My Kind of Christmas Read online

  Gently, she untangled herself from his embrace. “Maybe we need to give this a rest for now,” she said. “What do you say we get that box and put it in my car?”

  It was as if his face had assumed a mask—the one he wore with strangers. “Message received and copied,” he said, picking up the flashlight and turning back toward the shed. Maggie had to stretch her legs to keep up with his long strides. Bucket frisked ahead of them, his white markings a beacon in the dark.

  Handing her the flashlight, he raised the edge of the tarp that covered the sleigh and lifted out the box. “Got it,” he said. “Let’s go.”

  “Why didn’t Conner want to give up the sleigh?” she asked against her better judgment.

  “You’ll have to ask Conner about that.” He waited while she opened the door of her Lincoln. Then he slid the box onto the rear seat. “You’re welcome to come back in. I know he’d like to thank you for the meal.”

  “No need for that. It was my pleasure. Here’s your flashlight.” They were behaving like polite strangers, speaking as if that blistering kiss had never happened. Maggie kept up the pretense as she closed the rear door and walked around the car to the driver’s side. Whatever she’d hoped to accomplish here tonight, she’d failed.

  “Good night, Travis,” she said. “Thank you for telling me about your father. I wish I could change things between the two of you, but I know better than to try. Only you can do that. I won’t trouble you again.”

  She slid into the driver’s seat. When she started the car and turned on the light, she saw that he’d stepped away and called Bucket to him, to make sure the dog stayed clear of the wheels.

  He stayed where he was, watching her, as she backed out of the gate and onto the road. Pausing to change gears, she gave him a casual wave, as if to say no hard feelings. He gave her a nod and a tip of an invisible hat before she pressed the gas pedal too hard and roared away.

  She wasn’t going to cry this time, Maggie told herself. She’d done all she could. Now it was time to walk away and leave Travis to pursue his own agenda. Unless Hank was willing to play Santa with Conner driving the sleigh, she would give up on that idea and look elsewhere. There was always another solution—that was what her father used to tell her. Somehow she would find it.

  As for Travis, she wouldn’t expect to see him again. The next time he came into town, he would likely leave her dishes on the front porch of her house, or maybe with the receptionist at work. But he wouldn’t stop in to say hello.

  And she could handle that, Maggie told herself. After all, she was a big girl. And big girls didn’t cry. Wasn’t that what the old song said?

  * * *

  Conner looked up from loading the dishwasher as Travis came back into the house. “Hey man, you were out there so long, I was hoping you’d gotten lucky. But you’re looking more like your grandma’s been arrested by the Border Patrol. What happened?”

  “You don’t want to know,” Travis growled. “And I don’t want to talk about it.”

  Conner shook his head. “I take it things didn’t go well with your sexy lady mayor. Too bad. She’s not only gorgeous, she’s one hell of a good cook.”

  “I said I didn’t want to talk about it. And since you like her so much, feel free to go after her yourself. If you’d offer to cozy up to my father and drive that sleigh in the parade, she’d probably be yours for life.”

  Conner added detergent to the dishwasher, closed the door, and started the cycle. “So that’s what this is about.”

  “It’s not what I want it to be about. But she won’t let it go. I’m done. She’s all yours.”

  “I doubt she’d have me. I’ve seen the way that woman looks at you.” Conner stifled a yawn. “Besides, once we get our Christmas tree business going, your father won’t want anything to do with either one of us.” He glanced at the box of paperwork he’d hastily stowed on top of the fridge. “So, shall we take up where we left off when lovely Maggie showed up?”

  Travis shook his head. “You’re running on caffeine and adrenaline. Get some sleep, or you’ll be worthless tomorrow.”

  Conner yawned again. “Sounds like a plan. Thanks for the welcome, friend. I mean it. You’ve saved my life, and I’m not going to let you down.”

  “Go on, before you get all mushy on me. You can have dibs on the bathroom. I’ll be awake for a while.”

  “Thanks. I mean it.”

