My Kind of Christmas (The Christmas Tree Ranch #1)(30)

“I went into a pool hall—the place is gone now—and asked where I could find Hank Miller. Somebody who knew him gave me directions to a broken-down trailer on a vacant lot by the old railroad yard. It was night when I found the place. There was a junk car parked outside, and I could see what looked like lantern light through the window. By then I was shaking, but I forced myself to knock on the door. My father opened it.”

Travis paused by the wire fence that surrounded the hayfield. He took a slow breath, his jaw clenching tight with the memory.

“What happened?” Maggie asked when he didn’t speak.

“About what you’d think. The man in the doorway was foul-mouthed, filthy, and so drunk he could barely stand. When I told him who I was, he cursed me—called my mother a bitch and worse. ‘Get the hell out of here, boy!’ he said. ‘Forget you ever saw me! If you come back here again, I’ll call the police!’ ”

“I’m sorry.” Maggie could think of nothing else to say.

“My mother was right. He was a mean, worthless, drunken bum. After he shoved me off the step and slammed the door, I cried myself to sleep in an alley behind a Dumpster. The next morning, I lit out for home and swore I’d never speak to him again.”

Maggie laid a hand on his sleeve. “That was a long time ago. Hank’s a different person now. He went to AA and sobered up, got a job at the feed store, and arranged to buy the place when the owner retired. Over the years, he’s added the hardware business and earned the respect of the whole town. And he’s one of the kindest men I know.”

“I’m a different person, too, Maggie. I know what it’s like to hit bottom and struggle back from nothing. I’m not entirely hard-hearted, but there are things you don’t know—things I’m not at liberty to tell you. Later, when you know, you’ll understand. But for now—”

“Oh, stop making excuses!” She wheeled away from him. “Why do things have to be so complicated between good people?”

“And why does your whole life have to revolve around your job and that damned Christmas parade?”

He tossed the flashlight to the ground, caught her hand, and spun her back toward him. His arms crushed her close. His gaze burned through the darkness between them. When he kissed her, it was not like the first time, but fierce, rough, his mouth taking full possession of hers. Maggie’s response blazed. She melted against him with a low moan, loving the taste and feel of him, loving the luscious sensations that swirled through her body as the kiss went on and on.

He had to know what he was doing to her, and that she wanted him as much as he wanted her. From somewhere in the back of her mind, a cautious voice whispered that this wasn’t a good idea. Right now, she didn’t care.

He drew back, just far enough to talk. “Damn it, Maggie, why can’t we just keep this, you and me, apart from all the other craziness? Why can’t we just stop asking questions and enjoy this while it lasts?”

While it lasts . . .

Those words were enough to sober her. She’d been carried away by Travis’s kiss and the thrill of being in his arms. But she wasn’t a while it lasts kind of woman. For her, it had to be all or nothing.

Years ago, she’d let herself say yes to a man who wasn’t fully ready to commit. That broken engagement had left her determined not to make the same mistake again.

Gently, she untangled herself from his embrace. “Maybe we need to give this a rest for now,” she said. “What do you say we get that box and put it in my car?”

It was as if his face had assumed a mask—the one he wore with strangers. “Message received and copied,” he said, picking up the flashlight and turning back toward the shed. Maggie had to stretch her legs to keep up with his long strides. Bucket frisked ahead of them, his white markings a beacon in the dark.

Handing her the flashlight, he raised the edge of the tarp that covered the sleigh and lifted out the box. “Got it,” he said. “Let’s go.”

“Why didn’t Conner want to give up the sleigh?” she asked against her better judgment.

“You’ll have to ask Conner about that.” He waited while she opened the door of her Lincoln. Then he slid the box onto the rear seat. “You’re welcome to come back in. I know he’d like to thank you for the meal.”

“No need for that. It was my pleasure. Here’s your flashlight.” They were behaving like polite strangers, speaking as if that blistering kiss had never happened. Maggie kept up the pretense as she closed the rear door and walked around the car to the driver’s side. Whatever she’d hoped to accomplish here tonight, she’d failed.

“Good night, Travis,” she said. “Thank you for telling me about your father. I wish I could change things between the two of you, but I know better than to try. Only you can do that. I won’t trouble you again.”

She slid into the driver’s seat. When she started the car and turned on the light, she saw that he’d stepped away and called Bucket to him, to make sure the dog stayed clear of the wheels.

He stayed where he was, watching her, as she backed out of the gate and onto the road. Pausing to change gears, she gave him a casual wave, as if to say no hard feelings. He gave her a nod and a tip of an invisible hat before she pressed the gas pedal too hard and roared away.

She wasn’t going to cry this time, Maggie told herself. She’d done all she could. Now it was time to walk away and leave Travis to pursue his own agenda. Unless Hank was willing to play Santa with Conner driving the sleigh, she would give up on that idea and look elsewhere. There was always another solution—that was what her father used to tell her. Somehow she would find it.