Santa's Sweetheart (The Christmas Tree Ranch #4)(34)
Then, suddenly, his hands tightened on her shoulders, hard enough to hurt as he thrust her away from him. His handsome features twisted in anger. You’re a heartless bitch, Grace Chapman, he railed at her. You’ve ruined our lives, mine and Maggie’s. We’ll never forgive you.
*
Sam tucked his daughter into her bed and brushed a good-night kiss on her forehead. “Sleep tight,” he whispered, wishing he could give her more than a lonely Christmas with a busy father.
“Thanks for finishing the tree with me, Daddy,” she said. “And thanks for making the cocoa. I just wish Miss Chapman hadn’t had to go. Was she sick?”
“Just really tired, I think.” At least Maggie had been busy with the tree and hadn’t seen him kissing her teacher. That would have complicated everything.
“I can tell she really likes you,” Maggie said. “And I think you like her, too. Maybe we can invite her back soon.”
“I don’t know if that’s such a good idea, honey.”
“Why not?” Maggie lifted her head off the pillow, eyes wide with dismay. “Didn’t she have a good time?”
“It’s not that.” Sam groped for an explanation that Maggie would accept. “Remember what we talked about—that Miss Chapman wants to treat all her students the same? Coming to our house and being our friend would make that hard to do.”
“Well, you could still ask her out. I wouldn’t have to come with. Take her to dinner or to a movie. I know you like her, Daddy.”
With a weary sigh, Sam eased her back onto the pillow. “I’m sorry, Maggie, but things aren’t going to work out between Miss Chapman and me. There are too many complications.”
“Like what?”
“Things you wouldn’t understand. Now go to sleep, all right?”
“All right.” With a little huff of displeasure, Maggie closed her eyes. Sam walked softly out into the hall, leaving the door ajar, the way she liked it.
In the living room, he unplugged the glowing Christmas tree lights. Even in the afterglow of the dying fire, he could see the precious ornaments that Bethany had chosen and loved. No doubt they would become family heirlooms, part of Maggie’s Christmas for the rest of her childhood, if not her life.
But how could memories hung on a tree ever be enough—for Maggie or for him?
Chapter Nine
Three days, including the weekend, had passed without any word from Grace. Maggie had mentioned to Sam that her teacher was helping the class get ready for the holidays. The students were practicing songs for the school Christmas program, which would be held for parents on the last day before vacation.
At least Sam knew that Grace was all right. But it surprised him how much he missed seeing her.
Grace’s silence came as no surprise. After that sizzling kiss, she’d made it clear that she wanted to keep her distance. Sam could understand why—in fact, he had his own misgivings. But he knew better than to think they’d seen the last of each other. In a small town like Branding Iron their paths were bound to cross again.
Sam had heard from the body shop in Cottonwood Springs. The new fender for Grace’s Honda had been ordered, but holiday shipping tended to run at a crawl. The car wouldn’t be ready until after Christmas. He needed to pass the news on to Grace. A phone call would be awkward, and he had no wish to use Maggie as a messenger. But he’d be seeing Grace on Monday at the meeting to follow up on the Christmas ball plans. He could tell her about her car then.
How would she react to seeing him again? Sam had worried some about that. But they were both civilized adults. They’d be fine. Meanwhile, his job alone was enough to keep him occupied.
With Christmas approaching, crime and domestic stress tended to go up. Winter roads, coupled with holiday traffic, raised the number of accidents. Then there were the people who just needed extra looking after—people like Hank Miller.
Monday morning, finding himself with some free time, Sam drove across town to the weedy lot where Hank’s trailer stood. Checking on the town’s hard-luck cases wasn’t part of Sam’s job. But somebody needed to do it, and there was no one else. Sam had suggested to the mayor that the city arrange with Cottonwood Springs for a part-time social worker, or at least pay some local person to see to their welfare. But Mayor Wilkins had dismissed the idea as too expensive and shooed Sam out of his newly refurbished office with its massive walnut desk, oak paneling, and designer curtains.
Rulon Wilkins had also used public money to fly himself and his wife to a national mayor’s convention in New York City. According to Helen, who was friends with the mayor’s secretary, the trip had included shopping, lavish dinners, and Broadway shows. Too bad the man was a shoo-in for reelection next November. He was a likable glad-hander, and people gave him their votes. But they didn’t seem to be getting much in return.
The street where Hank lived was peppered with potholes and lined with cracked, broken sidewalks. Most of the people who lived here were either on disability or worked at low-paying, menial jobs in town. Some were addicted to alcohol and drugs. Nobody seemed to care about them except Sam. He knew all their names, even the names of the children, and he tried to make sure they were all right, even if it meant buying groceries out of his own pocket.
He parked at the curb and followed the worn dirt path to the trailer. The beat-up Ford coupe Hank drove was parked out front. But the place was quiet. Maybe too quiet. What if something was wrong? Maybe he should have come around sooner.