My Kind of Christmas

by Janet Dailey

  “Hello, honey.” Hearing Francine’s voice was like sinking into a cushiony pillow. “How is Operation Santa Claus coming along?”

  Maggie had to smile at the name Francine had given their secret mission. “I may have had a breakthrough,” she said. “But I’ll need to play my hand very carefully. Otherwise, I might make things worse. Before I tell you about it, is there anything new on your end?”

  “Not really new. I talked with Hank again. What he really wants is to make peace with his son. If—and it’s a very big if—they could put the past behind them and at least be civil to each other, he says he’d be willing to put on that red suit and climb into that sleigh.”

  Maggie sighed. “Well, at least that’s a good start. But I’m just beginning to learn how stubborn Travis can be.”

  “So what about you, honey? Any progress?”

  Maggie related everything that had happened at Buckaroo’s that afternoon. “Conner’s very likable,” she said. “I think having him around will be good for Travis. But when I offered to take the sleigh off their hands, Conner wouldn’t hear of it. They’re planning something, but they don’t want to let me in on the secret.”

  “So what’s next?” Francine asked.

  “I’m not sure. Maybe I should just back off and leave them alone. But we do need the sleigh and horses for the parade. That makes it my business to find out what’s going on.”

  “And it gives you a good excuse to snoop,” Francine teased.

  “Travis said I could come by and pick up the box with the Santa costume in it. I thought I might go tonight. But I want to make sure the situation doesn’t just go from bad to worse. How do you think I should handle it?”

  “Honey, you’re dealing with a couple of healthy, red-blooded males,” Francine said. “I have just two words of advice for you.”

  “Two words?”

  Francine chuckled. “Bring food.”

  * * *

  Travis and Conner stood by the gate, watching as Bucket rounded up the horses and herded them toward the barn. With the setting sun, the air had taken on a chill. A dry wind rustled the yellow grass along the fence.

  “I’ve got to hand it to that dog of yours. He really knows his stuff,” Conner said. “And the horses look good. They’re old, but I can tell they’ve had decent care.”

  “They seem pretty calm,” Travis said. “I haven’t had any trouble leading them, but I’ve never tried hitching them up or driving them. I wouldn’t know where to start.”

  “Nothing to it,” Conner said. “After a few lessons, I’ll have you driving like a mule skinner.”

  “You still haven’t told me why you wanted to keep the sleigh,” Travis said as they walked behind the dog and horses to close the stalls.

  “In the summer, when I was growing up, my grandpa used to hire out his old hay wagon and team for nighttime hayrides,” Conner said. “Church groups, family groups, whatever, they all had a great time, and it paid pretty well. Grandpa could play the guitar and sing, and he’d have me drive the team. Afterward, there’d be hot chocolate or, if they wanted to pay extra, a barbecue.”

  “I see where you’re going with this,” Travis said. “We could do sleigh rides. We’ve got horses and a sleigh. All we need is snow.”

  “What are the chances of that?” Conner asked.

  “Around here, it’s a toss-up. Some years we get plenty of snow. Other years we barely get a flake or two.”

  “Then we’ll just have to trust our luck, won’t we?”

  Travis paused to think. “I’ve got an old hay wagon. I used it last summer—pulled it with the tractor. We could always do winter hayrides. But it wouldn’t be as much fun as a sleigh.”

  “We’ve got time to figure that out. First, we need to decide how to sell the trees.”

  The two of them walked back toward the house, with Bucket trailing behind. They’d spent much of the afternoon at the kitchen table, talking, taking notes, and filling in parts of their business license application. Neither of them had thought of supper. Now they were getting hungry.

  “We could whip up some more bacon and eggs,” Travis said. “Maybe an omelet this time. I was planning to stop by Shop Mart on the way home, but then we got talking about the business and it didn’t happen.”

  “Well, that’ll have to do, I guess.” Conner opened the back door. “You know I’m not counting on you to handle all the cooking and shopping. We need to work out a plan so I can do my fair share.”

