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

Christmas! Scrooge was right. Bah! Humbug!

Pushing the thought from her mind, Tracy wheeled her cart to the pharmacy counter, dropped off the Cosequin prescription, and headed for the pet aisle. There she picked up a set of bowls, some canned food that was similar to the samples Rush had given her, and a plastic litter pan with a cover. The two sections came in a cardboard box that would do nicely for the cat’s bed.

She was looking at bags of litter, wondering whether to go cheap or pamper her pet with a deluxe product, when she heard a voice behind her.

“Tracy, what are you doing in the cat aisle? Have you got a new pet, or did you just take a wrong turn?”

Tracy turned to find Maggie Delaney, Branding Iron’s statuesque, redheaded mayor, standing next to her. Tracy hadn’t made many friends in Branding Iron. Her early life here had revolved around Steve. And after Steve’s death, grief had built a wall around her. But she knew Maggie from work. The two women were casual friends—the only kind of friends Tracy had.

“What do you know about kitty litter?” Tracy asked.

“Not much. The little darlings poop in it, and their human slaves have to scoop it out every day.”

“You must have cats.”

“No,” Maggie said, “I’m more of a dog person myself. Didn’t you once mention that you have a dog?”

“Yes,” Tracy said. “Murphy’s an old sweetheart. But this little pregnant cat showed up on my doorstep, and when the vet came by—”

“The vet?” Maggie grinned. “You mean Dr. Rushford? Tall, dark, and drop-dead gorgeous?”

“Evidently, he’s the only vet in town.” Tracy paused, suddenly puzzled. “What’s the matter? Why are you looking at me like that?”

Maggie’s grin broadened. “Because the man’s had a crush on you for almost as long as I’ve known him.”

Hot color flooded Tracy’s cheeks. “You’re joking! How on earth would you know that?”

“Because his partner, Travis, is my boyfriend. Rush asked him if I could get your phone number. But when he found out you’d recently lost your husband, he decided to wait.” Maggie’s voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “So, did he ask you out?”

Still blushing, Tracy shook her head. “No, he was all business. But he did fix my clogged sink, and he refused to let me pay him.”

Maggie laughed out loud, causing an older woman with a loaded cart to frown in their direction. “All business, my aunt Sadie’s bloomers! Rush is quiet. He doesn’t reveal much about himself. But I’d say that’s a sure sign he’s interested. I’ll tell you what.” She leaned closer to Tracy. “The partners are having a three-night Halloween celebration at the ranch next week—marshmallow roasting, pumpkin carving, hayrides, the works. It’s mostly to drum up business for the Christmas season, but it’ll be lots of fun. I promised Travis I’d show up to help out. Why don’t you come with me? If you want, you could even bring cookies or something to thank Rush for his help.”

Tracy felt a door slam shut inside her—a door driven by grief, uncertainty, and guilt. “Thanks for the invitation,” she said. “It does sound like fun, but—I’m sorry—something inside me is still saying no.”

“I understand.” Maggie gave her a sympathetic smile. “And here’s hoping that one of these days something inside of you will start saying yes. Call me if you change your mind.”

After parting from Maggie, Tracy picked out a bag of cat litter, along with a scoop, and headed back to the pharmacy counter to pick up the prescription for Murphy. As she tucked the small white bag into her purse, she remembered Rush’s thinly veiled suggestion that soon she would have to deal with the end of her old friend’s life. Even the thought brought tears to her eyes. Rush was right, of course. Dogs didn’t live forever. All too soon, they grew old and feeble until it became an act of kindness to put them out of their misery. Still . . .

This Christmas could be her last with the old dog Steve had loved. She would find ways to make it special. But she couldn’t think about it now, or she’d be a blubbering mess by the time she got to work.

She paid for her purchases at the checkout stand and loaded them into the back of her car. Maybe she should have accepted Maggie’s invitation. Rush had been kind and helpful, and she was truly grateful. Perhaps . . . But no, showing up at the ranch would send the wrong message. She would have to show her gratitude some other way.

She glanced at the dashboard clock. If she hurried home now, she’d have time to mix up a batch of brownies and get them in the oven before she changed her clothes for work. She could leave them with the receptionist, to be given to Rush when he dropped off the Cosequin samples. If he didn’t come by—well, that would be all right, too. The court staff could use a treat.

At home, she took a few minutes in the laundry room to line the cardboard box with an old sweater for a cat bed. In one corner she set up the litter box and put out food and water. There was no sign of the cat, but when Tracy checked under her bed, the little calico peered back at her with eyes like two golden moons. Maybe later, when the house was quiet, she’d smell the food and come out, Tracy told herself. Right now, it was time to whip up some brownies for the handsome vet she didn’t plan to see again.

* * *

Rush had promised Noah Halverson, the farmer who owned the sick mare, that he’d come by and check on the animal that afternoon. Since the Halverson place was on the far side of Branding Iron, it wouldn’t be out of his way to drop by the court and leave the samples for Tracy’s old dog.

Branding Iron’s courthouse was part of a complex that included the mayor’s office, the sheriff’s office, the police department and jail, and the library. When Rush pulled up outside the wing that housed the court, he saw Tracy’s Mercedes parked in one of the slots reserved for judges. She’d probably be on the bench now, but since he hadn’t planned to speak with her, that was all right. He would just leave the samples with the receptionist, as she’d suggested.

Taking the sample packets in a ziplock bag, he walked into the reception area. The middle-aged woman at the desk gave him a knowing smile. “You must be Dr. Rushford. The judge told me you might be coming by.”

“That’s right. I just wanted to drop off these medicine samples for her dog.” He laid the packet on the desk, next to a nameplate that said MAUREEN GRIMSHAW. “You must be Maureen,” he said. “Would you mind giving this to her? I don’t want to bother her when she’s working.”

“I’ll make sure she gets it.” Rush could swear the woman winked at him. “And by the way, she asked me to give you something from her.” Maureen thrust a shoebox-sized plastic carton toward him. Through the transparent sides, the contents looked like sheer chocolate decadence. “She said she’d made them to thank you. But if you don’t mind my saying so . . .” She leaned closer across the desk. “That lady doesn’t make brownies for just anybody. Something tells me she thinks you’re pretty special.”