Just a Little Christmas by Janet Dailey (12)

Chapter 12

Jubal had come inside through the back door, which opened off the kitchen. He hadn’t meant to overhear Ellie’s exchange with her mother, but here he was, caught in the act.

He’d done some serious thinking after he’d left her to put the truck away. The kiss they’d shared had made him feel like a giddy teenager again. Holding her in his arms had brought back all the surging hormones and pulse-pounding thrills of the old days. But that kiss had been a mistake. He was already dealing with a plateful of trouble. The last thing he needed was to get jerked around by Ellie again.

Now, as if things weren’t complicated enough, she’d just confessed to her mother that she loved him. In the awkward silence that followed, Jubal knew he had to put the brakes on this scene. The last time Ellie had said she loved him, she’d ended up damn near destroying him. He wasn’t about to let it happen again, especially now that Gracie was involved and could be hurt.

At the same time, he had no desire to embarrass Ellie, especially since she’d come to help him. For now, the simplest strategy would be to pretend he hadn’t overheard.

She had ended the call to her mother. That was Jubal’s cue to stride into the living room, rubbing his hands as if to warm them. “That howling wind is brutal,” he said, moving toward the fireplace. “My ears are ringing so loud I can barely hear.”

“In that case, you should probably warm up before I give you the news I brought.” She was playing along, but something told Jubal she wasn’t fooled.

“How’s that again?” Crouching by the hearth, he turned toward her. His hand cupped his ear. “Give me a minute to light this fire and I’ll be right with you.”

He struck a match. The stack of dry kindling, crumpled newspaper, and logs, which he’d laid earlier, caught the flame and swiftly became a cheerful blaze.

Straightening, Jubal turned back to face her. Ellie was huddled in a corner of the sofa, her cell phone still in her hand. She’d been through a hell of a time tonight. Still, she looked beautiful, with windblown hair framing her face and firelight dancing in her dark eyes. It was all he could do to tear his gaze away from her.

“Thanks for plugging in the tree,” he said. “The place should be warming up in the next few minutes.”

“How are your ears?” Was it a jab or just a polite question?

“Better, I think.” He joined her on the couch, needing to change the subject. “So what’s the big news?”

She told him, then, about the baby shower and meeting Donetta Huish, the loan officer’s wife, who’d sold Jess her grandfather’s house—the house that became the B and B. The awkwardness between them fell away as he listened.

“I didn’t think twice about it,” she said. “Not until my mother remembered the name of the old man who’d lived there. It was Jacob Shumway.”

Jacob Shumway. A memory flashed in Jubal’s mind—a stoop-shouldered, wild-eyed old man standing in his ratty bathrobe on his moonlit porch, shrilling curses at the young hooligans who’d disturbed his sleep.

“The Vinegar Man?” He shook his head in disbelief. “I remember that old grump. We kids used to dare each other to knock on his door and run away before he could open it. I can’t believe I lived in Branding Iron my whole life without caring enough to even know the old man’s name.”

“I didn’t know it either,” Ellie said. “That’s pretty sad when you think of it.”

“So what are the chances that it’s his signature on that loan document?”

“He was still alive at the time the document was dated, but he’d have been very old. And to shut himself up the way he did, the poor man must’ve been mentally ill. I remember Donetta saying that she and her husband moved here to keep an eye on him.”

Jubal stretched his legs, resting his boot heels on the edge of the time-scarred coffee table. He took a deep breath to calm his galloping pulse. “For now, let’s assume he did sign the contract. A sick old man like that, how would he even know what he was signing? He could’ve been duped into writing his name.”

“Unless he was sharper and meaner than we give him credit for. What if he was in on the scheme?”

“Either way, since he was a recluse, he’d need a go-between on the outside. Somebody he trusted.” Jubal swung his feet to the floor, stood, and strode to the desk in the alcove. Coming back with the contract, he took the three pages out of the manila envelope, spread them on the coffee table, and switched on a nearby reading lamp.

