The Christmas Room

by Catherine Anderson

  Just as Sam Conacher reached his own land, Maddie saw Caleb’s battered old pickup careening down the gravel road that divided the two properties. When he screeched to a stop near the cabin, he jumped out as if the truck cab were infested with fire ants. “I knew it!” he yelled to Maddie. “When I saw trees about to blow down, I cut class to get here fast.”

  Maddie was still so angry that she wanted to stomp her feet like a child. Instead she forced a smile. “I won’t give you a scolding for that. I definitely need help to set things right, and your father won’t be back for hours.”

  Caleb, looking wonderful in a red plaid Western shirt and Wrangler jeans, stopped during his approach to gape at the storage carport on top of the trailer. “Oh, Gram, you must have been scared half to death. That was a mighty fierce blow.”

  “Actually,” Maddie told him, “I didn’t have time to feel afraid. I was just worried our whole camp would blow away.”

  “Something could have gone airborne and hit you on the head. You should have stayed inside where it was safe.” He glanced around. “Where are the dogs?”

  “Hiding under the trailer. The storm scared the wits out of them.”

  “It was smart of them to hide. I wish you had. We need you, Gram. What’d we do if you got hurt?”

  Her grandson strode toward her. She’d noticed many times recently that he’d grown over the summer and was becoming a man, but now his loose-hipped saunter drove that home. “As long as the wind is down, you can gather stuff that blew away, Gram. I’ll take care of the rest. But if the wind comes up again, will you please go in the house?” He moved closer to the trailer while Maddie turned to survey the land. Caleb was right; things had blown as far as their future building site. “Don’t do any heavy work,” he said. “I’ve got this.”

  As Maddie struck off to pick up lightweight items that had been lifted and tossed helter-skelter, her grandson put the awning up and then jumped on top of the water tank. He soon had the carport off the trailer. Feelings of inadequacy swamped her. Twenty years ago she could have done that herself, but time had passed, and now even her hands, the tools of her profession, were growing stiff and achy from arthritis.

  They worked for two hours setting their camp back to rights. The items Maddie collected were not trash. She found gas cans, tarps, two buckets, a roll of paper towels that had unfurled over the field like garland, and various other things they had stored or set down outside. But no garbage. That made her feel slightly better. White trash, my foot.

  Then the wind began to blow again. Maddie ran around stuffing things like buckets into the wall tent so she wouldn’t have to pick up any more far-flung objects. Caleb assisted her. When their camp was battened down, he positioned two lawn chairs at the back of her trailer and said, “We’ve put away everything that may go airborne, Gram, so let’s watch the storm. It’ll be better than a movie.”

  “I thought you said for me to go hide.” Maddie shouted to be heard.

  Caleb grinned. “It’s safe now,” he hollered back. “I anchored that carport down with rebar stakes this time. It won’t go anywhere.”

  • • •

  Caleb hoped his grandmother would accept the invitation. Her legs quivered as she walked, and she was hunched over. He had a bad feeling that she’d gotten hurt somehow. He relaxed slightly as she forced a smile and eased herself down onto the chair he had provided.

  “Are you okay, Gram?”

  “The awning lifted me off the ground, and I fell on the gravel. I didn’t break anything, but my rump aches.”

  That made Caleb feel better. Now he knew why she was walking funny and that she wasn’t badly hurt.

  He joined her in staring across the river where deciduous trees were being stripped of still-green leaves. Raising his voice to be heard, he asked, “What was that man on a horse doing over here? I saw him yesterday. Was I right? Is he Sam Conacher?”

  “Yes. He just stopped by to introduce himself.”

  Caleb jerked his gaze to where he’d last seen the horse and rider. “Was he an asshole to you?”

  His grandmother clicked her tongue, a sound she made to let him know she disapproved of his language, only now he could barely hear it. “He isn’t the most pleasant person I’ve ever met. I’ll leave it at that.”

  Caleb stiffened. “If he upset you, Gram, I’ll go over and tell him to stay the heck away from here.”

