by Janet Dailey
“Because I love you, you mule-headed man!” She flung the words at him like missiles. “Is that reason enough?”
The sudden change in his expression was like the sun coming out. “Then why in hell’s name are we arguing? Don’t you know that I love you, too?”
Maggie felt a surge of tenderness as she laid a gloved hand on his knee. What she was about to say would hurt, but it needed saying. “I was hoping you loved me. I’ve wanted you to. But how can we give each other what we need when you’re so full of anger? Let it go. Walk away and move on. That’s the only way we can make this work between us.”
“Oh, Maggie, you don’t know what you’re asking!” He stopped the horses on the rise, with a view of the trees spread out like a green carpet in the hollow. “When I was in prison those three years, anger was the only thing that kept me sane and alive—anger at those fool girls who lied about the kidnapping, anger at that idiot boy who drove away and caused me to shoot him, and the judge who let the boy’s parents push him into sending me to prison for a damned misunderstanding. And there was anger at the other prisoners, too. Nobody gets ganged up on and tormented in prison the way an ex-cop does. Without the anger to fight back, I wouldn’t have survived. That anger’s been pounded and punched and kicked into every part of my body. It’s who I am.”
“But your father wrote to you in prison. He would’ve helped you if you’d let him.”
“I guess my memory was too good. I didn’t want anything to do with that mean old drunk.”
“He wasn’t a mean old drunk when he wrote to you. He’d sobered up and become one of the kindest men I know.”
“So why has he tried to sabotage me at every turn?” Travis demanded.
“Because he thought you’d deliberately set out to ruin his business. But he knows better now. I set him right today.”
He sighed. “I want to do what you ask, Maggie. But after what I’ve been through, forgiving isn’t as easy as you make it sound.”
“But it’s not impossible. The people who hurt you in the past don’t matter. You’ll never see them again. But Hank is your father, your only living relative. When you have children, he’ll be their grandfather. Think about that.”
“Come here, you amazing, meddlesome woman.” He circled her with his free arm and pulled her close. “You know I’ll try. I’ll try because I love you and because it’s what you want. But it’s going to take some time. And right now, I’m so crazy busy that it’s all I can do to deal with what’s right in front of me.”
Maggie nodded, knowing it was all she could ask of him. “So for now, we’re back where we started.”
“Not quite.” He tilted her chin and captured her mouth in a long, deep, heartfelt kiss that she never wanted to end. “I want you for keeps, Maggie,” he said. “And whatever it takes, I’m going to make sure that can happen. I promise. Do you understand?”
The kiss she returned was meant to be brief, but it warmed and lingered, leaving them both breathless. “I understand. And I’ll wait. But not too long. I’m not a patient woman.”
“I can tell.” He might have kissed her again, but at that instant Bucket, not wanting to be left out, jumped off the backseat and pushed his way between them. Laughing, they rumpled his ears, turned the sleigh around, and headed back to the ranch house.
* * *
On Monday morning, Maggie was back at her desk. Outside her window, a powdery snow was falling. The morning was frigid, the sky the color of old spoons. From somewhere in the rear of the building, Christmas songs were playing over a speaker.
Yesterday, she and Travis had parted on loving terms. But once again they’d agreed to put off their romance until the busy season was behind them. Maggie was already looking forward to the time when they could spend long evenings snuggling by the fire.
But right now, she had work to do.
At the top of her list was a call to a counselor who worked for social services and specialized in Down syndrome. The woman worked out of Amarillo, but she spent one day a week in Cottonwood Springs. She said she’d be happy to spend some time addressing Connie’s concerns. She’d also be willing to talk to Katy if and when the right time came. Maggie thanked her, then made another call to pass her contact information on to Connie.
That done, it was on to the next item—checking on a professional Santa Claus. Maggie sighed as the list she’d googled came up. Who’d have guessed that Santas had agencies? For all she knew, they had a union, too.
The nearest Santa agency was in Amarillo. When she clicked on their site, she discovered that they also handled party clowns, Elvis impersonators, and strippers. They probably charged a lot more than she could squeeze out of the city budget, but she was getting desperate. She made the call.
