My Kind of Christmas (The Christmas Tree Ranch 1)

But there was something she could do with them. In her time as mayor, Maggie had made it a point not to hold any grudges or remain at odds with any citizen of Branding Iron—no exceptions. That included the man who’d called her a traitor the last time they’d met.

Resolute now, she boxed the rest of the cookies, put on her coat and boots, and went out to her car. For better or for worse, it was time to make peace with Hank Miller.

She drove slowly on the snow-packed road. Hank lived alone in a small pre-fab house on the south side of town. Maggie could be fairly sure of finding him at home. Hank wasn’t a churchgoer, and Francine, his only close friend, would be busy with weekend guests at the B and B. With so much snow on the roads, it wasn’t likely he’d be out driving. Still, part of her couldn’t help hoping to find him gone when she pulled up to his house.

No such luck. Turning onto Hank’s street, she could see his truck in the carport. Bracing for an unpleasant welcome, she parked at the curb, took the cookies, and waded through the snow to the concrete slab that served as a front porch.

She was still stomping the snow off her boots when Hank answered the bell.

“Maggie.” There was no warmth in his voice and little more than suspicion in his gaze. “What do you want?”

“Just to talk. May I come in?”

He stepped aside without a word, opening the door to let her come in. The living room reminded Maggie of an economy-priced motel unit—neat and orderly but with no personal touches and no family photos. The older TV in one corner was broadcasting a Sunday news program. Hank walked over to the set and switched it off. He didn’t offer to take her coat.

“I did some baking. These are for you.” Maggie thrust the box of cookies toward him.

“Trying to sweeten me up, are you?” Still unsmiling, he took the box and put it on the coffee table.

“No comment.” Maggie’s attempt at humor fell flat.

“Sit down.” He motioned her to a chair. Maggie took a seat. He sat on the sofa, facing her. “So,” he said, “since you came to talk, go ahead and talk.”

He wasn’t making this easy. But the man had been wounded by his son’s rejection, Maggie reminded herself. And he believed she’d taken Travis’s side against him. Of course, his defenses would be up.

“You and I have been friends for a long time, Hank,” she said.

“We have.” His look was guarded.

“I value that friendship too much to let anything spoil it,” Maggie said. “I’m hoping we can get to the bottom of what’s happened so we can move on.”

Hank’s jaw tightened. “If you’re still wanting me to play Santa Claus, forget it. You can take your cookies and go.”

“That’s not what this is about,” Maggie said. “I know what happened between you and your son all those years ago. He was hurt when you sent him home. But you did the right thing back then, Hank. You’ve done the right thing all along. It’s Travis who needs to admit he was wrong and ask for forgiveness.”

Her words seemed to touch Hank. His defensive expression softened. His gaze dropped to his hands. “You heard what Travis said to me. I don’t think my son is capable of asking for forgiveness—or forgiving.”

“But you could be wrong. Listen—this is something I know from a good source. When you put your trees on sale for half price and cut into his opening day of business, Travis’s friend Conner wanted to do something to get back at you. Travis refused. He wouldn’t act against you. Doesn’t that mean something?”

Hank didn’t reply.

“Travis didn’t go into the tree business to spite you,” Maggie said. “He did it because the trees were growing on his property. It was a gift—a way to make the money he needed to run the ranch.”

“But he could have come to me. If he had, I’d have helped him learn the business. I might have even given him some start-up money,” Hank said. “Now it’s too late.”

“I refuse to believe that. It’s never too late.”

He gave her a dejected look. “Hasn’t Travis told you what I did?”

“I haven’t talked to Travis since Saturday morning. Is there something I don’t know?”

“If you don’t, you’ll find out soon enough. Saturday, when I saw those flyers on the doors, I went to Featherstone and complained about the littering and about the signs Travis had put up.”

Maggie remembered the constable in the Shop Mart parking lot, stopping to collect a flyer off the pavement. She’d assumed he was just picking up trash. Now his action held a different meaning.

“I did something even worse, Maggie,” Hank said. “I know for a fact that little rat, Featherstone, is sweet on you. I wanted to make sure he did his job. So I told him that you and Travis were seeing each other. That set him off just the way I wanted. Last night, he called and told me he’d ticketed Travis for more than eleven hundred dollars in fines—and that he’d handed out the tickets right in front of his customers.”

“Oh, Hank.” Sick with dismay, Maggie shook her head. “You’re a good man. What possessed you to do such a thing?”