The Asheville Christmas Tradition (Carolina Christmas #4)

6. Hannah

As the school bus chugged up the side of Copper Creek Mountain, patches of snow grew thicker from the dustings they’d had every day this week.

“More snow than I expected.” Amy, a first-time chaperone, inched down to get a better look out the bus window next to Hannah.

“Which is perfect,” Hannah told her. “You might think the trees are the highlight of the Christmas tree farm field trip, but trust me, it’s the snow tubing at the end.”

“Oh? I doubt Riley will do that.” She tipped her head toward the shy little girl across the aisle. “Unless I do it with her.”

“You can. The students go down the slope in pairs, but…” She lifted her brow. “I’d sooner run screaming naked down the side of the mountain than tube. But the kids love every second.”

She turned from her seat to check out the twenty-seven little passengers, plus three parent chaperones.

Chaos mostly ruled the day, with lots of noise, laughter, and a hum of excitement louder than the motor working its best to make it up the side of the mountain.

“Is this safe?” the woman next to her asked, concern in the young mother’s eyes as the bus took one of the famous hairpin turns that got them near the top.

Hannah lifted her brow with a wry smile. “The bus? Absolutely. The kids? If they follow the rules. The adults? We’ll need wine tonight,” she joked. “But don’t let that stop you from chaperoning, Amy. We need all the parents we can get.”

“I should have done this sooner,” Amy said. “Riley missed me so much at the pumpkin patch in October, I realized it was more important than work.”

“You’ll love it,” Hannah promised. “This field trip is always a blast for the kids. They get to see at least one tree chopped down by Harry Fletcher, the owner, and he gives them a wonderful tour. They’ll get hot chocolate and pizza, run around until they’re exhausted. Then—the highlight of the day—they get in an inner tube and fly down the back hills of the farm.”

“It sounds wonderful,” Amy said.

Wonderful? It usually was. But this year? The trip felt more like a chore.

Taking a deep breath, she eyed the weathered sign that said Fletcher’s Farm, a landmark that had been here as long as she could remember to mark the entrance to what everyone called “the Christmas tree farm.”

“Oh, we’re here.” She stood and tried to get the childrens’ attention. “Ready or not, it’s field trip time.”

When nothing changed or maybe got louder, she clapped a few times, calling, “Class! Class!”

Failing that, she lifted both hands and put them on her head, ballerina-style, and opened her mouth to bellow, “Hands on top, everybody stop!”

Almost everyone did stop, then imitated her pose. All but Nicholas Venema and Daniel Duncan, who were in the last row, howling with laughter and jabbing each other. She took a few steps down the aisle, eyes on her most behavior-challenged duo.

“Nick, Dan. We’re waiting for you.”

The boys exchanged a look, rolled their eyes, and raised their hands with half-hearted enthusiasm.

“Boys and girls, we have arrived at Fletcher’s Farm,” she told them once she didn’t have to yell. “And we have a very exciting day planned.” She waited through a soft rumble of response. “We’re going to tour the farm, watch a tree being cut down?—”

“With a buzzzzzz saw!” Nick hollered, getting the expected response—all of the kids in the class buzzing like noisy bees.

She waited through that, too, throwing a wry look at one of the chaperones. After a minute, she put one finger to her lips and gave her sternest look. Most of them settled down.

“Before we get the tour, before we get hot chocolate and pizza—” She held up her hand to stop the cheer. “And if you want to go snow tubing…”

She couldn’t stop that cheer, but let out a sigh and a laugh, knowing some joy couldn’t be contained.

“We are going to follow the rules!” she exclaimed. “And that means when you hear my instructions, you obey them.”

They finally quieted so she could finish the speech. “If you want to go snow tubing,” she said, softly enough that they had to be still to hear her, “you will not let go of your partner’s hand. You will not go anywhere alone. You will not touch anything without permission, and you will not use any language or actions that offend your friends or our hosts.”

Behind her, she heard the bus doors open and a footstep, knowing Harry Fletcher must have arrived. She didn’t want to turn and lose their attention, but a few of them were already staring at the new arrival.