“I’m sorry, but all our Santas are booked for the date you need,” the woman on the other end of the phone told her. “We have an Elvis who plays Santa, but he only does it as Elvis, without the white beard. If you’d be interested—”
“Thanks, but we really need a traditional Santa,” Maggie said. “As long as we’re on the phone, can you tell me how much your Santas charge?”
“It varies,” the woman said. “The top ones, who do the malls, get the most, though I’m not at liberty to say how much. A Santa for your little parade would probably cost you between five hundred and a thousand dollars, including travel time, plus expenses.”
“Uh . . . thanks,” Maggie gulped, ending the call. Maybe she should have asked about the Elvis Santa. But never mind. Given the cost, hiring a professional was out of the question.
Maybe she should seriously consider wearing the red suit herself. Everybody would recognize her, of course. For the adults and teens, that would be a great joke. But the little kids who still believed would be devastated. That would never do.
Maggie rested her head between her hands, fingers furrowing her hair. She was running out of options.
“Hello, Maggie. Are you all right?”
Constable Stanley Featherstone stood right in front of her desk. She jerked upright with a startled gasp.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “Did I scare you?”
“You did. You should’ve knocked. Where’s the receptionist?”
“She went to the restroom, so I just came in. I’ll ask again. Are you all right?”
“I’m fine.” Maggie took a deep breath. “What is it you need, Stanley?”
“It’s not what I need. I just wanted to warn you about that man I saw you with at Shop Mart on Saturday. He and his friends could be dangerous.”
“Nonsense,” Maggie said.
“That’s what you think. One of them is an ex-convict. He did time for killing a man.”
“And the other two?”
“I’m still checking on them. But you know what they say. Birds of a feather flock together.”
“If this is a joke, Stanley, I’m not laughing. And since they live outside the city limits, checking on them is the sheriff’s job, and he already knows about them. So you can stop wasting my time.”
She looked down at the papers on her desk, hoping Stanley would leave, but he didn’t budge.
“You’ve been seen going out to their place. The one man, the convicted killer, has even been reported coming out of your house at night.”
“Reported by whom?” Maggie kept her tone casual and friendly. Inside she was seething.
“By, uh . . . a concerned citizen.”
“Concerned? About what?”
“About your safety—and your reputation.”
“I see.” Maggie knew who the “concerned citizen” was, and this time it wasn’t Hank. Stanley Featherstone had been getting on her nerves for as long as she’d known him, but this time he’d crossed the line.
Good heavens, had the little creep been spying on her? The thought made her skin crawl.
With teeth-grinding effort, she kept her self-control. “Thank you for letting me know, Stanley,” she said. “I’ll consider myself warned, but I don’t want to hear ano
ther word about this. And if it gets back to me that your ‘concerned citizen’ is spreading tales, the consequences won’t be pretty. Do I make myself clear?”
He hesitated; then his mouth spread in a slow grin. “Clear enough,” he said. “I just wanted to warn you, that’s all. Didn’t mean any harm by it.”
“That’s fine. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m busy.”
“I was hoping we could get some coffee in the break room.”
“I’ve had my coffee, and I’ve got work to do. So have you. Can you show yourself out, or should I call the receptionist?”
“I’ll be going.” He moseyed out the door while Maggie took deep breaths to calm her nerves.
Maybe she should let Travis know about this encounter. She was reaching for the phone when she changed her mind. Travis would only worry, and he already had enough on his mind. If Stanley Featherstone made any more trouble, she could deal with him herself. After all, even though she couldn’t fire an elected official, she was technically his boss.
Shuffling the papers on her desk, she went back to wrestling with the Santa problem.
* * *
Travis stood on the front porch, shading his eyes against the glare of sunlight on snow. Ten days had passed since Stanley Featherstone had ticketed him for the flyers and signs. Today was the scheduled court date. Since the tickets had been written to Christmas Tree Ranch and not to Travis personally, Rush had volunteered to go to town and appear before the judge.