  Gram laughed and shook her head. “You’re becoming a young man, Caleb McLendon.” She leaned closer. “You’re not a little boy anymore who can retaliate against people in childish ways. I said he was a little unpleasant, not that he said or did anything bad.” She went back to watching the storm. “I have to admit, this is magnificent.” Lightning zigzagged across the blue sky just then. “I’m not even cold, and I can’t think of anyone I’d rather watch this with.”

  The storm suddenly subsided again, and they no longer needed to raise their voices to be heard. Caleb was glad. He hadn’t thought about Gram getting cold. He should have grabbed her a blanket.

  Hoping to make her smile, he said, “Proper English, Gram. You should say I can’t think of anyone with whom I’d rather watch this.” He cocked an eyebrow at her. “Am I right?”

  She relaxed and laughed. “No, but you are correct.” She nudged him with her elbow. “Give your poor old gram a break, kiddo. I have to follow the rules of proper English every workday. Now I’m enjoying some unexpected downtime, and I don’t want to edit myself.”

  “True. I’m just working hard on my English at school. Dad pulled good grades in college. I don’t want to crash and burn before I even graduate.”

  “You have lots of time to prepare for college, and you won’t crash and burn.” She snuggled down in the chair and let her gaze follow the gentler breaths of the wind, its path marked by rustling trees, bending grass, and tall weeds doing a graceful dance. “Just don’t miss out on all the fun of high school. It’s a time in your life that you can never recapture. When you go off to college, the course work may be tough. Not a lot of time to play at that point in your life.”

  Caleb plopped a dusty boot on his opposite knee. “You sound kind of blue. Did you miss out on having fun during high school?”

  “A little. But then I met your grandfather my senior year, and he reminded me how to have fun. And believe me, that’s what we did. He moved away to attend a different college than mine, and we stopped seeing each other for a couple of years. Then we ran into each other at a university ball game, and the fun began again. If he didn’t drive from his campus to see me, I drove to see him.”

  Caleb sighed. “I don’t think my dad had much fun in high school. He met my mom, and heaps of responsibility was dumped on his shoulders.”

  His grandmother nodded. “He made some bad choices, but I don’t think he’d change a thing. He got you out of the deal, and he’s told me that you’re the most wonderful gift he’s ever received.”

  Caleb nodded. “He tells me that a lot. But I still wish it hadn’t happened that way.”

  “If it hadn’t, you wouldn’t be here.”

  Caleb laughed. “You’re right. Jeez, I’m so glad my dad messed up.”

  She surrendered to mirth, and he followed her lead. Then she said, “I’m very glad he messed up, too. You’re a joy in my life.”

  Reaching over to clasp her hand, Caleb asked, “Are you missing Gramps today?”

  “No,” she said.

  Caleb thought she answered a little too fast, and then he regretted asking. Of course she missed Gramps. All of them did.

  “I’m in love with this place,” she added. “I’m really excited that we can start building on this land soon. In my mind’s eye, I’m already decorating my residence. I’m having a wonderful adventure.” She turned her head to look at their camp. “Do you think it looks like white trash has moved in here?”

  Startled
by the question, Caleb gave their camp a solemn once-over. Gram was fussy about her house looking nice, and he couldn’t remember her yard ever being junky. “Is that what Mr. Conacher said?” Caleb shook his head. “It looks like we’re camping, Gram. And guess what. We are camping, so what’s his problem?”

  “Don’t go off half-cocked,” she warned.

  “I won’t,” Caleb promised, “but he upset you, and I am going to tell Dad. He’ll go over and set that old man straight.”

  “No,” she said sharply. “I don’t think that would be wise. Mr. Conacher knows now that your father has been meeting with his daughter. That would be like stirring a hornets’ nest.”

  Caleb thought about that for a second. “Do you think Mr. Conacher is that pissed?”

  Gram gave him another stop that look. “I think you can safely say that.” Then she smiled at him. “And, yes, he upset me. But I’ll get over it eventually, no damage done. Instead of stirring up trouble with him, I think our best plan of action is to politely teach him an important lesson.”