The blue-inked signatures and the old-fashioned notary seal looked genuine, but the document itself had been photocopied on cheap, slick paper. The lender had probably kept the original and given Jubal’s father a signed copy.

Jubal sat down again and studied the copied letterhead at the top of the first page. It had an old-fashioned look to it, with leafy scrolls surrounding the company name. The original paper may have been embossed—the design had that quality look about it.

Jubal had already done some checking. The only address on the letterhead was a post office box in Cottonwood Springs, which had long since been rented to different customers. Below the post office box was a phone number, which Jubal had called. He’d reached a woman, also in Cottonwood Springs, who’d told him she’d had the same number for twenty years and had never heard of the Shumways. Dead end.

Shumway and Sons. Jubal frowned at the name on the letterhead. “It would help to know whether Jacob Shumway had any sons.”

“I could ask my mother,” Ellie said. “But I only heard about two daughters, both deceased now. Since Donetta’s mother was one of the daughters, and since it was Donetta who inherited the house, I’m guessing there were no sons—or at least none who outlived him.”

Ellie leaned in close, studying the letterhead. “This is strange,” she said. “There’s a phone number here, but no fax number or email address. Jubal, what if the property management business was old—really old, like fifty or sixty years—maybe even older? That would explain why we couldn’t find it online or in the county records.

“This is what I’m thinking.” She gripped his arm, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “Maybe Jacob Shumway didn’t have any sons. Instead, he could have been one of the sons—maybe the last one living. If the business was still a legal entity—or even if it only appeared to be—he would have the right to sign the document and not have it questioned. And he could easily have kept a supply of the old company letterhead stationery.”

“Give me a minute.” Jubal leaned against the back of the couch and closed his eyes; his thoughts were spinning so fast that it made his head ache.

“So my father wanted to borrow five thousand dollars to pay for the funeral. He went to the bank. They turned him down because of bad credit. So somebody steered him to Shumway, used the old letterhead paper to draw up the loan contract, then had the old man sign it with a notary present. Somewhere along the way my father turned over the deed to the ranch and got his five thousand dollars. And we know the rest of the story.” Jubal sighed. “It makes sense—but the puzzle still has a couple of missing pieces. If the old man was too far gone to know what he was signing, who was behind the plan? And who owns the ranch now?”

Ellie stayed silent, giving him a chance to reason things out. Jubal appreciated her for that. She’d always been a smart girl—smart enough to know when to talk and when to listen. He’d bet money that she’d already figured things out, but she wanted to make sure his conclusion matched hers.

“The registered owner of the ranch is Shumway and Sons,” he continued, still thinking aloud. “But if old Jacob was the last of the Shumway men, the business would have died with him, or gone to his heirs . . .

“I’ll be damned!” Jubal swore as the last puzzle piece fell into place. One look at Ellie told him she’d reached the same conclusion. Jacob Shumway’s heir was Donetta Huish. She and Clive, her lying banker husband, had carried out the scam and taken the ranch.

But even if it was true—and it made too much sense not to be—there was no paper trail to tie the couple to the crime. And there was no way to prove the transaction hadn’t been perfectly legal.

Jubal stacked the pages of the contract, slid them back into the envelope, and reached up to turn off the reading lamp. The flickering firelight deepened the shadows in the room. What they’d done tonight felt good. Working together, they had solved the mystery of the stolen ranch. But now they’d run flat into a wall.

“Maybe it’s time to get some help,” she ventured. “We could talk to Ben—”

“Not yet. The sheriff’s job is to arrest criminals. We can’t even prove there was a crime.” He stared into the fire, his fists resting on his knees. “I’m not giving up, Ellie. Who knows, there might have been other folks who were cheated in the same way. Some of them might not even know they’ve lost their land. First thing Monday I’m going back to the county recorder’s office and search the records for any other property registered to Shumway and Sons.”

“Will they let you do that?”

“They should. It’s public information. If not, that’s when I’ll talk to your brother.”

