by Janet Dailey
“Well, here we are,” he said.
“Yes . . . here you are.” As Travis spoke, a scruffy-looking black and white dog jumped down from the cab, trotted over to him, and began sniffing his boots. Abner had said he was half Border Collie. The other half must’ve jumped over the fence.
“Looks like Bucket’s checking you out,” Abner said. “That’s a good sign. He doesn’t take to just anybody.”
“Why do you call him Bucket?” Travis shifted uneasily as the curious dog sniffed his way up his leg.
Abner shrugged. “He had that name when I got him as a pup. Don’t rightly know how he came by it, but it’s the name he answers to. He’s a right smart dog. You’ll see.”
“Listen up, Bucket.” Travis scowled down at the dog. The dog looked up, tail wagging expectantly. “If we’re going to get along, you’ll need to know whose place this is and who’s in charge here. Understand?”
Bucket gave a sharp little woof!
“Go on, now. Go chase a rabbit or something,” Travis said.
The dog’s tail went down. He trotted over to the newly straightened gatepost, sniffed at its base, and lifted his leg.
“See, he’s markin’ his territory,” Abner said. “I told you he was smart. I brought along a bag of food for him. I’ll leave it on the porch.”
“Fine,” Travis said. “Now let’s get those horses into the barn.”
Abner had mentioned that the gray Percheron geldings were big. “Big” was a gross understatement. They were gargantuan—almost six feet at their massive shoulders, each one appearing to weigh in at nearly a ton. Their shod hooves were the size of small dinner plates.
They would probably eat him out of house and home, Travis reflected as he took one of the lead ropes and followed Abner cautiously toward the barn. For all their massive size, the huge horses were calm and easy to handle.
They were a splendid pair, with their dappled coats and stately bearing. A white patch on the face of one horse made it easy to tell them apart. That one would be Patch. The other was Chip.
“Where did you get these horses?” Travis asked the old man.
“Raised ’em myself from babies,” Abner said. “That’s why I couldn’t stand the thought of leavin’ ’em for the slaughterhouse. Now you see why.”
“They’re amazing,” Travis said. “But I don’t have a clue what I’m going to do with them.”
“You’ll figure somethin’ out.” They led the horses into the stalls with hay and water. Travis turned away while the old man said a tearful goodbye to his pets. Then they walked out of the shadowy barn, into the sunshine. Bucket was nowhere in sight.
“I’ve got a box in the truck with their grooming tools and some tack,” Abner said. “I’ll leave it here, along with some money for extra feed—I want you to take it. I know those horses eat a lot.”
“All right, thanks.” Travis swallowed his pride. After all, he was doing the old man a big favor.
“There’s one more thing I need to leave,” Abner said. “I guess I should’ve asked you first. But I know you’ve got some empty sheds out back, and I can’t leave this to be hauled off for junk.”
Travis followed the line of the old man’s gaze to the canvas-covered object on the flatbed he’d towed behind the truck. It looked about the length of a compact car, only higher at one end. Maybe it was an antique. Travis might not know much about animals, but he did know cars. This one could be valuable.
“Let’s have a look,” he said.
Abner glanced at the sky, as if worried about the clouds drifting in from the west. “What do you say we haul it under shelter first? The flatbed goes with it. If you’ll point me to an open shed and guide me, I can back it in with the truck.”
“Wait a minute,” Travis said. “Is this something you’re coming back here for later? Am I storing it for you?”
Abner shook his head. “No—no, I’m giving it to you! I’ve got no more use for it.”
Travis had the distinct feeling that Abner was trying to put something over on him. Whatever was under that tarp, the old man wanted to make sure it wouldn’t be rejected and sent on its way.
But what did he have to lose by taking it? Travis reasoned. The worst it could turn out to be was a piece of junk that he’d have to haul away. And at least in that case the flatbed might come in handy.
“All right,” he said. “Pull the truck in and follow me.”
Beyond the barn was an open-fronted shed that would have once housed vehicles and farm equipment. It was wide and deep enough to accommodate Abner’s mystery object with room to spare. Travis stood to one side, guiding with hand and voice signals, as Abner backed the flatbed up to the rear wall. “That’s it . . . a little more . . . whoa!”
