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so as not to wake Gran. “What do you need, Gramps?”
    “You know how your Gran loves the holidays. She took care of me—you too—that year I lay flat on my back with pneumonia. Now it’s my turn to lift her up. I do believe a Christmas tree, with all of the trimmings, is in order. Would you head to Cutler Nursery and pick up one of their Frasier firs?”
    “I…” Her gaze drifted back to the magazine spread across her lap. Dillon’s photo stared back at her. Did he even remember that long-ago night when they’d shared cookies? Did he ever think of her ? There was only one way to find out. She nodded to Gramps as she closed the magazine and slipped it back into the basket. “Of course I will. I think that’s a great idea. We can decorate the tree when Gran wakes up. She’ll like that.”
    “Good. I’ll phone ahead then to let Hattie Cutler know you’re coming that way. She’ll have one of her sons waiting on you to load the tree into the truck after you make your selection.”
    “Big, small, or something in between…what do you prefer, Gramps?”
    “No preference. Let your heart be your guide. You’ll know when you’ve found the right one.” He winked, his rheumy gray eyes twinkling with delight while his mottled pate, now completely bald, reflected muted light that filtered through the window. “And bring one of Hattie’s mistletoe wreaths, too.”
     
     
     
     

2
     
    Dillon hoisted a Fraser fir onto his shoulder and carried it over to the tree baler. A quick wrap of netting would render the tree ready for transport. Nestled safely in her mother’s arms a few yards away, little Tilly Parker drank in his every move with dancing blue eyes. The machine whirred and sang. Then Tilly giggled as Dillon grabbed the modest tree from the baler and carried it to an SUV where the back hatch stood wide as a yawning mouth. He slid the tree in over a tarp and gathered a length of yellow rope. A few knots through the bumper, and the fir was ready to go.
    “Thank you.” Joyce Parker nodded appreciatively as Dillon handed her a receipt for her purchase. Her auburn hair, once a fiery halo, had been trimmed to a short, spiky length since Tilly’s birth three years ago. “I appreciate the help since Kevin got caught up at work and couldn’t meet me. You’ve made Tilly’s night.”
    They’d been high school friends of his—Kevin and Joyce high school and college sweethearts, as well. The three shared a handful of adventurous memories and one best-forgotten scrape with the law.
    “My pleasure.” Dillon tweaked Tilly’s rosy nose and then adjusted her toboggan over ringlets of light red curls. “I suppose Santa will bring a load of gifts for you, Tilly, since you’ve been such a good little girl this year.”
    “Yes, sir.” She nodded. “’cept for pullin’ Cousin Billy’s hair.”
    “I don’t suppose Santa will hold that against you. You mind your mama now, though, and be sure to leave a few extra cookies for Santa’s reindeer, OK?”
    “I will. Thanks Mr. Dillon.”
    He waved them off and then turned as an older-model pickup pulled into the lot and jockeyed into a space along the fence. The truck could use some maintenance; the rattle of the engine echoed off the hills beyond and muffled the Christmas melody. No wonder; the vehicle was ancient. Maybe he’d suggest the driver run it by Gunnar’s garage for a tune-up.
    Floodlights, sensitive to the growing darkness, switched on as swollen snow clouds gathered along the horizon. At the nursery’s entrance, the tree that Maddie had decorated danced merrily with light . O Holy Night played over the loudspeakers and Dillon found himself humming happily along; the song remained one of his all-time favorites. With the dinner hour upon them, the nursery crowd had thinned significantly. Things would pick up again later that evening, providing the storm backed off, when families ventured beneath the moonlight to tree-hunt.
    The driver of the pickup