My Kind of Christmas (The Christmas Tree Ranch #1)(29)

“How about some dessert? No, stay put. I’ll get it.” She rose, gathered up the dinner plates, and carried them to the counter. Finding saucers, she put a brownie and a scoop of vanilla bean ice cream on each one.

Conner took a bite of brownie. “Mmmm! Did you make these, too? If you say yes, I’m proposing here and now!”

Maggie laughed. “Sorry. The brownies came from Shop Mart’s bakery department. If you want to hang on to that proposal, I’ll get you the phone number of the cook. Maybe she’s single.”

“You’ve treated us like kings tonight, Maggie,” Travis said. “When we’re finished here, I’ll volunteer Conner to clean up while I walk you outside to get that box out of the sleigh. Okay, Conner?”

“Sure, if I can push myself away from the table. Did you mean we could keep those leftover enchiladas, Maggie?”

“You bet. The salad, too. Just cover the dishes and put them in the fridge. I’ll pick them up later.”

“No need. I’ll drop them off at your office on my next trip to town.” Travis pushed his chair out and stood. “Ready to go outside, Maggie?”

“I guess.” She let him help her with her jacket. The brush of his hands on her shoulders sent a tingle of awareness through her body.

Bucket was waiting on the porch when they went outside. He tagged along as they walked back around the house to the open shed. The night was chilly, with stars emerging from among drifting clouds. Travis had brought a flashlight. It made a pale circle on the ground as they walked slowly, side by side.

“Thanks for the meal, Maggie,” Travis said. “Whatever you had in mind, it was a nice gesture.”

“But you still don’t trust me. Not even after I was honest with you. Is that what you’re trying to tell me?”

“It’s not that I don’t trust you. It’s that you’re wasting your time. I washed my hands of my father years ago, and nothing’s going to change that.”

“That’s too bad. I have it on good authority that if you’d go to him and settle the past, he’d consider playing Santa in the Christmas parade.”

His jaw tightened. “Is that damned Christmas parade the only thing that matters to you, Maggie? Is that why you came here tonight, with all that food and fake sweetness?”

“It wasn’t fake! I care about all the people in this town—and not just because it’s my job. The old folks, the parents, the kids—even outsiders like you and Conner—they all matter to me. I want Branding Iron to be a happy place—especially at Christmastime.”

“Conner might be willing to drive the sleigh. He can already handle a team, and I know he wouldn’t mind doing it. But Hank might have issues with Conner, too, for reasons you aren’t aware of. Your best bet would be to find a different Santa Claus.”

“Can’t you at least talk to Hank? If you could settle your differences—”

“I’m sorry, Maggie, but that’s not going to happen, especially now.”

They’d paused outside the shed. “I know Hank’s been through a lot, but he’s a good man,” Maggie said. “I can’t imagine what he could’ve done to make you so set against him.”

He turned to face her in the darkness. “Are you asking me to tell you?”

“I’d like to understand, at least.”

“Listen, then,” he said. “But if you don’t like what you hear, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”





Chapter 8


As he spoke, trailing the words out slowly, Travis kept walking, past the shed and out into the yard. Maggie matched her steps to his, following the beam of his flashlight.

“You know how my father—Hank—lost his leg, don’t you?”

“Most people around here do. It must’ve been an awful accident. Do you remember it at all?”

“Not really. I wasn’t much more than a baby then. I don’t even remember living in this house. But this ranch is where it happened. I guess my parents were doing okay before. But their marriage couldn’t survive the accident. I can imagine what it did to their love life, and to other things, like his ability to work. According to my mother, he started drinking to kill the pain. After that, she said, he was drunk most of the time, and when he got drunk, he got mean. She told me how he’d hit her and call her foul names and how afraid she was that he might hurt me, too. When she couldn’t take it anymore, she took me and left Branding Iron for good. Not long after that, she married my stepfather, and they settled in Oklahoma, where I grew up.”

His long, silent pause made her wonder whether the story was finished. “Is that all?” she asked.

“Not quite.” His voice had taken on a flat, bitter tone. “My stepfather, who adopted me, was a decent man. He tried to raise me right. But he was pretty strict, and like a lot of teenagers, I was a smart-ass kid. We argued a lot.

“When I was about sixteen, after one big blowup, I decided I was going to run away and find my real father. My mother had painted him pretty black over the years. She’d made sure I understood what a mean, worthless, drunken bum he was. But I found myself thinking, how bad could he be? Maybe if I showed up, he’d even let me live with him.

“I knew he was still in Branding Iron, so one night I filled my backpack, snuck out of the house, and caught my first ride with a trucker. By the end of the second day, using my thumb and my wits, I’d made it to Branding Iron.