by Janet Dailey
“All set,” Maggie said. “Rush just got an emergency call. He’ll have to leave Clara with Travis. If you don’t mind driving out to the ranch to pick her up, his credit card will be there for you. Once he’s finished with his calls, he’ll stop by your place and get her. Will that work for you?”
“That should be fine.” Tracy had met Travis and knew the way to the ranch. But she couldn’t help but wonder if Rush was avoiding her. Or was it Maggie’s ill-disguised matchmaking he was avoiding? At least he’d be coming by her house later on. But Tracy never knew what to expect from him. He was a difficult man to read—but then, she was no open book herself.
After promising to pick up the little girl in forty-five minutes, Tracy finished doing her hair and makeup, checked on Mama Cat and her lively brood in their box, and paused in the living room to pet Murphy and give him his meds.
Her gaze lingered on the framed photo, taken on a Galveston beach with a younger, more active Murphy. Fit and smiling in their swimsuits, she and Steve looked like a poster for the perfect young American family—with a dog in place of a child.
A shadow darkened Tracy’s thoughts as she remembered what the photo hadn’t shown—the doctor visits, the temperature charts, the fertility drugs, and the disappointments, month after month. When Steve had been diagnosed with an inoperable brain tumor, the need for some part of him to go on had become urgent. But their time had run out—time made bitter by the reality that the fault wasn’t with him; it was with her.
Chapter 6
Driving south on the highway, Tracy kept an eye out for the sign that said CHRISTMAS TREE RANCH. She’d heard people talk about the ranch and the beautiful, fresh Christmas trees that could be bought here and at Hank’s Hardware. But she’d never visited the place. Last year, when they’d opened for business, she’d had no interest in buying a tree. She wouldn’t be buying one this year, either, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t curious.
Face it, I’m curious about anything connected with Dr. J. T. Rushford.
After turning off the highway by the sign, she drove down the narrow lane and pulled through the open gate. The house, a dilapidated one-story frame with a broad front porch, certainly lacked a woman’s touch. But someone had hung light strings along the roofline and wrapped them around the supports that held up the overhanging eave. Cut trees leaned against racks in the front yard. Tracy inhaled their fresh fragrance as she climbed out of the car. From somewhere beyond the rolling pastures and snow-covered hills came the whine of a chainsaw biting into wood.
Several vehicles were parked in the side yard. Tracy didn’t see Rush’s Hummer, but she’d already been told that he’d had an emergency call. Never mind, Rush wasn’t the reason she’d agreed to come here.
Travis came out onto the porch to greet her. She’d met him a few months ago when he’d come by the city building to take Maggie to lunch. Maggie had hit the jackpot with the tall, soft-spoken ranch owner. The two of them seemed to be made for each other.
“Hi, Tracy,” he said. “Have you come to pick up the princess?”
“If she’s ready.”
“Oh, she’s ready, all right. She’s been over the moon about meeting you and shopping for new clothes. Come on in and meet her.”
Tracy mounted the porch and walked through the door he opened for her. The little girl who stood in the living room was dressed as Disney’s Sleeping Beauty in a pink princess gown, with high-heeled plastic sandals on her feet and a rhinestone tiara on her pretty head. With dark hair and big, dark eyes, she looked as if she’d stepped out of a fairy tale.
She wasn’t exactly dressed for a trip to Shop Mart, but as long as she was happy and got what she needed, Tracy was willing to play the game.
Spreading invisible skirts, Tracy dropped a curtsy. “Your Highness,” she murmured.
The little girl giggled. “That’s not my name. My name is Clara.”
Tracy rose, a bit awkwardly, from her curtsy. “I’m Tracy, Clara. I’ve come to take you shopping. Are you ready to go?”
“Uh-huh. I just need my coat. It’s in my tent.” Turning, she headed for a blue nylon dome tent that was pitched in the living room. “Do you like my tent? I’m camping out.”
“What a good idea,” Tracy said. “You won’t even get cold at night, or be kept awake by coyotes.”