  “One more plan.” Travis shook his head. “Hell, I’ve got plans running out of my ears, and you haven’t slept since you got here. Maybe we should just make peanut butter sandwiches and call it a night.”

  Travis was about to follow Conner inside when he happened to glance toward the road. Through the gathering dusk, he could see headlights approaching. A moment later he heard the smooth purr of the old Lincoln’s motor.

  “Maggie’s here.” He passed the word to Conner through the back door. “Gather up that paperwork and get it out of sight. I’ll stall her outside.”

  “Roger!” Conner responded.

  As Maggie pulled up to the front gate, Travis was there to open it for her. As she pulled in and climbed out of the car, Bucket came tearing around the house to greet her. She fended the dog off, laughing.

  “I only wish you were that happy to see me.” Her humor sounded forced.

  “If you’ve come for the box, I can get it and load it in your car,” Travis said.

  The wind stirred her hair and fluttered the scarf around her neck. Damn it, but she was beautiful.

  “Actually, I brought something,” she said. “Call it a welcome to Branding Iron gift for Conner, if you like. It’s chicken enchiladas, still warm. The dish is on the other side of the car, on the floor. And I brought a salad with brownies and ice cream for dessert. If you want to get the box for me, I’ll carry the food into the house.”

  “Sure.” Travis walked around the car and opened the passenger door for her. The foil-covered dish, a lidded bowl, and a paper grocery sack were on the floor. The savory aroma wafting from the dish made Travis’s mouth water.

  She picked them up, doing her best to balance everything between her hands and her arms, but clearly struggling.

  “Here.” He took the bowl and the sack from her and headed for the porch. “Come on inside. We can get the box later.”

  * * *

  So far, so good. Maggie followed Travis inside the house, carrying the warm casserole dish by its handles. Francine had given her excellent advice—including the admonition to bring the hot food in a nice ceramic dish, big enough for leftovers, that would need to be returned.

  Conner’s face lit in a grin as she walked in the door. “Wow! That smells heavenly! Is it for us?”

  Maggie gave him her most gracious smile. “Well, you did buy my lunch. And I wanted to give you a proper welcome to Branding Iron. I hope you’ll invite me to join you.”

  “Hell yes—excuse me, ma’am. You’re just in time for supper. Have a seat.” He pulled out a mismatched chair. Maggie set the enchilada dish on the table, hung her jacket on the back of the chair, and sat down. Conner pulled three clean plates from the dishwasher, along with a handful of cutlery, and began hurriedly setting the table.

  Travis, quiet as usual, set the salad bowl on the table, put the ice cream in the fridge, and set the bakery box of brownies on the counter.

  “Napkins?” Maggie asked.

  Travis tore three paper towels off a roll on the counter and tossed them onto the table. “Best thing we’ve got, I’m afraid,” he muttered.

  “No need to apologize. My father used to do the same thing,” Maggie said.

  Conner lifted the foil off the enchiladas. “Hot damn, but these do look good!” He took a fork and scooped two onto his plate. “And you made a lot. Does that mean we get leftovers?”

  “That’s the idea.”

  “This was a thoughtful thing to do. Thank you, Maggie.” As he held the dish for Mag
gie to serve herself, Travis spoke the words like lines from a movie. Was he thinking she’d come to manipulate him again? Was he right?

  Knowing this wasn’t the time to pry for information, she turned her attention to Conner, asking him about his growing-up years and how he became a champion bull rider. Conner was easy to talk to. He was as open and friendly as Travis was guarded. Prison could make that difference in a man, she reasoned.

  “Travis and I went to high school together back in Oklahoma,” he told her. “He was a town boy, football and track hero. I was one of the farm kids. Even then, all I cared about was rodeo. But we hit it off somehow and became friends. We’ve kept in touch ever since. When I got hurt and was down on my luck, he invited me to come here.”

  “Believe me, it wasn’t all one-sided.” Travis cleaned up the last bite on his plate. “I needed his help. When I called him, I didn’t even know he’d been hurt.”

