by Janet Dailey
As she pulled off the road and parked next to the gate, she noticed that the post had been straightened. The gate was closed, and the windmill was working.
No one was in sight, but the thread of smoke curling out of the chimney and the battered Ford pickup parked next to the house told her Travis must be there. Maggie unfastened the gate, stepped through, and fastened it again behind her—good manners in ranch country. “Hello?” she called. “Is anybody here?”
That was when a sharp, foul odor reached her nostrils. She grimaced. No need to guess what it was. Somebody—or something—had tangled with a skunk.
Just then, a black and white streak came rocketing around the house, headed straight for her. She’d made friends with Abner’s dog over the years, and Bucket clearly recognized her. Tongue lolling, tail thumping, he flung himself against her legs with happy yips.
“Hello, old boy.” She reached down, to pat him. “How do you like your new—” The smell blasted her senses. “Oh, my stars!” she muttered.
“I bathed him—twice.” Travis had come out onto the front porch.
“Well, it didn’t work!” Maggie huffed, backing away from the dog. “What did you use on him?”
“Bath soap. All it did was make me smell almost as bad as he does. You might want to keep your distance, Mayor Maggie.”
“At least I don’t have to introduce myself,” she said. “Have you recovered from your fall?”
“I’m sore as hell, but I’ve been worse. I’ll live.”
“I take it Abner told you to expect me,” she said.
“I hope he told you there was no way I’d agree to play Santa Claus.”
“He gave me that impression.” She backed away from Bucket, who was still begging for attention. “Can’t you call this dog off ?”
“I can try. But he only minds when he wants to.” Travis reached down and picked up a stick from the porch. “Look at this, Bucket—go get it!”
He flung the stick so far that it vanished from sight. The dog wheeled and raced after it. “Come on inside,” Travis said. “That’s the only place you’ll be safe from him.”
Maggie followed him inside. Even here there was a faint odor of skunk. But the place was clean and orderly, if sparsely furnished. The kitchen and living room were combined in one open space that was heated by an old-fashioned, wood-burning stove. Two unmatched armchairs, with a small table between them, faced the stove at a comfortable distance.
He motioned for her to sit, which she did. There was an air of quiet authority about him. But then he’d been a patrolman, Maggie reminded herself. She knew that prisoners tended to be rough on convicted cops. He couldn’t have had an easy time of it in prison. She was looking at one very tough man.
“Coffee?” he asked. “I just made some.”
“Sure, thanks. I take it black.” She let him pour her some in a chipped mug. It was hot and good.
“Bath soap won’t work on a dog that’s been skunked,” she said, breaking the silence. “What you need is tomato juice. You get a case of those big cheap cans and soak him in it. The juice neutralizes the spray. After that, you can bathe him with soap.”
“Thanks. That’s just one more thing I didn’t know,” he said. “Growing up, I never even had a dog, let alone horses. If you know anybody who wants Abner’s animals, they’d be doing me a favor. I only took them because the old man was desperate. He said they’d be put down if he went off and left them for the new owners. I guess I was a soft touch. But, Lord, I don’t know the first thing about taking care of them. It’s like suddenly having children dropped off on your doorstep.”
“I take it you’ve never had children.” She gave him a teasing smile, which didn’t seem to have much effect.
“Not a chance. At least I did something right.”
“Your neighbors have animals. I’m sure they wouldn’t mind giving you some help with them.”
“Maybe.” Stubborn pride showed in the set of his jaw. “But I don’t know my neighbors all that well, and I don’t like bothering them. I’ll figure things out on my own.”
He glanced at the cup she’d put down. The flames that glowed through the stove’s mica panes reflected fiery glints in his eyes. “More coffee?”
“Thanks, but I’ve had enough.” Maggie realized she’d lost track of her reason for coming here. She rose. “I need to get back to work. The parade is the Saturday before Christmas. Since you’ve got the sleigh and horses here, can I count on your help in getting the rig to town?”