Clara unzipped the tent and stepped inside. While she was rummaging for her coat, Travis handed Tracy a credit card. “Rush says the sky’s the limit,” he said. “But she’ll need a warmer coat and some boots and gloves, as well as the basics like jeans, underwear, and socks.”
“Leave it to me,” Tracy said. “I’ll get her everything she needs, and we’ll have a good time.”
“Oh, one more thing.” Travis picked up a booster seat that had been left on a chair. “Rush wanted to make sure you had this in your car. If you don’t mind waiting a minute, I’ll go out and install it in your backseat.”
He picked up the seat and strode out to her car. Maggie had mentioned that he was a former highway patrolman. It made sense that he’d be safety-conscious. But he’d seemed genuinely concerned about getting Clara the right clothes, too. He and Maggie would make wonderful parents, Tracy thought. With luck, they’d get married and have a big, happy family.
Rush, too, seemed to have the makings of a good father. Tracy had seen for herself that he was gentle, kind, and responsible. Maggie had passed on Travis’s comment that he adored his little stepdaughter, even though she wasn’t his biological child. Maggie had hinted that there was more to the story. But unless Rush chose to tell her, that was none of her business, Tracy reminded herself.
Surely, Rush would want children of his own someday. That would put her out of the running from the get-go. Besides, she and Rush barely knew each other. Today she was repaying a favor. That was all.
Clara emerged from the tent wearing her blue, quilted coat, which looked slightly lopsided because of the way she’d buttoned it. Turning, she zipped the tent flap shut. “If I leave it open, Bucket could come in all wet and dirty and roll around on my bed,” she explained. “Okay, I’m ready to go shopping now.”
Tracy looked her up and down, from her shiny tiara and misbuttoned coat to her long princess skirt and plastic high-heeled sandals. She looked like an adorable misfit, but everything was manageable except the shoes. Those shoes would have to go.
“Don’t you have any warmer shoes, Clara?” she asked. “You’ll freeze your toes in those sandals.”
“I’ve got sneakers,” she said. “But these are my princess shoes. Princesses don’t wear sneakers.”
Little fashionista. Hiding a smile, Tracy tried to look stern.
“It’s snowy outside. And the floors inside the store are slippery. You could fall down and get hurt in your princess shoes. If you wear them, you won’t be able to walk around. I’ll have to carry you like a baby.”
Those last few words seemed to hit home. Clara sighed. “Okay. I’ll wear my sneakers. But can we take my princess shoes with us?”
“Sure.” Tracy waited while Clara unzipped the tent flap, climbed inside, and emerged minutes later with her high heels in one hand and her little sneakers on the wrong feet. As she closed the tent flap again, Tracy slipped the credit card into her purse and glanced outside to make sure Travis had finished installing the booster seat.
“Are you ready to go?” she asked Clara.
The little girl clapped her hands. “Ready! It’s time to shop till we drop!”
* * *
Clara insisted that she knew how to fasten herself into the booster seat. Tracy watched as she struggled with the straps and buckles. After several tries, she finally got it right.
“Good for you!” Tracy exclaimed. “You kept trying, and you didn’t give up.”
“I told you I could do it,” Clara said. “My daddy showed me how. I just had to remember.”
As Tracy climbed into the car, a four-wheeler ATV rolled into sight along a snow-packed wagon road that came fr
om the far side of the ranch. It was pulling a two-wheeled trailer loaded with fresh Christmas trees. The driver gave her a friendly wave. Clara waved back. “That’s Conner,” she said. “He’s a real cowboy. He even rode bulls in the rodeo. And that dog sitting by him is Bucket.”
Tracy returned the wave as she backed the car out of the driveway. She hadn’t met Conner Branch, but she’d certainly heard of him. Two of the women she worked with had dated him. Both had fallen hard for the man, but Conner had moved on, leaving behind a trail of broken hearts. According to one lady who’d given up on him, Conner was simply having too much fun to settle down.
As far as Tracy could tell, Travis was a one-woman man, Conner was a player, and Rush . . . Rush seemed to be a loner, with an air of brooding sadness about him. Maybe this adorable little girl had something to do with the reason why.