  “So this has worked out for both of you.”

  “Yes, but we need a way to make some money off this ranch,” Conner said. “We’re hoping we’ve found it.”

  A stern glance from Travis stopped him from saying more. Maggie knew better than to press for answers. She was here on a goodwill mission, nothing more, she told herself.

  But when she looked at Travis, she couldn’t help wondering what had really brought her here tonight.

  “How about some dessert? No, stay put. I’ll get it.” She rose, gathered up the dinner plates, and carried them to the counter. Finding saucers, she put a brownie and a scoop of vanilla bean ice cream on each one.

  Conner took a bite of brownie. “Mmmm! Did you make these, too? If you say yes, I’m proposing here and now!”

  Maggie laughed. “Sorry. The brownies came from Shop Mart’s bakery department. If you want to hang on to that proposal, I’ll get you the phone number of the cook. Maybe she’s single.”

  “You’ve treated us like kings tonight, Maggie,” Travis said. “When we’re finished here, I’ll volunteer Conner to clean up while I walk you outside to get that box out of the sleigh. Okay, Conner?”

  “Sure, if I can push myself away from the table. Did you mean we could keep those leftover enchiladas, Maggie?”

  “You bet. The salad, too. Just cover the dishes and put them in the fridge. I’ll pick them up later.”

  “No need. I’ll drop them off at your office on my next trip to town.” Travis pushed his chair out and stood. “Ready to go outside, Maggie?”

  “I guess.” She let him help her with her jacket. The brush of his hands on her shoulders sent a tingle of awareness through her body.

  Bucket was waiting on the porch when they went outside. He tagged along as they walked back around the house to the open shed. The night was chilly, with stars emerging from among drifting clouds. Travis had brought a flashlight. It made a pale circle on the ground as they walked slowly, side by side.

  “Thanks for the meal, Maggie,” Travis said. “Whatever you had in mind, it was a nice gesture.”

  “But you still don’t trust me. Not even after I was honest with you. Is that what you’re trying to tell me?”

  “It’s not that I don’t trust you. It’s that you’re wasting your time. I washed my hands of my father years ago, and nothing’s going to change that.”

  “That’s too bad. I have it on good authority that if you’d go to him and settle the past, he’d consider playing Santa in the Christmas parade.”

  His jaw tightened. “Is that damned Christmas parade the only thing that matters to you, Maggie? Is that why you came here tonight, with all that food and fake sweetness?”

  “It wasn’t fake! I care about all the people in this town—and not just because it’s my job. The old folks, the parents, the kids—even outsiders like you and Conner—they all matter to me. I want Branding Iron to be a happy place—especially at Christmastime.”

  “Conner might be willing to drive the sleigh. He can already handle a team, and I know he wouldn’t mind doing it. But Hank might have issues with Conner, too, for reasons you aren’t aware of. Your best bet would be to find a different Santa Claus.”

  “Can’t you at least talk to Hank? If you could settle your differences—”

  “I’m sorry, Maggie, but that’s not going to happen, especially now.”

  They’d paused outside the shed. “I know Hank’s been through a lot, but he’s a good man,” Maggie said. “I can’t imagine what he could’ve done to make you so set against him.”

  He turned to face her in the darkness. “Are you asking me to tell you?”

  “I’d like to understand, at least.”

  “Listen, then,” he said. “But if you don’t like what you hear, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  Chapter 8

  As he spoke, trailing the words out slowly, Travis kept walking, past the shed and out into the yard. Maggie matched her steps to his, following the beam of his flashlight.

  “You know how my father—Hank—lost his leg, don’t you?”

  “Most people around here do. It must’ve been an awful accident. Do you remember it at all?”

  “Not really. I wasn’t much more than a baby then. I don’t even remember living in this house. But this ranch is where it happened. I guess my parents were doing okay before. But their marriage couldn’t survive the accident. I can imagine what it did to their love life, and to other things, like his ability to work. According to my mother, he started drinking to kill the pain. After that, she said, he was drunk most of the time, and when he got drunk, he got mean. She told me how he’d hit her and call her foul names and how afraid she was that he might hurt me, too. When she couldn’t take it anymore, she took me and left Branding Iron for good. Not long after that, she married my stepfather, and they settled in Oklahoma, where I grew up.”

