My Kind of Christmas (The Christmas Tree Ranch 1)

“Need any help? Can you drive all right?”

“I can manage, thanks. Just tell me how to get there.”

* * *

Travis ended the call with a new lightness of spirit. He’d done his best to go it alone out here, but the past year had been hellishly lonesome and hard. Having a capable friend, who needed to be here for his own reasons, could make all the difference. Maybe together, they could find a way to make this broken-down ranch pay.

He found himself whistling as he set about getting a room ready for his friend, clearing out items that could be hauled away or stored elsewhere, scrubbing the floor and washing the single window. He was going to need a bed, a chair, and some kind of bureau with drawers, as well as curtains, bedding, and a rug. If he couldn’t find some furniture in the want ads, the thrift store in Cottonwood Springs should have most of what he needed. What he couldn’t find there, he would have to buy at Shop Mart, along with a fresh supply of groceries.

Luckily, he’d sold a truckload of hay last week, so he had some cash. He’d planned to make it last, but he wanted his friend to be comfortable. Conner had made good money as a rodeo star. He’d lived like a millionaire—a big house with stables out back, fancy cars and fancy women. Travis could only hope he wouldn’t mind the shabby room that was the best he had to offer.

By the time he’d cleaned the room and rearranged the house, the sun was low in the sky, and the air had taken on a biting chill. Patch and Chip were still in the field. It might be all right to leave them outside for the night—wild horses, after all, lived outdoors all the time. But what if something went wrong—a storm, an accident, or even some predator? He couldn’t take that chance. He needed to get the big Percherons back into the barn.

But Abner hadn’t told him how to do that.

Would he have to catch them on foot? Would they come if he whistled? Would they know their food was in the barn and come back on their own? Travis felt like a fool—but if he didn’t get them in soon, he’d be chasing them in the dark.

He took time to put fresh hay and water in their stalls. Then, leaving the stall gates open as well as the barn door, he looped the two lead ropes over his arm and walked out to the fenced hayfield, opened the gate, and stepped inside.

The horses were about a hundred yards out, standing close together. Would they let him approach, or would they spook and run if he went close? He was about to shut the gate behind him when a black and white streak rocketed past him, headed straight for the horses.

“Bucket! Come back here, you fool dog!” he shouted. But Bucket ignored him. Circling the horses, he darted in close, yapping and nipping at their heels, then darting out again. In a moment, he had them moving together toward the gate.

Travis watched in drop-jawed amazement as the dog herded the giant horses through the gate, across the yard, and into the barn. Chip and Patch seemed to know the drill. They ambled along together, making no move to resist Bucket’s barks and nips.

When they were in their stalls, Travis closed and latched the gates. Bucket sat at his feet, grinning, as if to say, See, I showed you something, didn’t I?

Travis scratched the dog’s ears. “I’ll be damned,” he muttered. “I don’t just have one new partner. I’ve got two!”

Chapter 5

By the next afternoon, Travis had found the furniture he needed, including a nearly new mattress set and a rug, at a Branding Iron moving sale. He paid the seller, loaded the pieces in the back of the pickup, and tied them down.

Driving away, he checked off one more item on his mental list of things to do before Conner arrived. He’d been lucky to find all the furniture in one place, and at a bargain price. But he still needed bedding and maybe a few extra towels, since Conner had implied that he wasn’t bringing much. He wanted to lay in some groceries, too. He could find everything he needed at Shop Mart—hopefully, some of it on sale.

Travis had wondered, in passing, what Conner was living on. The money from the hay sales wouldn’t be enough to support two people. But he dismissed the worry. Conner was a proud man—too proud to be a freeloader. He would find a way to pull his own weight.

He pulled into the crowded parking lot at Shop Mart and found an empty space. Only as he was climbing out of the truck did he notice that he was parked next to a familiar black Lincoln Town Car.

All thoughts of his errand fled. For the past couple of days, he’d been too busy to dwell on sexy Mayor Maggie. But she hadn’t been far from his mind. Now, gazing across the sea of parked vehicles, he caught a glimpse of her coming out of the store with a tall paper bag in her arms. She didn’t appear to have seen him, but she was moving steadily in his direction, toward her car. She was wearing jeans, a black motorcycle jacket, and the green scarf he liked. Her mahogany hair fluttered loose in the breeze.

Damn, but she was beautiful. And way out of his league. But at least he could thank her for the tomato juice and maybe offer to buy her coffee. The worst she could do was say no.

Leaning against the side of his truck, he took a shameless pleasure in watching her walk toward him.

* * *

/> Maggie was two rows away from her car when she caught sight of Travis, leaning against the side of his truck. When he tipped his hat and grinned, she knew he’d been waiting for her. The hormone surge was like homemade fudge boiling over on a hot stove. Heaven help her, the man was a convicted felon—bad news for any respectable woman. But the chemistry was all too real.

As she reached her car, he stepped forward and took the bag from her hands. “Here, I’ll hold this while you open your trunk,” he said.

“Thanks,” she said, finding her keys and clicking open the lock. “It’s not heavy, but it’s nice to have an extra hand. You can put it right there, next to the spare tire.”

He put the bag down and closed the trunk lid. “I was hoping to run into you,” he said. “I wanted to thank you for the tomato juice.”

“Did it work?”

“About as well as anything could. At least Bucket smells better. As for me . . .” He pulled up his sleeve and offered her his wrist. She sniffed deeply. His cool skin smelled of bargain brand soap, but the skunk aroma, faint but unmistakable, was not entirely gone.