My Kind of Christmas

by Janet Dailey

  “Shut up, Featherstone,” Travis growled as the deputy unlocked the cell door. “I may have to be here, but I sure as hell don’t have to listen to you.”

  The deputy escorted Travis and the constable down the hall to the interrogation room and opened the door. Travis stepped inside, looked across the table, and gasped as if he’d been kicked in the gut. Sitting next to the sheriff was Hank—his father—in handcuffs.

  “Come in and sit down, Morgan,” the sheriff said. “You, too, Constable. You’re part of this. Deputy, please take the constable’s weapon. Then you may go and close the door.”

  Hank kept his gaze lowered. He didn’t look up as Travis sat down across from him, still stunned by the sight of his handcuffed father. Featherstone, who’d surrendered his pistol without protest, sat at the foot of the table, looking uncomfortable.

  The sheriff cleared his throat and spoke. “Hank Miller has confessed to setting the fire that burned his own tree lot and damaged his store. He’s been arrested and charged with arson, with intent to commit insurance fraud.”

  “I’ll be damned!” The constable chuckled out loud. Travis caught his breath, reeling as the implications struck him. His father’s confession would clear him of all charges. But this wasn’t making sense. If Hank had started the fire, why would Featherstone bother to lie about it? And Hank? Had he actually done this crazy thing, or was he lying, too?

  Why would he lie about committing such a serious crime?

  The only possible answer to that question sent a dagger through Travis’s heart.

  He couldn’t let this stand. The only way to resolve the situation was to find the truth. “Sheriff, something’s wrong here,” he said. “My father wouldn’t do this.”

  “Hold your horses. I’m not finished,” the sheriff said. “There’s just one problem with Hank’s so-called confession. The evidence I found when I went through the crime scene tells me he’s lying. The fire was started using an accelerant—most likely gasoline. It was splashed through the front of the locked fence, from the outside and trailed on the ground, where it was lit. Hank claimed he was inside the fence when he started the fire, and that he used charcoal to get the blaze going.”

  The sheriff took his key and unlocked Hank’s handcuffs. “Good story, Hank. Now let’s get to the truth.”

  Hank was shaking, still unable to raise his eyes. Travis stared at his father, a lump rising in his throat. There was only one reason Hank would make a false confession about starting the fire—to save his son from a second prison term. The gesture was so rich in love that Travis felt a rush of tears. The sheriff didn’t stop him when he reached across the table and clasped his father’s hand.

  “We’re not finished here,” the sheriff said. “There are two versions of our story left, and only one of them is true. Travis Morgan here claims he drove past the store before the fire started and didn’t notice anything except that somebody was following him.

  “The constable claims to have seen Morgan start the fire. But what I’m wondering is, why would Morgan get out of his vehicle and start a fire if he knew that somebody was watching—especially if that somebody was close enough to see him lighting matches, as Featherstone claimed? And why wouldn’t the constable, as an officer of the law, have honked or yelled—tried to stop him in some way—instead of waiting till the fire was blazing to call nine one one?”

  He turned toward Featherstone where he sat at the end of the table. “Maybe you can answer those questions, Constable. And maybe you can tell us what my deputy will find when he gets a warrant to search your car.”

  Stanley Featherstone’s cocky expression crumpled. He made a move as if to jump out of his chair and flee, but he had no place to go. He had been trapped by his own ill-thought-out lies.

  The sheriff summoned his deputy in to cuff Featherstone and take him out. In a way, it was hard not to feel sorry for the little man, who had so many strikes against him. But Travis figured he’d manage.

  “You two are free to go, with all charges dismissed,” the sheriff told Travis and Hank. “You can pick up your personal effects at the front counter.”

  Travis and his father faced each other in the hallway. Their handshake dissolved into an awkward but heartfelt hug. They had some distance to go on their way to a comfortable father and son relationship. But they’d taken the first step.

  They came out through the sliding glass doors into the parking lot—and into the joyous arms of Maggie and Francine, who’d gotten word of what was happening. With everybody talking at once, the story slowly came out.

