It's a Christmas Thing (The Christmas Tree Ranch 2)

“Don’t you understand?” The tears in her eyes spilled over.

“Murphy was my husband’s dog. Steve loved him, and so do I. He’s all I have left of our time together. When he’s gone—all those memories—”

“I understand.” From where he stood, Rush could see the photo on the mantel—the all-American couple on the beach with their dog. Tracy was an appealing woman. But Rush had gotten the message loud and clear. She was strictly off-limits.

“Don’t worry, I won’t bring it up again,” he said. “At least not until you’re ready.”

“Thank you.” She swallowed hard, wiping away tears with the back of her hand.

Rush handed her the prescription he’d written. “I can drop off the Cosequin samples when I come back to town this afternoon. Would that work for you?”

“I’ll be at the courthouse until five o’clock. You can leave them there, with the receptionist. There’s no need for you to come by the house.”

“Fine.” Rush glanced at Murphy, who’d hobbled back to his bed again. “Any more questions before I leave?”

“Just one. How much do I owe you?”

“Since you took in the cat as a Good Samaritan, we’ll call it no charge.”

“Really?” Her stunning hazel eyes widened. “But you came, you took the time. You even gave the cat some worm medicine. There must be some way I can repay you.”

Was that an invitation to ask her out?

For an instant Rush was tempted. But no, this was a professional visit. And she’d made it clear that her heart belonged to her late husband. Rush wouldn’t have minded the challenge of a human rival but competing with a ghost was out of his league.

Still, he could hardly leave the lady to fix a plugged drain on her own.

“If you want to repay me, you can let me fix your sink before I go,” he said.

“No need. I can do it myself. I have the tools, and I’ve seen it done. Besides, unless you’re moonlighting, you’re a vet, not a plumber.”

“Maybe so. But with that bump on your head, I’m not taking responsibility for letting you crawl under the sink again. Go sit down. This won’t take a minute.”

Still wearing his latex gloves, he walked into the kitchen, retrieved the bucket and wrench, and worked his way, on his back, into the shadowy darkness under the sink.

“Watch out for the mouse.” Tracy pulled a kitchen chair close to the sink and sat down.

“I’m guessing you gave that mouse a good scare,” he said. “He probably won’t come out again until things quiet down. And once your cat gets wind of him, he’ll be a goner.”

“She’s not my cat. I’m just giving her shelter while she has her babies. And I still don’t know how I’m going to manage the kittens.”

“Kittens can be fun,” Rush said. “With Christmas coming in a couple of months, you should have no trouble finding homes for them. But after they’re weaned, you’ll need to get the mother spayed, so she won’t have any more. There are too many homeless cats in the world.”

“If I keep her.”

“Or even if you don’t.” Rush positioned the bucket under the trap, used the wrench to loosen the connections, removed the trap, and dumped the messy-looking contents into the bucket. “That should do it,” he said. “When I’ve hooked it up again, you can turn on the water.”

“Thanks,” Tracy said. “I could’ve done it, but it would have taken me a lot longer. We inherited this house from Steve’s mother. When we moved in, I wanted to install a garbage disposal. I found out I couldn’t use one here because the septic tank is as old as the house and we have to be careful what goes into it.”

“I know what you mean.” Rush held the empty trap in place and tightened the connections. “The septic tank we have at the ranch is the same way.”

“The ranch?” Her eyebrows arched slightly.

“My partners and I run the Christmas Tree Ranch south of town.”

“Oh!” She laughed, a surprising sound. “Now I remember where I’ve seen you. Last year in court—you showed up to dispute that littering citation against the ranch.”

“That’s right. And you were nice enough to reduce the charges.”