Travis had argued against it at first, but Conner had taken Rush’s side. “You’re on edge, Travis,” he’d said. “Featherstone will be expecting that, and he’ll try to get to you. Rush will throw him off his game.”
Travis had finally agreed. Rush tended to play his cards close to his vest. Cool and soft-spoken, he would be their safest bet in court.
Travis glanced at his watch. It was almost noon, past time for Rush to return from town. Had something gone wrong?
They could pay the fine if they had to, he told himself. Business had been good. On weekdays when kids were in school, the flow of customers slowed to a trickle. But in the evenings and on Saturdays, they had plenty of activity. They were selling as many trees as they could cut and haul. And the sleigh rides—which could continue for as long as the snow lasted—were catching on as well. Still, an eleven-hundred-dollar fine was a lot of money when the ranch had so many needs.
Relief washed over him as he spotted the Hummer coming up the road. For better or worse, he would soon know what the judge had ruled.
The Hummer pulled through the gate and into its usual parking spot. Travis came down off the porch, and Conner came around from the back of the house as the door opened. Rush climbed out carrying a pizza box and a six pack of beer. His face wore a broad grin.
Travis took the pizza box out of his hand. “I hope this means good news,” he said.
“Good enough,” Rush said. “The judge dropped the charges for the flyers and fined me twenty-five dollars for the illegal signs. I think she liked me.”
“She?” Conner whooped with laughter. “So what did she look like?”
“About thirty-five, I’d say. Long, blond hair, up in some kind of twist. All business, mind you, but a real looker. No wedding ring. I’m hoping Maggie can get me her phone number.”
“You dirty dog, you!” Conner teased.
“Hey, the pizza’s getting cold,” Travis said. “Come on, let’s go inside and eat.”
With Bucket at their heels, they trooped into the kitchen, opened the pizza, and tore into it with the appetites of hungry men. As they sat around the table laughing, talking, and eating, Travis couldn’t help thinking what a difference these friends had made in his life. Weeks ago, he’d been here alone, lonesome and bitter, living from day to day. Now his life was richer by two horses, two partners, a beautiful woman, and a goofy dog. He felt blessed, or maybe just damned lucky.
Not that he’d ever admit to a word of this out loud.
* * *
A week before the Christmas parade, a desperate Maggie made a call to Francine at the B and B. “We need to talk,” she said. “If you can come to my house, I’ll have fresh coffee and cinnamon rolls for us.”
“I’m still cleaning up after our Saturday buffet,” Francine said. “I can be there in half an hour. But don’t worry about the cinnamon rolls. If I don’t cut down on sweets, I’ll never fit into my costume for the Cowboy Christmas Ball.”
Maggie was tidying up the living room when her phone rang again. Her first thought was that Francine might be calling to say she couldn’t make it over. But the caller wasn’t Francine. It was Connie Parker.
“Is everything all right, Connie?” Maggie asked, bracing for more worries.
“Everything’s fine, so far,” Connie said. “I just wanted to thank you for putting me in touch with that doctor. I spent half an hour with her, and we had a very frank discussion about Katy and Daniel. Some of my questions were hard to ask, but I needed to know the answers. She told me that Down syndrome couples do get married and mostly do just fine. Some of them even live on their own.”
“And what about children? I know you were concerned about that.”
“She said that the chance of a couple with Down syndrome conceiving a child is less than one in a hundred. But just to be safe, if they decide to get married, they should be checked to see whether they’ll need birth control. She offered to counsel them. So at least that’s in place. And at least I know what we’re dealing with.”
“So are you and Silas handling this any better?”
Connie chuckled nervously. “We’re crossing our fingers that they’ll just stay friends. But at least we’ll be prepared for whatever happens. We’ve invited Daniel to supper tonight. Let’s hope it’s a step in the right direction.”
“I’ll be hoping with you,” Maggie said. “The one thing we all want is Katy’s happiness.”
