It's a Christmas Thing (The Christmas Tree Ranch #2)(8)
“It’s no trouble. I have to come into town anyway, for an appointment.” Rush stepped out onto the porch and closed the door behind him. So much for his unrequited crush. His partners would tease him about striking out with the judge. For now, he would just have to grin and bear it. For the future, all he could do was call this a lesson learned and move on.
*
Clutching Steve’s old tools, Tracy stood at the front window and watched Rush walk out to the street. His long strides stirred the fallen leaves that covered the sidewalk. Caught by the breeze, they swirled around him in a shower of reds and golds.
Even from behind, the vet was pure eye candy. He was also gentle and kind, and she could tell he liked her. If she’d given him any encouragement, he might have asked her out. But even if he had, she would have turned him down. She wasn’t ready yet. Maybe she never would be.
The memory of that day, eighteen months ago, when she’d sat by Steve’s bed and watched him slip away, was as raw as if it had happened last week. And the fact that today would’ve been their wedding anniversary only deepened the pain.
Turning away from the window, she glanced down at her bare finger. At Steve’s funeral, as she’d leaned over the casket to kiss him good-bye, she had impulsively taken off her gold wedding band and slipped it onto his little finger. Afterward, when it was too late, she’d regretted the loss. The ring had been a connection to the man she’d loved and the life they’d shared. Now it was gone forever.
Tracy paused for a moment to gaze at the photo on the mantel, taken by a friend on a Galveston beach, not long after their wedding. She and Steve had met in law school. They’d fallen in love on their first date but waited until after graduation to marry. Steve had graduated at the top of his class, Tracy with honors that same year.
They’d planned to work in Austin or the Dallas–Fort Worth area, but when Steve’s widowed mother had needed care and offered them clear title to the family home, they’d returned to Branding Iron, where Steve had grown up. Steve had joined a law firm in nearby Cottonwood Springs. Tracy had filled a vacancy in Branding Iron’s city court, ruling mostly on traffic tickets, petty crimes, domestics, small claims, and property disputes. It wasn’t the glamorous, big-city job she’d dreamed of, but being with Steve had made it all right. Now that he’d been gone for more than a year, Tracy had begun to imagine more challenging jobs in more interesting places. Maybe it was time to sell the house and move on.
But long-range plans would have to wait. Right now, she needed to rush to Shop Mart, fill the prescription for the dog, and get a small truckload of supplies for the mom-to-be cat. It would be like helping out a little pregnant teenager, Tracy told herself. See to her needs, and when she’s ready, send her on her way.
She finished cleaning up the kitchen mess and changed into clean jeans, a light blue hoodie, and sneakers. She could put on her court clothes later, when it was time to go to work.
The big-box store was crowded with people buying treats, costumes, and decorations for Halloween, which was just two days off. The aisles were festooned with orange and black crepe paper streamers. Fake skeletons, ghosts, witches, and spiderwebs dangled overhead.
Tracy, whose house didn’t have so much as a pumpkin on the porch, grabbed an empty cart and tossed in a couple bags of miniature candy bars for the neighborhood kids. What did it matter? Three days from now, the Halloween decorations would come down and the Christmas displays would go up, along with that awful fake cinnamon smell and those cheesy Christmas carols blasting over the P.A.
Christmas.
Last Christmas, her first since Steve’s death, had been the most miserable holiday of her life. With the blinds closed, she’d sat alone in the darkened living room, hugging Murphy and watching the classic-movies channel on TV. There’d been no Christmas tree, no gifts, and no phone calls. She’d turned off her phone to make sure of that. This year wasn’t likely to be much better. Her only wish was to get through the holiday without sinking into a blue funk.
Christmas! Scrooge was right. Bah! Humbug!
Pushing the thought from her mind, Tracy wheeled her cart to the pharmacy counter, dropped off the Cosequin prescription, and headed for the pet aisle. There she picked up a set of bowls, some canned food that was similar to the samples Rush had given her, and a plastic litter pan with a cover. The two sections came in a cardboard box that would do nicely for the cat’s bed.
She was looking at bags of litter, wondering whether to go cheap or pamper her pet with a deluxe product, when she heard a voice behind her.
“Tracy, what are you doing in the cat aisle? Have you got a new pet, or did you just take a wrong turn?”
Tracy turned to find Maggie Delaney, Branding Iron’s statuesque, redheaded mayor, standing next to her. Tracy hadn’t made many friends in Branding Iron. Her early life here had revolved around Steve. And after Steve’s death, grief had built a wall around her. But she knew Maggie from work. The two women were casual friends—the only kind of friends Tracy had.
“What do you know about kitty litter?” Tracy asked.
“Not much. The little darlings poop in it, and their human slaves have to scoop it out every day.”
“You must have cats.”
“No,” Maggie said, “I’m more of a dog person myself. Didn’t you once mention that you have a dog?”
“Yes,” Tracy said. “Murphy’s an old sweetheart. But this little pregnant cat showed up on my doorstep, and when the vet came by—”