  “Get some rest. I’ll wake you in time for chores.”

  After Conner had vanished down the hall, Travis walked out onto the front porch and stood at the rail. In the sky, the waxing moon drifted behind a thin veil of clouds. The ancient cottonwoods that lined the road stood bare against the sky. A dry wind rattled their branches and stung Travis’s face where he stood. No storm tomorrow. Good, he thought. He and Conner would have enough to do without battling bad weather.

  The business license application would need to be completed and turned in as soon as possible. But once it was in the hands of the county office, their plans would no longer be a secret. In a small town like Branding Iron, news traveled fast. It wouldn’t take long for word to reach Maggie, or even Hank.

  Then what?

  Maybe they should hold off a little longer, until their plans were in place. Lord, so many decisions.

  Christmas Tree Ranch.

  He liked the name—the sound of it, the way it rolled off the tongue, whispering of snow and sleigh bells and the scent of fresh pine. In prison, Christmas had been just another day. In his years as a patrolman, he’d always volunteered for work that day, giving the officers with families a chance to be home. This would be his first real Christmas since his boyhood.

  Not that it would be a traditional Christmas, with family opening presents around a decorated tree. That was something he might never have. But he had come to this ranch a year ago with nothing. If he could celebrate this Christmas with a successful business venture behind him, cash in his pocket, food on the table, and a friend to share it, he would call life good.

  As for the rest . . . Travis gazed down the road where Maggie’s Lincoln had long since vanished. He had never shared that early experience with his father. But something about Maggie’s warmth had prompted him to tell her, and to take her in his arms. The woman was as sensual as she was smart and classy. Her response to his kiss had shown him that much. But for anything more than a few cheap thrills, she was out of his league. The sooner he accepted that and moved on, the better off he’d be.

  Something pressed against his leg. Bucket had come onto the porch. Was it for company, Travis wondered, or just warmth? He reached down and rubbed the dog’s silky ears. The nights were getting cold, and the skunk smell had all but faded from his coat.

  Turning his back on the night, he walked to the front door and opened it. “Come on, boy,” he said, glancing back at the dog. “It’s all right.”

  The dog followed him into the house, glancing around as if to make sure he was allowed. In the back of the closet, Travis found an old blanket he’d used in his truck. Folding it to make soft layers, he placed it in a warm corner of the kitchen, near the stove. “Behave yourself, and it’s yours,” he said, giving the animal a stern look.

  Bucket walked over to the blanket, sniffed it, made a circle with his body, and closed his eyes.

  Travis turned off the light and went to bed.

  * * *

  With Thanksgiving just around the corner, the business application had been turned in and granted with surprising speed. So far there’d been no reaction from Maggie or Hank. But once the signs they planned to make went up along the highway, there were bound to be some fireworks. They would have to be ready.

  They’d also spent a grueling day clearing the old road that led from the ranch to the tree site, filling in potholes, digging out clumps of sage and prickly pear, and rolling away rocks. By the time it was done, they were sore, blistered, and filthy, but the rough road was now wide and solid enough to support the pickup.

  In
Cottonwood Springs, they’d found a shop that sold secondhand tools and bought a heavy-duty, gasoline-powered chain saw, as well as two smaller power saws, and some hand-pruning tools for trimming the trees. Another shop had a good deal on a two-wheeled cart that was light enough to be towed behind the ATV. Conner had splurged, paying five dollars for an old-style TV that worked in the shop, even though Travis had told him there was no cable service at the ranch. Never mind, Travis had told himself. If fiddling with the TV would keep Conner amused at night, what was the harm?

  At Travis’s suggestion, they’d stopped by a Christmas tree lot in Cottonwood Springs to check prices. Even trucked-in trees were expensive. For fresh-cut trees, they could charge even more. But how much would people be willing to pay, especially in Branding Iron? One more decision to make.

  They loaded up and headed for home with their purchases in the back of Travis’s pickup. The afternoon was gray and cold. Wind battered the side of the truck as they drove south, down the highway to Branding Iron.

