It's a Christmas Thing

by Janet Dailey

  Rush had never believed in miracles. But the trees, which seemed to appear out of nowhere, were a miracle in themselves.

  “Look!” Clara was bouncing with excitement. “It’s a forest! A whole forest of Christmas trees!”

  Rush had to hold her in place as Conner drove the ATV over the brow of the hill and down into the hollow where the trees grew. Conner pulled onto a level spot, where he’d left the half-loaded trailer, and turned off the engine. Bucket jumped down from the seat and raced off among the trees, where he loved chasing birds and squirrels.

  “I’ll bet you don’t have trees like this in Phoenix, do you, Miss Clara?” Conner teased.

  “Last Christmas, Annie and Cecil put up a fake tree,” she said. “I like real trees better. They smell nice.” She took deep breaths, inhaling the fragrance of pine. Rush hadn’t told her about losing Cecil and Annie, who’d been there for her since she was a baby. She was bound to be upset. He would need to find a time to break the news.

  “Can we get a tree for the house?” Clara asked.

  Conner answered before Rush could respond. “Maybe, but only if we have leftover trees that don’t sell. That means we’ll have to wait. Last year we sold them all.”

  Clara frowned. “How long will we have to wait?”

  “Maybe till Christmas Eve. We sell a lot of trees. People come from all over the county to buy them here and in Hank’s lot.”

  “Who’s Hank?”

  “He’s the man who—”

  “He’s the man who sells our trees at his store.” Rush shot Conner a warning glance. To reveal that Hank was the parade Santa would devastate this child who still believed.

  “But look at all these trees!” Clara gestured toward the lush green forest. “Can’t you just cut one down for the house?”

  “It’s not that simple,” Conner said. “There are a lot of trees, and we’ve planted more. But it takes at least eight years to grow a nice Christmas tree. These trees need to last until the new ones are big. If we cut too many too soon, we’ll run out.”

  “Oh.” Clara nodded, although Rush suspected that Conner’s explanation had been too much to grasp.

  “But can’t we just have a little tree—like this one?” She ran to a tree about her own height, a healthy-looking volunteer that had likely sprung from seed. Wrapping her coat-clad arms around it, she gave Conner a sad-puppy look that would have softened a cast-iron girder. “Poor little tree. It isn’t very big or really pretty. Nobody will want it for a Christmas tree. Think how sad it must feel. Please . . .”

  Rush had to bite his cheeks to keep from laughing. Poor Conner. He didn’t stand a chance.

  Conner sighed. “Well, all right, I guess it wouldn’t hurt to cut it for a Christmas tree. But I don’t know what you’ll do for decorations. We’ve got lights, but we’re using those outside. There’s nothing else.”

  She turned her soulful, brown eyes on Rush. “We can buy some, can’t we, Daddy? It’s just a little tree. It won’t need a lot of decorations.”

  “Sure. A string of lights and some tinsel shouldn’t cost much. We’ll go shopping tomorrow. Then we can decorate the tree.”

  Conner caught Rush’s eye, grinned, and shook his head. Two strong men had met their match.

  “Conner, I’ve got a question,” Clara said as Conner readied his power saw to cut down her tree.

  “Anything for you, princess,” Conner said. “Ask away.”

  “Is Bucket friends with cats? Do you know?”

  “Hmm,” Conner said, thinking. “I don’t know that he has any cat friends, if that’s what you mean. I’ve never seen him hanging out with a cat.”

  “No, I mean, if he saw a cat, what would he do?”

  “Probably chase it. That’s what he does with most things.”

  “But would he hurt it?”

  “He’d have to catch it first. But Bucket isn’t mean. I don’t think he’d know what to do with a cat if he caught it.”

  “So you don’t know for sure, do you?”

  “Nope. Sorry.” Conner revved the motor on the chain saw to test it. “Travis might know. He got Bucket from the old man who had him first. You’re sure you want this tree?”

  “Uh-huh. I mean, yes. Thank you, Conner.”