Grinning, Abner climbed out of the cab and walked back to unfasten the trailer hitch. Travis waited while he unhooked the clips that held the tarp in place. “Now you’re going to see something special,” the old man said.
Lifting the edges of the tarp with his hands, he swept it to one side with a flourish.
Travis’s jaw dropped. Whatever he’d expected to see, it wasn’t this.
On the flatbed, freshly painted in red and gold, stood a full-sized, old-fashioned sleigh.
Chapter 3
Travis stared at the sleigh. It was a stunning piece of work, beautifully detailed down to the polished brass trim and the gleaming runners. But what on earth was he supposed to do with it?
“Did you steal this from Santa Claus?” It was all he could think of to say.
Abner chuckled. “I built it myself, more than twenty years ago. It’s been the star of Branding Iron’s Christmas parade ever since. But in case you’re wondering, no, I didn’t need to steal anything from Santa Claus. I am Santa Claus.”
Was the old man delusional? Travis’s gaze took in the round, rosy face and twinkling blue eyes, the white stubble of a beard, his pudgy build. There was something Santa-like about Abner Jenkins. But Travis had never believed in fairy tales.
“Gotcha, didn’t I?” Abner was laughing. “No need to worry. I don’t fly through the sky delivering presents. But I’ve played Santa in the Christmas parade ever since I built the sleigh. It’s a big event. The whole town looks forward to it.” He studied Travis’s skeptical expression. “You’ve never seen the parade?”
“I didn’t bother to go last year. Before that I wasn’t here.” Travis didn’t bother to add that he’d been in prison.
Inside the sleigh, there were two bench seats—a small, plain one, set low and forward, which Travis guessed was for the actual driver of the sleigh. The elevated rear seat, which appeared to have been salvaged from a high-end automobile, would be where Santa could sit and wave to the crowds. A step made it easier for an old man to get up and down.
Abner beckoned Travis closer. “Here. Take a look at this.”
In the bed of the sleigh was a large, sturdy cardboard box. Opening the top, Abner lifted out a smaller box to reveal, beneath it, two sets of leather harness with collars, straps, buckles, and lines. The huge collars were trimmed with miniature brass bells. “For the reindeer,” he joked.
Travis didn’t have to be told that the old man’s “reindeer” were the two massive Percherons munching hay in the barn. The whole picture was beginning to make sense. But Travis still felt as if he’d stepped into a surrealistic dream. And somehow, he couldn’t seem to wake up.
“Patch and Chip have been pulling the sleigh for the past fourteen years,” Abner said. “If there’s no snow for the parade, the sleigh gets pulled on the flatbed,” Abner said. “When there’s enough snow for the runners . . .” Abner’s eyes took on a faraway look. “That’s when it’s like magic. The sleigh almost seems to fly. Now take a look at this . . .” He unfolded the flaps on the smaller box. Inside was a red velvet Santa suit, complete with gloves, boots, a belt, a hat, and a fake beard.
“I’ve worn these in the parade every year.” Abner dabbed at his eyes. “It makes me sad to think I’ve
done it for the last time.”
“Can’t you stay for the parade, or come back?” Travis asked.
“My kids won’t hear of it. They think being out in the cold might make me sick. So this gear is all yours now.”
“Wait a minute!” Travis reeled as if he’d been punched. “You’re not expecting me to play Santa Claus, are you?”
The old man surveyed Travis’s lanky six-foot frame and shook his head. “You’re too tall and skinny for the suit. You could always have it altered. But the important thing is that you have the Christmas spirit—that you really feel like Santa Claus.”
Travis shook his head. “No way in hell am I going to put on that suit and play Santa,” he said. “I’ll keep the suit for now, but believe me, I’m never going to wear it.”
Abner sighed. “Well, all right. If you don’t mind keepin’ it safe, I’ll let Maggie know you’ve got it. Maybe she can find somebody else for the job.”
“Maggie? Who’s that?”
