My Kind of Christmas (The Christmas Tree Ranch #1)(64)

*

Maggie was getting ready for bed when her cell phone rang. When she saw Travis’s name on the caller ID, her first thought was that he’d been in another late-night accident. Heart pounding, she took the call. “Are you all right?” she asked.

“Yes. Listen to me,” he said. “If your doors and windows aren’t locked, do it now. If the doorbell rings, don’t answer it. I think you might be in danger.”

“Everything’s locked now. But what are you talking about, Travis? This is Branding Iron, for heaven’s sake.”

“Listen to me. When I left your place, a car followed me with its lights off. After I got to the highway, it was gone. I think whoever it was might have been waiting to catch you alone. I’m coming back. Stay put, and I’ll be right there.”

“No, wait—it’s all right. I know who it is, and he’s harmless.” There was only one person who would be waiting outside her house in a car. Stanley Featherstone was beginning to give her the creeps, but Maggie couldn’t imagine he would actually harm her.

“Who is it, Maggie? I need to have words with him.”

She thought fast. The last thing she wanted was a showdown between Travis and the constable. “It’s nobody you know,” she lied. “Just an overprotective neighbor. I’ll be fine, Travis. Now go home and get some sleep.”

He hesitated. “You’re sure?”

“Yes. The sheriff lives two blocks from me. If there’s any trouble, all I have to do is call him. Now stop worrying and go on home. I’ll see you soon.”

“If you’re sure. Sleep tight. Call if you need me. I love you.”

Maggie laid her phone on the nightstand. She had been about to undress and get ready for bed when the call came. Now she was too agitated to sleep. Stanley had crossed one line too many. Tomorrow at work, she would give him a good dressing down and threaten to have him arrested for stalking if he didn’t stop spying on her. Knowing Stanley, he would whine and play the victim. But she wouldn’t buy his act. She would let him know she meant business.

Right now, if she didn’t get some sleep, she’d be a wreck in the morning. Her nerves were jangling like the strings of a badly tuned banjo. Maybe a mug of warm milk and a few minutes of late-night talk show would help her unwind.

She had just taken the mug out of the microwave and settled herself in front of the TV when she heard the fire siren.

Setting the mug on the table, she jumped up, jammed her bare feet into her sneakers, and raced outside. From the front porch, she could see the column of smoke and flame blazing upward. It was coming from the south end of town, from the direction of Hank’s Hardware.

With the sickness of certainty, she hurried back inside, grabbed her coat, purse, and keys, and ran for her car. Branding Iron’s firefighters were all volunteer citizens. One of them roared past her in his pickup as she backed out of the driveway. More would be converging on the fire station to ride the engine to the blaze. As mayor, she wasn’t required to be there, but nothing could have kept her away.

*

Hank’s Christmas tree lot was on fire, the dry trees going up like tinder. Every time a new tree caught, the flames shot up like a Roman candle on the Fourth of July. Burning together, they made a roaring spectacle of fire, smoke, and blistering heat.

With the trees beyond saving, the firemen battled to save the store. They trained their single hose on the south wall that faced the tree lot. The vinyl siding had already begun to melt and buckle from the heat, but if they could keep the fire from spreading into the building, they would count it as a victory.

Maggie parked her car at a safe distance and walked closer, to join the people who were watching. She saw Hank, standing alone at the edge of the crowd. She moved next to him and put a comforting hand on his shoulder. “I’m so sorry, Hank,” she said.

When he turned to look at her, his cheeks were wet with tears. “You know my son, Maggie,” he said. “Would he do this?”

“Oh, no!” she gasped, horrified that he would even suggest such a thing. “There’s no way Travis would ever stoop to this!”

Hank didn’t reply. But the look he gave her told Maggie that he still had his doubts.

Travis was nowhere to be seen. Surely if he’d known about the fire, he would have come back. But the ranch was five miles out of town. If he’d driven on home after calling her, he might not have heard the siren or noticed the fire from that distance. She thought of calling him—but she knew he was tired, and there was no need. He would find out about the fire soon enough by tomorrow.

The firemen were winning the battle. By now, most of the trees had burned to ashes, and the rest were smoldering. The wall of the store, with its glass side entrance, was damaged but intact. The stock inside the store was safe.

“Will you be all right?” Maggie asked Hank as the firemen hosed everything down one last time and began to pack up their equipment.

He shrugged. “The building’s insured. But not the trees. That’s the way it goes, I guess.” He walked away, toward his parked truck.

The sheriff was standing nearby, his hand in the pocket of his thick leather jacket. Maggie caught his attention. “Do you have any idea how this started, Ben?” she asked him.

“I won’t know until the place cools down enough for me to look around. It could’ve been some kind of electrical short in the lights. But that’s a stretch. I’d lay odds that somebody started it. It wouldn’t take much. Just tossing a match or a lighted cigarette into one of those trees would be enough. A kid could’ve done it.”