  Conner felled the small tree with a single stroke and set it aside. While he was cutting more trees to load onto the trailer, Rush took Clara for a walk, down along the rows of trees. The afternoon sun had melted the snow. Crows, jays, and small brown sparrows flitted among the pine trees, filling the air with their calls. A squirrel, probably flushed and treed by Bucket, scolded in the distance.

  “Daddy, do you like Tracy?” Clara asked.

  “Sure, I do. She’s nice. Do you like her?”

  “Uh-huh. I like her a lot. But she seems so sad. She told me her husband died.”

  “I know that,” Rush said. “It can take a long time to get over losing someone you love.” I know. I lost you.

  “Do you think she’ll get married again?”

  “Maybe. But not till she’s through being sad.”

  “You’re sad, too, Daddy. I can tell. But I’ve got it all figured out. You and Tracy could get married.”

  Rush stifled a groan. He should have seen that coming. “I don’t think Tracy’s ready to get married,” he said. “Neither am I.”

  “But think how nice it would be. We could live in her house, and I could have Snowflake, and nobody would be sad.”

  “So you’ve got it all figured out, have you?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Listen, honey.” He laid a hand on her shoulder. This wasn’t going to be easy. “By the time you’re older, you’ll learn that you can’t just make people do what you want. I would love to keep you with me forever. But I have to follow the rules. And the rules say that when your mom comes back from her cruise, I have to send you back to Phoenix. And you can’t take Snowflake with you. You already know why.”

  “I know. It’s ’cause Andre’s allergic. I hate the rules! They’re mean and stupid!” She kicked at a rock.

  Rush wanted to kick at a rock, too. Or maybe a boulder. The news he’d been holding back would make her feel even worse. But putting it off wouldn’t make it any easier.

  “I’ve got some more news,” he said, forcing the words. “I’m afraid it’s going to make you sad.”

  “I’m sad now.” Her head was down, her feet dragging.

  “Cecil called me last night. Annie’s father is still sick. Cecil and Annie will need to stay in Oklahoma to take care of him and Annie’s mother.”

  “Stay?” Startled, she looked up at him. “For how long? Forever?”

  His silence answered her question. Tears welled in her eyes.

  “You’ll be all right,” Rush said. “Your mom will find somebody new to take care of you. Somebody nice, I’m sure.” He hoped he could promise that, at least. But Annie and Cecil had been like family. They had loved her. In Clara’s life, they were irreplaceable.

  “Why can’t Mom take care of me herself?” Clara demanded. “Or if she’s too busy, why won’t she just let me stay with you?”

  Rush knelt beside her and hugged her close. “Those are very good questions,” he said. “I only wish I had good answers. But you’re a big girl, you’re growing up, and you have people who love you. You’ll be fine.”

  The way she stood against him, stiff and unyielding, told Rush she had her doubts. She was afraid for the future, and he couldn’t say he blamed her.

  Just then, Bucket came trotting out from among the trees, his tail up, his coat tangled with mud and pine needles. Catching sight of Rush and Clara, he picked up a stick from the ground and came bounding toward them, wanting to play.

  “Here you go, boy.” Rush picked up the stick the dog had dropped at their feet and held it out to Clara. “Want to throw it for him?”

  “I can’t throw very far,” she said. “Will you help me?”

  “Okay.” He handed her the stick and stood behind
her, holding her arm as the dog danced and wagged. “I’ll count to three. On three, let go. Here goes. One, two, three . . .”

  The throw was awkward at best, only sailing about ten feet, but Bucket didn’t seem to care. He shot after it, catching the stick in midair. Prancing, he carried it back for another throw.

  “Try it yourself this time,” Rush said. “You’ll do fine.”

  Clara took the stick and threw it as high and hard as she could. It soared upward, arced, and came down about a dozen feet away. Again, Bucket caught it in the air. Grinning his doggy grin, he came bouncing back.

  Clara picked up the stick he’d dropped at her feet and raised her arm to toss it again.

  “At least somebody’s happy,” she said.

  Chapter 9

  Tracy took off her glasses and rubbed the bridge of her nose. She’d spent most of the afternoon online, searching for any glimmer of hope that might give Rush legal access to the child he loved as his own.

