It's a Christmas Thing (The Christmas Tree Ranch #2)(39)

“I know. It’s ’cause Andre’s allergic. I hate the rules! They’re mean and stupid!” She kicked at a rock.

Rush wanted to kick at a rock, too. Or maybe a boulder. The news he’d been holding back would make her feel even worse. But putting it off wouldn’t make it any easier.

“I’ve got some more news,” he said, forcing the words. “I’m afraid it’s going to make you sad.”

“I’m sad now.” Her head was down, her feet dragging.

“Cecil called me last night. Annie’s father is still sick. Cecil and Annie will need to stay in Oklahoma to take care of him and Annie’s mother.”

“Stay?” Startled, she looked up at him. “For how long? Forever?”

His silence answered her question. Tears welled in her eyes.

“You’ll be all right,” Rush said. “Your mom will find somebody new to take care of you. Somebody nice, I’m sure.” He hoped he could promise that, at least. But Annie and Cecil had been like family. They had loved her. In Clara’s life, they were irreplaceable.

“Why can’t Mom take care of me herself?” Clara demanded. “Or if she’s too busy, why won’t she just let me stay with you?”

Rush knelt beside her and hugged her close. “Those are very good questions,” he said. “I only wish I had good answers. But you’re a big girl, you’re growing up, and you have people who love you. You’ll be fine.”

The way she stood against him, stiff and unyielding, told Rush she had her doubts. She was afraid for the future, and he couldn’t say he blamed her.

Just then, Bucket came trotting out from among the trees, his tail up, his coat tangled with mud and pine needles. Catching sight of Rush and Clara, he picked up a stick from the ground and came bounding toward them, wanting to play.

“Here you go, boy.” Rush picked up the stick the dog had dropped at their feet and held it out to Clara. “Want to throw it for him?”

“I can’t throw very far,” she said. “Will you help me?”

“Okay.” He handed her the stick and stood behind her, holding her arm as the dog danced and wagged. “I’ll count to three. On three, let go. Here goes. One, two, three . . .”

The throw was awkward at best, only sailing about ten feet, but Bucket didn’t seem to care. He shot after it, catching the stick in midair. Prancing, he carried it back for another throw.

“Try it yourself this time,” Rush said. “You’ll do fine.”

Clara took the stick and threw it as high and hard as she could. It soared upward, arced, and came down about a dozen feet away. Again, Bucket caught it in the air. Grinning his doggy grin, he came bouncing back.

Clara picked up the stick he’d dropped at her feet and raised her arm to toss it again.

“At least somebody’s happy,” she said.





Chapter 9


Tracy took off her glasses and rubbed the bridge of her nose. She’d spent most of the afternoon online, searching for any glimmer of hope that might give Rush legal access to the child he loved as his own.

Most of what she’d found was discouraging. In cases where no formal adoption had taken place, precedence would be given to the biological parent, especially if proven by DNA. As a former stepparent with no blood relationship to the child, Rush was no more than a caregiver.

As Clara’s natural parents, Rush’s ex-wife and her husband had the legal right to bar Rush from seeing Clara until she became an adult.

Fairness didn’t enter into the law. Neither did the motives of the parents—which Tracy guessed to be plain, mean-spirited selfishness. Rush’s case looked hopeless.

But then, as she was about to give up, she’d found it—one small loophole. Tracy’s pulse had leaped when she’d come across the paragraph. But as she read through each line of text, once and then again, she’d realized that, under the present conditions, the loophole was useless. As long as Clara’s parents remained together, there was nothing Rush could do.

With a sigh, she logged off the computer, laid down her glasses, leaned back, and closed her eyes to rest them. The question, now, was how much should she tell Rush about what she’d learned.

Telling him what he already knew would be a waste of time and would only frustrate him. But what about that faint possibility, that dim spark of hope she’d just discovered? Should she share it with him, or would that only be cruel, like showing a pitcher of water to a thirsty man without giving him a drink?

For now, she would keep what she’d learned to herself. In fact it might be best not to tell him she’d done research at all. She could always tell him later if the need arose. Meanwhile, it might not be smart to let Rush know how much she cared about him and his little girl.

Something soft brushed her arm. Startled, she blinked and sat up. Rainbow had jumped onto the desk and was gazing at her with curious golden eyes. The weeks since Tracy had taken her in had transformed her from a skinny, bedraggled stray into an elegant cat, with a sleek body and long, silky fur.

Now, with a plaintive meow, she rubbed her head against Tracy’s hand, wanting to be petted. “Hello, Rainbow,” Tracy said, scratching her behind her ears and under her chin. “Taking a break from your babies, are you?”

A purr rumbled in Rainbow’s throat and quivered down the length of her body. “Mmmm, I can tell that feels good.” Tracy stroked along her back, down to the base of her tail, sending the cat into ecstasies of purring.