by Janet Dailey
“The sign wasn’t up when I drove past the place. But that dirty trick really hurt us. I was all for carrying out some kind of payback, but Travis wouldn’t hear of it.”
“He wouldn’t?”
“Nope. He said it would only waste time and poison the well. That surprised me, seeing how things stand between him and his old man.”
“It surprises me, too,” Maggie said, “especially after that big scene on Thanksgiving Day. But I guess we should give Travis credit for taking the high road.”
Conner nodded. “I’ve known Travis since we were kids. He’s always had this idealistic streak. I think that’s maybe why he became a cop. I thought sure prison would change him. But it appears I was wrong. Come on, I’ll walk you to your car before I go back and load up on chocolate, marshmallows, and graham crackers.”
He took her cart and wheeled it toward the far side of the lot. “Any luck finding your Santa?” he asked.
“Are you volunteering? I’ve got plenty of pillows to fatten you up.”
He laughed. “Not me. I said I’d handle the sleigh, but that’s the limit. I take it Hank’s out of the running.”
Maggie sighed. “I’m afraid so. I thought we were friends, but the last time we spoke, he called me a traitor.”
“You’re kidding!”
“Would I kid about that?”
They’d reached Maggie’s car. She opened the trunk, and Conner began unloading her groceries from the cart. He’d nearly finished when a man on a three-wheeled motorbike drove into the lot and made a turn down the row where Maggie was parked. Slight of build, with a sharp, narrow face, he was wearing a helmet and a brown leather coat with an official-looking badge on it. A light-duty pistol was strapped to his hip. Reaching Maggie’s car, he slowed down and pulled to a stop. She stifled a groan as she recognized Stanley Featherstone.
“Are you all right, Mayor? Is this man giving you any trouble?” he demanded.
Maggie forced a smile. “Everything’s fine, Stanley. This is Conner Branch. He’s helping me with my groceries. You have a nice day, hear?”
Stanley touched his helmet in what might pass for a military salute. The motorbike roared as he drove off.
Conner shook his head. “Who the hell is that little weasel?”
“He’s the town constable,” Maggie said. “He writes parking tickets, rounds up stray animals, serves papers for the court, catches truants—that sort of thing. I can’t say he’s well-liked. But he’s conscientious, and he keeps getting reelected because nobody else wants his job.”
Conner grinned. “Well, he seemed mighty protective of you, Mayor Maggie.”
“Don’t even go there. I only put up with him because we work together.”
“Well, I’ll be damned,” Conner teased. “Guess I’d better let Travis know he’s got a rival for your heart.”
“Don’t, Conner. It isn’t funny,” Maggie said. “Believe me, I have no interest in that annoying little man. And right now, things aren’t so great with Travis.”
“What? I thought you two had something solid going.”
Maggie hadn’t meant to unload on Conner, but it felt good to talk. “Travis and I have agreed to back off until Christmas. Frankly, if he can’t settle this thing with his father, it might be longer than that. I was pretty upset with the way he talked to Hank on Thanksgiving.”
Conner shook his head. “Damn, this is enough to crush my faith in true love. Is there anything I can do?”
“I’m afraid not. But thanks for your help. It’s always good to see you. Give my best to your partners.”
“Will do. Come visit us again.”
“Thanks, but that might not be anytime soon.” Maggie said.
“You never know. See you around.” Ever cheerful, Conner wheeled Maggie’s empty cart back toward the store and vanished inside.
Maggie closed the trunk. For a moment, her gaze followed the motorbike as it cruised down the row of cars and suddenly halted. Featherstone bent down from the seat and peeled a green paper off the snow-slicked asphalt. He wiped it dry on his pants leg and tucked it in his pocket. As she realized what it was, Maggie felt an unexpected chill.
It was one of the flyers from the Christmas Tree Ranch.
* * *
By early afternoon, business was picking up, and most of the customers were local. The pre-cut trees were going so fast that Conner and Rush had needed to make a run before dark to cut and haul back a fresh supply. The flyers appeared to have made a difference.