“Maggie Delaney, the mayor. Tall redhead. A real looker, but too bossy for most men around here. Probably why she’s an old maid. You’d remember her if you’d met her.”
Something told Travis he already had. At least he knew why the big black Lincoln had been parked in the mayor’s slot. So much for old-fashioned male bias. Maybe if she came by, he could talk the sexy mayor into taking the sleigh and the Santa gear off his hands. She might even know somebody who could take the horses.
Abner turned and ambled back toward the truck. “Well, I guess I’ll be goin’. I’d say good-bye to old Bucket, but it looks like he’s already off explorin’ the new place. Give him a little extra attention, and he’ll be fine. Thanks again. Sorry we didn’t get to know each other better. You’ve been a true friend.”
Travis accepted the old man’s parting handshake. As he watched Abner drive out of the yard, a vague panic welled up inside him. At the start of the day, he’d had no worries except his own. Now he was solely responsible for the welfare of two horses the size of half-grown elephants and a mutt that seemed to have a mind all its own.
As the truck vanished toward the highway, he could hear the dog’s muffled bark coming from the rear of the house. Ignore it, he told himself. He’d agreed to feed and shelter the dog he still thought of as Abner’s. But he hadn’t signed on to babysit the fool creature. Bucket could take care of himself.
The barking continued, growing louder and more intense. Maybe the damned dog was in some kind of trouble. It might not be a bad idea to check.
Cursing, Travis followed the noise around the house. From the far side of the back porch, he glimpsed flying dirt and heard excited yips.
A few more steps and he could see a black rump and plumed tail sticking out from under the porch. Some creature must’ve taken refuge under there, and Bucket was going after it, digging like a machine. For a moment, Travis was tempted to let him dig. But whatever was under the porch could be nasty—a badger, maybe, or even a rattlesnake looking for a warm place to den up. It was time to step in.
“Come on, Bucket, that’s enough!” he said.
When Bucket didn’t respond, Travis seized him by the hindquarters and pulled. Bucket resisted, digging in with his paws. He wasn’t a big dog—forty pounds maybe—but he was stubborn and determined. Travis had to pull with all his strength. He was leaning back, tugging and cursing, when Bucket yelped and popped out of the hole. Travis lost his balance and stumbled backward, just in time to save himself.
From under the porch rose a foul, musky, nauseating cloud of stink. Travis choked and gagged. His eyes burned. The dog was rolling on the ground, rubbing his face and muzzle in the dirt. It was hard to tell if Bucket had gotten the full force of the skunk’s blast, but hopefully he’d at least learned his lesson.
Now what?
Travis pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and carefully wiped his face and hands. Unless the skunk cleared out on its own, he’d have to shoot the animal and bury it. He’d probably have to bury his clothes, too, or burn them. Even then, he wouldn’t be fit company in town for a week. And if the old wooden porch had soaked up the skunk spray, it would stink all winter. As for the fool dog . . .
Travis glared down at Bucket. Crouched with his tail between his legs, the dog gazed up at him. The look in his molasses-colored eyes would have melted granite.
Travis swore. The blasted dog would have to be bathed, but he couldn’t do it in the house because of the stink, and it was too cold to do the job outside. He would have to set up a tub in the barn and haul warm water. Between the skunk, his clothes, and the dog, he would have his work cut out for the rest of the day—and that godawful smell would likely hang around for weeks.
So far, saying yes to Abner Jenkins had been one of the worst decisions of his life.
* * *
Maggie was reviewing tomorrow’s agenda when the receptionist peeked around her office door. “You’ve got a visitor, Maggie,” she said. “I know you wanted to get away early. Shall I tell him to come back?”
Maggie sighed. She’d been nursing a headache and had hoped for the chance to go home and lie down. But now that wasn’t going to happen.
She glanced up at her father’s framed photograph, which hung on the wall next to the American flag. Sam Delaney had been mayor of Branding Iron for fifteen years. After he’d suffered a stroke, Maggie, who’d left her management job in Austin to come home and look after her widowed father, had shouldered the duties of his office. Last November, after his death, she’d been elected to serve in her own right.
