My Kind of Christmas (The Christmas Tree Ranch #1)(6)

Maggie walked back down the hall in the direction of the mayor’s office. A full day of meetings and appointments lay ahead of her. She needed to focus on doing her job. But thoughts of Travis Morgan and what she’d learned about him kept crowding into her mind. She remembered the chiseled planes of his face and the look in his startling, slate-colored eyes as she bent over him.

He was a bitter man, an angry man, too proud to accept payment for his damaged gate. And yet he’d been enough of a gentleman to open the car door and hold it against the wind. And now that she knew he’d been a lawman, his warning not to speed on the icy road took on a new meaning. He’d been honestly concerned about her safety.

Forget him, she told herself. As long as she knew he had the legal right to be on the ranch, and that he wasn’t a danger to her or anyone else, Travis Morgan was none of her concern.

Still, one memory haunted her. When she’d bent over him and he’d opened his eyes, in the instant before his gaze hardened, she’d glimpsed something wounded and vulnerable . . . something she couldn’t forget.

Lost in thought, she didn’t see the cocky figure coming toward her until she’d almost bumped into him. She gasped and took a step backward. Stanley Featherstone, the constable, who took care of minor violations in Branding Iron, was not a physically intimidating man. But something about him always made her uneasy. Maybe it was his way of edging into her personal space when they spoke. Like now.

“Hello, Maggie.” He was so close that she could feel his warm breath. She took another step backward and found herself trapped against a wall.

“What is it, Stanley?” she asked, trying to be polite. After all, she had to work with him—in fact, she was his supervisor. He was good at his job, dutiful, thorough, and always on time. She could find no fault with the man. He just plain annoyed the living daylights out of her.

“I saw you coming out of the sheriff’s office just now,” he said. “I was wondering what you talked about.”

“Nothing to concern you, Stanley. Everything’s fine. Now, if you don’t mind, I’m late for a meeting.” She tried to step aside, but he seemed rooted to the floor.

“I left my weekly report on your desk. I was wondering when you wanted to go over it with me.”

“I’m sure it’s fine. If I have any questions, I’ll call you in. Now I really do have to go.”

This time he let her. She hurried away, taking deep breaths to calm herself. Stanley had asked her out more than once, but she’d kept to the ironclad excuse that she didn’t date coworkers. At least he hadn’t asked her again—a small bright spot in a day that had started out with a dinged bumper, a broken gate, and an encounter with a disturbingly attractive man.

*

In the barn, Travis had cleaned out two roomy box stalls for Abner’s horses, lining the floors with straw, piling the feeders with hay, and filling two big plastic buckets with fresh water. Lord, he didn’t know anything about horses—or even dogs, for that matter. Growing up, his stepfather, a fastidious, germ-phobic dentist, had been allergic to animal hair, so Travis had never even had a pet. How was he supposed to take care of a whole damned menagerie?

At least he wouldn’t have to keep them forever. An online ad on some local site should be enough to find them new owners. But he was already sorry he’d walked into Buckaroo’s that morning and even sorrier that he’d fallen for old Abner’s hard luck story.

Wandering back outside, he gazed up the road, expecting to see Abner’s old truck approaching with the horses tied behind and the dog riding along. He didn’t have a doghouse or any dog food, but if Abner didn’t provide any, the dog could sleep in the barn and eat table scraps—or maybe catch gophers. There were plenty of those around.

While he waited, he decided to fix the damaged gatepost. On inspection, the metal didn’t appear to be bent, but it was leaning from its base. Travis fetched a shovel and began digging around it. The post was set solidly in concrete, but the big Lincoln’s impact had loosened it in the ground and pushed it to one side. It was fixable. But digging around the lump of cement to straighten it would cost him some effort.

He was nearly finished with the job when he heard the growl of an engine and the snorting of horses. He watched the truck come into sight, moving slowly, with two immense gray horses tethered alongside. As the truck rumbled closer, he could see that it was towing something on a flatbed trailer—something big and bulky, covered with a canvas tarp.

“What the hell . . . ?” he muttered as the truck pulled up to the gate. But there was no time to wonder. Abner opened the door and climbed out of the cab. His round, whiskery face wore a grin.

“Well, here we are,” he said.

“Yes . . . here you are.” As Travis spoke, a scruffy-looking black and white dog jumped down from the cab, trotted over to him, and began sniffing his boots. Abner had said he was half Border Collie. The other half must’ve jumped over the fence.

“Looks like Bucket’s checking you out,” Abner said. “That’s a good sign. He doesn’t take to just anybody.”

“Why do you call him Bucket?” Travis shifted uneasily as the curious dog sniffed his way up his leg.

Abner shrugged. “He had that name when I got him as a pup. Don’t rightly know how he came by it, but it’s the name he answers to. He’s a right smart dog. You’ll see.”