  Caleb just wanted to punch the old dude. “What’s that?”

  “That he should never judge people by how they look.”

  • • •

  Before heading back to the ranch proper, Sam decided to enjoy the windstorm while he rode fence line. With fifteen hundred acres of grazing land, checking the perimeters and cross fences had become a frequent habit born of necessity. He figured that if he engaged in this activity for two hours a week, he might complete the job once a year, and then he could start all over again. The only problem was that he couldn’t devote that much time. Most days he was on his grazing land, trying to round up cattle and haul them back here before winter hit. With only one man to help him, it was like trying to stab scattering ants with a toothpick.

  Normally Sam enjoyed riding fence line. It gave him time alone, except for the company of his horse, which didn’t talk much. Sam could clear his head, ponder life’s twists and turns, or merely be and let his thoughts wander. Today he found no pleasure in the solitude. He kept thinking about that older lady next door and how badly he had treated her. Sam was starting to feel as if he’d become two different men, one sane and the other one meaner than a snake. Even worse, he couldn’t seem to control the bad guy. That man was furious with the world. He wanted a pound of someone’s flesh. He said things that Sam would never say. Cruel things. Nasty things.

  That woman had nailed it on the head when she jumped him about using foul language in her presence. Every time Sam thought about it, he cringed. His parents had raised him better than that. At what point in his sixty-eight years had he stopped caring about the simple things, like practicing good manners? He never would have said such words to his wife, Annie.

  As Sam rode into the ranch proper, he bypassed his sprawling post-and-beam home and stopped at the barn to unsaddle and groom his gelding before putting him out to graze. The wind came up again. He could hear it raging outside the enclosure. Then all went quiet. He led the horse out and turned him loose inside a roomy enclosure with shelter.

  Angry with himself over his earlier behavior, he saw a five-gallon bucket sitting about five feet from the rail fence. The container had no business being there, and he was sick and damned tired of people leaving shit here and there, showing no respect for the land. In a fit of pique, he kicked the pail with all his might. Pain lanced from his toe to his shin, making him grunt and grasp his leg. Vile expletives streamed from his mouth. When he kicked something as light as a bucket, it normally went flying. He craned his neck only to see that someone had filled the damned thing with rocks.

  Gimping into the barn, he decided the culprit had probably been the son of Miguel Alvarez, his employee. The boy, Rickie, was a cute kid who’d taken on a project bigger than he was. The family lived in one of the nicest employee houses on the ranch, and Rickie had been trying to build his mama a rock garden over the summer. Sam had been meaning to get a truckload of stone for the kid, but he hadn’t had the spare time. Fancy that, he thought. All I do is work, because all the lazy bastards I used to have on the payroll couldn’t man up.

  He slumped down on a hay bale and pulled off his boot to check his toe. Damned if it doesn’t feel broken. He shoved the boot back on and winced. Serves me right. I’ve never in my life treated a woman so badly. That crack I made about white trash cut her deep. He could barely believe that he had ridden away when an older lady needed his help. She isn’t the one who’s screwing my daughter. It’s her no-account son that I’d like to beat to a pulp. I had no right to act that way.

  Sam recalled watching his daughter smooch with that jerk on the riverbank yesterday, and his anger spiked again. How had Kirstin met the guy? He’d pegged their new neighbors as low-class the instant he’d seen their camp. Had she failed to hear a word he’d said? Surely she hadn’t stopped by there to make friends with them. Even more mysterious to Sam, what the hell did she see in that man? She’d been going for walks in the afternoons, and at night she supposedly went to sit with her sick friend, Marcy, as often as she could.

  Only now he wondered if Marcy actually existed. According to Kirstin, the woman had been near death for at least three years.

