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

“I just wanted to make sure.”

“Well, for now would you like a job?” Tracy said. “These kittens are curious. Now that they’re out of the box, they’ll want to run all over the house. You can follow them and make sure they don’t get into trouble or get lost. Okay?”

“Okay.” C

lara gave her a tentative smile. “Sure.”

“When they get tired and hungry, they can go back to their mother.”

“What if they can’t get back in the box? It’ll be hard if they’re tired.”

“You’re right. How can we make it easier?”

“I know!” Clara said. “We can cut a door in the box.”

“Good thinking. Your dad would be proud of you.” The words reminded Tracy of Rush’s heartbreaking situation. He was Clara’s dad in every respect but one—the one that counted with the law.

Using a kitchen knife, Tracy cut a round hole in the front of the cardboard box, just big enough and low enough for Rainbow and the kittens to go in and out without having to climb. “Perfect,” she said. “That was a great idea, Clara. Now you’d better go and look after those kittens. They’ve already made it into the hall.”

Following the kittens around the house kept Clara entertained for more than an hour. By the time Rainbow called her little family back to the box, they were ready for warm milk, a family snuggle, and a nap.

Tracy made sure they were all in the box, then closed the laundry room door to keep them from wandering out. “Good job,” she said to Clara. “Now, do you want to help me bake cookies? We’ll make plenty, so you and your dad can take some back to the ranch.”

Tracy had expected the little girl to be excited. But Clara only shook her head. “What is it?” Tracy asked. “Making cookies will be fun.”

“I know,” Clara said. “But you promised to help me write a letter to Santa. If we don’t do it today, he might not get it in time for Christmas.”

“That’s right, I did promise you, didn’t I?” Tracy said.

“And promises are more important than cookies.”

“Wise words. Are you sure you’re only four years old? Sometimes you talk like you’re about fifty.”

Clara giggled. “I’m not fifty. That’s really old. Have you got some nice paper?”

“I think so. But we could do the letter on my computer. That would be easier. We could even send Santa an e-mail.”

“They might not have e-mail at the North Pole,” Clara said. “Anyway, I think Santa would rather get a real letter.”

“Okay,” Tracy said. “I’ve got some paper in my desk.”

Tracy kept a box of light blue linen stationery with matching envelopes in the back of a drawer. She took it out and carried it, along with a pen, to the kitchen table, where Clara had taken a seat. “Will this paper do?” she asked.

“Blue is nice,” Clara said. “I think Santa will like that.”

Tracy sat next to Clara, laid a sheet of paper on the table, and poised the pen. “Ready? I’ll write whatever you say.”

“Okay.” Clara paused, thinking. “Dear Santa Claus . . .”

Tracy printed the words. Clara watched her form the letters. “I wish I could read,” she said. “I know I’ll learn in school, but that’s not for a long time.”

“You could learn now. All you need is someone to teach you. Maybe your dad could take you to the library and find you some easy books.” Tracy held the pen and waited for Clara to go on.

“Dear Santa, I hope you get this letter on time.” She paused. “Got that?”

“Just about. You might want to slow down a little.” Tracy finished printing the line. “Next?”

“I have been very good this year.” She spoke slowly, enunciating each word. “Here is what I want for Christmas.”