My Kind of Christmas (The Christmas Tree Ranch #1)(14)

“And with that hair of yours, red isn’t your color. You’re more of an autumn,” Francine joked. “So do we have a deal?”

“We do.” Maggie put a bill on the table and rose. “I have to go now, but I’m in, and I’ll get back to you. Thanks for your help, Francine.”

“My pleasure, honey. And good luck.”

The two women fist-bumped. Then Maggie hurried out to her car. Having Francine as her coconspirator could make a difference. But they were dealing with two stubborn men. There were plenty of pitfalls. And there was always the chance that their meddling would only make matters worse.

But if they succeeded, it could mean a win for two good men, for the town of Branding Iron, and for the spirit of Christmas.

*

Travis had used eleven cans of tomato juice to bathe the dog and saved the last one for himself. The clothes he’d been wearing were buried, and the skunk had departed when he’d left a radio playing punk rock on the porch. That godawful smell would probably linger for weeks, but at least it was no longer knock-you-flat overpowering.

Meanwhile, he couldn’t forget to take care of the horses. He’d given them fresh hay and water and shoveled steaming heaps of manure out of their bedding straw. At least it would help fertilize the spring hay crop. But the huge Percherons had nothing to do but stand in their stalls. While the weather was mild, they needed to be outside for fresh air and exercise.

The ranch had no corral. But the hay pasture, which covered several acres, was fenced all around with rusty barbed wire. He’d seen horses in neighboring fields, so he guessed the Percherons would be safe there. But the distance from the barn to the pasture gate was about fifty yards. Could he lead them that far without spooking them? And could he catch them again when it was time to put them back into the barn? As long as they were calm and docile, that shouldn’t be a problem. But if anything went wrong, he was no match for an out-of-control one-ton horse. All he could do was get the hell out of the way.

Truth be told, they made him damned nervous.

The next morning, he decided to give it a try. He remembered how Abner had clipped the lead ropes to their nylon halters, which they were still wearing. The big animals had plodded along without resistance. The first time would be the hardest, he reminded himself. With luck, nothing would go wrong. After that, it would be easier.

As he walked out to open the pasture gate, Bucket stuck to Travis’s heels. The dog seemed to follow him everywhere he went, always keeping a little behind, almost as if he were herding his new master. Bucket still smelled faintly of skunk, but after multiple baths, his black and white coat was like fluffy silk. He was a handsome animal, and he seemed to know it. He carried his plumed tail like a banner, letting the long hairs flutter in the breeze.

Returning to the barn, Travis steeled his resolve and opened the first box stall. The horse—Patch, the one with the white spot—snorted softly but stood still as Travis clipped the lead rope to the metal ring on the halter. Bucket sat at the entrance to the stall, ears perked, tongue lolling.

Travis moved toward the open gate of the stall, tugging gently on the lead. With a low nicker, Patch responded, following him out of the barn and across the yard. Bucket trailed behind, staying just clear of the massive hooves.

By the time he’d put the second horse in the pasture and closed the gate, Travis was feeling more confident. The big Percherons were docile and well trained. He was the one who needed training—how to handle them, how to give them commands, how to groom and care for them, how to put them in harness . . .

But what was he thinking? Lord, he’d never wanted a horse, let alone two. He didn’t even like horses. There had to be somebody—maybe in Cottonwood Springs or one of the other towns, who would have a use for them. He could run an ad—but what if the person who replied was just after horseflesh to sell to a slaughterhouse for dog food?

Damn! He was getting soft in the head! He was as sentimental as Abner!

Pausing, he turned and watched the two horses amble into the open field, stopping to nibble at the alfalfa that had sprouted after the fall harvest. The sky was clear, the wind brisk. They should be fine until tonight, he told himself.

Bucket nudged his hand and wagged his tail, wanting attention. Travis reached down and scratched his satiny head. Maybe the dog was lonesome for Abner. Dogs did get lonesome for their owners—at least the ones in books and movies did.

“What am I supposed to do with you, you old rascal?” He glanced down at Bucket, who wagged his tail. “So far, you’ve done nothing but get skunk-sprayed, gobble up food, and follow me around like a shadow. Abner said you were a good watchdog, but there’s nothing around here worth stealing. How are you supposed to earn your keep?”

Bucket gave a little yip. Travis shook his head. “Okay, I guess we’ll just have to figure it out as we go along.”

But Bucket was the least of his worries. If he couldn’t get rid of the horses, at least he needed to learn to manage them. Horses were complicated animals. An old friend of his, who’d made it big as a rodeo star, had owned a book on horse care that was as thick as his fist.

An old friend!

Maybe that was the answer. He and Conner Branch had been best friends in high school, and they’d never really lost touch. Conner had even written him a few letters while he was doing time. Travis hadn’t contacted Conner since he’d been released and moved to Branding Iron, but he still had Conner’s old number on his phone. If anybody knew about horses, Conner did.