  Most of what she’d found was discouraging. In cases where no formal adoption had taken place, precedence would be given to the biological parent, especially if proven by DNA. As a former stepparent with no blood relationship to the child, Rush was no more than a caregiver.

  As Clara’s natural parents, Rush’s ex-wife and her husband had the legal right to bar Rush from seeing Clara until she became an adult.

  Fairness didn’t enter into the law. Neither did the motives of the parents—which Tracy guessed to be plain, mean-spirited selfishness. Rush’s case looked hopeless.

  But then, as she was about to give up, she’d found it—one small loophole. Tracy’s pulse had leaped when she’d come across the paragraph. But as she read through each line of text, once and then again, she’d realized that, under the present conditions, the loophole was useless. As long as Clara’s parents remained together, there was nothing Rush could do.

  With a sigh, she logged off the computer, laid down her glasses, leaned back, and closed her eyes to rest them. The question, now, was how much should she tell Rush about what she’d learned.

  Telling him what he already knew would be a waste of time and would only frustrate him. But what about that faint possibility, that dim spark of hope she’d just discovered? Should she share it with him, or would that only be cruel, like showing a pitcher of water to a thirsty man without giving him a drink?

  For now, she would keep what she’d learned to herself. In fact it might be best not to tell him she’d done research at all. She could always tell him later if the need arose. Meanwhile, it might not be smart to let Rush know how much she cared about him and his little girl.

  Something soft brushed her arm. Startled, she blinked and sat up. Rainbow had jumped onto the desk and was gazing at her with curious golden eyes. The weeks since Tracy had taken her in had transformed her from a skinny, bedraggled stray into an elegant cat, with a sleek body and long, silky fur.

  Now, with a plaintive meow, she rubbed her head against Tracy’s hand, wanting to be petted. “Hello, Rainbow,” Tracy said, scratching her behind her ears and under her chin. “Taking a break from your babies, are you?”

  A purr rumbled in Rainbow’s throat and quivered down the length of her body. “Mmmm, I can tell that feels good.” Tracy stroked along her back, down to the base of her tail, sending the cat into ecstasies of purring.

  Tracy, who’d never had a cat before, had been surprised to discover how calming they could be. Keeping Rainbow had been a good decision. But no more kittens. She would hold Rush to his promise to spay the mother cat once her babies were weaned.

  She was about to untangle herself from the cat and stand up when her cell phone rang. The caller was Maggie.

  “Hi, Tracy.” Maggie’s voice was as cheerful as the call of a spring meadowlark. “I’m sorry we missed you at the B and B this morning. Travis and I arrived after you left, but somebody mentioned that you and Rush had been there.”

  “I’ll bet they did,” Tracy said. “I had a feeling that if I showed up with Rush and Clara, tongues would wag.”

  Maggie chuckled. “Don’t worry. This is a small town. In a day or two you and Rush will be old news. Anyway, that’s not why I’m calling. Tomorrow’s Sunday, and since Christmas Tree Ranch will be closed for business, and the guys have been working so hard, I wanted to bring them some lasagna and garlic bread for a nice sit-down dinner. I’d love to have you come.”

  Tracy’s first impulse was to make an excuse. But Maggie was trying to be her friend, and she needed good friends. If she ever wanted to be happy in this close-knit little town, she would have to stop living like a hermit outside of work.

  “Thanks, I’d be happy to come,” she said, measuring each word. “But only if I can bring something. How about a salad or dessert—or both?”

  “Your choice. Either or both. We’ll be gathering at five o’clock. Does that work for you? I can’t wait to meet Rush’s little girl.”

  “You’ll love her. And five o’clock is fine.”

  Maggie paused, as if torn between ending the call and asking one more question. Curiosity won. “Tracy, you and Rush—are you, you know, a couple?”

  Tracy sighed. She should have expected this. “Heavens no, we’re just friends. If people are saying that we’re together, that’s plain wrong. We’re not even dating.”

