by Janet Dailey
“Fine with me,” Shane said. “How about you, Henry?” Motorcycle mechanic probably wasn’t the career Kylie had in mind for her son. But if the boy was interested, at least it would give him something to do.
“Sure,” Henry said. “What do you say I show you something now, while we’re here? Maybe . . .” He glanced around, then picked up the bent front wheel. “Maybe like the way this wheel is mounted.”
“Cool.” Hunter leaned forward, eyes bright with interest. “I remember picking up the axle and putting it . . .” He reached toward the pile of undamaged parts, then paused, frowning. “That axle was right here before lunch. Did anybody move it?”
“Not that I know of,” Shane said. “And I saw you put it on that pile.”
“Well, it isn’t there now,” Hunter said.
“Maybe we’ve got a pack rat holed up somewhere in the shed,” Henry said.
“It’d have to be one husky pack rat to steal that axle,” Shane said, keeping his own suspicions to himself. “What we’ve got here’s an honest-to-goodness mystery.”
“Hey, I like mysteries,” Hunter said. “What d’you say we try to solve it? If the axle was here before lunch, where could it have gone? It didn’t just sprout legs and walk off.”
“Beats me.” Shane’s response was a half-truth. He had a pretty good idea what had happened but he was enjoying the boy’s eagerness to play detective. “Maybe if we can find it, we’ll know what happened.”
They started with the piles of sorted bike parts and went from there to the counters and cabinets. Shane even lifted up the box Amy had been sitting on, but there was no sign of the missing axle. Maybe his hunch had been wrong.
“Never mind, Hunter,” Henry said with a shrug. “I reckon it’ll turn up sooner or later. Let me show you something else.”
“I’ll leave you to it,” Shane said. “It’s time I was getting home. I need to tend the animals and get my guitar for tonight. I’ll stop by the house and see what time the ladies want me to come.”
He walked back across the yard, wishing he hadn’t offered to play the guitar for Christmas Eve. He wasn’t very good, and Kylie’s children would doubtless compare his playing to their father’s. But he’d do his best. Once he was on the road, with Branding Iron in his rearview mirror, it wouldn’t make much difference.
As he passed the open vehicle shed, he noticed Kylie’s car was gone. She’d probably made a last-minute run to town. Stubborn woman, he’d told her those old, bald tires were bad, but he should’ve known she wouldn’t listen. He could only hope she’d be all right on the roads.
Coming in through the back door, he could hear the TV from the living room, where Muriel and Amy were probably watching a show. Amy’s new pink coat hung on the back of a kitchen chair. Acting on a sudden hunch, Shane picked up the coat, held it upside-down and gave it a gentle shake.
Something solid and heavy dropped out of a pocket and hit the floor with a metallic clunk. Shane picked up the missing axle and waited. A moment later Amy walked into the kitchen, looking shamefaced.
“Why did you take this, Amy?” Shane asked.
She hesitated, fingers twisting the hem of her shirt. “I took it because I don’t want you to fix the bike and leave,” she said. “Think how selfish it would be—to go when so many people need you—Muriel and Henry, Mom and Hunter and me. Even your poor animals and that little pup who might not want to ride on your motorcycle. How can you just ride away and not care?”
Shane felt as if he’d been stabbed through the heart. But he couldn’t tell Amy what she wanted to hear. This was no time for anything but the truth. “I do care, Amy,” he said. “But this road trip is something I’ve dreamed of for years. If I stay, I’ll have to give up that dream, maybe forever.”
“Then you don’t care. Not enough. Go on. Keep your stupid dream. Maybe after a while we’ll forget all about you.”
Head high, she stalked out of the kitchen, leaving Shane with the axle in his hand and an unaccustomed tightness in his throat.
The snowpacked road was even more treacherous than Kylie had imagined. Crawling along in low gear at twenty miles an hour, she could feel her tires spinning on the icy surface. Her hands gripped the steering wheel so tightly that her cold fingers cramped.