“I’ll help, too. If we work together we can save time.” Ellie’s eyes glowed with enthusiasm.

Jubal cursed silently, knowing what had to be done. She was so damned beautiful. He couldn’t even look at her without remembering how he’d loved her, and how she’d left him cold. Now she was getting to him again—and he couldn’t let it happen. It was time to push her away and close the door before she left his heart, and Gracie’s, in ruins.

Turning, he placed his hands on her shoulders, holding her at arm’s length. “Your help has made all the difference. But you’ve done enough. Please understand, this isn’t good for either of us, or for Gracie. You need to get ready for your baby and let me finish this on my own.”

* * *

His words struck her like a slap in the face. Ellie had been so excited about what they’d discovered tonight. They might not have found a way to get the ranch back, but for the first time in years she’d felt like she was making a difference. Brent had treated her like property, an ornament to have on his arm at parties, someone to act as his hostess, charm his friends, manage his home life, and satisfy his needs in bed. It hadn’t been enough—either for her or for him.

But tonight she’d felt like a different person. Being with Jubal had reawakened emotions she hadn’t felt in years. He’d made her feel needed and protected. With him, she’d felt alive again. Now he was taking it all away.

Steeling her resolve, she lifted his hands off her shoulders and clasped them between hers. “Jubal, we were always able to talk. We could say anything to each other as long as it was honest.”

“We could.”

“I only hope we still can, and that we’re still friends.”

“That’s pretty much up to you, Ellie.” He stirred, looking vaguely ill at ease. She took a breath, forcing herself to go on.

“Ten years ago, I was nothing but a crazy kid with big dreams. I’m a grown-up now and things are different. But I still care about you. And I care about Gracie, too. That’s why I want to help you get your ranch back.”

“Then listen to me. This is hard to say.” His hands shifted, trapping hers, now, between his big, rough palms. “I care about you, too. But the more time I spend with you, the greater the chance of my falling head over heels all over again and making a fool of myself. That kiss tonight was like going back in time. It pushed me to the edge, almost over. But I can’t let that happen. Not to me and not to Gracie. You almost killed me when you left. I can’t let you do it again—especially to a little girl who already thinks you hung the moon. That’s why I’m calling this enough. I can finish this job on my own. You need to go home, have your baby, and move on to whatever comes next.”

Ellie pulled her hands away. He’d cut her deeply, just like she’d done to him ten years ago. “I guess I deserved this,” she said, fighting tears she was too proud to shed. “Fine, I’ll go—first thing tomorrow, as soon as that limb’s cleared out of the road.”

His expression was a rigid mask. “One more thing. Please thank your mother for Gracie’s dress. And tell your family I’ll be taking my daughter to the Christmas Ball myself. That’s the least I can do for her.” He stood, looming above her. “Now get some rest. You can have my bed. I’ll sleep out here—or in my dad’s old room.”

Ellie stood. “You don’t have to do that. I can take the couch.”

“Just go, Ellie. The bathroom’s across the hall. You probably know that.”

“All right.” Ellie was too tired to argue. “Wake me early.” She turned away and walked down the hall to the bedroom, feeling swollen and achy and miserable. He’d finally paid her back for leaving him. She could only hope he was happy. As for her, like Scarlett O’Hara, she would think about it tomorrow. Right now, all she wanted to do was close her eyes and shut down.

Having nothing to sleep in, and not wanting to undress, she unfolded the quilt at the foot of the bed. Leaving her shoes on the rug, she lay down in her clothes and wrapped the quilt around her. Minutes after closing her eyes, she was fast asleep.

* * *

Feeling like a first-class jerk, Jubal lingered on the sofa, watching the fire die and listening to the howl of the wind in the chimney. Part of him ached to walk back to the bedroom, wake Ellie, and apologize. But no, cutting off their relationship had been the right thing to do. She’d be better off in the long run. So would he.