  “I understand. But what I’m saying is, maybe you should be. Rush is a great guy, and I know he likes you. According to Travis, the divorce really put him through the grinder. I’ve heard how much he loves that little girl. He deserves a second chance at a family, with children of his own. So do you. In fact, I think the two of you would make wonderful parents.”

  “Oh, Maggie—” For the space of a heartbeat, Tracy was tempted to share her secret. But she swiftly thought better of it. Nothing stayed secret for long in Branding Iron.

  “I’m sorry,” Maggie said. “Did I say too much? I’m known for putting my foot in my big mouth.”

  “No—oh, no,” Tracy protested, fighting a flood of emotion. “You caught me off guard, that’s all. But it’s far too soon to be talking about any kind of future with Rush, especially when part of me is still married to Steve.”

  “I’m sorry. As usual, I overstepped.”

  “No, you meant well, Maggie. But now you know better. I’ll see you tomorrow at five o’clock.”

  “Wonderful. See you then.”

  Tracy ended the call and pressed her hands to her face. Maggie was a good person, and she’d spoken with the best of intentions. But it had been all Tracy could do to keep herself from cancelling the dinner invitation. What if Maggie had said the same things to Rush? What if Rush was hoping for the loving family Tracy could never give him?

  How could she face him and his friends at dinner, knowing what a fraud she was?

  Being with Rush made her feel warm and safe. If she allowed her emotions free rein, she could even love him. But it would be a love built on empty promises and doomed expectations—a love that, in the end, would leave them both hurt and bitter.

  But tomorrow night was only a dinner with friends. She could handle that.

  Tracy forced herself to think about what she could bring. A salad would be easy. And to go with lasagna, maybe a light dessert like a fruit sorbet—but no, she’d be feeding three hungry, hardworking men. Chocolate was the only way to go.

  After taking stock of what she had on hand, she made a list of ingredients to buy. By now it was getting dark. With the sun gone, the air had turned frigid. Shop Mart was open on Sundays. Tomorrow morning would be soon enough to pick up what she needed.

  That done, she took Murphy out to his favorite tree, gave him his medicine, scooped out Rainbow’s litter box, and checked on the kittens. After that it was time to end the day with popcorn and a good movie.

  Living alone had its perks. But as she settled in to watch the newest mail-order DVD, with the bowl of popcorn in her lap and Rainbow purring next to her on the afghan, she found herself missing the warm weight of a
n arm around her shoulders, the sound of deep-voiced laughter in her ear, and the roughness of a stubbled chin brushing her cheek. But that wasn’t all. The house was too dark and quiet, too much the same as always. She missed the soft glow of lights, the scent of fresh pine, the subtle excitement of seeing wrapped packages, and the sound of a choir singing traditional carols on the radio.

  For the first time since Steve’s death she was missing Christmas.

  * * *

  The big-box store opened at 10:00 on Sundays. Tracy drove into the lot at 10:15, early enough to get a good parking spot. The sky was cloudy, the morning wind warm enough to usher in a storm. Would it be snow? When it came to Texas weather, there was no telling what the next day would bring.

  She tested the cart to make sure the wheels were quiet before pushing it toward the produce section, where she selected lettuce, spinach, tomatoes, avocados, poppy seed dressing, and a small bag of croutons.

  She had most of the ingredients for the chocolate cake she’d planned, but she picked up a disposable pan that she could leave at the ranch, as well as cream cheese for the icing. After getting a few more items she needed at home, she headed for the checkout stand.

  Rounding the end of an aisle, she nearly bumped into Rush, who was pushing a cart with Clara inside. This morning she was wearing her princess costume.

  “Hi, Tracy!” Clara gave her a grin. Rush greeted her with a smile and a strangely sexy twitch of his eyebrow.

  “Hello, Your Highness.” Tracy gave the little girl a deep curtsy.

  “We’ve got a Christmas tree,” Clara said. “We’re going to buy some decorations.”

  “She wanted to wear her princess dress so people would recognize her,” Rush said.

  “I’m sure they will,” Tracy said. “We’ve never had royalty in Branding Iron before.”

  “I’ve been telling people about the kittens,” Clara said. “But remember your promise. You mustn’t give Snowflake away.”