Now that it was evening, more people were coming in the gate, choosing trees, making s’mores at the fire pit, drinking chocolate, and asking about sleigh rides. Rush had surprised him by bringing a guitar out of the Hummer and serenading the customers with Christmas songs in an untrained but mellow voice.
A gaggle of high school girls had discovered Conner. After one of them recognized him, they tagged after him like rock star groupies. “Not to worry, I’m not into babysitting—or jail time,” he muttered to Travis as they passed him in the yard. Still, Travis could tell his friend was enjoying himself. Everyone here seemed to be. Looking around the yard, he found himself thinking that this was what he’d imagined when he and his partners had started this project. The only thing missing was having Maggie here to share it with him.
Yesterday the check from Rush’s insurance company had come in the mail. The payment had been just five thousand dollars for the loss of Travis’s old truck. It wasn’t much, but it would be enough to buy another beater truck like it. Travis had resisted the urge to go shopping. For now, he was managing all right without the truck. And the money would be better put aside in case the tree venture failed and the ranch needed help. On a more cheerful note, if they made good money on the trees, he’d be able to buy an even better truck at the end of the season.
He was checking his watch to see how much time remained before 9:00 closing time when a pickup truck with the Branding Iron city logo on the cab door pulled up outside the fence. Travis’s pulse leaped at the thought that it might be Maggie. But he should have known better. The driver, who climbed out and walked through the gate, was a wiry little man with a long, rat-like face. Something about his stride, in high-heeled cowboy boots, the badge on his leather jacket, and the clipboard in his hand told Travis the man wasn’t here to buy a tree.
He drew himself up to his full, undersized height and squared his shoulders. “Which one of you is Travis Morgan?” he demanded.
“I am.” Travis stepped forward. “Is there something I can do for you, Officer?”
“If you want to put it that way, yes. You can accept this citation for littering. Those flyers your people passed out are scattered all over town. I picked up two hundred and twenty-nine of them today. Since the fine for littering is five dollars for each piece, I calculate you owe Branding Iron one thousand, one hundred forty-five dollars.”
“Now just a blamed minute!” Travis had resolved to be calm and courteous. But what he’d just heard left him reeling with shock. “Is this some kind of joke? Did somebody put you up to it?”
People turned around to stare. Rush and Conner moved to Travis’s side as the man answered. “I was just doing my job. And the charge is quite serious. As evidence, I have a large bag of your flyers in my truck. You’re welcome to count them.”
“But they’re not all litter.” One of the teenage girls in Conner’s new fan club stepped forward. “You came to our house this morning, Mr. Featherstone. You asked my mom for our flyer, and she gave it to you. You took it, went next door, and got another one from the neighbors.”
“That’s right. You came to our house, too,” her friend put in.
Featherstone’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “Maybe so. But it doesn’t matter. Any of those flyers could have become litter, and you’d be responsible.”
“Somebody put you up to this, didn’t they?” Conner said. “Who was it?”
“A concerned citizen filed a complaint.”
“Wh
o?” Conner demanded.
“I’m not at liberty to say. Here’s the citation, Mr. Morgan. You can pay the fine or dispute it in court.” He handed Travis a pink ticket. Travis reined back the urge to crumple it and fling it in Featherstone’s face. The last thing he needed was more trouble, and surely this travesty wouldn’t hold up in court.
“I hope we’re done here.” Rush, who was well over six feet tall, loomed over the small man.
“Not quite.” Featherstone shuffled the papers on his clipboard. “There’s also a charge of posting signs without a permit and posting on public property.” He handed Travis another ticket. “I left the signs you put up outside Shop Mart and next to the highway because they’re outside the city limits. The other signs have been taken down and seized as evidence.” He gave Travis a nervous look. “You can read the charges and fines for yourself.”
“Same concerned citizen?” Conner’s words dripped sarcasm.
“I’m not at liberty to say.” Featherstone’s voice shook slightly. “I’ve done my duty. I’ll be going now.”
He backed off as if expecting to be attacked by three large, angry men. At a safe distance, he wheeled and almost ran for his truck.
