It's a Christmas Thing

by Janet Dailey

  As he turned onto her street and saw the empty driveway, his spirits sank. She wouldn’t be in court on the weekend, but maybe she’d gone shopping, or maybe she’d decided to catch up on her research while the courthouse was quiet. In any case, he’d missed her; and the disappointment was like a cold, heavy lump in the pit of his stomach.

  He was driving to the corner to turn around when he caught sight of her vintage Mercedes in his rearview mirror. She was just pulling into her driveway. By the time he’d changed directions and parked across the street, she was climbing out of her car, her arms loaded with grocery bags.

  “Hold on! I’ll give you a hand!” He sprinted across the street and took the two heaviest bags. She looked surprised, and not in a happy way. “Maybe I should have called first,” he said.

  “So, why didn’t you?” She mounted the steps and opened the front door. Murphy was there to greet her. The old dog thumped his tail and ambled back to his bed.

  “I hadn’t planned to come by.” Rush carried the heavy grocery bags into the kitchen and set them on the counter. “It’s been a busy time at the ranch, but I was in town with some time on my hands, and I got to wondering how the kittens were doing.”

  And you. He stopped himself from adding the words. He couldn’t be sure where he stood with Tracy, but he knew better than to push her toward any kind of relationship.

  She set her bags on the kitchen table. “Come on,” she said with a hint of a smile. “I’ll show you.”

  She led him to the laundry, a small, sunny room off the kitchen. The high-sided cardboard box she’d set up had a chair next to it, to help the mother cat jump in and out while keeping the kittens safely inside.

  “I managed to move them in here after a few days,” Tracy said. “Take a look.”

  Rush looked down into the box. The calico mother, well-fed and calm, was curled on an old blue sweater, nursing her babies. By now the kittens were two weeks old. Their eyes were open, and their little bodies were filling out. As many times as he’d seen kittens, Rush never got tired of watching them.

  “They’re looking great,” Rush said. “You’ve learned a lot about cats since the last time I saw you.”

  “I had a good teacher. You were right about mother cats. She knew exactly what to do.”

  “So, have you given her a name yet?”

  “Not a real one. I just call her Mama.” Tracy reached down into the box and stroked the cat’s head. “When will the kittens be ready for new homes?”

  “After they’re weaned and eating solid food. By then they’ll be about two months old, just in time for Christmas. Your timing couldn’t be better.”

  “Little Christmas presents.” There was warmth in Tracy’s voice and in her smile. If only she would smile at him like that, Rush mused.

  “They’ll need their distemper and rabies shots before they go,” he said. “I’ll throw those in as a favor. The mother’s going to need shots, too. I’m guessing she was somebody’s pet once, but there’s no way to know whether they had her immunized. I’d do it now, but I’d rather not disturb her.”

  “I can’t let you do all that for nothing,” Tracy protested.

  “Can I do it for brownies?” Or to take you out to dinner?

  “Brownies it is, unless you’d rather have something else.”

  “Your call. I’m easy.” He followed her back into the living room. Murphy opened his eyes, then went back to sleep. “How’s he doing on the Cosequin?” Rush asked.

  “A little better, I think. But since he spends most of his time sleeping, it’s hard to tell.”

  “Well, let’s have a look. Can you get him up?”

  “I’ll try.” Tracy stepped back into the kitchen and took a dog treat from a jar on the counter. Crouching a few feet away from the old dog, she held out the treat and coaxed him to get up and go to her. Murphy roused himself and hobbled to his mistress for his reward. At least he seemed no worse than the last time. But there was no cure for old age.

  “Good boy!” Tracy hugged the dog and kissed him between his ears. It tore at Rush’s heart, seeing how much she loved the pathetic old creature and knowing what she faced.

  “I can’t see much improvement yet, but keep giving him the Cosequin. At least it might keep him from getting worse.”

  There were tears in her eyes when she looked up at him. It was all Rush could do to keep from taking her in his arms. It was time to walk away, before he made a fool of himself.

  “I’ll check back in a couple of weeks,” he said, moving toward the door. “Meanwhile, if you need anything, give me a call.”