“Boys and girls, we will be kind, we will be mindful, we will be respectful, and then we will…” She gave them a look they all knew and got a chorus of, “Have fun!” in response.

“Now, this farm is privately owned and also functions as a community farm, and that will be explained to you by a man named Mr. Harry and…” She turned, ready to introduce the older man who always made the day so special. “He is…”

Not Harry Fletcher.

She blinked in surprise at a man she’d never seen before leaning over the railing, his arms crossed as he braced himself and listened with more attention than any of these kids were giving her.

He wore a red-checked flannel shirt that pulled over broad shoulders, with silky brown hair that brushed the collar and fell over his brow. Piercing blue eyes pinned her with a gaze of interest, amusement, and warmth.

“Hello,” she said, her voice suddenly tight. “Are you going to give the tour today?”

“I am,” he said, coming up a step to fill the space on the bus with what had to be a six-foot frame. “But I’m not Harry, so sorry to disappoint.”

Disappointment would not be her first response.

“That’s…fine,” she said. “And you are…” Also fine.

“Harry’s son and replacement,” he supplied. “He sent me to stand in and—I’m quoting him—‘delight’ the children.”

“That sounds like Harry,” she said, offering her hand. “I’m Hannah MacPherson, the teacher.”

“Brandon Fletcher, the tour guide.”

Brandon Fletcher. She’d heard that name before, hadn’t she? Well, if he was Harry’s son, that made sense.

Before she gave it more thought, his smile grew, which gave him—no, that wasn’t a dimple. It was a scar right along the side of his mouth, jagged, curved, and a shocking imperfection on an arguably perfect face.

As they shook hands, the noise on the bus grew, forcing her to turn to the chaos behind her. Nick and Dan were snickering, and a few of the kids were already standing up.

“Hey, hey,” she called, but things only deteriorated. With three loud claps, she called out and held up three fingers. “One, two, three!” She brought her hand down to point to her face. “Eyes on me!”

That always worked and today was no different, and sudden silence reigned. Thank goodness, since she wouldn’t want to look like an incompetent teacher in front of…

She glanced over her shoulder, but the good-looking tour guide had disappeared out the bus door. She flicked her hand to the first row, giving them permission to rise and leave the bus.

“Hold your partner’s hand,” she instructed the second row. “Line up outside the bus.”

She couldn’t help looking out the window, scanning the group for the flannel shirt-wearing Brandon Fletcher. He certainly made the trip less of a chore.

“You two behave today,” she said as Nick and Dan lollygagged, last in line. “No shenanigans today.”

“No she what agans, Ms. MacPherson?” Nick joked, his eyes dancing with the spunk he could never hide.

She tapped his shoulder, laughing. “You heard me.”

They giggled their way off the bus, so Hannah grabbed her jacket and purse and stepped down. She instantly spotted Brandon making his way up and down the double row of children, arms locked behind him like a pretend drill sergeant.

“All right,” he called out to them. “We’re gonna have some fun today! Who likes fun?”

A cheer went up.

“You can call me Fletch but only if you know…how many days until Christmas?”

He got about twenty different shouted responses, only a few with the correct number, which, for some reason, cracked him up.

“And who has been very, very good and will not make an appearance on the naughty list?” he asked, his magnetic presence somehow calming all the ants in their pants.

Every arm shot up. Well, except Nick and Dan, who poked each other and instantly got Brandon’s attention.

“Coal for you two?” he asked, stepping toward her only real behavior problems. And, honestly, they weren’t bad. Nick was super smart and always bored, and Dan loved to instigate trouble, but never anything serious.

Brandon leaned closer and had an exchange with the boys that Hannah didn’t hear, but Dan straightened and Nick’s eyes grew wide and he nodded fast. And both of them fell into line as the group started walking.

Hannah stayed close to the middle, watching Brandon lead the line like the Pied Piper.

“Fletcher’s Farm has been in my family for sixty-seven years,” he told them and, somehow, miraculously, they listened.

Taking a break from leading the class, she took a moment to consider this Brandon “Fletch” Fletcher.