But Sam’s shoes weren’t easy to fill. He’d been the consummate public servant, always cheerful and willing to help anyone who needed him, no matter who it was or how inconvenient the time might be.
Her eyes lingered on the affable square-jawed face. All right, Dad, I know what you’d say. If somebody needs help, the mayor has no right to leave early.
“It’s Abner,” the receptionist said.
“That’s fine, Angela,” Maggie replied. “Send him in.”
Abner Jenkins walked through the door, his battered old cowboy hat in his hands. His expression would have suited a mourner at a funeral.
“Sit down, Abner.” Maggie was genuinely glad to see the old man. His visit would save her the trouble of tracking him down later. “I went looking for you this morning when you didn’t answer your phone. But you weren’t home.”
“You should’ve checked Buckaroo’s. I was out of coffee at home, so I drove into town for a cup. Got me a free piece of pie in the bargain.”
“Well, anyway, I’m glad to see you.”
Abner remained standing, as if he didn’t expect to stay long. “You might not be so glad when I tell you my news. My farm’s sold. I’ll be leavin’ Branding Iron tomorrow to go and live with my daughter.”
“Oh.” Maggie took a breath, waiting for the news to sink in. “I hope it’ll be a happy move for you, being with family.”
“Can’t say it will be, but my kids didn’t give me much choice.”
“So you won’t be here for the Christmas parade?” Maggie spoke the dreaded words. Abner had been playing Santa in the parade since she was a young girl. But he was getting old. She should have known this would happen.
“That’s right, I won’t be here. That’s what I came to tell you. My neighbor down the road was kind enough to take the horses and sleigh, and the costume. I’m sure you can use ’em in the parade—in fact, he’d probably be glad for somebody to take ’em off his hands. But you’ll have to find somebody else to play Santa.”
“Your neighbor?” A memory tugged at her—angry slate gray eyes and a cold manner. Abner must be talking about a different neighbor, Maggie reasoned.
“Young feller,” Abner said. “Moved into that old abandoned ranch last year. He keeps to himself, so you might not know him. But it was him treated me to pie this morning. And when I asked him to take my animals, even old Bucket, he said yes. He doesn’t talk much, but you can tell his heart’s in
the right place.”
Maggie remembered what Ben had told her about Travis Morgan. An embittered ex-convict didn’t strike her as a candidate for playing Santa, even if he managed to fit the suit. But right now, he was all she had.
“Thank you for coming to tell me, Abner,” she said. “Branding Iron is really going to miss you. You’ve been a wonderful Santa and a great friend. I hope you’ll leave me your daughter’s contact information so we can keep in touch.”
“Sure. I don’t have the address with me, but I’ll send you a note from Denver.” He shuffled awkwardly. “Well, that’s about it. I’ll be goin’ now.”
Maggie came around the desk to shake his hand. She might have hugged the old man, but this was a professional meeting, and she didn’t want to embarrass him. “Good luck, Abner,” she said. “I hope this move works out well for you.”
“Me too.” He sighed and turned toward the door. “Good luck findin’ a new Santa.”
I’m going to need more than luck, Maggie thought as the door closed behind him. If I can’t find anybody for the parade, I could wind up wearing that blasted Santa suit and beard myself!
She dismissed the thought of driving out to see Travis Morgan after work. He was probably still angry about the gate. And her headache was getting worse. She would go home, get some rest, and face him in the morning, when she was feeling up to the challenge.
And Travis Morgan would be a challenge. That much was certain.
* * *
The next morning, Maggie walked into the office at 9:00. After checking her messages, and without taking off her coat, she went outside to her car again and headed for the road to Travis’s ranch.
The weather had cleared and warmed, melting the last traces of the ice storm. Cattle grazed in the pastures where the hay had been cut. Migrating geese rose in a cloud from a field of golden wheat stubble, then settled again to feed as she passed.
She could see the ranch ahead, with its unpainted wooden house, its sagging barn and sheds, and the rusty tractor parked out of the weather. Getting the place into shape was going to take time and more money than Travis appeared to have. Now that she knew his story and what he’d done as a favor to Abner, she was more sympathetic than before. But she could do little other than wish him luck.