By the time Tracy had turned onto the highway, Clara was peppering her with questions.
“Do you know my daddy? His name is Rush.”
“Not very well. We’re just friends,” Tracy said.
“Do you like him?”
“He’s a very nice man.”
“My mom says that Andre is my real daddy—she even had a doctor take a test. He stuck a stick inside my cheek. I guess he did the same thing to Andre, ’cause my mom said that the sticks came out the same. That meant that Andre was my father, and Rush had to go away.”
Tracy’s hands tightened around the steering wheel as the truth sank in. Rush’s ex-wife hadn’t just married her old flame. It appeared that they’d had an affair, and that he’d fathered her child—a child that Rush had believed was his own until faced with the proof of the DNA test.
What a monstrous betrayal.
“That must have been very sad for you,” she said to Clara.
“It was.” Clara sounded older than her years. “I cried a lot. But now I’ve figured it out.”
“What did you figure out?”
“Andre is my father. But he isn’t my daddy.”
“Why is that, Clara?” Tracy could guess the answer to her question, but she wanted to hear it.
“Andre doesn’t play with me. He doesn’t read me stories in funny voices. He doesn’t tuck me in at night or make me pancakes for supper. Daddies do those things.”
“Did Rush do those things?”
“Uh-huh. He’s the best daddy in the world. But he can’t come to our house ’cause Mom is married to Andre now.”
“But you could come here, right?”
“I’m not supposed to. I just got to come here ’cause Mom and Andre went away on a big boat.”
“A cruise, you mean?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Your parents went off and left you for Christmas?” That poor little girl. Her parents didn’t deserve her.
“Uh-huh. They left me with Cecil and Annie. But then Annie’s father got sick, so I got to go to my daddy—my real daddy.”
Tracy hadn’t understood everything Clara had told her, but what she could piece together told a heartbreaking story—a loving father and a trusting little girl ripped apart when a terrible secret had come to light. She could sympathize, but there was no way to change what had happened.
It came as a relief to see the entrance sign for Shop Mart just ahead on the right. When Maggie had asked Tracy to take Rush’s little girl shopping, caution had warned her to keep her distance. But now that she understood the connection between Rush and the child who still loved him, she found herself being pulled from safety like a swimmer in a riptide.
Shop Mart, the only big-box store in the county, was a magnet for Christmas shoppers. The lot was so full that Tracy had to park in the last row, in the far corner. “Let’s go,” she said, slinging her purse on her shoulder and lifting Clara out of her seat. Half-melted slush coated the asphalt, splattering her as a car drove past. Tracy enfolded the little girl in the front of her coat, trying to shield her.
“I’ll have to carry you into the store,” she said. “It’s too cold and wet out here for your princess gown.”
Clara clung to her. “Is this winter?” she asked. “We don’t have winter in Phoenix. It’s warm all the time.”
“This is a Texas winter,” Tracy said. “Sometimes it’s cold and snowy like this. Sometimes it rains. Sometimes it’s warm and dry, even in December. Texas weather is full of surprises.”
“Does Santa Claus come when it’s warm?”
“Does he come to Phoenix?”
“I guess he just figures that out. Santa is pretty smart.” Clara gazed past the sea of cars to where people were swarming into the store entrance. “Santa comes to our Mall in Phoenix. Kids sit on his lap and tell him what they want for Christmas. Will Santa come to this store?”
“Not this store,” Tracy said. “He doesn’t come to Branding Iron until the Christmas parade.”
“Then how will he know what kids want?”
Tracy scrambled for an answer. “They write letters and mail them at the post office.”
“Can I write a letter? I’ll need help ’cause I can’t write much. Just my name. Annie taught me that.”
“Sure,” Tracy said. “After we buy clothes, you’re going to my house to wait for your dad. I’ll help you then.”
They passed through the automatic doors and into the crowded store. “Stay close to me,” Tracy said, putting Clara down. “It’s crowded in here. I wouldn’t want us to get separated.”
“Take this.” Clara unfastened her coat and thrust it up at Tracy. “I want people to see my princess dress.”