She’d heard the name somewhere, yes, but how could she have been coming to this farm for years and never met Harry’s son? He looked to be in his mid-thirties and she’d lived on or around this mountain her whole life.

How could she not know him? She knew his father and mother and…didn’t he have an older sister who’d known Caroline?

But where had Brandon been all these years?

Her curiosity piqued, she stayed close to the kids and listened as he explained how the community aspect of the farm worked, that the locals were allowed to take a tree every year in exchange for planting a new one. She knew it was a wonderful way the Fletcher family had given back to the area for years, but still couldn’t imagine how or why they’d never met.

He walked them by the tiny trees in the “nursery,” making silly jokes about tree babies that the kids loved. And he grew more serious when he told them about the year they’d had a blight and lost all the trees.

“But now it’s time to cut down a tree! Who can yell, ‘Timber’ with me?”

The reaction was loud and instant, with twenty-seven little voices—and one booming above them all—calling out, “Timber!”

“All right, now, boys and girls. I want everyone way over there, lined up so you can see.”

His instructions were completely ignored as they danced around the tree, called, “Timber,” and pretended to fall, and Dan and Nick made the loudest chainsaw noises they could.

Over the much shorter heads, Brandon caught her eye and mouthed, “Help.”

With a smile and a nod, she gave a two-fingered whistle.

That quieted some of them, then she held up her fingers. “One, two, three! Eyes on me!”

Instantly, they stopped and locked their gazes on her, but the one she felt was Brandon’s. He looked impressed and, for some reason, that gave her a little thrill.

“Boys and girls, I want all of you to listen to Mr. Fletcher.”

“It’s just Fletch,” he said. “Or Brandon.”

Some of those locks tumbled with the humble shake of his head. “Mr. Fletcher’s my dad and he’s better at this than I am.”

She walked along the line of the kids. “Take the hand of the person next to you and make a line over there so you can see the tree coming down.”

Dan and Nick led the march into line, surprising her so much, she didn’t realize Brandon had come right up next to her.

“You’re good,” he whispered.

“I’m trained.”

He studied her for a minute as if he had more to say, but then a younger man who worked at the farm came bounding up holding a chainsaw. She stared at it, then at him.

“Your dad uses an old-school saw.”

“This is not my father’s tree cutting,” he said with a wink that really should have been illegal.

Illegal…because I have a boyfriend , Hannah reminded herself, stepping back to the kids.

“Everyone!” he called, tugging at the sleeves of his flannel shirt in a way that made him look well-built and masculine. Of course, he was both of those things.

“Stay back and get ready to yell!” he called to the kids.

Once again, her two most rambunctious students fell right into place and, in fact, instructed the others what to do. As she watched in amazement, Amy stepped up next to her.

“He’s cute, huh?” she whispered.

Hannah glanced at the chaperone, surprised and maybe a little guilty. Had she been ogling the tree farmer?

She gave the most casual wave of her hands that she could manage. “He won’t be if a tree falls on one of these kids.”

Amy chuckled. “That tree’s not big enough, but I love how he’s making the kids think it’s a huge deal.”

“He’s good with them,” she said.

“He’s also not wearing a wedding ring,” Amy teased. “And neither are you.”

Hannah let out a sigh. The words, “I have a serious boyfriend and I don’t notice other men,” were on her lips, but something stopped her from saying them. Something like…the fact that Hannah MacPherson didn’t lie.

Because she did notice Brandon Fletcher. Which basically made her human and female. Who could miss that smile made distinct by a crooked scar or those eyes the color of a Carolina winter sky or that long hair that fluttered in the wind like golden brown silk?

Yeesh. Hannah Jean MacPherson. Get a grip.

She managed to, but honestly, had she ever enjoyed watching a tree being chopped down quite this much?

“Did you get enough hot chocolate, Miss MacPherson?” Brandon Fletcher dropped into the chair across the café table and slayed Hannah with a sweet, semi-scarred smile. “It is Miss , right?”

Hannah looked up and managed to not react. She’d done such a terrific job of avoiding close contact with him through the rest of the tree cutting, the Q-and-A session, the short video and a long, noisy lunch. Now, the adults were in the café, looking out the windows at the kids who were running off their pizza and hot chocolate.