  “Let’s pray for blue skies and sunshine tomorrow,” Conner said. “Trimming trees in this weather will be a bitch.”

  “We’ll do what we have to,” Travis said. “The other night I did some research on your laptop. Tree trimming is usually done a lot earlier, while the young trees are still growing, not when they’re big enough to sell. We’ll have to keep the trimming to a minimum—just lop off the limbs that spoil the natural shape. If we trim too much, our trees will look butchered—like a bad haircut.”

  Conner rested the boot of his good right leg on the dash. “This is getting damned scary,” he said. “We’ve got to open for business by next weekend, or by December first at the latest. And there’s so much yet to do—have you thought about it?”

  “I haven’t thought of much else,” Travis said. “We’ll need to buy lights for the house and yard and put them up. We’ll need stands for the trees, or at least some kind of rack to lean them against. We’ll need twine so folks can tie the trees to their cars. And most people will want to pay with credit cards. We’ll need a way to run them. I don’t know the first thing about that, do you?”

  Conner shrugged. “I guess we’ll just have to figure it out, or find somebody to ask. We’ll need Christmas music, too, and some kind of speaker to play it on, even if it’s just an old boom box.” He exhaled. “Lordy, what if we’ve bitten off more than we can chew? What if we do all this work and spend all this money, and all we end up with is a yard full of dead Christmas trees? What if everybody just goes to Hank’s because that’s what they’re used to?”

  “That’s not a question I wanted to hear,” Travis said. “But it’s worth asking. We need to offer them something they can’t get at Hank’s—or anywhere else. We need a reason for them to come to us.”

  Conner stared out the window for a few minutes. Then he lowered his boot from the dash. “This might be a crazy idea, but I’ll run it by you. I was thinking about those hayrides my grandpa used to give, singing songs and having cocoa after. What if we had a nice little campfire in the front yard, with hot chocolate and roasted marshmallows for people who come?”

  “I like that,” Travis said. “And I just thought of something else. We could have some cut trees in the yard, but if folks wanted the full experience, we could take them on the road to where the trees are. They could choose their own tree, and we could cut it down and haul it back with them on the trailer.”

  “Yeah!” Conner’s voice was charged with excitement. “We could use the ATV as a backup. But if it snows—really snows—we could use the sleigh. Imagine that! Horses, sleigh bells, snow, and Christmas trees! Too bad we let Maggie take that Santa suit.”

  Travis still felt a twinge at the mention of Maggie’s name. “It sounds like a grand idea,” he said. “But we’d have to charge extra to make it worth our time. And Branding Iron isn’t a wealthy town. I don’t know how many families would spend the money, especially if they’re already cash-strapped from buying presents.”

  “So we advertise in Cottonwood Springs,” Conner said. “There are plenty of folks there who could afford it and would drive half an hour to give their kids the experience. And we could hold a drawing in Branding Iron, with free rides as prizes. Another thing—once we get busy, we won’t be able to handle the operation by ourselves. If we hire a few high school kids to help out, we’ll get their families coming, and the word will spread. This is going to come together and work! It’s got to.”

  Travis nodded his agreement as they came into Branding Iron. He envied Conner’s enthusiasm—but then, Conner was a man whose idea of making a living was climbing onto a murderous, half-ton animal and trusting that it wouldn’t kill him. Even the fact that his last ride had crushed his body and ended his career had done little to dampen Conner’s sunny spirit.

  Comparing Conner’s background with his own was like comparing day and night. In his work as a patrolman, things were expected to go wrong. It had been his job to keep them from happening if he could, and to deal with them if he couldn’t. And in prison . . .

  But those three years were a closed door. He was a free man now, and he never wanted to think about them again.

  They drove through Branding Iron, passing Hank’s Hardware on the way out of town. The lights strung in the Christmas tree lot glowed in the twilight, where a few families were already checking out the trees. The scene only served to remind Travis of how far behind they’d already fallen in getting their own trees ready.