Travis and his partners watched the red taillights vanish down the road. By now it was almost 9:00, and Featherstone’s visit had put a damper on the merriment. People were gathering their families and heading out with the trees they’d bought. The two high school boys who were helping left, too. Tomorrow would be Sunday, a day the partners had agreed to close, in accordance with Branding Iron custom.
Conner swore out loud. “Concerned citizen, my rear end! You know who’s behind this, don’t you, Travis.”
Travis did. It could only be Hank. Hank with his missing leg, his estranged son, and the business he’d struggled half a lifetime to build. What kind of desperation would drive him to pull a trick like this one?
Good Lord, was he actually feeling sorry for his father? Travis shook off the thought.
“That little weasel must’ve spent the whole day gathering those flyers,” Rush said. “I hope we’re not going to pay that fine.”
“No way in hell,” Travis said. “Thanks to Conner’s little fan club and the folks who heard what they said, no judge would rule against us.”
“Let’s hope not,” Rush said. “But remember, this is Branding Iron.”
“Maybe Maggie would pull some strings for us,” Conner said. “At least it wouldn’t hurt to ask.”
“No!” The protest exploded out of Travis. “Don’t even think about it! We’re not going to involve Maggie in this!”
Conner raised his eyebrows. “Copy that,” was all he said.
Rush glanced at the sky. “Come on, let’s get this place cleaned up. Looks like there might be another storm blowing in.”
As they began dousing the fire, cleaning up the mess from the s’mores and chocolate, and getting the tables under the cover of the porch, snow began drifting down around them in soft, white flakes.
Chapter 13
Travis was startled from sleep by a solid weight thumping onto his bed. Warm dog breath and sloppy tongue-licks brought him fully awake. He groaned.
“Damn it, Bucket, this better be important.” He pushed the dog off his chest and sat up. The murky light seeping through the bedroom window told him it was barely dawn outside.
Tail wagging, Bucket jumped off the bed, ran to the bedroom door and then back to the bed. The dog didn’t appear alarmed or worried, just happy.
Happy—at five freaking o’clock in the morning! The silly beast could’ve awakened Rush or Conner. But no, it seemed that Bucket had chosen Travis as his pack leader.
Travis swung his legs off the bed. The linoleum floor was icy on his bare feet. It was too early to go out and feed the horses, but it might be a good idea to light the fire he’d laid last night in the old coal stove to warm the house before stumbling back to bed.
Bucket raced ahead of him to the kitchen door. Still muzzy, Travis opened it to let the dog out. A wonderland of white met his eyes. Snow, well over a foot deep and still falling, blanketed everything in sight, coating trees and fences and forming high mounds where vehicles stood. Even the stillness was breathtaking. But it didn’t last.
With a joyful yip, Bucket rocketed off the porch and went bounding through the fluffy snow, romping, tunneling, and leaping like a crazed rabbit.
Fool dog. Travis shook his head and closed the door, leaving it slightly ajar in case Bucket wanted to come back in and get warm.
By the time he’d lit the fire, he was wide awake. Too bad because, until Bucket had come flying onto his bed, he’d been deep in an erotic dream about Maggie. The chance of picking up that dream where he’d left off would have lured him back to bed. But dreams didn’t work that way. Neither, it seemed, did real life.
Travis had lain awake half the night thinking about Featherstone and having to go to court to fight those two bogus tickets. The thought had stirred memories of his last court appearance, which had ended in a nightmare. Then there was Hank and his dirty tricks—and there was Maggie, who seemed on the verge of giving up on him. He should have known that there’d be no chance of anything lasting with such a classy woman.
Damn it, he needed a break. But there was no break to be had from the black cloud of worry hanging over him this morning.
Still in his thermal long johns, he was making coffee when Conner came half-stumbling down the hall carrying his clothes and boots. “What the devil are you doing up so early?” he muttered.
“Ask that damn fool dog,” Travis said. “He’s the one who wanted to go out and play in the snow.”
“Snow?” Conner dropped his clothes, strode to the window, and peered through the frosted panes. “Hallelujah! Will you look at that? Do you know what this means?”