True to her word, Francine showed up a few minutes after Connie ended the call. By then Maggie’s sense of desperation over the Santa search had returned. “Oh, honey!” She enfolded Maggie in a warm hug. “You look like you haven’t slept in days! I’m sorry I haven’t been here for you. It’s just been a busy time, decorating the B and B, and hosting Christmas parties there. I take it you haven’t found your Santa Claus yet.”
“Give me your coat and have a seat.” Maggie indicated a cushy armchair with a footstool, close to the fire. “I’ll bring you some coffee.”
Francine sank into it with a sigh. “Oh, this is heaven. I’ve been on my feet for four solid hours!”
Maggie brought her the coffee on a tray, which she placed on a side table. “Go ahead, take off your shoes. I won’t mind a bit,” she said. “I don’t know how you manage to work in heels.”
“Long habit, honey.” Francine slipped off her red pumps and let them drop to the floor. “But this isn’t about me. It’s about you and your troubles. Hank told me you went to see him a while back.”
“Yes, we had a good talk. But he and Travis still haven’t made peace. And I couldn’t talk him into playing Santa Claus. I was hoping you could talk to him again.”
“I could try,” Francine said. “But Hank’s a proud, stubborn man. When he digs in his heels, it’s like moving a mountain.” She added a dollop of cream and two cubes of sugar to her coffee and took a sip. “What about the sleigh? Have you got that lined up?”
“Conner’s said all along that he’d be willing to drive the sleigh and handle the horses. But he doesn’t want to be Santa, and even if he’d do it, he wouldn’t look the part.”
“He’s the rodeo cowboy, right? I’ve seen him in Shop Mart. My stars and garters!” Francine cooled herself with an imaginary fan. “I wanted to wrap him up with a big red bow and take him home. And that other man—the tall, dark, quiet one. He looks like a young George Clooney! I tell you, the female hormone level in this town has skyrocketed since those three took over the ranch.”
Maggie had to smile. “I know what you
mean. But we’re talking about finding a Santa for the kids, not the women. That’s why we need Hank. With the suit and beard, he’d look like the real deal. And I’ve watched him pass out treats when the families come in for trees. I can tell he likes kids. Couldn’t we use that angle—that he should do it for the little ones?”
“I already tried that, honey. At first, I thought it might work, but in the end, he just dug in his heels again.”
“Oh dear.” Maggie’s shoulders drooped. “But there’s got to be a way to change his mind. If Conner drives the sleigh, maybe Hank would—”
“It’s not enough. He’s waiting for Travis.”
“So am I. I’ve told Travis that we can’t move on together until he settles this. But Travis isn’t ready. In a way, I understand. It’s not so much a question of making peace with his father; his real struggle is making peace with himself.” Maggie sighed. “I guess we’ve hit a dead end, haven’t we?”
Francine sank deeper into her chair. “Too bad we can’t get old Abner back. He was such a great Santa. I can still picture him in that sleigh, laughing and waving at the kids, with that cute black and white dog sitting next to him, wearing its own Santa hat. The kids loved that.”
“Abner’s dog is at the ranch now,” Maggie said. “His name is Bucket, and he’s super smart. Travis says he even herds the horses in and out of the pasture. He’s—”
Maggie broke off as a new idea struck her.
“What is it?” Francine asked her. “I can almost see the wheels turning in your head.”
“You’re going to think I’m crazy.”
“Try me, honey.”
“Think last-ditch, back-to-the-wall Plan B. If we can’t get anybody else, Bucket could be our Santa.”
“How’s that again?”
“Think about it. If we give the kids a fake-looking Santa, they won’t be happy. But most of them already know Bucket. He’s been in the parade almost every year of their lives, and they love him. He wouldn’t be Santa Claus, but he’d be like . . . like the spirit of Santa.” She gazed at Francine, who still looked skeptical. “What do you think?”
Francine gave a shake of her Dolly Parton curls. “It’s one crazy idea. But I agree with you that a dog Santa would be better than a human Santa who didn’t look the part. And having Abner’s dog there would be like a tribute to the old man. Do you think Bucket would stay on the seat and behave?”