Just a Little Christmas by Janet Dailey (10)

Chapter 10

Ellie sat at the breakfast table in her bathrobe, doing her best to enjoy the eggs that Clara had scrambled for her. She knew her mother meant well, but all she really felt like this morning was coffee.

“Bad night?” Clara looked up from her morning crossword puzzle with a sympathetic smile.

“Not great. The baby was tap-dancing, and I swear Beau jumped up and barked every time the wind rattled that loose shutter outside my window. He must’ve thought somebody was trying to get in, and he needed to protect me.”

“I’ll ask Ben to fix it. Where’s Beau now? I don’t see him.”

“He was so tired from guarding me all night that, when I got up, he went to sleep in my bed.” Ellie sprinkled pepper on her eggs. “Sorry to be such a grump. I’m aware that every woman who has a baby goes through times like this, when she’s as big as a house and all she wants to do is lock the door and bawl her eyes out. Sometimes I can’t wait to have this baby. Other times, when I think about it, I’m scared to death.”

“That’s perfectly normal, dear. Believe me, you’ll be fine. One look at that sweet little girl, and you’ll know exactly what to do.”

Ellie forced down another bite. Her mother wasn’t helping.

“Remember, tomorrow’s your baby shower,” Clara continued. “The ladies there will have lots of good advice to offer you, along with their nice gifts.”

Ellie sighed. Jess had gone to so much work to plan the shower and send out the invitations. She should be looking forward to it. Instead she was dreading the event, sitting there looking like a fat, pregnant heifer in front of women who’d all brought her presents, even though they scarcely knew her. How could she be so ungrateful? What was wrong with her this morning?

“Cheer up, sweetheart, it’s almost Christmas,” Clara said. “A week from tomorrow will be the Christmas parade, with the ball that night, and everyone celebrating.”

“Don’t count on me for the ball,” Ellie said. “Something tells me I won’t feel up to going.”

“That would be a shame,” Clara said. “If you don’t want to be on your feet, I know they could use help at the ticket table. By the way, I finished Gracie’s dress early this morning. There wasn’t much left to do, just the side seams. If you don’t have other plans, maybe you could drop it off for her at the ranch.”

“I have a ten o’clock appointment for a checkup at the clinic. I could go after that, I suppose, but I’m not sure anybody’s going to be home. Jubal could be working on the ranch, and Gracie’s in school.”

“You could call Jubal.” Clara gave her a knowing look. “Something tells me he’d be glad to see you.”

“Mother—”

“What? I’m not blind. I saw how you two were looking at each other last night.”

“Jubal and I are friends—and barely that. After the way I treated him, he’ll never trust me again. I’m surprised he’s even speaking to me.”

“But you’ve given it some thought, haven’t you?”

“I’m not even going to answer that question.”

“If you don’t mind my speaking frankly—”

“Has that ever stopped you before?”

“Listen, I’ve got to say this, Ellie. You could do worse than Jubal. Your baby’s going to need a father, and Gracie needs a mother. Anyone can see that little girl adores you.”

“Gracie’s a darling. But it’s Beau she adores, not me. She wants a dog, not a mother.” Ellie rose to her feet and began clearing the table. “If you want to give me the dress, I’ll take it with me. But it may or may not get delivered today.”

“Fine. I’ll have it waiting for you when you’re ready to leave. Be careful out there. The roads will be slick from the storm.”

Ellie loaded the dishwasher and went upstairs to get ready for the day. She loved her mother. Either of them would rush into a burning building to save the other. But like most mothers and daughters, they didn’t always agree with one another. When Clara pushed a little too hard, Ellie tended to push back. There’d likely be more pushing once the baby arrived. But never mind that, Ellie told herself. She was home, where she’d chosen to be—and where she felt safe and loved.

* * *

“Everything’s looking good. You’re all set to go.” Dr. Ramirez gave Ellie a parting smile. “See you in a week. Say hello to the mango for me.”

That mango bit was getting old, Ellie thought as she walked out to the Purple People Eater. Maybe she should let Jubal know the perky Latina had a crush on him.

With a sigh, she climbed into the old car. She’d stopped by the garage on her way to the clinic. Silas was still waiting for the parts to fix her BMW. “Any day now,” he’d told her. Maybe she should have had the car towed to a big-city dealership and paid through the nose to have it repaired there. Either way, the insurance would have covered most of it. But Silas was doing his best, and it was too late to change her plans now.

