My Kind of Christmas (The Christmas Tree Ranch #1)(10)

“Me too.” He sighed and turned toward the door. “Good luck findin’ a new Santa.”

I’m going to need more than luck, Maggie thought as the door closed behind him. If I can’t find anybody for the parade, I could wind up wearing that blasted Santa suit and beard myself!

She dismissed the thought of driving out to see Travis Morgan after work. He was probably still angry about the gate. And her headache was getting worse. She would go home, get some rest, and face him in the morning, when she was feeling up to the challenge.

And Travis Morgan would be a challenge. That much was certain.

*

The next morning, Maggie walked into the office at 9:00. After checking her messages, and without taking off her coat, she went outside to her car again and headed for the road to Travis’s ranch.

The weather had cleared and warmed, melting the last traces of the ice storm. Cattle grazed in the pastures where the hay had been cut. Migrating geese rose in a cloud from a field of golden wheat stubble, then settled again to feed as she passed.

She could see the ranch ahead, with its unpainted wooden house, its sagging barn and sheds, and the rusty tractor parked out of the weather. Getting the place into shape was going to take time and more money than Travis appeared to have. Now that she knew his story and what he’d done as a favor to Abner, she was more sympathetic than before. But she could do little other than wish him luck.

As she pulled off the road and parked next to the gate, she noticed that the post had been straightened. The gate was closed, and the windmill was working.

No one was in sight, but the thread of smoke curling out of the chimney and the battered Ford pickup parked next to the house told her Travis must be there. Maggie unfastened the gate, stepped through, and fastened it again behind her—good manners in ranch country. “Hello?” she called. “Is anybody here?”

That was when a sharp, foul odor reached her nostrils. She grimaced. No need to guess what it was. Somebody—or something—had tangled with a skunk.

Just then, a black and white streak came rocketing around the house, headed straight for her. She’d made friends with Abner’s dog over the years, and Bucket clearly recognized her. Tongue lolling, tail thumping, he flung himself against her legs with happy yips.

“Hello, old boy.” She reached down, to pat him. “How do you like your new—” The smell blasted her senses. “Oh, my stars!” she muttered.

“I bathed him—twice.” Travis had come out onto the front porch.

“Well, it didn’t work!” Maggie huffed, backing away from the dog. “What did you use on him?”

“Bath soap. All it did was make me smell almost as bad as he does. You might want to keep your distance, Mayor Maggie.”

“At least I don’t have to introduce myself,” she said. “Have you recovered from your fall?”

“I’m sore as hell, but I’ve been worse. I’ll live.”

“I take it Abner told you to expect me,” she said.

“I hope he told you there was no way I’d agree to play Santa Claus.”

“He gave me that impression.” She backed away from Bucket, who was still begging for attention. “Can’t you call this dog off ?”

“I can try. But he only minds when he wants to.” Travis reached down and picked up a stick from the porch. “Look at this, Bucket—go get it!”

He flung the stick so far that it vanished from sight. The dog wheeled and raced after it. “Come on inside,” Travis said. “That’s the only place you’ll be safe from him.”

Maggie followed him inside. Even here there was a faint odor of skunk. But the place was clean and orderly, if sparsely furnished. The kitchen and living room were combined in one open space that was heated by an old-fashioned, wood-burning stove. Two unmatched armchairs, with a small table between them, faced the stove at a comfortable distance.

He motioned for her to sit, which she did. There was an air of quiet authority about him. But then he’d been a patrolman, Maggie reminded herself. She knew that prisoners tended to be rough on convicted cops. He couldn’t have had an easy time of it in prison. She was looking at one very tough man.

“Coffee?” he asked. “I just made some.”

“Sure, thanks. I take it black.” She let him pour her some in a chipped mug. It was hot and good.

“Bath soap won’t work on a dog that’s been skunked,” she said, breaking the silence. “What you need is tomato juice. You get a case of those big cheap cans and soak him in it. The juice neutralizes the spray. After that, you can bathe him with soap.”

“Thanks. That’s just one more thing I didn’t know,” he said. “Growing up, I never even had a dog, let alone horses. If you know anybody who wants Abner’s animals, they’d be doing me a favor. I only took them because the old man was desperate. He said they’d be put down if he went off and left them for the new owners. I guess I was a soft touch. But, Lord, I don’t know the first thing about taking care of them. It’s like suddenly having children dropped off on your doorstep.”

“I take it you’ve never had children.” She gave him a teasing smile, which didn’t seem to have much effect.

“Not a chance. At least I did something right.”