My Kind of Christmas (The Christmas Tree Ranch 1)

Setting the mug on the table, she jumped up, jammed her bare feet into her sneakers, and raced outside. From the front porch, she could see the column of smoke and flame blazing upward. It was coming from the south end of town, from the direction of Hank’s Hardware.

With the sickness of certainty, she hurried back inside, grabbed her coat, purse, and keys, and ran for her car. Branding Iron’s firefighters were all volunteer citizens. One of them roared past her in his pickup as she backed out of the driveway. More would be converging on the fire station to ride the engine to the blaze. As mayor, she wasn’t required to be there, but nothing could have kept her away.

* * *

Hank’s Christmas tree lot was on fire, the dry trees going up like tinder. Every time a new tree caught, the flames shot up like a Roman candle on the Fourth of July. Burning together, they made a roaring spectacle of fire, smoke, and blistering heat.

With the trees beyond saving, the firemen battled to save the store. They trained their single hose on the south wall that faced the tree lot. The vinyl siding had already begun to melt and buckle from the heat, but if they could keep the fire from spreading into the building, they would count it as a victory.

Maggie parked her car at a safe distance and walked closer, to join the people who were watching. She saw Hank, standing alone at the edge of the crowd. She moved next to him and put a comforting hand on his shoulder. “I’m so sorry, Hank,” she said.

When he turned to look at her, his cheeks were wet with tears. “You know my son, Maggie,” he said. “Would he do this?”

“Oh, no!” she gasped, horrified that he would even suggest such a thing. “There’s no way Travis would ever stoop to this!”

Hank didn’t reply. But the look he gave her told Maggie that he still had his doubts.

Travis was nowhere to be seen. Surely if he’d known about the fire, he would have come back. But the ranch was five miles out of town. If he’d driven on home after calling her, he might not have heard the siren or noticed the fire from that distance. She thought of calling him—but she knew he was tired, and there was no need. He would find out about the fire soon enough by tomorrow.

The firemen were winning the battle. By now, most of the trees had burned to ashes, and the rest were smoldering. The wall of the store, with its glass side entrance, was damaged but intact. The stock inside the store was safe.

“Will you be all right?” Maggie asked Hank as the firemen hosed everything down one last time and began to pack up their equipment.

He shrugged. “The building’s insured. But not the trees. That’s the way it goes, I guess.” He walked away, toward his parked truck.

The sheriff was standing nearby, his hand in the pocket of his thick leather jacket. Maggie caught his attention. “Do you have any idea how this started, Ben?” she asked him.

“I won’t know until the place cools down enough for me to look around. It could’ve been some kind of electrical short in the lights. But that’s a stretch. I’d lay odds that somebody started it. It wouldn’t take much. Just tossing a match or a lighted cigarette into one of those trees would be enough. A kid could’ve done it.”

“Who called in the alarm?”

“The nine-one-one dispatcher got an anonymous tip and triggered the alarm. It must’ve happened right after the fire started. Otherwise, the whole store could’ve gone up.”

“So maybe a kid, or somebody, is fooling around, starts the fire, calls for help, and runs off.”

“At this point, we’re all second-guessing, Maggie. I’ll know more when I check it out in the morning.”

Somebody called the sheriff’s name, and he hurried off. People were dispersing now. Hank had already gone, and the firemen were loading the engine. Maggie glanced around for Stanley Featherstone. She didn’t see him, but the fire had drawn a crowd. He could easily have come and gone without her noticing.

She wondered again whether she should call Travis. But by now he was probably asleep. He could just as well rest easily until morning to learn about the fire.

The fire engine headed back to the station. Maggie watched the red taillights disappear up Main Street. Then she walked back to her car, drove home, and went to bed.

* * *

Travis and his partners were up early the next morning. With the students out of school for Christmas vacation, families who’d put off buying a Christmas tree were apt to do it today. Too bad the snow wasn’t deep enough for sleigh rides. But at least everything else was ready.

They had just opened for business when the county sheriff’s big, tan SUV pulled up to the gate and stopped. Travis’s heart dropped as two men climbed out. He recognized the tall man as Sheriff Ben Marsden. The other one was Constable Stanley Featherstone. Both of them were armed.

One thing was certain. They hadn’t come to buy a Christmas tree. Good Lord, what if something had happened to Maggie?

Sick with apprehension, Travis walked out to meet them.

“Sheriff,” he said, ignoring Featherstone, “is something wrong?”

“You might say that.” Marsden was soft-spoken, but his presence was intimidating enough. “Mr. Morgan, can you tell us where you were between eleven and eleven-thirty last night?”

Travis knew the drill, and he knew better than to ask his own questions until he’d answered the sheriff’s. “I was with Maggie until after eleven—she can verify that. Then I left and drove straight home. My partners heard me come in.”