“I’d say it means lots of shoveling.” Travis filled two mugs with coffee and put one on the table for Conner. “We haven’t even started, and my back can feel it already.”
“No, man!” Conner picked up his jeans and pulled them on. “I mean, yes, we’ll have to shovel. But think. Think sleigh rides!”
“I’m thinking.” Travis sipped his coffee, letting the heat seep into his limbs. Of the three partners, only Conner knew how to hitch and drive a team of horses. If the sleigh rides were to become part of their Christmas tree operation, that would have to change.
Conner seemed to read his mind. “How does this sound?” he asked. “First, we shovel the snow. Then, we take a few hours to teach you and Rush the ropes of sleigh hitching and driving.”
“Fine,” Travis agreed. “The sooner we get started, the better.”
“In that case, we’d better wake Rush,” Conner said. “You know how he likes to sleep in.”
“Be my guest,” Travis said. “If Rush bites your head off, that’s your problem.”
Just then a black nose pushed open the back door. Covered in snow, tongue lolling and tail wagging, Bucket pattered into the kitchen. When he shook his fur, wet snow flew in all directions.
Conner looked at the dripping dog and grinned. “Sure, I’ll wake Rush. No problem. Come on, Bucket.”
He led the dog back up the hallway to Rush’s room and cracked open the door. Travis could hear the sound of Rush’s snoring all the way to the kitchen.
Conner opened the door wider and glanced down at Bucket. His grin widened as he pointed to Rush’s sleeping form in the bed. “Go get ’im, boy!” he commanded.
For all the weight of his worries, Travis couldn’t remember the last time he’d laughed so hard.
* * *
Maggie took advantage of the Sunday storm to sleep late. It was almost 8:00 when she roused herself, slipped on her robe, and pattered into the kitchen to make tea and toast. When she opened her front door to get the morning paper off the porch, she was greeted by sunshine, blue sky, and a wonderland of glistening snow. A helpful neighbor with a snow blower had already cleared her walk, and the city snowplow was just comin
g down her street. There’d be no shoveling for her today.
This was her idea of a perfect morning—calm, sunlit, and beautiful. There was only one person she wanted to share it with. But that wasn’t going to happen. Given the tension between herself and Travis, they were better off staying apart, at least until the end of the pre-holiday season.
As she picked up the paper, she caught sight of her neighbor, a retired teacher who lived next door with his wife. He was blowing snow from the sidewalks farther down the block. Maggie gave him a wave of thanks. But the good man deserved more than a wave for the hard work he’d saved her. As long as she had time this morning, she would make some oatmeal raisin cookies for him and his wife.
After she’d dressed and eaten, she gathered her ingredients and went to work. She had plenty of everything she needed for the cookies. Making a double batch wouldn’t be much more work than a single one. She could always freeze the leftovers for when she needed them.
An hour later, she had about four dozen chewy, fragrant, warm cookies ready. She sampled a couple, then arranged half of the rest in a pretty paper bowl, wrapped them in plastic, added a bow, and took them next door. By then, her neighbors had gone to church, but she knew the cookies would be safe on their covered porch.
Coming home again, she stood in the kitchen and pondered what to do with the rest of the cookies. Freezing them seemed like a waste when they were so good fresh and warm. Maybe she could take them out to Christmas Tree Ranch for Travis and his friends. But no—her presence would only be a distraction, and a gift of cookies would only send a confusing message.
But there was something she could do with them. In her time as mayor, Maggie had made it a point not to hold any grudges or remain at odds with any citizen of Branding Iron—no exceptions. That included the man who’d called her a traitor the last time they’d met.
Resolute now, she boxed the rest of the cookies, put on her coat and boots, and went out to her car. For better or for worse, it was time to make peace with Hank Miller.
She drove slowly on the snow-packed road. Hank lived alone in a small pre-fab house on the south side of town. Maggie could be fairly sure of finding him at home. Hank wasn’t a churchgoer, and Francine, his only close friend, would be busy with weekend guests at the B and B. With so much snow on the roads, it wasn’t likely he’d be out driving. Still, part of her couldn’t help hoping to find him gone when she pulled up to his house.