  The thought that Kirstin had been lying to him in order to meet men struck fear into Sam’s heart. He loved his little girl with every fiber of his being. If and when she fell for somebody, Sam wanted him to be worthy of her, someone close to her age, intelligent, and financially successful. The dope next door had to be ten years her senior. In his mid-thirties, Sam guessed. And he lived with his mother and a kid in a makeshift campsite featuring a vintage travel trailer, two tents, and a shed. By the time Sam turned thirty, he’d already owned his first sizable chunk of land. His Annie had worked at his side to make something of it.

  Now that Sam came to think of it, they had camped on the property that first summer. Sam cringed at the memories of cooking over an open fire and sleeping in a tent, much like the new neighbors were doing now. Kirstin had been only a twinkle in his eye back then. He and Annie had been young and full of it, wildly in love, and excited about their future. They’d bathed in the river and slept on the ground. They’d made coffee in a beaten-up tin can.

  Sam sighed. He’d been wrong to be such a jackass. She isn’t the one who’s messing with my daughter, he reminded himself yet again. It was just so hard for Sam to accept that Kirstin was seeing that fellow. She was special, so very special. She shouldn’t waste herself on some loser. Sam would never change his mind about that.

  Chapter Five

  Kirstin sat in her truck in the parking lot of the Cowboy Tree. Cam was running late. Even though they had both agreed last night that they could see each other only on occasion now, Kirstin had told her dad that her sick friend, Marcy, was having a bad spell and needed Kirstin to spend the night with her. Sam had been grouchy about it, but he’d finally granted her permission. Permission? She was a grown woman and so tired of pandering to him. Once she had an all clear to go out, she’d texted Cam, and he had agreed to meet her here. Their plan was to hide her pickup and go to Missoula, not to sleep together, but to spend another evening just talking and getting to know each other better. Cam said it was time they went out to dinner and maybe even danced to a live band.

  When she saw his truck pull into a parking spot near hers, she was so excited to see him that she exited her vehicle and ran to meet him. Her steps slowed as she reached him. Something was wrong.

  A worried scowl creased his forehead. His blue eyes blazed with anger.

  She stopped in front of him. “What is it?”

  He flashed a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “I’m really sorry, but I have to cancel.”

  “You could have just called me. I would have understood,” she assured him.

  He placed his big capable hands on his hips. “Too many ears. My mom had a rough day, and I didn’t want her to know I was canceling a date
to stay home with her and Caleb.”

  “Is she all right?” Kirstin asked. “What happened?”

  “A neighbor took some shots at her. I need to stay home and cheer her up.” He shrugged. “More important, I need to be around so Caleb doesn’t get a wild hair up his butt and do something stupid. He gets hot under the collar when someone says mean things to his grandmother.”

  “A neighbor?” Kirstin’s chest tightened. “Not my father. Please, tell me it wasn’t my dad.”

  Cam clamped his lips together.

  His reluctance to answer told Kirstin all that she needed to know. Her stomach churned. Her body snapped so taut with rage that she couldn’t move for a moment. Then she squared her shoulders, pivoted on one foot, and headed back to her truck.

  “Kirstin, don’t do anything foolish! It’ll only make matters worse.”

  Kirstin whirled on him. “I’m sick of this, Cam. My father has no right to interfere in my life!”

  “I realize that, but—”

  “You realize nothing!” she cried. “You have no idea what this is like for me! Now your mom will hate me, all because my father is a screwed-up mess and takes his pain out on everyone he encounters. It’s showdown time.”

  As Kirstin got into her truck and closed the door, she heard Cam yell, “You need to get the cantankerous old son of a bitch into counseling!”

  She rolled down her window and grinned at him. “Congratulations, Cam. You finally have Sam Conacher pegged.”

  • • •

  Sam was engaging in his favorite evening pastime, reading a Madeline McLendon murder mystery, her latest release. It was a particularly riveting plot. The killer had poisoned the victim by adding large quantities of potato sprouts to a flavorful smoothie, and now the lead character, a pretty female detective, was hot on the trail of clues. Sam had heard that the solanine in potato sprouts was poisonous, but he’d never heard of anyone dying from it. Regardless, he kept reading, confident that Madeline McLendon would pull it off. She’d never failed him yet.