The box with Gracie’s dress in it lay on the backseat. She had plenty of time and not much to do at home. There was no good reason not to call Jubal and deliver the package.

Last night’s fast-moving storm had left a glaze of sleet on the ground. Earlier the driving had been slippery, but by now the main roads had been salted, the slush cleared by morning traffic. Driving to the ranch shouldn’t be a problem.

Before starting the car, she found her cell phone and scrolled to Jubal’s number.

He answered on the second ring. “Ellie?” There was something in his voice, a shadow of tension that put her on alert.

“Is everything okay?” she asked.

“Fine, it’s just that . . .” He took a breath. “I’ve found something.”

“Can you tell me more?” Ellie’s pulse skipped.

“I’d rather show you—but not anybody else until I’m sure of what I’ve got. I could use some input from your legal mind.”

“I can meet you somewhere. Are you at the ranch?”

“Yes. Do you mind coming here?”

“Not at all. If you’re worried about gossip, I’ve got the excuse of having Gracie’s dress to deliver.”

“I’m not worried about gossip. But be careful on the road.”

“You sound like my mother.”

He chuckled at that. “Take your time.”

“See you.” Ellie’s sour mood lifted as she ended the call and started the car. Jubal had asked for her help. He valued her opinion. Today, when she needed a boost, that made all the difference. Maybe she could actually help him find a way to save his ranch.

Jubal was waiting on the front porch when she drove up to the ranch house. Motioning for her to stay put, he came down the steps to help her out of the car. “How were the roads?” he asked as if nothing unusual was on his mind.

“Not that bad. Gracie’s dress is in that box in the backseat.”

“I’ll get it after you’re safely inside. That’s precious cargo you’re carrying.” He took her arm to balance her as she climbed the steps. That was the Jubal she remembered, always looking out for others. Maybe her mother was right. Maybe she should have married him. But then everything would have been different. He wouldn’t have married Laura and had Gracie. She wouldn’t have married Brent. And she wouldn’t be carrying this baby.

Inside, he slipped off her coat and hung it on the rack. Gracie’s Christmas tree, with its cherished decorations, stood in the corner. The lights weren’t on, but the flames that crackled in the fireplace lent warmth and cheer to the room. The fresh logs were barely burnt, as if Jubal had kindled the fire only after learning that she was on her way.

“Have a seat. I’ll get the box out of your car.”

Ellie settled on the couch, basking in the warmth of the fire as he strode outside, returned with the dress box, and took it down the hall to Gracie’s room. Moments later, he reappeared with a plain manila envelope.

“I found these papers under my dad’s mattress. Take a look.” He sat next to her, opened the envelope, and laid three sheets of paper on the coffee table. “Before I give you my ideas, I want you to read them and let me know what you think. Tell me everything that comes to mind, even what’s obvious.”

Ellie picked up the first page, which appeared to be a loan contract, and studied it.

She voiced her thoughts for Jubal’s benefit. “I see that it’s between your father, Seth McFarland, and Shumway and Sons, for the amount of five thousand dollars. The date, December nineteenth, four years ago this month.” She glanced up, meeting his gaze. “You told me that when Laura died, your father gave you five thousand dollars to pay for her funeral.”

“He never told me where he got the money,” Jubal said. “And given what I was dealing with, I didn’t think to ask. I just took the cash and paid the funeral home.”

“Had he ever been that generous with you before?” Ellie remembered the hard-bitten curmudgeon who could barely spare a smile, let alone anything beyond the essentials, for his son.

“Never. But he’d always liked Laura. It hit him hard when she died. I guess he wanted to help any way he could. The old man must’ve had a heart after all.”

Ellie scanned the page, thinking aloud as she read. “From what you’ve told me about his bad credit, I’m guessing the bank wouldn’t lend him any money. So he found a loan shark that would.”

She was making assumptions now, she cautioned herself. But that was where her thoughts were leading her—that Shumway and Sons, whoever they were, had somehow used the contract to swindle Jubal’s father out of the ranch. Willing herself to focus on the complicated legal language, she pored over the next page. The print was so minuscule she could barely read it.

“Interest rate . . . That’s high, really high. Did you find any evidence that your father made payments?”

“No cancelled checks, no receipts for cash. Nothing. He insisted on handling the ranch accounts right up to the end of his life. He was in the ground by the time I found what a mess our finances were in. I can’t imagine he paid anything on this loan.”

