My Kind of Christmas (The Christmas Tree Ranch #1)(58)

“But your father wrote to you in prison. He would’ve helped you if you’d let him.”

“I guess my memory was too good. I didn’t want anything to do with that mean old drunk.”

“He wasn’t a mean old drunk when he wrote to you. He’d sobered up and become one of the kindest men I know.”

“So why has he tried to sabotage me at every turn?” Travis demanded.

“Because he thought you’d deliberately set out to ruin his business. But he knows better now. I set him right today.”

He sighed. “I want to do what you ask, Maggie. But after what I’ve been through, forgiving isn’t as easy as you make it sound.”

“But it’s not impossible. The people who hurt you in the past don’t matter. You’ll never see them again. But Hank is your father, your only living relative. When you have children, he’ll be their grandfather. Think about that.”

“Come here, you amazing, meddlesome woman.” He circled her with his free arm and pulled her close. “You know I’ll try. I’ll try because I love you and because it’s what you want. But it’s going to take some time. And right now, I’m so crazy busy that it’s all I can do to deal with what’s right in front of me.”

Maggie nodded, knowing it was all she could ask of him. “So for now, we’re back where we started.”

“Not quite.” He tilted her chin and captured her mouth in a long, deep, heartfelt kiss that she never wanted to end. “I want you for keeps, Maggie,” he said. “And whatever it takes, I’m going to make sure that can happen. I promise. Do you understand?”

The kiss she returned was meant to be brief, but it warmed and lingered, leaving them both breathless. “I understand. And I’ll wait. But not too long. I’m not a patient woman.”

“I can tell.” He might have kissed her again, but at that instant Bucket, not wanting to be left out, jumped off the backseat and pushed his way between them. Laughing, they rumpled his ears, turned the sleigh around, and headed back to the ranch house.

*

On Monday morning, Maggie was back at her desk. Outside her window, a powdery snow was falling. The morning was frigid, the sky the color of old spoons. From somewhere in the rear of the building, Christmas songs were playing over a speaker.

Yesterday, she and Travis had parted on loving terms. But once again they’d agreed to put off their romance until the busy season was behind them. Maggie was already looking forward to the time when they could spend long evenings snuggling by the fire.

But right now, she had work to do.

At the top of her list was a call to a counselor who worked for social services and specialized in Down syndrome. The woman worked out of Amarillo, but she spent one day a week in Cottonwood Springs. She said she’d be happy to spend some time addressing Connie’s concerns. She’d also be willing to talk to Katy if and when the right time came. Maggie thanked her, then made another call to pass her contact information on to Connie.

That done, it was on to the next item—checking on a professional Santa Claus. Maggie sighed as the list she’d googled came up. Who’d have guessed that Santas had agencies? For all she knew, they had a union, too.

The nearest Santa agency was in Amarillo. When she clicked on their site, she discovered that they also handled party clowns, Elvis impersonators, and strippers. They probably charged a lot more than she could squeeze out of the city budget, but she was getting desperate. She made the call.

“I’m sorry, but all our Santas are booked for the date you need,” the woman on the other end of the phone told her. “We have an Elvis who plays Santa, but he only does it as Elvis, without the white beard. If you’d be interested—”

“Thanks, but we really need a traditional Santa,” Maggie said. “As long as we’re on the phone, can you tell me how much your Santas charge?”

“It varies,” the woman said. “The top ones, who do the malls, get the most, though I’m not at liberty to say how much. A Santa for your little parade would probably cost you between five hundred and a thousand dollars, including travel time, plus expenses.”

“Uh . . . thanks,” Maggie gulped, ending the call. Maybe she should have asked about the Elvis Santa. But never mind. Given the cost, hiring a professional was out of the question.

Maybe she should seriously consider wearing the red suit herself. Everybody would recognize her, of course. For the adults and teens, that would be a great joke. But the little kids who still believed would be devastated. That would never do.

Maggie rested her head between her hands, fingers furrowing her hair. She was running out of options.

“Hello, Maggie. Are you all right?”

Constable Stanley Featherstone stood right in front of her desk. She jerked upright with a startled gasp.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “Did I scare you?”

“You did. You should’ve knocked. Where’s the receptionist?”

“She went to the restroom, so I just came in. I’ll ask again. Are you all right?”

“I’m fine.” Maggie took a deep breath. “What is it you need, Stanley?”

“It’s not what I need. I just wanted to warn you about that man I saw you with at Shop Mart on Saturday. He and his friends could be dangerous.”