Chapter 1

Branding Iron, Texas

Late October

Dr. J. T. Rushford yawned as he took the south highway out of Branding Iron. A light autumn rain peppered the windshield. He switched on the wipers and punched the radio up to full volume. Tammy Wynette’s Mississippi twang blared out of the speakers. “Stand by Your Man” had never been Rush’s favorite song, especially since his divorce last year. But what the hell, at least it might help keep him awake.

He’d been up since 2:00 AM, tending a colicky mare. Now it was almost 7:00. The mare was doing fine, but Rush felt like warmed-over roadkill. He could only hope to get a few hours of sleep before the next call.

Running a mobile veterinary service out of his black Hummer H1 Alpha had turned out to be a great business idea. But it had its drawbacks—no operating room or X-ray machine, and only a limited space in the Hummer for lab work. No hired help, and no downtime. He was answering calls on his cell phone at all hours.

He’d hoped to build a clinic on the Christmas Tree Ranch, which he ran with his partners, Travis Morgan and Conner Branch. But building a clinic took time and money. Between his practice and the need to shore up the ranch’s budget, he was short on both.

Switching off the radio, he made a left turn onto the narrow lane that led to the ranch. As he neared the weather-beaten frame house, he glimpsed Travis and Conner outside doing chores—tending to the two huge Percheron horses they’d rescued and the four cows, each with a half-grown calf, that the partners had bought as an investment last spring.

They’d probably left coffee on the stove for him, maybe breakfast, too. But all Rush wanted this morning was to stumble into the house and crawl into bed.

He parked the Hummer next to the shed where the sleigh was kept under a canvas tarp. During the Christmas season it would be hitched behind the big draft horses, to be used for family sleigh rides and to carry Santa Claus in Branding Iron’s annual Christmas parade.

But now, with Christmas still two months away, the partners were busy with another project.

It was Conner who’d come up with the idea of having a Halloween celebration, with pumpkins for sale, a marshmallow roast, hot apple cider, and rides on the old hay wagon that Travis had inherited with the ranch. The pumpkins, planted last spring, were ripe for harvest, the orange and black decorations going up, and the wagon being readied for hayrides.

Conner would drive the team. He was pushing for Rush to go along on the hayrides to play his guitar and sing while Travis took care of things at the house. Rush had agreed on the condition that he might need to leave for an animal emergency. He almost hoped he’d be called away. Singing, especially on Halloween, brought back too many bittersweet memories.

Claire, the little girl he’d left behind in Phoenix, had loved hearing him play and sing. He remembered how she used to laugh and dance, holding out her little skirt as she twirled like a mini-ballerina. Last year, when she was three, he’d taken her out trick-or-treating on Halloween. Dressed as a little black cat, she’d charmed the whole neighborhood. If he’d had a movie star on his arm, Rush couldn’t have been prouder.

A week later, Sonya, his wife, had given him the news that had shattered his world.

The little girl he’d adored from the first moment he’d held her in the hospital was another man’s child.

This year Claire would be four. He tried not to think about her too much. But he couldn’t help wondering what kind of costume she’d be wearing and whether Andre—her father—would care enough to walk her around their affluent Phoenix neighborhood.

And with Christmas coming up . . . But he wasn’t even going to think about Christmas. Without Claire’s childish excitement, Christmas would be just another day—another bad day.

Rush had climbed out of the vehicle and had almost reached the front steps when a furry black-and-white streak came hurtling around the house like a missile aimed at his legs.

“Bucket! You crazy mutt!” Rush did his best to fend off the dog’s yipping, licking welcome. He was fond of the scruffy Border collie mix; but this morning he was too tired for games. Picking up a stick, he threw it as far as he could. As Bucket raced after it, Rush kicked off his dirty boots and, leaving them on the porch, made his escape into the house.

The tempting aroma of coffee drifted from the kitchen, but the last thing he needed was something to wake him up. He fished his phone out of his pocke

t and laid it on the counter. When his partners came inside, they would check his voicemails and wake him if there was an emergency. That done, he dragged himself down the hall to his bedroom, undressed, rolled into bed, and sank into sleep.

* * *

The shaking, creaking bed woke him with a start. He opened his eyes to see Conner grinning down at him.

Rush mouthed a curse. He didn’t know how long he’d been asleep, but it wasn’t long enough. “What time is it?” he muttered.

“Coming up on nine o’clock.” Conner, a former champion bull rider, was wiry and quick, a man who never missed a chance to tease or play a joke. “I know you haven’t been asleep long, but I thought you might be interested in hearing this voicemail.”

Tags: Janet Dailey The Christmas Tree Ranch Romance
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