But here he was, unavoidably close.

“I did, and thank you. Oh, it’s Ms. Just… Ms , Mr. Fletcher.”

“It’s just Fletch, or Brandon. Whichever you prefer.”

She preferred not to be this close and tempted to flirt with him, but he seemed settled in and interested in talking.

“So, how’d I do?” he asked. “Can I replace Harry the Ham for the annual kids’ tours?”

She smiled. “Your father is irreplaceable, but you’ll do.”

“He has to be replaceable,” Brandon said with a quick smile. “Because he’s retiring after this Christmas and you, Ms. MacPherson, are looking at the third generation of Fletcher to run the joint.”

She inched back, surprised. “I didn’t know Harry was retiring.”

“They’re moving to Florida because my sister is having Baby Number Three, and the first two are small and wild. April needs help and the cavalry is on the way to Tampa and I’m taking over the family business.”

“Well, congratulations. Is that something you’re happy about?”

He tipped his head, then shifted his gaze out the window, looking at the farm and rolling hills. “It’s a big change, but one I’ve known my whole life I’d make.”

“What were you doing before?” she asked.

“Hockey,” he said.

She blinked at him, inching back, something way in the recesses of her brain coming back to her.

“Oh, oh!” She snapped her fingers as she remembered some family history she’d completely forgotten, and a vague memory of hearing one of Keith’s many hockey games on TV. “You’re that Fletch. I have heard of you! You played in the NHL.”

“Yep, that’s me.” He gave a toothy grin. “And before you ask, these pearlies are all mine.” He touched the jagged scar. “Puck hit me here once and gave me a ton of stitches, but I’m proud to say I never lost a tooth. Loosened a few, but not gone.”

“I was wondering why I’d never met Harry Fletcher’s son all these years.”

“Oh, we’ve met,” he said. “You’re Sonny MacPherson’s daughter, aren’t you?”

“Yes…I’m sorry, I don’t remember…”

“One year I was injured and came home for Christmas—it’s a holiday I frequently missed due to games—and you came and got a tree.”

“You remember that?” she asked, a little stunned.

“Yup. You were—um—with a guy, but I did notice how cute you are.” He winked again.

She felt a flush deepen her cheeks. “How long were you in the NHL?” she asked, digging for a natural question that couldn’t be construed as flirting back.

“I went to a sports training high school up in Vermont, then played in some smaller semi-pro leagues, then ended up playing for a few teams, finishing my career with the Pittsburgh Penguins.”

“Wow. I’ve never met a professional athlete,” she said, leaning back. “If the kids knew that? They’d go crazy.”

He waved off the comment. “Well, I already bribed Frick and Frack with hockey pucks if they fell in line.”

“Oh!” She let out a soft hoot. “Is that how you got Nick and Dan to behave? Well done, you.”

“I don’t know,” he teased. “Your ‘one-two-three-eyes-on-me’ trick is pretty effective.”

She laughed, a little flustered that he paid that much attention to her.

“Like I said, I’m trained,” she said. “And I’m happy to hear that the Christmas tree farm is staying in your family. Live trees from this place is a big tradition for people around here and, really, all through Asheville.”

He nodded, a glimmer of pride making his eyes even bluer. “My grandfather planted the first tree on the side of this mountain in the late 1950s. My dad has run the business since I was a kid. So now, these one hundred acres are my legacy.”

One hundred? She had no idea it was that big. “It’s an important business,” she said. “But I’m still surprised…”

“That I’d walk off the ice to be a tree farmer?” he chuckled as if he’d heard the comment many times before. “I always knew I was coming back, it was just a matter of when.” He leaned forward, his gaze so direct it curled her toes in her boots. “So, Hannah. I hope you don’t forget meeting me this time.”

As if she could. Unable to form a response, she searched his face, lost for a minute in the warmth of his gaze and the angles of his cheek and that curved scar.

And only then did she remember…Keith.

Holy moly—this is wrong .