  They pulled into the yard and unloaded their purchases in the shed. Bucket, who’d been waiting on the porch, trotted down to greet them, then barked and ran to the pasture gate as if to remind them that it was time to bring the horses into the barn.

  “I’ll go with him and handle the gates,” Conner said. “You look dead on your feet.”

  Did he look that bad? Until Conner’s remark, he hadn’t realized how tired he was. He climbed the front steps, went into the house, and hung his coat on the rack. In the fridge, he found a cold beer and popped the tab. At least they’d filled up on burgers and shakes before leaving Cottonwood Springs. Nobody would feel like cooking tonight.

  Setting the beer on the table, he pulled his wallet out of his hip pocket and found the receipts for their day’s purchases, including gas for the truck. After smoothing them out, he opened the file drawer in his desk and slipped them into a folder. The business was going to need some kind of bookkeeping system, especially after the money started coming in—if the money started coming in.

  Money had been a worry ever since starting this venture. The trees were free. But everything else—the licensing fee, the tools, the trailer, the coming publicity, the endless small things they needed—they all added up. He and Conner had almost maxed out their credit cards, and they were just getting started. They would need a small miracle to keep them afloat until the trees were sold. But tonight he was too tired to think about it.

  Maggie’s clean casserole dish and salad bowl sat on the counter. The leftover food she’d brought was long gone. Travis had put off returning the dishes—partly because he’d been so busy and partly because of the awkwardness. Should he deliver them to her porch, or maybe her office, and leave without seeing her, or was he man enough to face up to the stunning redhead who’d returned his kiss and walked away?

  He glanced at his watch. It was early enough for a trip back to town. Maybe it was time he faced the music and returned Maggie’s dishes. If she wasn’t home, he could leave them on her covered porch. If she was, especially if she had company, he would thank her politely and go.

  Decision made, he put on his coat, picked up his keys and the dishes, and went outside to tell Conner he was leaving.

  Conner, with Bucket at his heels, was coming out of the barn, where they’d just put the horses away. When he saw the dishes in Travis’s hands, he grinned. “So you’re finally going to take those back. I’ve been waiting for that.”

  “I’m just returning them; that’s all. It’s not like I
’m going to stay and visit.”

  “Sure,” Conner teased. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of Bucket. And if you’re not back by bedtime, I won’t call nine one one.”

  Travis climbed into his truck without answering. He knew Conner was only having fun. But sometimes his jokes could be annoying as hell. Maybe because, deep down, Travis wished they had some basis in truth. Maggie had gotten to him as few women ever had. But he wasn’t into rejection, thank you. He would leave the dishes at her house, wish the lady a good night, and head for home.

  The night was getting darker, the wind stronger. Clouds raced across the face of the moon. Travis kept both hands on the wheel. He had felt nothing at the house, but now, as he drove, a strange premonition crept over him—a sense that something unforeseen was about to happen.

  Chapter 9

  By the time Travis pulled up in front of Maggie’s house, a fine sleet was peppering the windshield of the truck. Shadowed by the deep porch, the front window glowed with lamplight.

  Picking up the dishes, he climbed out of the cab and strode up the front walk. The wind tore at his jacket as he mounted the steps. Maggie wouldn’t be expecting visitors on a night like this. He didn’t want to startle her or make her uncomfortable in anyway. But his pulse quickened at the prospect of seeing her again.

  Don’t be an idiot, he told himself as he pressed a finger to her doorbell. Just give her the damned dishes and leave.

  He heard a stirring from the other side of the door and the metallic snik of the dead bolt sliding back. The door opened a few inches, then wider as she recognized him.

  “Come in, Travis.” She was dressed in black leggings and a baggy gray sweatshirt that had slipped off one shoulder, showing a lacy pink bra strap. “Here, let me take those.” She reached for the dishes in his hands. “I hope you didn’t drive all the way here in this weather just to return them.”

  “No,” Travis lied. “I just thought I’d drop them off on my way home. Sorry to be so long in getting them back to you.”