My Kind of Christmas (The Christmas Tree Ranch 1)
“Your neighbor?” A memory tugged at her—angry slate gray eyes and a cold manner. Abner must be talking about a different neighbor, Maggie reasoned.
“Young feller,” Abner said. “Moved into that old abandoned ranch last year. He keeps to himself, so you might not know him. But it was him treated me to pie this morning. And when I asked him to take my animals, even old Bucket, he said yes. He doesn’t talk much, but you can tell his heart’s in
the right place.”
Maggie remembered what Ben had told her about Travis Morgan. An embittered ex-convict didn’t strike her as a candidate for playing Santa, even if he managed to fit the suit. But right now, he was all she had.
“Thank you for coming to tell me, Abner,” she said. “Branding Iron is really going to miss you. You’ve been a wonderful Santa and a great friend. I hope you’ll leave me your daughter’s contact information so we can keep in touch.”
“Sure. I don’t have the address with me, but I’ll send you a note from Denver.” He shuffled awkwardly. “Well, that’s about it. I’ll be goin’ now.”
Maggie came around the desk to shake his hand. She might have hugged the old man, but this was a professional meeting, and she didn’t want to embarrass him. “Good luck, Abner,” she said. “I hope this move works out well for you.”
“Me too.” He sighed and turned toward the door. “Good luck findin’ a new Santa.”
I’m going to need more than luck, Maggie thought as the door closed behind him. If I can’t find anybody for the parade, I could wind up wearing that blasted Santa suit and beard myself!
She dismissed the thought of driving out to see Travis Morgan after work. He was probably still angry about the gate. And her headache was getting worse. She would go home, get some rest, and face him in the morning, when she was feeling up to the challenge.
And Travis Morgan would be a challenge. That much was certain.
* * *
The next morning, Maggie walked into the office at 9:00. After checking her messages, and without taking off her coat, she went outside to her car again and headed for the road to Travis’s ranch.
The weather had cleared and warmed, melting the last traces of the ice storm. Cattle grazed in the pastures where the hay had been cut. Migrating geese rose in a cloud from a field of golden wheat stubble, then settled again to feed as she passed.
She could see the ranch ahead, with its unpainted wooden house, its sagging barn and sheds, and the rusty tractor parked out of the weather. Getting the place into shape was going to take time and more money than Travis appeared to have. Now that she knew his story and what he’d done as a favor to Abner, she was more sympathetic than before. But she could do little other than wish him luck.
As she pulled off the road and parked next to the gate, she noticed that the post had been straightened. The gate was closed, and the windmill was working.
No one was in sight, but the thread of smoke curling out of the chimney and the battered Ford pickup parked next to the house told her Travis must be there. Maggie unfastened the gate, stepped through, and fastened it again behind her—good manners in ranch country. “Hello?” she called. “Is anybody here?”
That was when a sharp, foul odor reached her nostrils. She grimaced. No need to guess what it was. Somebody—or something—had tangled with a skunk.
Just then, a black and white streak came rocketing around the house, headed straight for her. She’d made friends with Abner’s dog over the years, and Bucket clearly recognized her. Tongue lolling, tail thumping, he flung himself against her legs with happy yips.
“Hello, old boy.” She reached down, to pat him. “How do you like your new—” The smell blasted her senses. “Oh, my stars!” she muttered.
“I bathed him—twice.” Travis had come out onto the front porch.
“Well, it didn’t work!” Maggie huffed, backing away from the dog. “What did you use on him?”
“Bath soap. All it did was make me smell almost as bad as he does. You might want to keep your distance, Mayor Maggie.”
“At least I don’t have to introduce myself,” she said. “Have you recovered from your fall?”
“I’m sore as hell, but I’ve been worse. I’ll live.”
“I take it Abner told you to expect me,” she said.
“I hope he told you there was no way I’d agree to play Santa Claus.”
“He gave me that impression.” She backed away from Bucket, who was still begging for attention. “Can’t you call this dog off ?”
“I can try. But he only minds when he wants to.” Travis reached down and picked up a stick from the porch. “Look at this, Bucket—go get it!”
He flung the stick so far that it vanished from sight. The dog wheeled and raced after it. “Come on inside,” Travis said. “That’s the only place you’ll be safe from him.”