He hesitated. Maggie could tell he didn’t want to get involved. “I’ve never handled horses,” he said. “You’ll want to recruit somebody who knows what they’re doing, especially with those big Percherons. They’ll need an expert hand.”
“I’ll keep that in mind, but you could always help with the sleigh.”
“Parades have never been my thing. I’ve already regretted saying yes to Abner. Don’t expect me to say yes again.”
“Well, let me know if you change your mind. Meanwhile, I’ll be beating the bushes for somebody else to play Santa and man the sleigh.” She started for the door.
“I’ll walk you to your car,” he said, taking her elbow. “That front step has a loose board I’ve been meaning to fix.”
Maggie’s pulse quickened at the light physical contact. He was only being a gentleman, she told herself. But the flush of heat made her feel like a hormonal sixteen-year-old. As his grip tightened going down the rickety wooden steps, her heart raced. How long had it been since the last time she was this close to an attractive man? Evidently too long. She was in a bad way.
At the bottom of the steps, she pulled a little away from him. “Thanks.” Her voice came out slightly breathless. “I’ll be fine from here.”
“Okay. Be careful. And have a nice day, Mayor Maggie.” As she fled to her car, he stood watching her, an amused smile on his lean, chiseled face.
Maggie willed herself not to look back as she drove away. That would be bad form, especially if he was still watching her. Clearly, Travis wanted no part of the Christmas parade. But she needed his help, and she hadn’t given up on him—far from it, in fact. She hadn’t made it to the middle management of a large company—or been elected mayor of a small town—without a talent for getting people to do what she wanted.
She was just starting on Travis Morgan. And she knew exactly what she was going to do first.
Chapter 4
Later that morning, when Travis opened the front door to go out and check the mail, he found a large cardboard carton on his porch.
What the devil . . . ? His first thought was that Abner had left him more orphaned animals—chickens, maybe. But when he nudged it with the toe of his boot, it was solid and heavy, the top glued shut as if it had come from a factory. There was no name on it, not even his.
Whipping out his pocketknife and opening the blade, he crouched beside the box and slit the flaps. The box was packed with layers of giant economy-sized cans, a dozen in all. Only when he lifted one can out of the box and saw the label did he realize what it was.
Tomato juice. Enough to give Bucket a good bath.
Travis managed to laugh and swear at the same time. Only one person could have been responsible for this gift—sexy Mayor Maggie.
Had she lugged it up the steps herself or hired one of the baggers at Shop Mart to sneak up and deliver it? Either way, Maggie had to be behind it.
Travis didn’t like accepting favors, even small ones. It made him feel obligated—which was probably just what Maggie wanted. She didn’t strike him as a woman who’d do something for nothing. But short of storming into her office and returning the juice—a stupid idea, since he needed it—he had no choice except to be in her debt.
And Maggie, no doubt, would find a way to collect.
Surprisingly, he was looking forward to it.
* * *
Maggie had ordered the case of tomato juice from Shop Mart and promised one of the bag boys twenty dollars for deli
vering it. The money was waiting on the reception desk, to be picked up when he came by.
She would’ve enjoyed delivering it in person, just to see the look on Travis’s face. But the rest of her morning had been busy. The most pressing concern had been Branding Iron’s upcoming Christmas celebration. The holiday was more than six weeks away, but she was already feeling overwhelmed. So much to do—the Christmas lights wouldn’t go up until the day after Thanksgiving, but before that, the strings would need to be tested and the burned-out bulbs replaced. The town Christmas tree had to be chosen, bought, and set up; the Cowboy Christmas Ball planned by a committee; the parade organized and planned, with floats, dancers, and the Branding Iron High School Marching Band.
And then there was the star of the parade—Santa Claus and his sleigh. Until yesterday, she’d assumed it would be Abner again. Now everything was up in the air.
Maggie had spent much of the morning making phone calls. She’d called every man she could think of who might make a good Santa Claus. Nobody was willing. And none of the farmers and ranchers she’d spoken with had been interested in adopting Abner’s horses.