  “This is a real Christmas miracle!” Francine exclaimed. “You’ve got a helper to run the store for now, Hank, so you won’t need to get right back. I say we all go celebrate with a meal at that great steak house on the way to Cottonwood Springs. My treat!”

  “Great, but I’ll be a minute or two,” Travis said. “I need to make a phone call.”

  “And I want to talk to the sheriff,” Maggie said. “It won’t take long.”

  “We’ll be in my car,” Francine said.

  Travis stepped away from the others and made a call to his partners. They would be waiting for news—it was good, thank heaven. But Travis also had an idea. He could only hope they would agree and help him carry it out.

  * * *

  Maggie caught Ben outside his office. “I had a feeling you’d be looking for me,” he said. “Come on in.”

  He ushered her into his office and offered her the chair opposite his desk. “I think you know what I’m going to ask you,” she said.

  “Ask me anyway.” His smile showed an appealing dimple.

  “How did you work this? And why did you arrest Hank if you knew up front that he was innocent? I want the whole story.”

  “Luck played a part in it,” he said. “At first, I thought Travis was a legitimate suspect. He and Hank were competing for business, they’d had words, and Travis was in the vicinity that night, with no alibi. That was why I brought him in.

  “But the more I thought about Stanley’s story, the fishier it sounded. Like, why didn’t he try to stop Travis from setting a fire? And the part about him spying on your house—that tipped me off that something wasn’t right.”

  “I know. That was creepy. I still get shivers when I think about it,” Maggie said. “But what about Hank?”

  Ben chuckled. “Pure, dumb luck! I was planning to sit down with Travis and Stanley face to face and compare their stories. Then Hank walked into your office and confessed. He was the wild card I couldn’t resist playing.”

  “But if you knew he was innocent, why did you arrest him?”

  “It gets a little personal here. You know I’m married to Francine’s daughter, so I was aware of the relationship between Hank and his son, and that Hank wanted to reconcile, but Travis would have none of it. I knew what it took for Hank to make that false confession to save his son, and I wanted to make sure Travis knew it. There was no risk involved. By then I knew Travis wasn’t guilty. And I would never have tried to prosecute Hank.”

  “Which was why you wrote me that note. I really could trust you.”

  “Yup.” He grinned.

  Maggie rose from the chair. “Thanks for sharing. I’ve got to go now, but one more thing, Ben.”

  “What?”

  Maggie laughed. “Remind me never to play poker with you.”

  “And I’ve got one more thing for you,” Ben said.

  “Oh? What’s that?”

  “You’ve got a damned good man there. You might want to think about keeping him.”

  * * *

  She did have a good man, Maggie reflected as she rode next to Travis in the cushy backseat of Francine’s big, red Buick. His arm was around her shoulders, his hand clasping hers as if he never wanted to let go. She didn’t have to think about keeping him. She’d already made up her mind.

  The four of them were in a festive mood as they drove to the restaurant. Christmas music was playing on the radio. Francine and Han
k were singing along—Hank in a mellow baritone that sounded almost professional. He would make such a wonderful Santa, Maggie thought. Maybe he would say yes the next time she asked him. Maybe he would even offer. It might not hurt to wait a day or two before asking, in case he wanted to volunteer. Or maybe she should ask Francine to give him a nudge.

  After feasting on the best prime rib in the county and pie that was almost as good as Buckaroo’s, they drove home. “I can drop you off at your office, Maggie,” Francine said. “I’ll drive you out to your ranch, too, Travis. I’ve been wanting to see what you and your partners have done with the place.”

  “That would be great, thanks,” Travis said. “But can you wait and let Maggie off on your way back? There’s something I want her to see.”

  “Sure,” Francine said. “Is that all right with you, Maggie?”

  “No problem. I’ve got a two-thirty meeting, but there’s plenty of time. Besides, I feel like a teenager on a date back here.”

  Francine giggled. “Hey, you can even go ahead and neck. I won’t mind.”