Ellie scanned down the page. Buried amid a jumble of fine print, she found the sections on repayment terms and collateral. As she took her time to read these parts in detail, a sick rage rose inside her. Whoever they were, these lenders had taken full advantage of a grieving, irresponsible old man.

“I take it you’re thinking what I’m thinking,” Jubal said.

Ellie gripped the page so hard that her hand shook. “This is like one of those title loans people can get on their cars. You see the ads on TV—give the lender the signed title to your car, and you get a pile of cash. What the ads don’t tell you is that unless you repay the loan, along with an obscene amount of interest, by the due date, they keep your title and take your car.”

“Agreed,” Jubal said. “But my father didn’t borrow five thousand dollars on a car. He put up the title to the ranch for a ninety-day loan at twenty percent compound interest. Then he gave me the money and pretended it had never happened—I’m guessing that’s why he hid the contract under the mattress, so I wouldn’t know what a crazy thing he’d done to help me. Maybe he meant to pay it back and couldn’t. Or maybe he just ignored it, like he did so many debts. Lord, Ellie, if I’d realized how far gone his judgment was, I’d have stepped in and taken over. This mess is at least partly my fault.”

Ellie laid a hand on his sleeve, feeling hard tension through the fabric. “He was your father. You’d grown up with him taking care of things. You’d just lost your wife, and you had a little girl to take care of. You can’t blame yourself, Jubal. If you have to blame somebody, blame the crooks who took advantage of the poor man.”

When he didn’t reply, Ellie turned her attention back to the contract. This time she focused on the signatures at the end. “You’re sure it was your father who signed this?”

“If he didn’t, it’s a damned good forgery. I’d know his handwriting anywhere. And why would he have the contract if he hadn’t signed it? For now, let’s assume he did.”

“And the lender—J. D. Shumway?” The spidery letters were barely readable. They looked as if the signer might have been very old or ill. “Have you ever heard of this person?”

“I’ve lived here all my life. I’ve never known any Shumways. I do recognize the notary who witnessed the signing, old Charlie Bergeson. But he died a couple of years ago.”

“So where do you take this now?” Ellie asked.

Jubal exhaled, his breath ragged with emotion. “This is why I asked you to come, Ellie. I need to know whether a crime was committed, or whether my father signed a contract that was unfair but legal.”

Ellie studied the document, rereading the parts that had allowed the lender to take the ranch. She’d been barely halfway through law school before she’d quit to marry Brent and move to San Francisco. With so much riding on the legality of this contract, how could she even offer a guess? What if she turned out to be wrong?

“This is too important to hang on my opinion,” she said. “I think it’s time we shared this with Ben. He’s not a lawyer, but he has access to the county prosecutor’s office and to several judges. One of them should be able to look at this and tell you whether you have a case. Or you could take it to Cottonwood Springs and find a lawyer who’d offer a free first-time consultation—”

“That would be begging, Ellie. I’m not ready to do that.”

She stared at him. “How can you say such a thing, Jubal McFarland? You need real legal help. Get it.”

His jaw was set, his eyes steely. “A lawyer who offers a free consultation is hoping for a lawsuit that’ll make him some money. With nobody to sue, I can’t offer that—and right now I can’t afford to pay for legal advice. As for bringing in your brother and asking him to get help, that would not only be begging, it would mean going public. My father was respected in this town. I’ve done my best to honor his memory and keep his problems private. Until I know there’s no better choice, I’d rather have things stay that way.”

“So what is it you want?” Ellie struggled to contain her frustration.

“I want the bastards who did this to my father, to me, and to Gracie. I want to face the Shumways, whoever the hell they are, and demand justice for what they did to our family. Most of all, I want our ranch back.”

Ellie shot to her feet, her temper boiling over. “Then swallow your blasted pride and get some help! If you had any sense, Jubal McFarland, you’d realize you can’t do this on your own—and don’t look at me like that. I’m no help at all. Not the kind of help you need.”

“Ellie, calm down.” He was on his feet, facing her. It crossed her mind that the wretched man might try to take her in his arms. That had worked in the old days when she was peeved with him. But it wouldn’t be a good idea now. Not while she was mad enough to punch him in the face.

“Listen to me,” he said. “I know you’re running out of patience, but I’ve got to do this my way.”

