Santa's Sweetheart (The Christmas Tree Ranch #4)(17)
“I can’t tell you what to do, Hank,” Sam said, hurting for the man. “But it seems to me the one question that matters is what would be best for Travis.”
“Asked and answered.” Hank sucked on the cigarette. “I signed the damned paper she sent and put it in the mail. And then I got drunk and punched some jerk who got in my face.”
“Well, you got lucky this time,” Sam said. “The man you hit declined to press charges. Otherwise you’d be facing time for assault and battery. As it is, you’re free to go. As soon as the paperwork’s done, I’ll drive you home. We can pick up your car at Rowdy’s later.”
“Thanks, but I’ll walk.”
“It’s cold out there. You don’t have a warm coat, and you’re already in bad shape. You could end up in the hospital. You know the drill by now. Collect your crutch and your other things, and I’ll meet you by the front door.”
“Have you got enough heat?” Sam asked Hank as they took a back street toward his home—a small trailer in a weedy vacant lot on the edge of town.
“My little electric heater does fine,” Hank said. “Stop trying to mother hen me, Sam. You’ve got more important things to do. I can take care of myself.”
“That’s what you always say.” Sam turned the corner onto a dirt road. “Then you get in trouble again. In a way, it’s too bad the man you slugged didn’t press charges. Six months in jail would’ve given you a warm place to sleep, three meals a day, and maybe some rehab.”
“Rehab’s for two-legged folks.”
Sam knew better than to lecture the man about self-pity. Hank had heard it all. “Do you still have that schedule of AA meetings that I gave you?” he asked.
“Got it somewhere. But the last thing I need is cookies and Kool-Aid and listening to a bunch of sob stories.”
Sam pulled into the lot, helped Hank out of the Jeep, and gave him a hand into the trailer. The space inside was cold. Sam gathered up the scattered food wrappers, checked the wiring on the portable electric heater, and turned it on. “Hank, you’ve got to keep papers and junk away from this heater, or you could burn the place down.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know.” Hank hobbled to the sagging couch, collapsed onto it, and closed his eyes. “You can go, Sam. I’m just gonna stretch out and sleep.”
“Fine. Behave yourself.” Sam took a minute to check the fridge and cupboards. He found no food except for some tuna and three cans of chicken noodle soup. He would make a run to the store for a few basics, such as bread, milk, eggs, peanut butter, and instant coffee. While Hank was out cold, he would sneak in and put everything away. Buying food for folks wasn’t his job, but he cared about the well-being of everybody in his little town. Helping folks was a good use of his time. Settling fights and arresting lawbreakers was a good use of his time. So was being a father to Maggie.
But sitting through meetings like that blasted party-planning session tonight was nothing but a waste.
Chapter Five
“Have you got your book, Maggie?” Sam asked as he boosted his daughter into the Jeep.
“I’ve got two books, just in case,” Maggie said. “Can I have an extra doughnut if I’m quiet?”
“We’ll see if there’s enough to go around. Buckle up.”
Sam climbed into the driver’s seat, switched on the headlamps, and started the powerful engine. He’d hoped to leave Maggie with the neighbors tonight, but they’d gone out of town, so she’d be coming with him to the party-planning meeting.
This arrangement was nothing new. Maggie had attended other meetings with her dad, and she knew the rules—sit in the corner, read her book, and don’t interrupt. The bathroom was just down the hall, and she could go without asking permission. Otherwise she was to stay put and keep still. Most of the folks in the city and county government knew the little girl, and no one had ever complained about her being there. Maggie didn’t seem to mind it either.
The drive to the city and county building was short, but it still gave Sam time to think about Grace. He’d paid extra out of pocket for the best rental car available—a late-model Cadillac. He’d given her his work and home phone numbers, hoping she’d at least let him know the car had arrived. But he hadn’t heard from her.
Never mind, he’d gotten the message loud and clear. The lady wanted nothing more to do with him. And that was fine.
He pulled into the parking lot and stopped next to a tiny lime green Volkswagen bug that had been parked in the space clearly marked SHERIFF. “Idiot,” Sam muttered as he went around the Jeep to help his daughter out. What kind of fool would park in his slot, let alone drive a vehicle that looked as if it had been built for chipmunks? Nobody he knew, that was for sure.
The meeting would be held in the conference room next to the mayor’s office. Helen had left the box of doughnuts on the table, along with the extra box that Sam had ordered as an afterthought. Reba, the mayor’s secretary, always made the coffee, so that was taken care of, too.
Sam moved one chair into the corner for Maggie and made sure she was comfortable. At least it wasn’t his meeting. His only job would be to sit at the table, sip coffee, offer a suggestion or two, and try not to appear too bored.
A printed agenda had been laid at each place. Scanning the items on the page, Sam pulled out his chair and sat down. When he glanced up, his mouth went dry.