“Fine.” Tracy tucked the coat under her arm, anchored Clara’s tiara, and looked around for an empty shopping cart. There was just one in the line. Clasping Clara’s hand, she lunged and grabbed it just ahead of a large woman who glowered at her and moved away. Tracy could feel a headache coming on. Buying clothes would be fun. But fighting her way through mobs of Christmas shoppers would be exhausting.
“I know what, let’s put you in here.” She lifted Clara into the cart and dropped the coat in after her. “That’s better. Now I won’t lose you. You’ll look like a princess riding in her coach.”
“Can I stand up?”
“You’ll be safer sitting down. If somebody bumps into us, you could fall. Okay?”
“Okay.” She sat on her coat, carefully spreading her skirt and adjusting her tiara. Tracy took a moment to spot the overhead sign that said CHILDREN’S WEAR. Pushing through the crowd, she headed in that direction.
She soon found out why her shopping cart had been the last one left. One damaged wheel made a squealing sound with each rotation, followed by a plop. Squeal, plop. Squeal, plop.
People turned their heads toward the sound. Clara smiled and gave them a perfect royal princess wave. Many of them smiled back at her, or even clapped.
Most of them were strangers. Glancing around, Tracy realized how few people she actually knew, even after more than five years in Branding Iron. While Steve had been alive, especially in that final year, her whole existence had revolved around her marriage and her job. After his death, their mutual friends, most of them in Cottonwood Springs, had drifted away, leaving her marooned by grief and loneliness. The townspeople who’d passed through her court saw her as a judge, not a friend. Even the men and women she worked with went back to their own lives at the end of the day—lives that didn’t include her.
Tracy knew better than to feel sorry for herself. If she was alone, it was because she’d failed to reach out to people like Maggie, who could be her friends. Making changes would be up to her. But where and how to begin—that was the question she had yet to face.
A familiar figure caught her eye and waved. Tall, handsome Ben Marsden was the county sheriff. His wife, Jessica, ran the local bed and breakfast with her mother, Francine, as a partner. Francine, she knew, was the girlfriend of Hank, who ran the hardware store and played Santa in the annual Christmas parade—and Hank was the father of Travis, who was one of Rush’s partners.
Ev
eryone in Branding Iron seemed to be connected. The place was a true community, a warm refuge for those who called it home. But Tracy had never felt like anything but an outsider—which was nobody’s fault but her own.
The sheriff made his way through the crowd to her cart. His face broke into a smile as he caught sight of Clara. “Well, look at you,” he said. “If I’d known that a real princess was coming to town, I’d have dressed up. Do I bow or shake hands?”
Clara giggled and held out a hand, which was almost lost in Ben’s big fist. “My name is Clara,” she said.
“Princess Clara to you,” Tracy added.
“Howdy, Princess Clara, my name’s Ben.” He released her hand with a reassuring smile. “I have my own little princess at home. Her name’s Violet. She’s two, and I’ve come to buy her some pajamas. What color do you think she’d like?”
“Pink,” Clara said. “Pink is for girls. But maybe you should get her some violet pajamas ’cause that’s her name.”
“Good advice.” He turned to Tracy with a questioning look. “Is she yours?”
“Hardly.” Tracy shook her head. “Clara is Dr. Rushford’s daughter. She’s visiting her dad for the holidays, and she packed her own suitcase.”
Ben grinned. “I can see what she brought.”
“Rush is working today, so I got volunteered by Maggie to take Clara shopping and buy her some cowgirl clothes.”
He looked down at Clara. “So, you’re going to be a cowgirl princess.”
“Uh-huh. Then I can play outside in the snow.”
“Well, have fun.” He turned to go, then glanced back at Tracy with a knowing look. “Rush, huh?”
Tracy didn’t answer but she couldn’t hide the flush of color that rose in her face. Denial, she knew, would only make matters worse. Had she already started a wave of gossip, showing up in town with Rush’s little girl?
Ben chuckled as he walked away. Blast it, why did everybody have to be a matchmaker?
Struggling to ignore the persistent squeal, plop of the cart wheel, she pushed ahead to the racks of children’s clothing.