Forcing his thoughts in another direction, he opened the manila envelope, slid out the three pages of the loan contract, spread them on the table, and reread every line. His mind circled and analyzed, weighing every possibility. Only one conclusion felt right—the one he and Ellie had reached together. Clive and Donetta Huish had taken advantage of his father’s need and failing mental capacity to steal the ranch. Using old man Shumway’s business name and signature had enabled them to keep their own names out of the scam.

Had they stolen other people’s land the same way, or had Seth McFarland given them a single perfect opportunity? Either way, their involvement would be hard to prove—especially if the contract was legal.

But what if proof wasn’t what he needed? Jubal’s pulse lurched as a new idea struck him—an idea so simple that he could scarcely believe he hadn’t thought of it sooner.

Pushing off the couch, he began to pace. Carrying out the plan would take guts on his part. True, there were risks involved. But as things stood, he had nothing to lose.

He’d be going it alone. Ellie was out of the picture—he’d made damned sure of that tonight. But there was no way he could have gotten this far without her. If he got his ranch back, he would have Ellie to thank for it.

So why hadn’t he told her that? Ellie had come clean about her feelings for him, and his response had been like slapping her lovely face. If he’d wanted revenge, he had it. But the fleeting satisfaction it had given him only left a bitter taste behind.

He didn’t want revenge. He didn’t want satisfaction. All he really wanted was Ellie.

But it was too late now. Tonight he had closed the door on his chances.

The fire had burned down to coals. Jubal picked up the contract and slipped the pages back into the envelope. Then he unplugged the Christmas tree lights, kicked off his boots, and stretched out on the couch. The night wasn’t going to be comfortable, but he didn’t plan to sleep much.

* * *

* * *

Ellie woke with a jerk. Her whole body was shaking. She was fine, she told herself. It had only been a dream. But where had that awful dream come from? What was it trying to tell her?

She’d never burned a company dinner or forgotten to decorate a Christmas tree. But Brent had found other excuses to punish her. She’d retreated into denial about his abuse. She’d told herself she loved him. And she’d made excuses for him—he was working too hard, he wasn’t sleeping well, she just needed to be more understanding, and everything would be all right. Even when she’d gone back to him for that trial reconciliation, she’d been in denial. But she’d come out of it knowing two things—Brent’s problems weren’t her fault, and he would never change.

She lay on her back, feeling the baby move. She was safe. So was her little one. Brent would never hurt either of them again.

Little by little, she drifted back into dreamless sleep.

* * *

The distant sound of a chain saw jerked Ellie awake. She thrashed free of the quilt and sat up. A confused moment passed before she remembered where she was and why she was there. She hadn’t expected to get much rest, but she felt as if she’d barely stirred all night. Even that disturbing dream was a dim memory this morning.

Gray sunlight filtered through the blinds. She glanced at the bedside clock. Seven-thirty, and it sounded as if Jubal was already working on the fallen limb. Good for him. After last night, all she wanted was to climb into the Purple People Eater and go home.

“Hi, Ellie.” Gracie stood in the open doorway. She was dressed in faded jeans and a red sweatshirt, her French-braided hair mussed from sleep. “My dad told me you were here. I’m really glad that old limb didn’t hit your car. Can I make you some coffee?”

“You make . . . coffee?” Still muzzy from sleep, Ellie stretched cautiously and slid her legs off the bed.

“Sure. We have a machine. My dad taught me how to use it. I already made some for him. I can cook you a toaster waffle, too, if you want.”

“Coffee will do. Thanks. Give me a minute.” Ellie pushed to her feet and found her shoes. With the baby doing a Ginger Rogers number on her bladder, she made it across the hall to the bathroom. She emerged a few minutes later, face splashed, hair finger-combed, teeth rinsed with the mouthwash she’d found. With her makeup gone and her hair cow licked from sleep, she probably looked like an extra from a zombie film, but that couldn’t be helped. At least she had no more reason to impress Jubal.

The aroma of fresh coffee beckoned her to the kitchen. As Ellie took a seat, Gracie lifted the carafe from the coffeemaker and filled a blue stoneware mug without spilling a drop, no mean feat for an eight-year-old.

