My Kind of Christmas (The Christmas Tree Ranch #1)(52)

He was checking his watch to see how much time remained before 9:00 closing time when a pickup truck with the Branding Iron city logo on the cab door pulled up outside the fence. Travis’s pulse leaped at the thought that it might be Maggie. But he should have known better. The driver, who climbed out and walked through the gate, was a wiry little man with a long, rat-like face. Something about his stride, in high-heeled cowboy boots, the badge on his leather jacket, and the clipboard in his hand told Travis the man wasn’t here to buy a tree.

He drew himself up to his full, undersized height and squared his shoulders. “Which one of you is Travis Morgan?” he demanded.

“I am.” Travis stepped forward. “Is there something I can do for you, Officer?”

“If you want to put it that way, yes. You can accept this citation for littering. Those flyers your people passed out are scattered all over town. I picked up two hundred and twenty-nine of them today. Since the fine for littering is five dollars for each piece, I calculate you owe Branding Iron one thousand, one hundred forty-five dollars.”

“Now just a blamed minute!” Travis had resolved to be calm and courteous. But what he’d just heard left him reeling with shock. “Is this some kind of joke? Did somebody put you up to it?”

People turned around to stare. Rush and Conner moved to Travis’s side as the man answered. “I was just doing my job. And the charge is quite serious. As evidence, I have a large bag of your flyers in my truck. You’re welcome to count them.”

“But they’re not all litter.” One of the teenage girls in Conner’s new fan club stepped forward. “You came to our house this morning, Mr. Featherstone. You asked my mom for our flyer, and she gave it to you. You took it, went next door, and got another one from the neighbors.”

“That’s right. You came to our house, too,” her friend put in.

Featherstone’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “Maybe so. But it doesn’t matter. Any of those flyers could have become litter, and you’d be responsible.”

“Somebody put you up to this, didn’t they?” Conner said. “Who was it?”

“A concerned citizen filed a complaint.”

“Who?” Conner demanded.

“I’m not at liberty to say. Here’s the citation, Mr. Morgan. You can pay the fine or dispute it in court.” He handed Travis a pink ticket. Travis reined back the urge to crumple it and fling it in Featherstone’s face. The last thing he needed was more trouble, and surely this travesty wouldn’t hold up in court.

“I hope we’re done here.” Rush, who was well over six feet tall, loomed over the small man.

“Not quite.” Featherstone shuffled the papers on his clipboard. “There’s also a charge of posting signs without a permit and posting on public property.” He handed Travis another ticket. “I left the signs you put up outside Shop Mart and next to the highway because they’re outside the city limits. The other signs have been taken down and seized as evidence.” He gave Travis a nervous look. “You can read the charges and fines for yourself.”

“Same concerned citizen?” Conner’s words dripped sarcasm.

“I’m not at liberty to say.” Featherstone’s voice shook slightly. “I’ve done my duty. I’ll be going now.”

He backed off as if expecting to be attacked by three large, angry men. At a safe distance, he wheeled and almost ran for his truck.

Travis and his partners watched the red taillights vanish down the road. By now it was almost 9:00, and Featherstone’s visit had put a damper on the merriment. People were gathering their families and heading out with the trees they’d bought. The two high school boys who were helping left, too. Tomorrow would be Sunday, a day the partners had agreed to close, in accordance with Branding Iron custom.

Conner swore out loud. “Concerned citizen, my rear end! You know who’s behind this, don’t you, Travis.”

Travis did. It could only be Hank. Hank with his missing leg, his estranged son, and the business he’d struggled half a lifetime to build. What kind of desperation would drive him to pull a trick like this one?

Good Lord, was he actually feeling sorry for his father? Travis shook off the thought.

“That little weasel must’ve spent the whole day gathering those flyers,” Rush said. “I hope we’re not going to pay that fine.”

“No way in hell,” Travis said. “Thanks to Conner’s little fan club and the folks who heard what they said, no judge would rule against us.”

“Let’s hope not,” Rush said. “But remember, this is Branding Iron.”

“Maybe Maggie would pull some strings for us,” Conner said. “At least it wouldn’t hurt to ask.”

“No!” The protest exploded out of Travis. “Don’t even think about it! We’re not going to involve Maggie in this!”

Conner raised his eyebrows. “Copy that,” was all he said.

Rush glanced at the sky. “Come on, let’s get this place cleaned up. Looks like there might be another storm blowing in.”

As they began dousing the fire, cleaning up the mess from the s’mores and chocolate, and getting the tables under the cover of the porch, snow began drifting down around them in soft, white flakes.