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

“I’ll keep that in min

d. Tell her thanks.” Rush took the box and turned away. Looking past the desk and down the hall, he could see that the door to the courtroom was partway open. For a moment he was tempted to walk down the hall, slip inside, and sit in the back, filling his gaze with the judge as she ruled on traffic tickets, shoplifting, and other petty issues.

But ogling Tracy in her courtroom would be a guaranteed way to give her the creeps. He would take the brownies home, share them with his partners, and help them get the ranch ready for tonight. With the Christmas season approaching fast, he’d have plenty to do in the weeks ahead. He could only hope the work would be enough to keep his mind off the little girl who was gone from his life and the woman who didn’t want anything to do with him.

Chapter 3

After a long, grinding afternoon, settling five traffic tickets, two trespassing charges, one restraining order, one dog bite, and a long-running dispute over the ownership of a pregnant cow’s unborn calf, Tracy swallowed a couple of ibuprofen tablets, hung her robe in her chamber, gathered up her purse and jacket, and prepared to leave for the day.

As she passed the front desk, Maureen, the receptionist, hailed her. “Hey, don’t forget these!” She waved a ziplock bag containing what looked like small packets of medicine.

“Oh, yes.” She turned back toward the desk. “I hope you thanked the good doctor for me.”

“I did, and I gave him the brownies.” She sent Tracy a mischievous grin. “Good heavens, you didn’t tell me what a gorgeous hunk he was. By the time he walked out the door, I was drooling. I take it he’s single.”

“As far as I know, for whatever that’s worth.”

“Well, if you’re smart, you won’t let that one get away. If I were twenty years younger, girl, I’d get myself gussied up and give you a run for your money.”

Tracy forced herself to laugh. “You’ve got the wrong idea, Maureen. Dr. Rushford and I are barely friends. He checked my animals and didn’t charge me for coming by. I made the brownies to thank him, but also because I didn’t want to be obligated.”

“Uh-huh. Sure.” Maureen winked. “Something tells me the man wants to be more than a friend to you. I may be overstepping, but you’ve been alone for well over a year. I know that, as a judge, you’ve got your reputation to think of. But nobody’s going to click their tongue if you find somebody new. In fact, folks will be happy for you.”

Tracy tried to ignore the tightening sensation in her jaw. Was it panic, or was she just tired? “I know you mean well, Maureen. But I’m just not ready. Maybe I never will be.”

“Well, you might want to think it over, honey, before that nice vet gets away.” Maureen glanced at the wall clock. “Have a good weekend. I’ll see you on Monday.”

Tracy drove home, grateful that the work week had ended. Over the past year, her life had settled into a safe, comfortable routine—work all week, shop and clean on Saturday, unwind with a good book or a long walk on Sunday, then back to more of the same. She didn’t have to think or plan. She could be emotionally numb and still function in her drab little world. As long as nothing changed, she could cope. She would be all right.

But how long could things remain the same?

She parked in the driveway and entered her house through the kitchen door. Murphy was there to greet her, wagging his tail and gazing up at her with love in his clouded eyes. She walked him out to do his business in the side yard. When he was done, she brought him back in, refilled his food and water bowls, and then went to check on the cat.

Tracy found the laundry room door open—her own fault for forgetting to close it. There was no sign of the little calico. Her food dish was empty, but with the door open, Murphy could have sniffed his way to the tasty wet food and gobbled it up. If he’d done that, he’d probably scared the cat away.

The litter box had been used, so at least the calico knew where it was and what to do. But she must not have felt safe in the laundry room.

She was probably hiding in her favorite place.

In the bedroom, Tracy knelt on the rug and peered under the bed. In the far corner she could just see the outline of a furry head and two pointed ears. “Come on out, kitty,” she coaxed. “It’s all right. You’re safe.”

The cat didn’t move.

Crawling under the bed to get her was out of the question. The space under the bed would be a tight squeeze for Tracy, and even if she managed to grab the cat, she’d probably get some nasty scratches.

“Fine, just stay there,” Tracy said to the cat. “When you decide to come out, I’ll feed you and give you a nice brushing. But when that happens will be up to you.”

Standing, she kicked off her shoes and changed into her sweats. When she left the room to make herself some supper, the cat was still under the bed. Never mind, Tracy told herself. The little calico would come out when she was ready.

By the time she’d made herself a cheese omelet and watched her favorite TV crime drama, she was getting sleepy. After washing her face, brushing her teeth, and checking under the bed for the cat, she crawled between the sheets and closed her eyes.

* * *

It was 2:14 in the morning when Rush’s phone woke him. With a muttered curse, he reached for it on the nightstand. His fumbling hand knocked the phone to the floor. Swearing, he sat up and groped under the edge of the bed, where it had bounced. Whoever was calling at this ungodly hour had better have a damned good reason.

The phone was still ringing when he picked it up and looked at the caller ID.

It was Tracy.