My Kind of Christmas (The Christmas Tree Ranch 1)

“Not really. I wasn’t much more than a baby then. I don’t even remember living in this house. But this ranch is where it happened. I guess my parents were doing okay before. But their marriage couldn’t survive the accident. I can imagine what it did to their love life, and to other things, like his ability to work. According to my mother, he started drinking to kill the pain. After that, she said, he was drunk most of the time, and when he got drunk, he got mean. She told me how he’d hit her and call her foul names and how afraid she was that he might hurt me, too. When she couldn’t take it anymore, she took me and left Branding Iron for good. Not long after that, she married my stepfather, and they settled in Oklahoma, where I grew up.”

His long, silent pause made her wonder whether the story was finished. “Is that all?” she asked.

“Not quite.” His voice had taken on a flat, bitter tone. “My stepfather, who adopted me, was a decent man. He tried to raise me right. But he was pretty strict, and like a lot of teenagers, I was a smart-ass kid. We argued a lot.

“When I was about sixteen, after one big blowup, I decided I was going to run away and find my real father. My mother had painted him pretty black over the years. She’d made sure I understood what a mean, worthless, drunken bum he was. But I found myself thinking, how bad could he be? Maybe if I showed up, he’d even let me live with him.

“I knew he was still in Branding Iron, so one night I filled my backpack, snuck out of the house, and caught my first ride with a trucker. By the end of the second day, using my thumb and my wits, I’d made it to Branding Iron.

“I went into a pool hall—the place is gone now—and asked where I could find Hank Miller. Somebody who knew him gave me directions to a broken-down trailer on a vacant lot by the old railroad yard. It was night when I found the place. There was a junk car parked outside, and I could see what looked like lantern light through the window. By then I was shaking, but I forced myself to knock on the door. My father opened it.”

Travis paused by the wire fence that surrounded the hayfield. He took a slow breath, his jaw clenching tight with the memory.

“What happened?” Maggie asked when he didn’t speak.

“About what you’d think. The man in the doorway was foul-mouthed, filthy, and so drunk he could barely stand. When I told him who I was, he cursed me—called my mother a bitch and worse. ‘Get the hell out of here, boy!’ he said. ‘Forget you ever saw me! If you come back here again, I’ll call the police!’ ”

“I’m sorry.” Maggie could think of nothing else to say.

“My mother was right. He was a mean, worthless, drunken bum. After he shoved me off the step and slammed the door, I cried myself to sleep in an alley behind a Dumpster. The next morning, I lit out for home and swore I’d never speak to him again.”

Maggie laid a hand on his sleeve. “That was a long time ago. Hank’s a different person now

. He went to AA and sobered up, got a job at the feed store, and arranged to buy the place when the owner retired. Over the years, he’s added the hardware business and earned the respect of the whole town. And he’s one of the kindest men I know.”

“I’m a different person, too, Maggie. I know what it’s like to hit bottom and struggle back from nothing. I’m not entirely hard-hearted, but there are things you don’t know—things I’m not at liberty to tell you. Later, when you know, you’ll understand. But for now—”

“Oh, stop making excuses!” She wheeled away from him. “Why do things have to be so complicated between good people?”

“And why does your whole life have to revolve around your job and that damned Christmas parade?”

He tossed the flashlight to the ground, caught her hand, and spun her back toward him. His arms crushed her close. His gaze burned through the darkness between them. When he kissed her, it was not like the first time, but fierce, rough, his mouth taking full possession of hers. Maggie’s response blazed. She melted against him with a low moan, loving the taste and feel of him, loving the luscious sensations that swirled through her body as the kiss went on and on.

He had to know what he was doing to her, and that she wanted him as much as he wanted her. From somewhere in the back of her mind, a cautious voice whispered that this wasn’t a good idea. Right now, she didn’t care.

He drew back, just far enough to talk. “Damn it, Maggie, why can’t we just keep this, you and me, apart from all the other craziness? Why can’t we just stop asking questions and enjoy this while it lasts?”

While it lasts . . .

Those words were enough to sober her. She’d been carried away by Travis’s kiss and the thrill of being in his arms. But she wasn’t a while it lasts kind of woman. For her, it had to be all or nothing.

Years ago, she’d let herself say yes to a man who wasn’t fully ready to commit. That broken engagement had left her determined not to make the same mistake again.

Gently, she untangled herself from his embrace. “Maybe we need to give this a rest for now,” she said. “What do you say we get that box and put it in my car?”

It was as if his face had assumed a mask—the one he wore with strangers. “Message received and copied,” he said, picking up the flashlight and turning back toward the shed. Maggie had to stretch her legs to keep up with his long strides. Bucket frisked ahead of them, his white markings a beacon in the dark.

Handing her the flashlight, he raised the edge of the tarp that covered the sleigh and lifted out the box. “Got it,” he said. “Let’s go.”

“Why didn’t Conner want to give up the sleigh?” she asked against her better judgment.

“You’ll have to ask Conner about that.” He waited while she opened the door of her Lincoln. Then he slid the box onto the rear seat. “You’re welcome to come back in. I know he’d like to thank you for the meal.”

“No need for that. It was my pleasure. Here’s your flashlight.” They were behaving like polite strangers, speaking as if that blistering kiss had never happened. Maggie kept up the pretense as she closed the rear door and walked around the car to the driver’s side. Whatever she’d hoped to accomplish here tonight, she’d failed.

“Good night, Travis,” she said. “Thank you for telling me about your father. I wish I could change things between the two of you, but I know better than to try. Only you can do that. I won’t trouble you again.”

She slid into the driver’s seat. When she started the car and turned on the light, she saw that he’d stepped away and called Bucket to him, to make sure the dog stayed clear of the wheels.