Holidays on the Ranch (Burnt Boot, Texas #1)(17)

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Martin picked leaves, spiderwebs, and even a bird’s nest from his perfect tree as it lay stretched out over a good portion of the front porch. He hummed the song about the little drummer boy, coming in with “rum-pa-pum-pum” at the right places.

Callie opened the front door. “I’m going inside to make hot chocolate and get out some cookies. The wind is shifting around to the north. It’s liable to get serious about snow before the night is done. How long will it take to get that thing ready for the house?”

“Just long enough for me and Shotgun to find some scrap wood and a couple of screws to make a stand for it,” Finn said.

“Can’t he stay here with me? I like it when he’s close by.” Martin’s wide eyes said that he didn’t feel safe alone.

“If he marks that tree, we’ll have to live with the smell. We couldn’t find another one that good before Christmas,” Finn said.

Martin pointed to the other end of the porch. “You’ll sit right there and watch me get all this stuff out of it, won’t you, Shotgun? You won’t go peeing on a Christmas tree when there’s all them mesquite trees out there just waiting for you.”

The big yellow dog flopped down and shut his eyes.

“See, he’ll be just fine,” Martin said.

The norther hit with a force when Finn was halfway to the barn. The temperature dropped at least fifteen degrees in five minutes, and a cold mist began to fall. If it kept up, there’d be a sheet of ice over everything come morning. That would mean giving the cattle extra feed and chopping through the ice on their watering troughs.

He zipped his work jacket up and held on to his cowboy hat. When he was in the barn, he stomped his feet to get warm. Screws and maybe a couple of pieces of wood would be in the tack room, so that’s the direction he headed as he fussed at himself. A mama cat followed by three kittens scampered from one stack of hay to another. He made a mental note to feed them regularly and to tell Martin that they were there. In a week, he’d have the whole bunch of them tamed and named, with Shotgun protecting them.

A quick movement took his attention to a top shelf the minute he was in the tack room. Two mice were gray blurs as they ran from a hole in a box onto the rafter and out of sight.

“Here, kitty, kitty, kitty,” he called out to the mama cat. “Until I can bring food to you, these mice will be supper.”

He was still looking up when he realized the boxes were labeled with big lettering written in black marker. Evidently one housed an artificial Christmas tree.

He moaned out loud. “And I just stomped all over the ranch looking for a tree when all I had to do was come out here and tote this one in the house?”

The next one was marked tree stand and skirt. And the third one, Christmas stuff.

He pulled the last two off the shelf, checked to make sure there were no mouse holes, and headed back toward the house. With a real stand, they could keep the tree watered, and it wouldn’t shrivel up and die within a week.

He’d barely cleared the door of the barn and started back to the house when he heard a noise behind him. He turned slowly, boxes still in his hand, to see a black-and-tan Chihuahua following him. When he stopped, the dog did; when he took a step, the dog did the same.

“Well shit fire!”

Good grief! Did the dog talk?

“Shut up, dog.”

Finn raised his eyes slowly and saw a brightly colored parrot right above his head in the branches of an old scrub oak tree. It fluffed its wings and pranced up and down the mesquite limb. “Shut up, dog,” it said again in a gruff voice.

The Chihuahua barked at it that time.

“Hot damn!” the bird squawked.

The Chihuahua wagged its tail.

“You two traveling together?” Finn asked.

He set the boxes down right there on the ice-covered grass and whistled softly. The dog wagged its tail, ducked its head shyly, and sniffed Finn’s outstretched hand.

“Who are you and what are you doing on the ranch? Verdie didn’t mention a dog, and I don’t see her having a little guy like you around. I guess if Callie can bring in a stray, I can, too. It’s a big house and a big ranch. I hope you aren’t afraid of cats, but your friend there, I’m not too sure about him,” he said.

Finn’s feet slipped when he straightened up, but he got his balance before he took a tumble. Ice was so much worse than snow, and if the weatherman was right, the temperatures were going to stay below freezing for several days. It was going to be a cold tree-decorating party downtown that evening. Maybe they’d stay in after they’d decorated their tree.

He touched his lips. He’d far rather have one more kiss from Callie than go to town amongst all that feuding.

Martin looked up from the tree when Finn rounded the end of the porch. “I got it all cleaned out. I even rolled it over so I could make sure. And the only time Shotgun moved a muscle was when he got to quiverin’ and yippin’ a little while ago. I think he was chasin’ that rabbit in his dreams. It sure did get cold when that wind hit, didn’t it? What is that?”

“I expect it’s a Chihuahua,” Finn said.

“Can we keep it?” Martin’s sudden intake of breath had nothing to do with the cold. He pulled off his ragged gloves, and the old dog licked his fingers.

The parrot flew down and landed in the cedar tree branches.