank you! We love your farm,” the wife tells us before she climbs into the passenger side. “You and your wife have such a beautiful place. We’re going to tell all our friends to come.”

My jaw slacks as they drive off, heat creeping up the back of my neck.

“You okay?” Avery calls out to me from the doorway of the store. “You’ve been standing there for two minutes, staring at nothing.”

I spin around and look at her, shaking off the woman’s words with a sheepish grin. “I… yeah,” I chuckle. “I’m good. Are you about ready to close up?”

She nods, her exhaustion shining through as I head inside to help her cash out and turn off the lights.

We make our way back out into the parking lot. The scent of pine lingers in the crisp winter air. I glance at Avery, whose cheeks are already flushed from the cold, a stray strand of red hair escaping from under her knit hat, drifting lazily across her face.

“It was a good day,” she tells me. “And I think I’m getting a handle on the saw. Get it? Handle?”

She nudges me, and I snicker. “Your dad jokes are terrible.”

“I learned them from you.”

“ My dad jokes are terrible,” I correct myself.

She snorts, and the sound makes me laugh.

“You know,” I tell her, breaking the comfortable silence. “As business continues to grow, families should be cutting down their own trees. That’s how your grandpa did it. There are enough saws to lend to anyone who doesn’t want one of the pre-cut trees.”

Avery tucks the red strand of hair that came loose back into her hat as she eyes the farm. “I know. It’s just that with so few customers, I want to offer the best customer service I can.”

I nod, watching her expression. “And if you’re going to keep the farm, you really need to learn how to use the chainsaw. The hand saws are great—especially for families who want the experience—but they’re not efficient if you want to cut down as many trees as you need.”

She lets out a small sigh, her breath curling into the air. “I know,” she murmurs, her eyes meeting mine for a moment before glancing away. “Thank you so much for all of your help with everything so far.”

I offer her a reassuring smile. “You’ve got this.” But the words feel empty as they leave my lips.

“Are you sure you’re okay, Blake? You seem a bit distracted since that couple came in.”

I gnaw on the insides of my cheeks, a hand reaching up to touch her face gently. “How well do you remember my dad?”

She appears baffled by the unexpected question. “I… I mean, I remember he used to help my grandad out a lot here. He was really nice to me. Why?”

“Do you know much about his dealings around town?” She stares at me blankly, and I sigh. “No, I guess you wouldn’t. I didn’t, either, until he died.”

Frowning, she waits, and I struggle with the next words. This isn’t something I want the world to know, but Avery isn’t the world, and I know she won’t judge me for it. All the same, it’s humiliating, and I wish I didn’t have to tell her.

“Dad lived well above his means,” I explain tersely. “He racked up credit card debt in the tens of thousands, not to mention outstanding utility bills and other things. He owed money all over town, including to vendors and suppliers—it took me years to sort out the mess he left behind after he died. And it’s still not sorted. I’m still getting random bills in his name.”

Shock pales Avery’s already fair complexion. “Oh, Blake…”

“I don’t know how it happened. He hid it from me. We never went without food or a place to live or anything like that. He must have just let it get out of control, but it was ugly, and it fell on my head when he passed.”

“That’s awful, Blake, I’m so sorry.”

I press my lips together and look down, dropping my hand away from her face. “That’s why I worry about you so much,” I conclude quickly. “I’m scared that you’re going to get in over your head here, with all this.”

Avery shakes her head vehemently. “I would never let that happen!” she vows. “I have a plan to get back on track.”

I swallow, realizing that she’s not going to hear me out. She’s far too determined to hold on to the land.

“Okay,” I agree simply.

She throws her arms around my neck and hugs me tightly. “I really am sorry that happened to you, but you don’t need to worry about me. I can take care of myself. And you need to stop working for free, okay? I never meant to put you in an awkward position or make you feel like you were bailing me out. That’s not what this is.”

“I don’t,” I answer quickly, but even as I say it, I’m not sure that’s true.

She releases me and offers me a nervous smile. “Let’s go back to my place, and I’ll make dinner. Then we’ll do that walk in the park. This time, I promise to bundle up properly.”

“Sounds like a plan.” I won’t tell her about Mr. Kinrade’s offer. The farm isn’t mine, and it’s not my place. It’s clear that Avery doesn’t want to sell. I shouldn’t have inserted myself in the first place.

Business has been getting better. Maybe there is hope for the future. Avery isn’t my father, after all.

But why can’t I shake the feeling that history is bound to repeat itself here?

The holiday light display is in a full glow at Holly Ridge Park as we enter near the skating rink. A few lovestruck teenagers skate hand-in-hand over the oval rink, ignoring us completely. Avery and I exchange a knowing look as they giggle, tripping over one another, catching each other before they can crash into the side.

We head up toward the fully lit walking trails, past the dog park, taking in the illuminated penguin and polar bear figures accented against the white landscape. A series of yaps echoes through the darkness toward us, followed by a familiar voice.

“Handyman! Avery!”

We turn to see Edna Monroe sauntering toward us, several leashes in her hand as she leans over the gate of the enclosure.

“She’s everywhere, isn’t she?” Avery murmurs in awe. “It’s like there’s six of her or something.”

I snort, and we amble closer to the old lady. “Cloned Ednas. Now that’s a terrifying thought.”

A black cap contrasts her silver crown of hair, making her seem like some kind of cat burglar in a crime novel.

“Good evening, Edna,” I call out.

“Is it Edna again?” she taunts me.

“Aren’t we on a first-name basis?” I quip back. “I thought we were friends now.”

“Is your first name ‘Handyman’?” Avery asks innocently.

I roll my eyes, and Edna smirks, dropping her elbows over the crisscrossing wooden posts. Two of her dogs weave around her legs, panting excitedly, a ball dropping by her feet. She pauses to pick it up and throw it for them, and the mutts rush off to chase it.

“Did you two get married?” she asks.

I start to cough as Avery chokes and sputters.

“What?” we demand in unison.

“No!” Avery adds, her voice raising an octave. “Of course not. You know we didn’t. Why would you even ask that?”

Edna leans in as if she’s telling us a secret, and my stomach knots, a peculiar feeling rushing through me at her expression.

“Rumor has it that Mark Kinrade is in negotiations with the owner of the Christmas tree farm for purchase,” Edna says bluntly.

The uneasiness hatches into full-fledged anxiety as Avery draws back to look at me and then back at Edna.

“I… I don’t understand,” she says slowly. “What? Who?”

“Apparently, Mark Kinrade has been talking to the owner of Holly Forest Christmas Tree Farm about buying the land,” Edna says again. She looks pointedly at me. “You, handyman. He’s in negotiations with you.”