Embracing the Quiet Night: A Missoula Smokejumper's Christmas (Missoula Smokejumpers Book 1)

by Piper Stone

  “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.

  Chapter 3

  “Jessica! Can I have your autograph?” The young girl held up a black and white photograph and a pen, her hand shaking.

  Jessica stopped short and turned. Seeing a group of ten standing in front of the building, all wearing eager and star-struck expressions, she was taken aback. She’d been approached several times during her trip to California and every time, the moment surprised the heck out of her. “Of course, you can. Who can I make this out to?”

  “Remember, we are short on time,” Mr. Gillespie whispered as he took Jessica’s arm.

  “These are my fans!” Jessica shot back, her smile remaining. “I am taking the time.”

  He held up his hands and took a step back. “Certainly.”

  Tanya shook her head and crowded closer. “I think we have a few tee-shirts!”

  Jessica had no idea where all the promotional items had come from, but she had learned to trust and even like Tanya more than anticipated.

  “Susie! I’m your biggest fan,” the young girl squealed along with her companions.

  “To Susie then.” Jessica spent a solid five minutes signing various stock photos while camera phones clicked, and Tanya gave away several souvenirs.

  “We really do need to go,” Mr. Gillespie encouraged.

  Huffing, Jessica nodded. She was well aware of her increasing duties, but at least, for the most part, she was back in charge. “Thank you, everyone! Look for the new CD in late January.” She resisted giggling as she was led into the building. During the early days of Fringe, the band had been swarmed by fans at every location. Celebrity status certainly didn’t last long. She’d learned that the hard way and her bank account continued to suffer because of her poor financial decisions. The reality of stardom? Not for the faint of heart.

  “You are stunning, Jessica, and exactly the kind of look I think you were going for.” Mr. Gillespie placed his hand behind her back and walked her down a long hallway. “I’m extremely pleased with what we’ve been able to accomplish. The buzz is fantastic, and the new guitar player fits right in with the group. I actually like your ideas.”

  Jessica exhaled and stole a quick glance down at her black jeans and cowboy boots. The last few days had been nothing but a whirlwind of activity but there’d been no makeover events. In fact, after her rather haughty outburst, she’d been chased into the elevator by Mr. Gillespie himself, begging her to stay. He’d agreed to the use of her previous manager and had thrown Dagger out of the office. Johnny Winston was much better suited to the group and while the newcomer didn’t have the same pedigree as any of the other suggested musicians, he had heart and a kick ass string guitar. The other requests had been countered, but in the end, she’d gotten her way.

  “Don’t look so worried. You’re a natural at this.”

  She was still out of her element, grateful but apprehensive about the next few steps. “What is this interview again?”

  “Billboard Magazine and you’re being interviewed by them on the local news station as well. We were lucky. Aerosmith cancelled on them. You’ll do great.”

  She sucked in her breath, her nerves on edge. Billboard. Well, the record company was making good on all of their promises. She’d been through a half-dozen interviews since Sunday and had the questions almost memorized. No one was thinking outside of the box. “I’m ready.” Like hell she was.

  “Yes, you are. We’re right in here. Oh, there’s one thing I need to talk to you about,” he said as he gripped her elbow.

  “What?”

  “We need more time in the studio with Johnny. If we can get in several practices as well as recording the last two tracks, I won’t need to have you out here after Christmas, at least not right away.
”

  “So, what are you saying?”

  Mr. Gillespie offered a smile. “We’d like you to extend your stay through the twenty-second. I’ll have you on a plane on the twenty-third, just in time for Christmas.”

  Blinking, her mind immediately went to what Stoker would think. While she hadn’t called him, she was looking forward to leaving in the morning, rekindling their relationship. “That’s asking a lot.”

  “Miss Dunn. You’re needed on the set,” the voice came after a door opened.

  “She’ll be right there,” Mr. Gillespie said, the tone commanding.

  “Mr. Gillespie, I—”

  “Please call me Mark. I think of my father every time you say that.”

  “Mark, you don’t understand. This is my first Christmas with my fiancé. We need to spend some time together. We’re planning a wedding.”

  “Well, I certainly hope that will be around your tour dates,” he said as he laughed.

  Wincing, she felt a beat of perspiration sliding down the back of her neck.

  “I was kidding. I want you to have a life. You made it very clear to the entire Board how important your life in Missoula is. I’ve been meaning to mention that we’d like to do a special show from Missoula for the CD release. Something to think about anyway.”

  She nodded, her mind swirling. This wouldn’t bode well in anyone’s book.

  “Sir, I’m sorry to interrupt, but we need her on set, now.” The freckle faced young man huffed and pointed to his watch.

  “Can we talk about this later?” she asked as she ground her teeth.

  “Of course, my dear. We’ll chat on the way to the pre-release party. Go inside and relax. You’re going to be a star.”

  Jessica watched as he walked away, whistling a holiday tune as if he hadn’t just fucked up her entire life. No matter what her decision, she’d made up her mind to call Stoker right after the interview. He deserved at least that much.

  “I’ll take you inside, Miss Dunn,” Tanya said as she pointed toward the door. “You have ten minutes for makeup and hair.”