Flashing out of nowhere, a deer bounded across the road. Kylie slammed on her brakes, missing the animal by inches as she spun out of control. She swallowed a scream as the station wagon made a 180-degree turn and came to rest with the car facing back the way she’d come. Shaking, she rested her forehead on the steering wheel while she waited for her pulse to settle from a thundering gallop to a jittery trot.
Was this near disaster a warning that she should give up and go home? But no, she wasn’t a superstitious person. Even if she were, it was Christmas Eve, and she’d vowed to do this one thing for her children.
Steeling her resolve, she put the wagon in reverse, turning by inches until the vehicle was headed back toward Branding Iron. She murmured a half-voiced prayer of thanks that she hadn’t been going too fast to stop. Now to find that Christmas tree!
By the time she pulled into the parking lot at Shop Mart, the store was about to close its doors to let the employees spend Christmas Eve with their families. The sun was low in the sky. In an hour, it would be dark. Kylie kept a flashlight in the glove compartment, but her search would be easier with some daylight. There was no time to lose.
There were still cars in the parking lot, and people coming out with loaded carts. She hadn’t planned to go into the store, but maybe, if she hurried, she could slip inside and pick up some lights for the tree she’d vowed to find, and a few more presents for her children. She remembered a gift card rack at the end of one aisle. Something to spend on after-Christmas bargains might at least cheer them up a little.
Tonight there were plenty of parking spaces. She pulled into the one that was closest to the building and was just about to climb out of the car when a tall figure loomed above the driver’s side window. A gloved hand tapped on the glass. Kylie’s heart sank as she glimpsed the insignia of the county sheriff’s department on the leather jacket. She rolled down the window. What had she done now?
“What’s the matter, officer?” She willed herself not to sound nervous. If Texas cops were as prickly as California cops, she didn’t want to get on the bad side of this one. He looked as big as a barn door, so tall that, from where she sat inside her wagon, Kylie couldn’t see all the way up to his face.
“License and registration, ma’am.” He sounded as tough as he looked. Kylie slid her license out of her wallet, pulled her registration out of the glove box and handed it up through the open window.
“Have I done something wrong?” she asked.
“You’re parked in a handicapped stall.” He took the papers from her hand. “That’s against the law.”
Oh, rats! The handicapped sign on the curb was buried in snow, as were the marks on the pavement. And how could she be parked when she was still in the car? But Kylie knew better than to argue with the law.
“So what have you got to say for yourself, Kylie Summerfield?”
“I’m sorry,” she said lamely. Only then did something click. True, he had her driver’s license, but he’d used her maiden name, sounding as if he knew her—and a teasing note had crept into his voice.
“Ben? Ben Marsden?” She leaned out the window, craning her neck.
“Hi. It’s been a while.” He was grinning as he returned her papers. “Shane told me you were back in town, but I didn’t expect to find you here, on Christmas Eve.”
“I’m just running a few last-minute errands,” she said. “Sorry about the parking. I didn’t see the sign in the snow. I can move my car.”
“Not worth the bother. The store’s already closed. They’re checking people out, but they’re not letting anybody in. I thought it might be you when I saw the car, but I wasn’t sure till I saw your license. How’ve you been?”
“I’ll be fine once
we’re settled.” Kylie kicked herself mentally for having pulled up to the store. Not only was she losing precious daylight, but if her quest for a tree involved carrying out Plan B, it wouldn’t help to have the sheriff know she’d come into town.
“Are you on duty all night?” she asked Ben.
“Off tonight after seven. But I’ll be working tomorrow.”
“Christmas day? That doesn’t seem fair.”
“Somebody’s got to do it. Better me than the men with families.”
She was fumbling for some excuse to leave when the sheriff’s cell phone rang. He raised it to his ear. “Okay. I’m on my way.” He turned to go, then glanced back at Kylie. “Busy night. Maybe we can catch up sometime. Merry Christmas.”
