It's a Christmas Thing (The Christmas Tree Ranch #2)(30)

“My husband. He died more than a year ago, but I keep the picture there to remember him.”

“I saw another picture on your fireplace. Is that him, too?”

“Yes, with me and Murphy.”

“I’m sorry he died. You must be really sad.”

“I am, but only sometimes,” Tracy said. “Now close your eyes and rest. If you need anything, I’ll be close by. Just call me.”

When Clara didn’t reply, she tiptoed out of the room. A few minutes later, when she checked, the little girl was fast asleep.

Entertaining a four-year-old had taken a lot of energy. Tracy was ready for a nap herself. But Rush would be showing up soon. Surely, he’d have called if he was going to be much longer.

She’d tidied the kitchen and living room and was kneeling beside Murphy’s bed, scratching the old dog’s ears, when she heard a rap on the door. She pushed to her feet and hurried across the room to answer it.

Rush stood in the doorway, moisture glistening on his dark hair and on his down parka. When Tracy glanced past him, she saw that the sky had darkened with clouds, and a soft, light snow was falling.

“I’m glad you heard my knock,” he said. “I didn’t want to ring the bell in case Clara was napping. She used to go down about this time.”

“Good thinking. She went to sleep a few minutes ago. You might want to leave her for a while.” Tracy stepped aside to let him in and closed the door behind him.

“Actually, I was hoping you’d say that.” He slipped out of his damp parka and hung it on the coatrack near the door. “It’s been a while, Tracy. I can’t thank you enough for taking Clara at the last minute. It can’t have been convenient. I understand that you might’ve had other plans.”

“Not really,” Tracy said. “Shopping with her was fun. But she’s a little fashionista. She refused to settle for anything less than exactly what she wanted.” She pointed to the Shop Mart bags that were piled on the floor at the end of the couch. “And before I forget, here’s your credit card.” She fished in her purse, found the card, and handed it to him. “We put some mileage on it today.”

His laugh was deep and real. Tracy felt its warmth trickling through her like mulled cider on a cold day. “That doesn’t surprise me,” he said. “And don’t worry about running up my balance. Making that little girl happy is at the top of my list.”

Tracy turned away to hide a surge of emotion. So much love for a child who wasn’t even his. What a great father he would be to his own children when the time came.

All the more reason to keep her distance.

Recognizing a friend, Murphy hauled himself to his feet and ambled over to meet Rush. “Hello, old boy, let’s see how you’re doing.” Rush rubbed the elderly dog’s ears while he examined his eyes. “No change there.”

“But he’s walking better, isn’t he?” Tracy asked hopefully.

“A little, maybe. He does seem more comfortable, but at his age, you can’t expect miracles.” Rush ran a hand down the bony old back. “Good boy. You can go back to bed now.”

Tracy didn’t want to talk about where Murphy’s condition was leading. “Are you hungry? I make a killer grilled cheese sandwich—especially the grown-up version.”

“Thanks. I’ll bet you do.” He followed her into the kitchen and seated himself at the table, watching her as she assembled sliced bread, butter, bacon, chopped green peppers, and a thick slab of aged, sharp cheddar.

“Your daughter loved the kittens,” she said, making conversation. “I think they wore each other out playing. Don’t be surprised if she asks you for the white one.”

Rush shook his head. “If she does, I’ll have to say no. I’d like to give her a pet, but she wouldn’t be able to take it home with her. Andre, her new father, is allergic.” He caught himself, as if realizing he might have revealed too much.

It was time for Tracy to stop pretending that she didn’t know the truth. She turned to face him.

“Clara told me what happened back in Phoenix,” she said. “There were things she didn’t understand, and I had to piece her story together, but I know that you found out she was another man’s child. That must have been terrible for you.”

He exhaled, as if relieved that she knew. “It was. Still is. I tried to get joint custody, or at least visitation rights, but between my ex’s pricey lawyers and the fact that I’m not even Clara’s blood relative, I didn’t have a prayer. I thought it might be best to leave her and hope that she’d forget me. But now . . . it might have been kinder if I’d refused to take her.”

“She’s never forgotten you,” Tracy said. “Let me pass on something she told me in the car. She said that Andre was her father, but that you would always be her daddy.”

“Oh, hell.” His jaw tightened as he struggled to control his emotions. “Let’s talk about something else while you finish that sandwich.”

“Yes, good idea.” She stacked the layers of the sandwich and laid it on the heated griddle. The butter sizzled. Aromas of bacon and melting cheese drifted through the kitchen. “How’s the Christmas tree business doing?” She turned the sandwich over to toast it on the other side.