She’d give it a rest until tomorrow, she decided. Maybe someone new would come to mind. Or one of the people she’d already called would have a change of heart.
Meanwhile, there was the next item on her list—the Christmas trees. Slipping on her coat and grabbing her purse, she headed for her car.
Hank’s Hardware, on the highway south of town, had the only Christmas tree lot this side of Cottonwood Springs. Hank Miller usually saved at least one extra-large tree for the city’s outdoor display and another for the Christmas ball in the high school gym. But with businesses like Shop Mart as well as nearby smaller towns wanting nice, big trees, Maggie couldn’t expect Hank to hold a tree he had a chance to sell. She’d learned to show up soon after the trees were unloaded, before the lot was even open to the public.
“Howdy, Maggie. I had a feeling you’d be coming around today.” Hank greeted her with a smile. He was stocky, round-faced, and balding, with a paunch that overhung his belt by a couple of inches. It was hard to believe he was Travis’s father—until she noticed his eyes. They were that same striking shade of gray.
“Come on out. I’ll show you what I’ve set aside for you.” He pulled on a pair of leather gloves and moved ahead of her, toward the side exit of the spacious hardware store. He walked with a noticeable limp. Everyone in Branding Iron who was old enough to remember knew the story of how he’d lost his leg in a horrific farm accident and had to wear an artificial limb. His wife had left him after the accident, taking their young son. That son had been Travis.
Now the two of them, who could do so much for each other, were estranged. What had happened between them, and how could it be mended?
“Take a look. What do you think?” Inside the wire-fenced compound of the Christmas tree lot, two large pines leaned against the side of the store. With a gloved hand, he grasped the trunk of the taller one and stood it up for Maggie’s inspection. The tree was about eleven feet tall, full and bushy on all sides.
“That will be perfect for the town Christmas tree,” Maggie said. “Now let’s see the other one.”
The second tree was about two feet shorter and equally pretty. “I can show you a few more if you want,” Hank said.
“No, these will do nicely,” Maggie said. “I’ll pay you when we get back inside.”
“Great. I’ll put SOLD tags on them and store them in a safe place until you’re ready to put them up. Since that’ll be a few weeks off, I’ll even set them in water for you.”
“Thanks so much. I can always count on you, Hank.”
“Anytime.” He walked away to get the tags. Maggie waited by the tree, watching him. There was something about his rounded physique and slightly rolling gait, something about the set of his graying head on his shoulders that made her think of . . .
Santa Claus!
Something clicked in her mind. Why hadn’t she thought of Hank sooner? He’d make a perfect Santa!
But would he do it—especially when his estranged son had the horses, costume, and sleigh? Maggie knew better than to come right out and ask him. It would be too easy for him to say no. She would need to take her time—not too much time, but enough to find his soft spots and give him a reason to take the job.
This was going to take some scheming.
She helped him tie the tags on the trees and walked with him back toward the store entrance. “I’ve met your son a couple of times,” she said, trying to sound casual. “He seems like a good man.”
A pained look flickered across Hank’s face. “I imagine he is a good man. But if you talk to him again, don’t mention my name. Travis doesn’t want anything to do with me. And given our past history, I can’t say I blame him.” He gave her a warning glance as if expecting a question. “Don’t ask me to talk about it, Maggie. It’s best forgotten—except that Travis won’t forget. He doesn’t even come into the store. I’m guessing that if he needs anything, he drives to Cottonwood Springs.”
“I’m sorry,” Maggie said.
“Like I say, it’s best forgotten.” He opened the door for her, and they walked back into the store.
“Well, hello there!” Francine McFadden, co-owner of the local bed and breakfast and Hank’s steady girlfriend, was waiting next to the counter. “What have you two been up to? Not trying to steal my guy, are you, Maggie?” It was a joke, and both women knew it.
