Santa's Sweetheart (The Christmas Tree Ranch #4)(50)

Despite his restlessness, Sam managed to doze through much of the morning. Toward noon, the sound of stiletto heels clicking on the tile startled him awake. He opened his eyes as the mayor and his wife walked into the room.

“Hello, Sam.” The mayor’s voice was loud enough to carry three doors down the hall. “How’s our hometown hero doing?”

Sam stifled a groan. “No hero, Rulon. Just a cop who made a bad call and got in the way of a bullet.”

“I saw the interviews on TV. That story has put Branding Iron on the map as a town where folks stand up to crime. It might even drum us up some new business, maybe even a big-box store on that empty lot south of town.”

“The story could’ve been about five shooting victims, including a couple of kids,” Sam said. “We were damned lucky.”

“Maybe. But I believe in giving credit where it’s due. We’re planning an award ceremony with a medal when you’re healed. The press will be there, of course.”

“Forget that,” Sam said. “I don’t even—”

“Oh, my, look at those!” Alice had spotted the open box of chocolates. Dressed to the nines in high heels and a fox fur stole, she came clicking over to the bedside table, helped herself to two walnut truffles, and popped one into her mouth. “Yum! These are decadent! Try a couple, Rulon.” She held the box out to her husband, who took the last vanilla nougat.

Alice put the box back on the stand. “Actually, Sam, we came to ask you a question,” she said. “The Cowboy Christmas Ball, as it’s now being called, is a week from tonight. We’re wondering if you’ll be well enough to play Santa Claus.”

“I honestly don’t know,” Sam said. “I’ll do my best to be ready, but I’ve just been shot. If the wound hasn’t healed enough for me to wear that costume and put up with kids climbing all over me for a couple of hours, it’s not going to happen.”

Alice gasped. “But Sam, what about the little ones? What will they do if there’s no Santa to hear their wishes?”

Maybe you’d like to wear the damned outfit, Alice.

“I told you I’d do my best to be ready, and I will,” Sam said. “But I won’t be good for many ho ho ho’s if I’m bleeding or in pain under that red suit. Sorry, but that’s the best I can do. The costume’s at my house. You’re welcome to pick it up and give it to somebody else.”

“There’s nobody else who can wear it. You know that.”

“Then you’ll just have to hope for the best. I’ll keep you posted.”

As the couple left, Sam released the smile he’d been holding back. The truth was, for Maggie’s sake, and for the sake of Branding Iron’s kids, he would put on that blasted Santa suit and go to the ball no matter what condition he might be in. But Rulon and Alice didn’t have to know that. He’d enjoyed making them squirm a little. He could only wish he’d had a chance to hide the chocolates before they walked in.

He’d settled back to wait for lunch when the phone rang.

“Daddy!” Maggie’s happy voice warmed him like sunshine bursting through dark clouds. “Guess what? Miss Chapman and I are going to make Christmas cookies. We went to the store and bought cookie cutters and colored icing and sprinkles and everything. And we’re going to make a whole bunch. We’ll take some to Mr. and Mrs. McDermott and save some for you.” She paused to catch her breath. “How are you? Are you getting better? When are you coming home?”

“The doctor still says Monday. I’m getting better. It’s just going to take a little time. Is Miss Chapman close by? I’d like to thank her.”

“She’s right here.” Maggie paused. Her voice came through the hand she’d put over the mouthpiece. “My dad wants to talk to you, Miss Chapman.”

“Hello, Sam.” Grace’s voice stirred his senses like the slow stroke of a fingertip. He wanted to tell her how sexy she sounded over the phone, but this wasn’t the time. “How are you feeling?” she asked.

“Like hell, but a lot better than yesterday. I’m still due home Monday. I just wanted to thank you and ask if there’s anything you or Maggie need.”

“We’re fine. We went grocery shopping, then to Buckaroo’s for lunch, and now we’re going to cook up a storm all weekend.”

“I wanted to talk to you about that,” Sam said. “I know you’re spending your own money keeping Maggie entertained. Please keep track of how much and I’ll write you a check as soon as I get home.”

“I wouldn’t dream of asking you to repay me. We’re having a great time. It’s my pleasure.”

“Then, when I’m back on my feet, I want to take you someplace really nice for dinner, and I won’t accept no for an answer.”

“We’ll see,” she said. “It sounds like Maggie needs me in the kitchen. I’ll check in later. Get well, Sam.”

We’ll see. Sam pondered her words as he hung up the phone. Why couldn’t Grace have simply said yes to his invitation?

She’d been honest with him about her fear of commitment. But he was just beginning to realize how deep that fear went. He’d fallen hard for her—so hard that he’d blinded himself to what could become a real problem between them.