  “That can wait.” Maggie gave Travis a playful wink. “What is it you want me to see?”

  Travis answered her in a whisper. “It’ll be a surprise—a good one, I hope, especially for Hank. But I won’t know for sure until we get there.”

  They were coming into the north end of town on the highway. As they drove down Main Street, Maggie could sense Travis’s restless tension. Whatever he was waiting for, it must matter a great deal to him.

  They passed Shop Mart on the way out of town. Now they were coming up on the hardware store. Travis leaned forward and touched Francine’s shoulder. “Stop here,” he said.

  Francine pulled the Buick off the highway in front of the store. Maggie heard Hank gasp.

  The burned-out Christmas tree lot had been swept clean. Rush and Conner were busy stocking it with the lush, green Christmas trees they’d brought with the Jeep and trailer. They grinned and waved as the car stopped, then went back to work.

  Hank climbed out of the car. He seemed to have something in his eye. “What is this?” he demanded in a shaky voice. “You know I can’t pay you for these trees.”

  Travis came over to stand beside him. “That’s not the idea. We’re not selling you these trees. We’re offering you a partnership—fifty cents on the dollar for every tree you sell out of this lot.”

  “A partnership?” Hank blinked in disbelief.

  “For as long as you want it. No more paying for trees off a truck. You can sell ours and split the profits with us. Everybody wins, including the customers.”

  “And you can pass out a coupon for a free sleigh ride with every tree—to use when it snows.” Conner had come over to shake Hank’s hand.

  Rush did the same. “If it snows,” he added.

  They looked up at the cheerless winter sky and shook their heads. The snow from the last storm had melted. The ground was bare, the sky unpromising.

  Maggie shared their disappointment. White Christmases were magical in Branding Iron. But they were all too rare. Most years the townspeople had to make do with brown earth, yellow grass, bare trees, and Santa’s sleigh on a flatbed. It appeared that this year would be no different.

  She glanced at her watch. It was almost 2:30. “I need to get back for my meeting,” she said. “Do you mind taking me now, Francine?”

  “Go ahead, Francine,” Travis said. “I’ll be staying here to help set up.”

  Maggie blew him a kiss and followed Francine to her car. Both women were in high spirits as they drove back into town. “I had a feeling everything would work out all right,” Francine said. “It just took a little time and patience.”

  “And some help from your very smart son-in-law,” Maggie added. “Ben was unbelievable. But we still don’t have our Santa for the parade this weekend—unless we just want to go with Bucket.”

  Francine laughed. “You leave that to me, honey. I can be very persuasive when I put my mind to it.”

  * * *

  Maggie’s meeting, a line-item budget review for the next year, which was just like last year’s, seemed to drag on forever. She tried not to remind herself that she was only here as a courtesy. All she really needed to do was sign the budget when it came across her desk.

  Now it was almost 4:30. They had at least half an hour to go, and Maggie wasn’t the only one stifling a yawn.

  The plate glass window of the conference room looked out on Main Street. As the budget chairman’s voice droned on, she gazed out at the bare trees and darkening sky.

  Christmas lights, strung between the lampposts, swayed and danced in the wind. Was a storm moving in? Or was it just another dry cold front that would pass before the night was over, leaving nothing behind?

  A single, fluffy speck of white drifted past the window. Maggie held her breath, wishing like a child, as another, then another, then more swirled against the glass like the flakes in a snow globe—a beautiful snow globe as big as the sky.

  “Earth to Maggie.” The budget chairman’s teasing voice caught her attention. She blinked herself back to the present.

  “Maggie, it’s been moved and seconded that we adjourn until tomorrow, so we can get home ahead of the storm. All in favor say ‘aye.’ ”

  “Aye!” Maggie was on her feet, dashing back to her office to grab her coat and purse. Right now, there was only one place she wanted to be.

