* * *
By midday, they had explored the stand of trees and estimated their number at around two thousand. They had also discovered an overgrown dirt road winding down from the trees to the hayfields—easier than the route they’d taken over open ground. They were in high spirits as they parked the ATV in the shed next to the covered sleigh.
“We owe ourselves a celebration,” Conner said. “Since you made breakfast, what do you say you let me buy you a late lunch at that place in town you mentioned.”
“Sure,” Travis said. “We’ve got a lot to talk about.” And they did. The trees they wanted to sell would need to be shaped and groomed. They’d need tools, a way to haul the trees, a place to set up their business, and probably a business license. They were facing a mountain of work—starting now.
Since Conner’s Jeep was still hitched to the trailer, they took Travis’s pickup into town. They’d meant to leave Bucket behind, but as the truck pulled out of the gate, Bucket took a flying leap and landed in the truck bed. When Conner glanced back through the rear windshield, the perky, black and white face was looking back at him.
“Well, at least nobody will bother the truck,” Conner said. “Folks will be able to smell that dog halfway down the block.”
Travis chuckled. It had occurred to him to wonder whether Bucket would be all right in the truck. But half the pickups he’d seen in Branding Iron had dogs riding in the back. Also, he’d scrubbed Bucket’s collar, with the license attached, and put it back around the dog’s neck, so if he did jump out, people would know he wasn’t a stray.
Travis knew he worried too much. But it was a lifelong habit he couldn’t seem to shake. He worried about his friends; he worried about strangers; he even worried about fool dogs. It couldn’t be helped.
Sometimes he even worried about Mayor Maggie and her search for a Santa. But given who she had in mind for the job, he could only wish her luck. The one person he didn’t worry about was Hank Miller.
“So I guess this is our competition coming up.” Conner’s voice broke into his thoughts. Just ahead, on the right-hand side of the highway, he could see Hank’s Hardware and its outside lot already half full of Christmas trees. A truck loaded with flattened trees was backing up to the gate to unload more. Hank, in khakis and a fleece jacket, stood outside giving directions.
“He’s got a great location and plenty of trees to choose from,” Conner said.
“Yeah,” Travis agreed. “He’s got the only tree lot this side of Cottonwood Springs, and he makes a killing every year. But look at the trees coming off that truck. It’s probably been a week, at least, since they were cut. Then they’re flattened in shipment and have to stand until the boughs spread out again. By then they’re already half dried, and they’ve lost most of their scent. By the time somebody gets them home, they’re starting to shed needles.”
“I get your drift,” Conner said. “We can offer folks fresh-cut trees. All we have to do is get set up and put the word out.”
“Easier said than done.” Travis turned onto Main Street and headed for Buckaroo’s. “The season’s about to start. If we’re going to do this, we’ll need to work fast and work smart.”
“Gotcha. We can make some plans while we eat.” Conner glanced back at the Christmas tree lot, which was behind them now. “I’m guessing that fellow won’t be too happy when we start cutting into his profits.”
“I don’t give a damn about him and his profits,” Travis said. “We have as much right to sell trees as that self-serving sonofabitch does.”
“Whoa!” Conner frowned at him. “Is there something going on here that I need to know about?”
Travis turned onto Main Street and headed for Buckaroo’s. “You’ll find out sooner or later, so it might as well be now. That man’s my father.”
* * *
Maggie was returning from an errand at the high school when she drove past Buckaroo’s and saw Travis’s truck in the parking lot with the dog in the back.
Torn between hard bravery and easy cowardice, she pulled her car to the curb. Painful as her last parting from Travis had been, she had a job to do. Part of that job was keeping communication open with the owner of the sleigh and horses.
With a sigh, she climbed out of the car. Bucket had spotted her. He was yipping and wagging his tail. Fearing he might jump out of the truck bed, she walked over to greet him.
“Hi, boy!” She scratched his silky head. He still smelled of skunk, but nothing like before. “What are you doing out here?”
Bucket wagged his tail and licked her hand.
“You stay and watch the truck, okay? If you’re still here when I come back, I’ll stop by. Stay, now.”
Bucket looked forlorn, but didn’t try to follow her. As she walked toward the door of Buckaroo’s, she felt a knot of tension in the pit of her stomach. Would Travis be friendly or hostile? Never mind. Whatever he felt toward her, she was braced. She was not about to let him humiliate her again.
Chapter 7
Maggie took a deep breath and opened the door to the café. It was a small place and not crowded after the lunch rush. There was no way Travis wouldn’t see her come in. But would he greet her or pretend not to notice she was there?
The familiar smells of frying food and the murmur of cooking and conversation washed over her as she walked in. The aging sound system was playing an old Hank Williams song. She saw Travis right away. He was sitting in the corner booth, deep in conversation with a wiry, blond stranger. That must be Conner, the friend he’d said was coming to stay with him.
They had beers but no food yet, and they seemed intent on talking. Travis had a pen and appeared to be jotting notes on a paper napkin.