My Kind of Christmas (The Christmas Tree Ranch 1)

“Are you all right?” Travis demanded.

“I . . . think so.”

“Is anybody else in the vehicle?”

“No. Just me. You sound like a cop. Are you?”

“Nope. Here, let me help you out. You might have trouble standing.” Travis offered an arm to balance the man as he slid off the seat and dropped to the ground. Standing in the faint glow of the street light, he was a little taller than Travis, close to him in age, with rumpled dark hair. A small gash on his forehead was oozing blood. Travis offered him a clean handkerchief to press on the wound.

“What the hell happened?” He glanced around, a confused expression on his face.

“You were in an accident.” Travis’s brain had clicked into the detachment mode that had enabled him to survive as a highway trooper. It was still sinking in that this man’s driving had destroyed his truck and, except for some lucky timing, could have killed him.

“Accident?” He blinked as if trying to rouse himself.

“Your vehicle ran a red light and hit my truck,” Travis said. “Take a look.”

“What?” He turned around and saw the damage, which seemed to shock him to his senses. He turned slowly back to face Travis. “Oh, hell, I’m sorry,” he muttered. “I remember now. I saw the light and slammed on the brakes, but I couldn’t stop. I slid right into you. Must’ve hit my head. Don’t worry, I’ve got insurance. I can get you my card—”

“Thanks.” Travis was still in cop mode. “Don’t you know better than to hit the brakes on an icy road? That’ll send you into a skid every time. And you need to put that Hummer in four-wheel drive. I know they’ve got it.”

“Sorry. I’m from Phoenix. We don’t have slick roads there.”

“Phoenix?” Travis shook his head. “That explains a lot. If you’d been going any faster, we might not be talking right now.”

The stranger frowned and fumbled for his wallet. “I’ll get you my insurance information. But first, I’ve got one question.”

“What’s that?”

His bewildered gaze swept from the hail-slicked ground to the traffic signal, which continued to change. “Where in hell’s name am I?”

“You don’t know?”

“I haven’t got the foggiest idea.”

“This is Branding Iron, Texas. Does that ring a bell?”

He shook his head. “Never heard of it. I was headed for Fort Worth. Must’ve taken a wrong turn somewhere.” He surveyed the wreck again. “Shouldn’t we call the police or something?”

“In this town, a pol

iceman would just have to get up in the middle of the night and give you a ticket. Nobody’s badly hurt, and you’ve offered your insurance information. If you’ll give it to me and help me push my truck off the road, I’ll make a call and report the accident in the morning.”

“Thanks.” He slipped two cards out of his wallet and handed them to Travis. One was a policy card from a well-known insurance company. The other was a business card. “Keep them. I’ve got extras,” he said.

Travis held the business card up to the light and managed to read most of it.

DR. J. T. RUSHFORD, DVM

1642 PALO VERDE DRIVE, PHOENIX, AZ

“DVM? So you’re a veterinarian?” Travis asked.

“That’s right. Most folks just call me Rush.” He extended a hand.

“Travis Morgan.” Travis accepted the handshake. The stranger seemed like a decent sort, but all he really wanted was to have his truck back and drive home. Unfortunately, he knew that the old Ford was done for. He would never drive it again.

“So what’s a vet from Arizona doing clear out here in the middle of the night?” he asked.