  Snowflakes caught in her hair as she flew down the sidewalk to her car and flung herself inside. The big Lincoln was solid on the road, with good tires. Still, eager as she was, she willed herself not to speed. Last month, when she’d slammed into Travis’s gatepost, the icy slip had changed her life. But she didn’t want to change anybody else’s life on the highway.

  When she pulled up to the hardware store, people were already stopping to buy the fresh trees. Christmas music was playing, and the hot chocolate table had been set up next to the building. Hank was hanging a hastily lettered sign next to the gate. The sign read:

  CHRISTMAS TREE RANCH

  FRESH TREES $30

  FREE HOT CHOCOLATE

  It took Maggie a moment to spot Travis. He was on the far side of the lot, mounting the last few yards of six-inch wire mesh between the metal posts to replace the old fire-damaged fence.

  She climbed out of the car and ran around the outside of the fence to where he stood. Snow swirled around him as he dropped his tools and caught her close, swinging her off the ground before he set her down again. She filled her gaze with him. The cold wind had reddened his cheeks. Snow coated his hair, brows, and lashes. “What is it?” he asked her. “What are you looking at?”

  “I’m looking at the man I love and thinking that I could never get enough of seeing you like this,” she said.

  “And I feel the same way about you, Mayor Maggie.” He bent down and kissed her. Snow swirled around them as they held each other tight.

  “Hey, look at them!” a childish voice piped from somewhere inside the fence.

  Flushed and breathless, they broke apart. Travis laughed as he handed her some pliers and a handful of metal clips. “Here,” he said. “Make yourself useful.”

  * * *

  In Branding Iron, the last Saturday before Christmas was the biggest day of the year. No matter what the weather, the celebration started at 10:00 AM sharp with the Christmas parade down Main Street. It ended that night in the high school gym with the Cowboy Christmas Ball.

  In recent years, the celebration had grown. The two big high schools in Cottonwood Springs now sent their marching bands to join Branding Iron High’s small group. Businesses contributed floats and antique cars for celebrities and politicians. Local riding clubs came with their horses. The Badger Hollow Boys, who furnished the music for the ball, always rode in the back of a 1937 Ford pickup. But the star of the parade was always Branding Iron’s own Santa in his beautiful sleigh.

  For every year in recent memory, that Santa had been Abner Jenkins. This year there woul
d be someone new.

  Today’s weather was perfect for a Christmas parade. The storm, which had left nearly a foot of snow, had passed two days ago, giving work crews time to clear the roads and sidewalks. The sky was clear, the sunlight dazzling on the diamond-bright snow.

  The crowds began gathering nearly an hour ahead of time, everyone hoping to get a good spot for parade viewing. In the past, Maggie had usually ridden in one of the antique cars with the visiting dignitaries. This year she had begged off. She wanted to watch her beloved parade from the sidelines, with Travis.

  Travis, too, had bowed out of the parade. He’d left the sleigh driving to Conner, the only one with the skill to handle the big Percherons amid the crowds and noise. Rush would sit next to him on the driver’s bench to troubleshoot and toss treats to the kids.

  Happy to the bone, Maggie clasped Travis’s hand as they strolled along the crowded sidewalk. Everywhere she looked, she saw folks she knew. Ben was there with his wife, accompanied by Francine, who was holding her little granddaughter, Violet. Travis’s neighbor, Jubal, gave her a friendly wave as he ushered his wife, Ellie, and their two children through the crowd. Now she caught sight of Katy and Daniel, holding hands. Silas and Connie walked behind them, trying not to hover too closely. And there were so many others—her people, her town, and her man. She was on top of the world.

  The parade was flowing past them now. Because they were both tall, Maggie and Travis moved back to let the children and shorter folks stand in front of them. The cars, floats, horses, and bands made a festive sight, but Maggie could sense the anticipation as the grand procession neared its end.

  “Where’s Santa Claus?” A little girl in front of them tugged at her mother’s hand.

  “He’s coming soon,” her mother said. “Just wait.”

  “Will he be the real Santa?” the little girl asked. “The one in the mall was fake. I could tell. He didn’t look one bit jolly. He just looked tired.”