Maggie shook her head. “No woman on earth could steal a man from you, Francine.”
Francine beamed. She was a voluptuous woman in the bloom of early middle age. Fresh from the beauty salon, her hair was bleached and curled, her long, crimson nails and glamorous makeup done to full effect. She looked like a small-town Dolly Parton wannabe, overblown and overdone. But Maggie knew her to be all heart. It was impossible not to like her.
“Maggie’s just been picking out the town Christmas trees.” Hank took the town credit card Maggie handed him, ran it, and handed it back to her with the receipt.
“Hank always saves us the best trees,” Maggie said. “I hope he knows how much we all appreciate him.”
“I’ll make sure he knows that,” Francine teased. “Oh—speaking of Christmas, I heard a rumor at the beauty parlor. Is it true that Abner’s leaving town?”
“I’m afraid that’s true,” Maggie said. “He’s sold the farm, and he’s going to live with his daughter.”
“But that’s terrible! What are we going to do for a Santa Claus?”
“I’m still looking for a volunteer. If you have any suggestions, let me know.” Maggie studied the woman who was closer to Hank than any other person. Decades ago they’d almost married, before a dashing rodeo rider had swept Francine away, and Hank had married someone else. In recent years, they’d picked up the relationship again. Hank had supported Francine’s recovery from alcoholism, and the two spent as much time together as possible.
If anybody could help her talk Hank into playing Santa, it would be Francine.
Francine had turned to Hank. “I just stopped by to make sure you were coming to dinner tonight, honey,” she purred. “I’ve got the makings for chicken and dumplings, your favorite.”
Hank grinned. “I’ll be there with bells on.”
With bells on. Maggie could only hope his words were prophetic.
“Say, Francine,” she said, catching the woman’s attention. “Do you have time to go to lunch with me? My treat. I’ve got to make some decisions about the Christmas celebration, and I could use your input.”
“Why sure, honey,” Francine said, “though I don’t know how much help I’ll be.”
“Buckaroo’s, then, in twenty minutes. I need to check in with the office first. I’ll meet you there.”
* * *
Francine was waiting when Maggie walked into Buckaroo’s. She was saving the corner booth, where it was quieter and easier to talk. They ordered tuna melts and Diet Cokes, sipping
their drinks while they waited for their sandwiches.
Francine turned to face Maggie in the booth. “Thanks for the treat, honey,” she said. “But something tells me you’ve got more in mind than getting my take on the Christmas celebration.”
“That depends.” Maggie swirled the ice in her Coke. “I’m still looking for a Santa Claus, and I’ve found someone who’d be perfect. But I don’t know if he’d be willing.”
“It’s Hank, right?”
Maggie nodded. “What do you think?”
“I think he’d look awesome with a red suit and a beard. But I don’t know what to tell you, Maggie. Hank has always been self-conscious about his leg. You know, it’s the reason he lost his family.”
“But he’d be sitting in the sleigh the whole time. And a lot of the people wouldn’t even know it was him—especially the kids. For them, he’d be the real Santa.”
Francine looked thoughtful. “I know Hank loves kids. He’s always been sorry that he doesn’t have any little grandkids of his own. But even that might not be enough. He’s going to need some powerful persuading.”
“And you’re the most persuasive person I know, Francine.” Maggie grinned. “But there’s another thing. Abner left his sleigh and his team with his neighbor—Hank’s son, Travis. From what I understand, Travis and Hank aren’t even on speaking terms.”
“Now that could be a problem,” Francine agreed.
“Have you met Travis?” Maggie asked.
“No, but I’ve seen him in Shop Mart. Ooh la la! What a man!” Francine batted her long, false eyelashes. “If I were twenty years younger . . . My goodness, girl, you’re blushing!”
“Ignore it. It’s a redhead thing.” Maggie welcomed the arrival of their tuna melts, overflowing with grilled cheese. She took a few bites, giving her face time to cool. “Has Hank ever told you what happened between him and his son?”
