My Kind of Christmas (The Christmas Tree Ranch 1)

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With Thanksgiving just around the corner, the business application had been turned in and granted with surprising speed. So far there’d been no reaction from Maggie or Hank. But once the signs they planned to make went up along the highway, there were bound to be some fireworks. They would have to be ready.

They’d also spent a grueling day clearing the old road that led from the ranch to the tree site, filling in potholes, digging out clumps of sage and prickly pear, and rolling away rocks. By the time it was done, they were sore, blistered, and filthy, but the rough road was now wide and solid enough to support the pickup.

In

Cottonwood Springs, they’d found a shop that sold secondhand tools and bought a heavy-duty, gasoline-powered chain saw, as well as two smaller power saws, and some hand-pruning tools for trimming the trees. Another shop had a good deal on a two-wheeled cart that was light enough to be towed behind the ATV. Conner had splurged, paying five dollars for an old-style TV that worked in the shop, even though Travis had told him there was no cable service at the ranch. Never mind, Travis had told himself. If fiddling with the TV would keep Conner amused at night, what was the harm?

At Travis’s suggestion, they’d stopped by a Christmas tree lot in Cottonwood Springs to check prices. Even trucked-in trees were expensive. For fresh-cut trees, they could charge even more. But how much would people be willing to pay, especially in Branding Iron? One more decision to make.

They loaded up and headed for home with their purchases in the back of Travis’s pickup. The afternoon was gray and cold. Wind battered the side of the truck as they drove south, down the highway to Branding Iron.

“Let’s pray for blue skies and sunshine tomorrow,” Conner said. “Trimming trees in this weather will be a bitch.”

“We’ll do what we have to,” Travis said. “The other night I did some research on your laptop. Tree trimming is usually done a lot earlier, while the young trees are still growing, not when they’re big enough to sell. We’ll have to keep the trimming to a minimum—just lop off the limbs that spoil the natural shape. If we trim too much, our trees will look butchered—like a bad haircut.”

Conner rested the boot of his good right leg on the dash. “This is getting damned scary,” he said. “We’ve got to open for business by next weekend, or by December first at the latest. And there’s so much yet to do—have you thought about it?”

“I haven’t thought of much else,” Travis said. “We’ll need to buy lights for the house and yard and put them up. We’ll need stands for the trees, or at least some kind of rack to lean them against. We’ll need twine so folks can tie the trees to their cars. And most people will want to pay with credit cards. We’ll need a way to run them. I don’t know the first thing about that, do you?”

Conner shrugged. “I guess we’ll just have to figure it out, or find somebody to ask. We’ll need Christmas music, too, and some kind of speaker to play it on, even if it’s just an old boom box.” He exhaled. “Lordy, what if we’ve bitten off more than we can chew? What if we do all this work and spend all this money, and all we end up with is a yard full of dead Christmas trees? What if everybody just goes to Hank’s because that’s what they’re used to?”

“That’s not a question I wanted to hear,” Travis said. “But it’s worth asking. We need to offer them something they can’t get at Hank’s—or anywhere else. We need a reason for them to come to us.”

Conner stared out the window for a few minutes. Then he lowered his boot from the dash. “This might be a crazy idea, but I’ll run it by you. I was thinking about those hayrides my grandpa used to give, singing songs and having cocoa after. What if we had a nice little campfire in the front yard, with hot chocolate and roasted marshmallows for people who come?”

“I like that,” Travis said. “And I just thought of something else. We could have some cut trees in the yard, but if folks wanted the full experience, we could take them on the road to where the trees are. They could choose their own tree, and we could cut it down and haul it back with them on the trailer.”

“Yeah!” Conner’s voice was charged with excitement. “We could use the ATV as a backup. But if it snows—really snows—we could use the sleigh. Imagine that! Horses, sleigh bells, snow, and Christmas trees! Too bad we let Maggie take that Santa suit.”

Travis still felt a twinge at the mention of Maggie’s name. “It sounds like a grand idea,” he said. “But we’d have to charge extra to make it worth our time. And Branding Iron isn’t a wealthy town. I don’t know how many families would spend the money, especially if they’re already cash-strapped from buying presents.”

“So we advertise in Cottonwood Springs,” Conner said. “There are plenty of folks there who could afford it and would drive half an hour to give their kids the experience. And we could hold a drawing in Branding Iron, with free rides as prizes. Another thing—once we get busy, we won’t be able to handle the operation by ourselves. If we hire a few high school kids to help out, we’ll get their families coming, and the word will spread. This is going to come together and work! It’s got to.”

Travis nodded his agreement as they came into Branding Iron. He envied Conner’s enthusiasm—but then, Conner was a man whose idea of making a living was climbing onto a murderous, half-ton animal and trusting that it wouldn’t kill him. Even the fact that his last ride had crushed his body and ended his career had done little to dampen Conner’s sunny spirit.

Comparing Conner’s background with his own was like comparing day and night. In his work as a patrolman, things were expected to go wrong. It had been his job to keep them from happening if he could, and to deal with them if he couldn’t. And in prison . . .

But those three years were a closed door. He was a free man now, and he never wanted to think about them again.

They drove through Branding Iron, passing Hank’s Hardware on the way out of town. The lights strung in the Christmas tree lot glowed in the twilight, where a few families were already checking out the trees. The scene only served to remind Travis of how far behind they’d already fallen in getting their own trees ready.

They pulled into the yard and unloaded their purchases in the shed. Bucket, who’d been waiting on the porch, trotted down to greet them, then barked and ran to the pasture gate as if to remind them that it was time to bring the horses into the barn.

“I’ll go with him and handle the gates,” Conner said. “You look dead on your feet.”

Did he look that bad? Until Conner’s remark, he hadn’t realized how tired he was. He climbed the front steps, went into the house, and hung his coat on the rack. In the fridge, he found a cold beer and popped the tab. At least they’d filled up on burgers and shakes before leaving Cottonwood Springs. Nobody would feel like cooking tonight.

Setting the beer on the table, he pulled his wallet out of his hip pocket and found the receipts for their day’s purchases, including gas for the truck. After smoothing them out, he opened the file drawer in his desk and slipped them into a folder. The business was going to need some kind of bookkeeping system, especially after the money started coming in—if the money started coming in.

Money had been a worry ever since starting this venture. The trees were free. But everything else—the licensing fee, the tools, the trailer, the coming publicity, the endless small things they needed—they all added up. He and Conner had almost maxed out their credit cards, and they were just getting started. They would need a small miracle to keep them afloat until the trees were sold. But tonight he was too tired to think about it.

Maggie’s clean casserole dish and salad bowl sat on the counter. The leftover food she’d brought was long gone. Travis had put off returning the dishes—partly because he’d been so busy and partly because of the awkwardness. Should he deliver them to her porch, or maybe her office, and leave without seeing her, or was he man enough to face up to the stunning redhead who’d returned his kiss and walked away?

He glanced at his watch. It was early enough for a trip back to town. Maybe it was time he faced the music and returned Maggie’s dishes. If she wasn’t home, he could leave them on her covered porch. If she was, especially if she had company, he would thank her politely and go.

Decision made, he put on his coat, picked up his keys and the dishes, and went outside to tell Conner he was leaving.