My Kind of Christmas (The Christmas Tree Ranch #1)(54)

As she picked up the paper, she caught sight of her neighbor, a retired teacher who lived next door with his wife. He was blowing snow from the sidewalks farther down the block. Maggie gave him a wave of thanks. But the good man deserved more than a wave for the hard work he’d saved her. As long as she had time this morning, she would make some oatmeal raisin cookies for him and his wife.

After she’d dressed and eaten, she gathered her ingredients and went to work. She had plenty of everything she needed for the cookies. Making a double batch wouldn’t be much more work than a single one. She could always freeze the leftovers for when she needed them.

An hour later, she had about four dozen chewy, fragrant, warm cookies ready. She sampled a couple, then arranged half of the rest in a pretty paper bowl, wrapped them in plastic, added a bow, and took them next door. By then, her neighbors had gone to church, but she knew the cookies would be safe on their covered porch.

Coming home again, she stood in the kitchen and pondered what to do with the rest of the cookies. Freezing them seemed like a waste when they were so good fresh and warm. Maybe she could take them out to Christmas Tree Ranch for Travis and his friends. But no—her presence would only be a distraction, and a gift of cookies would only send a confusing message.

But there was something she could do with them. In her time as mayor, Maggie had made it a point not to hold any grudges or remain at odds with any citizen of Branding Iron—no exceptions. That included the man who’d called her a traitor the last time they’d met.

Resolute now, she boxed the rest of the cookies, put on her coat and boots, and went out to her car. For better or for worse, it was time to make peace with Hank Miller.

She drove slowly on the snow-packed road. Hank lived alone in a small pre-fab house on the south side of town. Maggie could be fairly sure of finding him at home. Hank wasn’t a churchgoer, and Francine, his only close friend, would be busy with weekend guests at the B and B. With so much snow on the roads, it wasn’t likely he’d be out driving. Still, part of her couldn’t help hoping to find him gone when she pulled up to his house.

No such luck. Turning onto Hank’s street, she could see his truck in the carport. Bracing for an unpleasant welcome, she parked at the curb, took the cookies, and waded through the snow to the concrete slab that served as a front porch.

She was still stomping the snow off her boots when Hank answered the bell.

“Maggie.” There was no warmth in his voice and little more than suspicion in his gaze. “What do you want?”

“Just to talk. May I come in?”

He stepped aside without a word, opening the door to let her come in. The living room reminded Maggie of an economy-priced motel unit—neat and orderly but with no personal touches and no family photos. The older TV in one corner was broadcasting a Sunday news program. Hank walked over to the set and switched it off. He didn’t offer to take her coat.

“I did some baking. These are for you.” Maggie thrust the box of cookies toward him.

“Trying to sweeten me up, are you?” Still unsmiling, he took the box and put it on the coffee table.

“No comment.” Maggie’s attempt at humor fell flat.

“Sit down.” He motioned her to a chair. Maggie took a seat. He sat on the sofa, facing her. “So,” he said, “since you came to talk, go ahead and talk.”

He wasn’t making this easy. But the man had been wounded by his son’s rejection, Maggie reminded herself. And he believed she’d taken Travis’s side against him. Of course, his defenses would be up.

“You and I have been friends for a long time, Hank,” she said.

“We have.” His look was guarded.

“I value that friendship too much to let anything spoil it,” Maggie said. “I’m hoping we can get to the bottom of what’s happened so we can move on.”

Hank’s jaw tightened. “If you’re still wanting me to play Santa Claus, forget it. You can take your cookies and go.”

“That’s not what this is about,” Maggie said. “I know what happened between you and your son all those years ago. He was hurt when you sent him home. But you did the right thing back then, Hank. You’ve done the right thing all along. It’s Travis who needs to admit he was wrong and ask for forgiveness.”

Her words seemed to touch Hank. His defensive expression softened. His gaze dropped to his hands. “You heard what Travis said to me. I don’t think my son is capable of asking for forgiveness—or forgiving.”

“But you could be wrong. Listen—this is something I know from a good source. When you put your trees on sale for half price and cut into his opening day of business, Travis’s friend Conner wanted to do something to get back at you. Travis refused. He wouldn’t act against you. Doesn’t that mean something?”

Hank didn’t reply.

“Travis didn’t go into the tree business to spite you,” Maggie said. “He did it because the trees were growing on his property. It was a gift—a way to make the money he needed to run the ranch.”

“But he could have come to me. If he had, I’d have helped him learn the business. I might have even given him some start-up money,” Hank said. “Now it’s too late.”

“I refuse to believe that. It’s never too late.”

He gave her a dejected look. “Hasn’t Travis told you what I did?”