“Sure, same to you.” As he strode toward his vehicle, Kylie rolled up her window and pulled out of the parking stall. Seeing Ben again would have been a pleasant surprise at any other time. But twilight was closing in. Soon it would be dark, and she still needed to find a tree.
She tried the schools first. The Dumpster for Branding Iron Elementary was behind the lunchroom. Kylie spotted the discarded Christmas tree right away, its stump sticking out of the top. But even from the car, she could see that it was already brown, too far gone for her to waste time on a closer look.
The tree behind the combined middle and high school looked more promising. But when Kylie found a wooden box to stand on and looked into the Dumpster, she realized that someone had used the school parking lot to change the oil in his car. He’d tossed the used oil in the Dumpster. It had oozed all over the tree.
Spirits sagging, she drove back downtown. She’d hoped this errand would be easy. But she’d been wrong, and now it was getting dark fast.
The local bank might have thrown out a tree before closing. Full of hope, she drove around the block and into the alley behind the bank building. No tree. But there was a trail in the snow and a scatter of green needles, where someone had dragged one away. At least some needy family was enjoying a Christmas tree tonight. But she was running out of options, and the light was fading by the minute.
Who else might throw out a tree before Christmas Eve? Her mind made a desperate list. The post office? But they wouldn’t have put up a tree. The medical clinic? No, they’d still be open for emergencies; and if they had a tree, they’d likely keep it.
The city hall had always displayed a tree. But when Kylie drove past the place, she saw tree lights glowing through the front window. And there’d been nothing behind the community church. If the Ladies Auxiliary had put a tree in the foyer, they would almost certainly keep it there through the holidays.
Feeling the throb of an oncoming headache, she pulled into a vacant parking lot to think. She’d promised herself that she wouldn’t come back without a Christmas tree for Hunter and Amy. But she’d looked every place she could think of. So far, she’d failed to find one.
It was time to consider Plan B.
Kylie knew where to find pine trees. She’d driven past the city cemetery on her way into town. The stand of pines at the far west end of the cemetery was just as she remembered, except that the old trees were bigger. Likewise, the smaller, younger trees were so numerous that they made a miniature band of forest between the cemetery and the hay fields that lay beyond.
Surely, nobody would miss just one.
Kylie had never knowingly broken a law in her entire life. But desperate times called for desperate measures.
The winter twilight was deepening into night as she pulled out of the parking lot. Desperate times, desperate measures. The words echoed like a mantra as she switched on her headlights and drove down Main Street toward the cemetery on the far side of town. She wasn’t doing this for herself. She was doing it for her precious children.
By the time she pulled off the road by the cemetery, it was black night. But even without a moon, Kylie could see the dark line of trees against the snow, which by now had blown into deep drifts. Thank goodness she’d worn her boots and brought her gloves.
Steeling her resolve, she found Shane’s folding saw, turned on her flashlight, and climbed out of her station wagon. It was getting late, she reminded herself. Muriel and the children would be getting worried. There could be no time to waste looking for the perfect tree. She would take the first presentable one that was easy to reach and small enough to cut and drag back to the car. The tree might not be spectacular. But it would be fresh, fragrant, and real.
The night was bitter cold. Her breath formed white puffs of vapor as she labored through the deep snow. Where the drifts had piled high against the barbed-wire fence, she managed to climb over, catching her jeans, pulling them loose, and feeling them tear before she tumbled down the drift on the other side.
Clambering up from her knees, she floundered on. Her face was numb; her hands were freezing through her gloves. But she’d finally reached the pines. She could make out individual trees in the darkness, including one that looked like it might do. She checked it with the flashlight. There wouldn’t be time to dig down to the base of the tree. She would have to cut it off at the snow line. But from what she could see of it, the top had a nice shape—and, anyway, she was too exhausted to keep looking.
Moving in closer, she shook the weighted boughs, sending snow showers over her clothes and boots. When she’d cleared off as much as she could, she stuck the base of the flashlight into the snow, unfolded the saw blade from its handle, knelt in the snow, and groped under the tree for a place to cut. Pinewood was soft, with the trunk no thicker than her forearm. It shouldn’t take long to cut the tree down, load it in the back of the station wagon, and head for home.