  His long, silent pause made her wonder whether the story was finished. “Is that all?” she asked.

  “Not quite.” His voice had taken on a flat, bitter tone. “My stepfather, who adopted me, was a decent man. He tried to raise me right. But he was pretty strict, and like a lot of teenagers, I was a smart-ass kid. We argued a lot.

  “When I was about sixteen, after one big blowup, I decided I was going to run away and find my real father. My mother had painted him pretty black over the years. She’d made sure I understood what a mean, worthless, drunken bum he was. But I found myself thinking, how bad could he be? Maybe if I showed up, he’d even let me live with him.

  “I knew he was still in Branding Iron, so one night I filled my backpack, snuck out of the house, and caught my first ride with a trucker. By the end of the second day, using my thumb and my wits, I’d made it to Branding Iron.

  “I went into a pool hall—the place is gone now—and asked where I could find Hank Miller. Somebody who knew him gave me directions to a broken-down trailer on a vacant lot by the old railroad yard. It was night when I found the place. There was a junk car parked outside, and I could see what looked like lantern light through the window. By then I was shaking, but I forced myself to knock on the door. My father opened it.”

  Travis paused by the wire fence that surrounded the hayfield. He took a slow breath, his jaw clenching tight with the memory.

  “What happened?” Maggie asked when he didn’t speak.

  “About what you’d think. The man in the doorway was foul-mouthed, filthy, and so drunk he could barely stand. When I told him who I was, he cursed me—called my mother a bitch and worse. ‘Get the hell out of here, boy!’ he said. ‘Forget you ever saw me! If you come back here again, I’ll call the police!’ ”

  “I’m sorry.” Maggie could think of nothing else to say.

  “My mother was right. He was a mean, worthless, drunken bum. After he shoved me off the step and slammed the door, I cried myself to sleep in an alley behind a Dumpster. The next morning, I lit out for home and swore I’d never speak to him again.”

  Maggie laid a hand on his sleeve. “That was a long time ago. Hank’s a different person now
. He went to AA and sobered up, got a job at the feed store, and arranged to buy the place when the owner retired. Over the years, he’s added the hardware business and earned the respect of the whole town. And he’s one of the kindest men I know.”

  “I’m a different person, too, Maggie. I know what it’s like to hit bottom and struggle back from nothing. I’m not entirely hard-hearted, but there are things you don’t know—things I’m not at liberty to tell you. Later, when you know, you’ll understand. But for now—”

  “Oh, stop making excuses!” She wheeled away from him. “Why do things have to be so complicated between good people?”

  “And why does your whole life have to revolve around your job and that damned Christmas parade?”

  He tossed the flashlight to the ground, caught her hand, and spun her back toward him. His arms crushed her close. His gaze burned through the darkness between them. When he kissed her, it was not like the first time, but fierce, rough, his mouth taking full possession of hers. Maggie’s response blazed. She melted against him with a low moan, loving the taste and feel of him, loving the luscious sensations that swirled through her body as the kiss went on and on.

  He had to know what he was doing to her, and that she wanted him as much as he wanted her. From somewhere in the back of her mind, a cautious voice whispered that this wasn’t a good idea. Right now, she didn’t care.

  He drew back, just far enough to talk. “Damn it, Maggie, why can’t we just keep this, you and me, apart from all the other craziness? Why can’t we just stop asking questions and enjoy this while it lasts?”

  While it lasts . . .

  Those words were enough to sober her. She’d been carried away by Travis’s kiss and the thrill of being in his arms. But she wasn’t a while it lasts kind of woman. For her, it had to be all or nothing.

  Years ago, she’d let herself say yes to a man who wasn’t fully ready to commit. That broken engagement had left her determined not to make the same mistake again.