  “We’ll be fine,” she said. “I and my entire little menagerie.”

  “And don’t worry about the brownies,” he said. “I know you have a life.”

  “We’ll see.” She opened the front door. “Thanks for stopping by, Rush. Have a happy holiday.”

  “You too.” It was as good an exit line as any, Rush thought as he walked out and closed the door behind him. The holiday wasn’t fated to be a happy one. But at least it would be busy—maybe busy enough to keep his mind off the missing pieces in his life.

  Chapter 4

  In late November the weather turned frigid. The first storm of the season iced the roads and blanketed the land with snow. Morning fog froze on trees and bushes, creating a fairyland of lacy white.

  At Christmas Tree Ranch, the work continued from dawn until after dark. The partners grabbed food and sleep as they could, readying the trees and the ranch for the Thanksgiving weekend opening.

  Even in busy times like these, the care of the animals had to come first. Chip and Patch, the two massive Percherons, were sheltered in the barn, the cows and calves under an open-fronted shed in their pasture. All of them needed food and water, and the horse stalls needed daily cleaning. Only Bucket seemed to enjoy the wintry weather. He romped and bounded through the snow as if he’d been waiting all year for it to arrive.

  The biggest and most urgent task was to cut the trees and haul them to the Christmas tree lot at Hank’s Hardware in town. Hank Miller, the owner, was Travis’s father. Last year, after settling a bitter rivalry, the partners had taken Hank into their business. He would be needing more than a hundred trees to open the lot on the day after Thanksgiving. After that, the ranch would keep him supplied with more as needed. At a fifty-fifty split of the profits, it was a good deal for everyone; and the townspeople would get fresh trees instead of having to settle for trees trucked hundreds of miles across the country.

  There would be trees for sale at the ranch, too, as well as free hot cocoa, marshmallow roasting, candy canes, and sleigh rides. Families who wanted to pay extra could ride out to where the trees grew to pick and cut their own.

  By Thanksgiving, with all except the last-minute preparations done, the partners were worn out and ready for a break. This year Maggie had cooked a turkey dinner at her house and invited all three of them, along with Hank and his girlfriend, Francine, who ran the Branding Iron Bed and Breakfast.

  Earlier, Maggie had mentioned to Rush that she’d planned to invite Tracy, as well. Now, as Rush walked through Maggie’s front door and basked in the aromas of turkey, hot rolls, and pumpkin pies, his pulse skipped with anticipation. He hadn’t seen Tracy or talked with her since the day he’d stopped by her house. He’d done his best to convince himself that she wasn’t interested. But as he glanced around the living room, a spark of hope ignited, flared . . . and died.

  She wasn’t here.

  Standing in the entrance to the kitchen, Maggie caught Rush’s eye and gave a subtle shake of her head. Not only was Tracy not here; evidently, she wasn’t coming.

  There had been seven places set at the table. Before the six friends took their seats, Maggie discreetly removed the seventh place setting. So, Tracy’s decision must have been made at the last minute. Rush imagined her home alone with her old dog and her little family of cats. That she would turn down a delicious Thanksgiving dinner rather than face him across th
e table was the last straw. It was time to forget about the woman—permanently.

  After Hank’s brief grace, as the food was being passed, Rush’s gaze moved around the table. Hank and Francine, both well into middle age, had nearly married when they were younger. But they’d gone their separate ways, only to rediscover each other a few years ago. Now they’d settled into a warm, supportive relationship. Travis and Maggie had been dating almost a year and still couldn’t seem to take their eyes off each other. And Conner seemed perfectly happy with his rotating girlfriends and his carefree bachelor existence.

  Only Rush had a gaping hole in his life.

  Enough with the hand-wringing! Rush scolded himself. He had good friends, meaningful work, and a promising future. It might not be the whole package, but it was more than many people had. For now, he would have to be content and call it good.

  * * *

  The call came five days later.