“Fine.” She stepped back, half turning. “Do it any way you want. Just leave me out of this mess. I’ve had enough.”

With that she strode toward the door, grabbed her coat off the rack, and headed out onto the porch. Jubal wasn’t there in time to help her down the steps, but there was a rail. Gripping it tightly, she made it to her car without stumbling—even though, by then, her eyes were blurred by tears.

“Ellie, come back here! We can talk this out!” She could hear his voice from the porch, but she didn’t look around. If she did, she might not be able to leave.

Proud, stubborn, impossible Jubal! He hadn’t changed since their school days. But she had. She wasn’t his girl anymore. And she didn’t have to put up with his mule-headed ways.

She managed to drive all the way to the turnoff before she broke down, crying so hard that she had to pull off the road. She couldn’t do this anymore. Dealing with Jubal, his problems, and his refusal to get help was like riding an emotional roller coaster. And her conflicted feelings for the man only made things worse.

She had to back off while she still could. No more discussions. No more playing detective. Jubal could handle his issues without her help. She already had enough on her plate.

She’d had it. She was through with him. Finished.

* * *

Jubal’s gaze followed the old purple car until it vanished down the lane. He could still feel the sting of Ellie’s words. Maybe she was right. Maybe he shouldn’t be too proud to ask for help. But pride wasn’t the only thing holding him back. The thought of the story getting out, the gossip spreading like wildfire, was more than he could stand. Even kids—they had big ears, and they could be cruel. Sooner or later the story would reach Gracie, and not likely in a kind way.

He wanted to protect her as long as possible. If he could find a way to save the ranch, his daughter would never have to know what her grandfather had done. And he would never have to break the news that they were in danger of losing their home.

Jubal’s mood darkened as he walked back into the house and closed the door behind him. With Ellie gone, the house seemed too big, too quiet. Even the fire had lost some of its glow.

Damn the woman, even after ten years she had a way of lighting up a room, then leaving it dim and empty when she was gone. That had never changed. A lot of things hadn’t.

Jubal swore under his breath. He’d known it as soon as he’d seen her at that Saturday morning breakfast—even when he’d realized she was pregnant. He still had feelings for the woman.

Not that it made any difference. He was a bumpkin rancher with barely enough money to buy his daughter a burger and fries. She was a sophisticated city woman with a fancy little dog and a BMW in the shop. And her baby had a father—a man Ellie had loved enough to make that last-ditch attempt to save their marriage. She hadn’t gotten pregnant by herself—and there was a good chance that having her baby, and loving it as he knew she would, would reawaken feelings for the child’s father.

Shrugging into his work coat, he headed for the back door to clean out the stalls in the barn—a job that fit the mood he was in. Walking out on him ten years ago was the smartest thing Ellie had ever done, he told himself. The life he’d offered could never have made her happy.

* * *

The baby shower was set for 3:00 on Saturday, late enough to give Jess and Francine time to clean up after Saturday’s breakfast buffet and decorate the B and B with a baby theme. Ellie had offered to help, but her sister-in-law wouldn’t hear of it. Jess had insisted that Ellie and Clara stay away until everything was ready.

Ellie had made sure it was all right to bring Beau. When left home alone, the little poodle tended to get anxious and chew on things like shoes and pillows. Jess had promised that while the party lasted, Beau’s nemesis, Sergeant Pepper, would be shut in the basement.

Ellie had never attended a baby shower and wasn’t sure what to expect. “Just let yourself go,” Clara told her on the way up the walk. “It’ll be good, silly fun. Expect that, and you’ll do fine.”

The guests were still arriving when Jess ushered Ellie and her mother inside. The room was decorated like a fifties prom with pink and blue crepe paper streamers dangling from the ceiling. There were pink and blue balloons and pink plastic cloths on tables decorated with little plastic babies in diapers. Tacky, but maybe that was the whole idea, Ellie thought. And she had to give Jess and her mother credit for going all out. Glasses of sweet tea and plates of cookies had been set on the tables. The décor and food must’ve involved a lot of work and more than a little cash.

If she was still around next summer, Ellie knew she’d want to return the favor for Jess. But how could she hope to pull off anything like this?

She remembered the story, how Jess had come to town a year ago, a stranger searching for her birth mother. Now Jess was part of the community—the sheriff’s wife and the owner of Branding Iron Bed and Breakfast. She seemed to know everybody in town, and they all seemed to like her. Ellie had grown up in Branding Iron. But now she was the one who felt like a stranger.