She shouldn’t be staring at this guy, practically drooling in her hot chocolate. She should push away from the table, check on the kids, stop tempting fate.

Just then, the same young man who’d brought him the chainsaw saved her when he hustled up to the table.

“Snow tubes are ready, Fletch,” he said. “I’ll handle getting the kids out at the bottom if you can put them into the tubes. They’re little, so two at a time.”

“Let’s do it,” he replied, standing up and giving Hannah a look. “I could probably use a little of your teacherly discipline and rules at the top of the slope.”

She opened her mouth to say no, they’d be fine, but then she closed it again. Watching the children was her job. She’d just have to control herself from watching him .

“I’m happy to help,” she told him.

They rounded up the kids and marched them around a huge lot of trees and brought them to the top of an embankment. There, a few dozen oversized inner tubes were piled up at the top of a wide trench dug into a snow-covered hill.

After giving the kids instructions that they probably didn’t need, Hannah and Brandon faced each other at the top of the hill, ready to help place each team in a tube.

“One in front, holding the handles,” he said as he guided a little boy into the tube. “Another in back, arms around his waist.”

With the team loaded up, Brandon held the inner tube in place.

“Have you been naughty or nice?” he asked the two boys.

“Nice!” they both answered.

“Then have a nice ride!” He gave them a solid shove and got a noisy scream in response as the tube went flying side to side and down the hill, making Hannah laugh.

“Next!” she called to Layla and Corinne, two little besties who never parted.

“Climb up,” Brandon said, helping Corinne into the front and giving the giggling girls the instructions. “Now, what’s your favorite Christmas song?”

“‘Jingle Bells’!” Layla called out.

“Jingle bells, Santa smells, now you’re on your way!” he sang, then pushed the tube for a wild, loud ride.

Riley and her mother, Amy, were next.

“Can I go with my mommy?” Riley asked him shyly.

He grinned at her mother. “You’re in the back, Mom, and hang on.”

When they sat in place, Amy turned to Hannah and mouthed, “You gonna ride…or scream naked down the mountain?” she teased, then tipped her head toward Brandon. “I know which one I’d do.”

Laughing, Hannah gave her a shove without any fun Christmas questions and got a quizzical look from Brandon.

“Secret stuff,” she replied, making him chuckle.

The hilarity and screaming, the silly Christmas puns, and a barrage of jokes from Brandon continued until the very last two kids—Dan and Nick, naturally—went sailing down the track to the bottom.

“All right, Ms. MacPherson,” he said, reaching around for one more inner tube. “It’s our turn.”

“Us?” She practically choked the word. “Oh, no, I’m not. I can’t…I don’t want to.”

He leaned in, close enough that she could count every unfairly long lash around his eyes. “Are you scared, Hannah?” he whispered.

She couldn’t breathe. “Petrified,” she admitted on a whisper.

“Come on, just hold the handles…and I’ll hold you.” He reached for her hands and easily guided her onto the waiting inner tube, her heart pounding so hard she could barely hear what he said. Except the “I’ll hold you” part.

That she heard loud and clear.

“I’m really not a fan of?—”

“In you go!” And then her bottom was in the tube and strong, jean-clad legs were lined up next to hers and his arms were around her waist.

He gave a squeeze. “One, two, three…eyes on me.”

She looked up and over her shoulder, locking on his mesmerizing gaze, so lost in the momentary connection that she barely felt the inner tube tip and twist and twirl down the trench. The wind whipped her hair, and his, singing in her ears.

For the space of four or five heartbeats, she couldn’t think about anyone or anything but this moment and this man.

They hit the bottom with a thud and she scrambled onto the snow, pushing to get to her feet and, hopefully, hiding how much her whole body was trembling.

“Okay, kids, time to line up and get back on the bus!” she called out, waving her hands to get order but also to shake off the nerves that gripped her whole body.

Somehow, she managed to end the field trip, sit on the bus, and get them back to school. And the minute she was alone, she called Keith and left a message to say she wanted to plan a nice date, just the two of them, because…well, just because.

But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t forget what Brandon’s arms felt like when he took her on that ride. And she had to forget. She had to.