  Rush was pulling his boots off his frigid feet after a grueling eighteen-hour day when his cell phone rang. By the time his chilled hands had worked the phone out of his vest pocket, the caller had rung off. Let them wait, Rush thought. Right now, all he wanted was a hot shower and a good night’s sleep.

  But maybe the call was important.

  With a sigh, he pulled the phone out of his vest pocket and checked the caller ID.

  His pulse lurched when he saw the name.

  Cecil Crawford was the caretaker in the house where Rush’s ex-wife, Sonya, lived. His wife, Annie, served as housekeeper, cook, and part-time nanny. Rush knew the middle-aged couple well. They’d been with the family for years. Rush had left an emergency number with them. But he hadn’t expected it to be used—not unless something was terribly wrong.

  Rush’s hand shook as he returned the call. Cecil picked up at once. “Rush.” He sounded perfectly calm. “It’s good to hear your voice.”

  “What is it, Cecil?” Rush was too worried for pleasantries. “Is Claire all right?”

  “She’s fine. Annie just put her to bed. Incidentally, we’re not calling her Claire anymore. Andre said the name reminded him of his first wife. We’re calling her Clara—it’s been legally changed.”

  “Wasn’t that confusing for her?” Rush asked.

  “Only for the first week or two. Now she’s fine with it. But she still misses you.”

  “There’s not much I can do about that, is there?”

  “Actually, yes,” Cecil said. “We’ve got a bit of an emergency and were hoping you might be able to help.”

  “I don’t see how—”

  “Hear me out,” Cecil said. “Sonya and Andre left after Thanksgiving on a five-week holiday cruise to the South Pacific. They left Clara here with us.”

  “They went on a cruise and left her over Christmas?” Rush swore silently. Sonya had never been the world’s most attentive mother. But to go away and leave a child to spend Christmas with the hired help—what had his ex-wife been thinking?

  “Clara seems all right with it,” Cecil said. “She’s used to being with us, and they left her some presents to open. We were planning to make sure she had a tree and cookies to put out for Santa. But something’s come up, and we don’t know what to do.” He paused.

  “How can I help?” Even as he asked the question, Rush felt stirrings of doubt. Any involvement with Claire—now, Clara, he reminded himself—could be a mistake. She’d barely had time to adjust to his absence and the new father who’d taken his place. Seeing her, then having to separate again, would hurt her in a way no child should be hurt.

  “Here’s the thing,” Cecil said. “We just got word that Annie’s father, who’s in his eighties, has had a severe stroke. He’s in the hospital, in Oklahoma City. Annie’s mother is beside herself. We need to get there fast and stay, maybe for a long time. But what do we do with Clara?”

  “Can’t you reach her parents?”

  “Even if we could, they’re somewhere in the middle of the ocean. It could take them several days to get home. We might not have that much time.” Cecil hesitated, as if weighing the wisdom of saying more. “The truth is, they’ve been having problems. They wanted some time alone to work on their marriage. They asked me not to disturb them unless there was a serious emergency.”

  “This is an emergency,” Rush said.

  “But it’s not their emergency. It’s ours. Could you take her for a few weeks? There’s nobody else we trust. We can’t have her with us in the hospital. And we can’t go off and leave her with strangers.”

  Rush held back his answer. For the past year he’d ached to spend time with his little girl again; but he’d known that staying away was for the best. How could he say yes?

  How could he say no?

  “Please.” Rush could hear the desperation in the good man’s voice.

  “All right,” he said. “But I can’t come to Phoenix. My partners need me here.”

  “I understand. We just need to get her to you. Are you still in Texas?”

  “Yes, in a little town called Branding Iron. But there’s no major airport close by.”

  “We need to fly to Oklahoma City. If we bring Clara with us on the plane, could you pick her up there?”

  Rush took a moment to estimate the distance and time. It wasn’t that far—a few hours each way by road. “That shouldn’t be a problem,” he said. “Call me when you’ve got your flight.”

  Rush ended the call and turned around to find Conner standing in the doorway of his room. Travis stood behind him.

  “I hope you’re going to tell us what’s going on,” Conner said.