“Sit right here. You’re the guest of honor.” Jess motioned Ellie to a table at the front of the room and seated Clara next to her. “You’ll know a lot of the ladies. I’ll introduce you first. Then we’ll play a little game, have some refreshments, and let you open your gifts. After that, there’ll be time to mingle and visit.”

Gifts were stacked high next to the Christmas tree. The women who’d come today had been more than generous. With Christmas around the corner, most of them wouldn’t have had it easy coming up with money for a baby gift. Ellie couldn’t help feeling touched. Some of these ladies didn’t even know her. How could she thank them all?

The tables had been arranged in a circle with everyone facing the middle. Conversation buzzed, filling the room with a happy babble. Glancing around at the seated guests, Ellie recognized a few of them. Pretty, blond Kylie Taggart, married to Ben’s friend Shane, was there with her great-aunt Muriel, who had a farm on the edge of town. The two of them gave Ellie a smile and a friendly wave. Two white-haired ladies at a side table were old friends of Clara’s. The stern-looking woman next to them was Maybelle Ferguson, who’d been a substitute teacher at the high school. Krystle, the schoolmate she’d met days ago at Shop Mart, was there, too. She was dressed to the nines, her hair and nails salon fresh.

Ellie recognized Silas’s wife, Connie, and her daughter, Katy, coming in the door. They went everywhere together. Katy, who had Down syndrome, had been a sunny little girl when Ellie left town. Now she was a confident young woman. Ellie had seen them at the wedding and remembered them both.

Catching sight of Ellie, they crossed the room toward her. “I have some good news for you.” Connie had graying hair and a patient smile. “Silas got word your car parts are on the way. They should be here early next week.”

“That’s great!” Ellie said. “Does he have any idea when my car will be done?”

“He’ll know when he’s seen the parts. If everything he needs is there, in good condition, it shouldn’t take more than a few days.”

“Thanks for the good news. I won’t be sorry to see the last of that old purple car.”

Katy noticed Beau, who’d poked his head out of Ellie’s bag. Her eyes lit. “I love your little dog! Can I pet him?”

“Let him smell the back of your hand,” Ellie said. “If he acts friendly, it’s fine.”

Beau responded to Katy’s hand with licks and wags. Ellie lifted him out of her bag and placed him in Katy’s arms. Katy giggled when the little poodle licked her face.

“You can hold him for a while if you want,” Ellie said. “When you’ve had enough, just bring him back.”

Still cuddling the dog, Katy followed her mother to a seat at a nearby table.

Jess was talking to a woman who’d just walked in the door. Tall, fashionably thin, and dressed in a red designer pantsuit, she appeared to be in her mid- to late forties. Her sharp features were crowned by short, professionally streaked hair, which made her look like a younger Jane Fonda. She carried a small, wrapped gift, which she handed to Jess to put with the others.

Ellie nudged her mother. “Do you know that woman?” she asked in a whisper.

“She looks familiar,” Clara said. “I think her husband ran for mayor in the last election. But I don’t remember being introduced to her.”

Now Jess was ushering the woman over to their table. “I’d like you to meet Donetta Huish,” she said. “Her husband works at the bank. They’re the ones who sold me this old house for the B and B. It had belonged to Donetta’s grandfather.”

Clara smiled. “I feel as if I already know you, Donetta,” she said. “When I was a little girl, I had a friend who lived here. I used to play with her until the family broke up and her mother moved away with the girls. My friend’s name was Beatrice. By any chance, could she be your mother?”

Donetta shook her elegant head. “Beatrice was my aunt. Her sister Florence was my mother. Sadly, they’re both gone now.”

“So how long have you and your husband lived in Branding Iron?” Clara asked. “Forgive me, I don’t get out much anymore.”

“We came here six years ago to look after my grandfather. We’d tried to manage things long-distance—paying to keep the heat and water on and the house in decent repair. But Grandpa had become reclusive in his old age and we needed to keep an eye on him. Two years ago he passed away and left me this house.”

“I remember your grandfather quite well,” Clara said. “He was a nice man, but he became depressed, I think, after his family left. So sad the way he shut himself in. The kids used to call him the Vinegar Man, after the old poem they’d read in school. As time went by, I don’t think they even remembered his real name. Heavens, what was it?” Clara paused to think. “Now I remember. It was Shumway. Jacob Shumway.”