Her conscience whispered that she was breaking the law, taking something that wasn’t hers. But when she thought of Amy’s tear-filled eyes and Hunter, trying so hard to be a man, Kylie knew she had to do this.
Working the saw blade against the trunk, she drew it back and made the first cut. The cold air was making her nose drip. She paused to wipe it with the back of her glove.
The spotlight that struck her eyes turned everything a blinding shade of white. Kylie’s hand jerked up to shield her eyes against the glare. For the space of a breath, she was bewildered. Then, as she glimpsed the flashing blue and red lights from the road and realized what was happening, her heart plummeted.
“Put down your weapon,” a gruff male voice boomed. “Hands up, where we can see them. You’re under arrest.”
As promised, Shane had brought his guitar that night for the Christmas songs. With Muriel, Henry, and the children singing along in various keys, he’d fumbled his way through “Jingle Bells,” “Silent Night,” and “The Little Drummer Boy.” But no one was in much of a mood for singing—not when one silent question hung over the dismal little celebration.
Where was Kylie?
Muriel glanced at the mantel clock. “Kylie told me she’d be running errands in town. But it’s almost eight. No stores would be open tonight. I’m wondering if she had car trouble.”
“Maybe she ran into an old friend.” Henry tried to sound cheerful. “She went to school with a lot of people in this town.”
“She’s not answering her cell phone,” Hunter said. “I’ve tried to call her, but it just rings. Maybe she forgot to charge it.”
“I’m getting worried.” Amy voiced everyone’s fear. “What if something’s happened to her?”
Shane rose from his seat on the couch. “I warned her about those bald tires. She could’ve slid off the road and gotten stuck in some snowbank. I’m going to drive out and look for her. The rest of you stay here in case she calls or shows up. Hunter, you’ve got my cell number. Call if you hear anything, and I’ll do the same.”
Lifting his sheepskin coat off the rack, he slipped it on and walked calmly out the back door. He didn’t want to alarm the others, but a mother as dutiful as Kylie wouldn’t just lose track of time on Christmas Eve. Something was wrong.
Worry gnawed at him as he climbed into his pickup, fastened his
seat belt, and started the engine. If he had to venture a guess, it would be that her station wagon had slid off the road or broken down and was stranded somewhere. But if that was the case, why hadn’t she used her cell phone? What if she was hurt or trapped? What if she’d decided to leave the car and find help—an open invitation to danger on a dark, freezing night?
As he drove, scanning the sides of the road, Shane mouthed a silent prayer. He tried to think good thoughts, to imagine finding her safe, then holding her close and chiding her for making her loved ones worry. Damn it, she had to be all right. How could he stand it if anything happened to that woman?
Kylie had come to mean a lot to him, he realized. The notion of leaving her and her children was becoming harder to live with every day.
He remembered seeing Amy, slipping out of the shed behind the others with that guilty smile on her face.
Then, when he’d found the axle and confronted her about taking it, she’d stepped up and given him a piece of her mind. Her childish wisdom had left him smarting and strangely moved. Kylie’s daughter wanted him to stay—enough to pull a prank that might keep him from leaving. That meant a lot.
And it wasn’t just the children. Henry and Muriel had both been on his case. Could they be right? If he left Branding Iron, would he be riding away from his best chance at happiness?
But never mind all that. The one person who mattered most had yet to give him a word of encouragement. Kylie seemed resigned to the idea of his going, almost as if she didn’t care.
Yet, he’d caught signs that she did care—her passionate response to his kisses, the way she looked at him. . . . Maybe she was holding back because she thought he was going to leave. She’d lost one man she loved. It made sense that she’d be wary of a second loss.
Would it make a difference if she knew he might stay for her? Did he have the courage to take that chance, especially with a widow who seemed to consider herself still married?