  Rush stood, weariness and worry dragging like a weight on his shoulders. “I guess it’s time,” he said. “Come on in the kitchen. It’s a long story.”

  They gathered around the kitchen table. Travis took three Bud Lights out of the fridge and passed them around. Conner popped the tab on his and took a long swig. “We’re waiting,” he said.

  Travis took a seat and opened his beer. “We haven’t pried into your past because we figured it was none of our business, Rush. But we’ve got our own stories, and we don’t judge others. Whatever you’ve got going on, know that we’ve got your back.”

  “Thanks, that’s good to know,” Rush said. And it was. These two were the best friends a man could have. He took a deep breath and began.

  “I met Sonya, my ex, when I was just starting my practice. She was still in college and a real stunner, the whole package. Dark hair, big, green eyes—she’d been homecoming queen the year before, and first runner-up to Miss Arizona. To top it off, she had a rich daddy who gave her anything she wanted.”

  “I’m guessing she had plenty of guys to choose from,” Conner said.

  “More than plenty. The frontrunner was a fellow named Andre Duval. A race car driver, if you can believe it. He was a real mover with the ladies. I was a distant second, if that.”

  “I get the picture,” Conner said. “You were the boring, steady, nice guy that every parent wants their daughter to marry.”

  “Thanks. That’s just about right.” Rush responded to Conner’s grin with a mock scowl. “I wasn’t her first choice, but when she and Andre had a fight and broke up, I was the one she turned to. We got engaged—me with big dreams and a load of student debt, Sonya with a fortune about to drop into her lap. Soon after we got married, her father died of congestive heart failure. We moved into his big house—now hers—complete with two family servants. In accordance with her father’s will, everything was in her name, not mine. But she did pay off my student loan debt and gave me the money to build a veterinary clinic adjacent to the house.”

  Travis looked cynical. “I think I saw a TV series based on that plot,” he said.

  The irony wasn’t lost on Rush. “That’s about what it was like. Things went sour pretty fast. I worked hard, trying to build my practice, but Sonya owned everything, including me. And she never let me forget it.

  “We might not have lasted as long as we did, but when she got pr
egnant, I made an extra effort to hold the marriage together. At the hospital, when I held that baby girl in my arms, I knew everything we’d been through to get her here was worth it. She became my reason for living. I couldn’t get enough of being her dad. She was mine, and no one, not even her mother, could take that away from me—or so I thought.”

  “I don’t suppose you have a picture to show us, do you?” Travis asked.

  “Not anymore.” In an effort to forget Claire, Rush had destroyed his last photo of the little girl. But he couldn’t erase the picture in his mind.

  “Claire wasn’t quite three years old when Sonya called me into the study. Her lawyer was there. He did most of the talking. Before Sonya got pregnant, she’d hooked up with Andre again. Recently, without telling me, she’d had DNA tests done. Claire wasn’t mine. She was Andre’s child.”

  Travis and Conner were silent. What was there to say about such a betrayal?

  “Andre was back in Sonya’s life, and she wanted a divorce,” Rush said. “Since Claire wasn’t my biological child, and I had never adopted her, I had no parental rights. I tried to start a legal fight, but I was up against a whole battery of expensive lawyers. I didn’t have a prayer. There was nothing I could do except leave.”

  “And now?” Travis asked.

  “From what I heard of your conversation, somebody needs a babysitter,” Conner said.

  “That’s right.” Rush stood and put his unopened beer back in the fridge. “I’ve agreed to pick her up in Oklahoma City and keep her here over the holidays, until her parents get back from their cruise. I guess I should’ve asked your permission before I said yes.”

  “No need,” Travis said. “Hey, we like kids, and it’s only for a few weeks. We’ll make it work, won’t we, Conner?”

  “Sure,” Conner said. “We’ll show that young lady the time of her life.”

  “Thanks, both of you.” Rush was grateful for his partners’ support. But what was he going to do with a four-year-old girl—a girl who slept in a pink ruffled canopy bed at home, with a nanny to fix her meals exactly the way she liked them and keep her looking like a little princess? What if Claire . . . Clara hated the ranch?