My Kind of Christmas (The Christmas Tree Ranch 1)

Maggie shook her head. “No woman on earth could steal a man from you, Francine.”

Francine beamed. She was a voluptuous woman in the bloom of early middle age. Fresh from the beauty salon, her hair was bleached and curled, her long, crimson nails and glamorous makeup done to full effect. She looked like a small-town Dolly Parton wannabe, overblown and overdone. But Maggie knew her to be all heart. It was impossible not to like her.

“Maggie’s just been picking out the town Christmas trees.” Hank took the town credit card Maggie handed him, ran it, and handed it back to her with the receipt.

“Hank always saves us the best trees,” Maggie said. “I hope he knows how much we all appreciate him.”

“I’ll make sure he knows that,” Francine teased. “Oh—speaking of Christmas, I heard a rumor at the beauty parlor. Is it true that Abner’s leaving town?”

“I’m afraid that’s true,” Maggie said. “He’s sold the farm, and he’s going to live with his daughter.”

“But that’s terrible! What are we going to do for a Santa Claus?”

“I’m still looking for a volunteer. If you have any suggestions, let me know.” Maggie studied the woman who was closer to Hank than any other person. Decades ago they’d almost married, before a dashing rodeo rider had swept Francine away, and Hank had married someone else. In recent years, they’d picked up the relationship again. Hank had supported Francine’s recovery from alcoholism, and the two spent as much time together as possible.

If anybody could help her talk Hank into playing Santa, it would be Francine.

Francine had turned to Hank. “I just stopped by to make sure you were coming to dinner tonight, honey,” she purred. “I’ve got the makings for chicken and dumplings, your favorite.”

Hank grinned. “I’ll be there with bells on.”

With bells on. Maggie could only hope his words were prophetic.

“Say, Francine,” she said, catching the woman’s attention. “Do you have time to go to lunch with me? My treat. I’ve got to make some decisions about the Christmas celebration, and I could use your input.”

“Why sure, honey,” Francine said, “though I don’t know how much help I’ll be.”

“Buckaroo’s, then, in twenty minutes. I need to check in with the office first. I’ll meet you there.”

* * *

Francine was waiting when Maggie walked into Buckaroo’s. She was saving the corner booth, where it was quieter and easier to talk. They ordered tuna melts and Diet Cokes, sipping

their drinks while they waited for their sandwiches.

Francine turned to face Maggie in the booth. “Thanks for the treat, honey,” she said. “But something tells me you’ve got more in mind than getting my take on the Christmas celebration.”

“That depends.” Maggie swirled the ice in her Coke. “I’m still looking for a Santa Claus, and I’ve found someone who’d be perfect. But I don’t know if he’d be willing.”

“It’s Hank, right?”

Maggie nodded. “What do you think?”

“I think he’d look awesome with a red suit and a beard. But I don’t know what to tell you, Maggie. Hank has always been self-conscious about his leg. You know, it’s the reason he lost his family.”

“But he’d be sitting in the sleigh the whole time. And a lot of the people wouldn’t even know it was him—especially the kids. For them, he’d be the real Santa.”

Francine looked thoughtful. “I know Hank loves kids. He’s always been sorry that he doesn’t have any little grandkids of his own. But even that might not be enough. He’s going to need some powerful persuading.”

“And you’re the most persuasive person I know, Francine.” Maggie grinned. “But there’s another thing. Abner left his sleigh and his team with his neighbor—Hank’s son, Travis. From what I understand, Travis and Hank aren’t even on speaking terms.”

“Now that could be a problem,” Francine agreed.

“Have you met Travis?” Maggie asked.

“No, but I’ve seen him in Shop Mart. Ooh la la! What a man!” Francine batted her long, false eyelashes. “If I were twenty years younger . . . My goodness, girl, you’re blushing!”

“Ignore it. It’s a redhead thing.” Maggie welcomed the arrival of their tuna melts, overflowing with grilled cheese. She took a few bites, giving her face time to cool. “Has Hank ever told you what happened between him and his son?”