“Milk and sugar?” she asked.

“Just a little milk. I’ll pour it.” Ellie took the cup, added milk from the carton on the table, and took a sip. “This is really good. You’re one amazing girl. I’ll bet you can do lots of things.”

“Thanks.” Gracie poured herself a glass of milk and mixed in some powdered chocolate. “My dad says coffee is for grownups so I don’t drink it. But that’s okay because I think it tastes awful.”

Ellie sipped her coffee. From the direction of the road, she could hear the chain saw starting, stopping a moment, then whirring up again. The sky was clear through the kitchen window, the morning calm and windless.

“Why didn’t you bring Beau?” Gracie asked.

“I’d only planned to stay a little while,” Ellie said. “I left him with my mother. I didn’t know I was going to be stuck here overnight.”

“Dad says that limb is really big. It might take a while to cut it up and pull it out of the road. While you’re waiting, would you like to see my horse?”

“I’d love to,” Ellie said. After last night, Jubal might not approve of her spending time with his daughter. But she wasn’t about to hurt the little girl.

“I’ll get your coat!” Gracie darted into the living room. By the time she came back, Ellie had finished her coffee. Shrugging into her coat, she followed Jubal’s daughter outside.

The sun had risen, flooding the yellowed pastures with light. A flock of blackbirds rose from the bare branches of an old apple tree, twittering as they soared against the sky.

At Gracie’s approach, two scruffy-looking brown dogs bounded out of the barn to greet her. They wagged their tails, tongues lolling as she patted them. “This one’s Pearl and that one’s Ruby,” Gracie said. “They’re sisters. Dad says they’re the best cattle dogs ever.”

The dogs turned to Ellie, wagging and sniffing. As she stroked them cautiously, she found herself wondering how well the pair would get along with Beau. But why should it matter? She wouldn’t be bringing her little poodle here again.

“What breed are they?” she asked Gracie.

“Just mutts. We got them from the shelter in Cottonwood Springs, so we don’t know for sure. They look like they might be Border collie and Australian shepherd. Dad likes girl dogs. He says they’re smarter, and they’re less apt to fight with other dogs. These two are fixed, so they won’t have babies.” Gracie glanced up at Ellie. “Is Beau fixed?”

“He is. I didn’t want him chasing after the ladies.”

“You should bring him the next time you come. I bet Ruby and Pearl would like him. They’d probably think he was their puppy.”

“Maybe.” Ellie didn’t have the heart to say she wouldn’t be coming back. “Hey, where’s your horse?”

“Come on!” Gracie led the way into the barn with the dogs tagging behind. The place had changed little in ten years. Ellie even recognized one of the three horses as the one Jubal had let her ride in the old days. The gentle bay mare was showing her age now, but Ellie was glad to see that she was still here. The second horse, a tall, spirited buckskin, was new, as was the third, a small brown and white paint gelding. “Here’s Jocko.” Gracie walked into the stall and wrapped her arms around the little horse’s neck. “Isn’t he beautiful? Dad says he’s all mine.”

Ellie thought of the shadow that was still hanging over the ranch. If Jubal lost the place and had to leave, what would happen to these animals and the little girl who loved them? Knowing Jubal, he’d probably lain awake nights asking himself the same question.

“I can’t take Jocko riding alone until I’m older,” Gracie said. “But I ride him with Dad when we go out to check the cattle. Jocko’s not very big but he’s fast and smart. I’m going to train him to barrel race so we can compete in rodeos.”

“That sounds like a great idea.” Ellie stroked the satiny neck. She’d done all she could to help Jubal save his ranch. Now he’d pushed her aside, determined to finish the fight on his own. She could only wish him the best, for his sake and for Gracie’s.

Walking out of the barn, Ellie could still hear the distant whirr and whine of the chain saw. Abruptly the sound stopped. Now, faintly, she heard the ring of calling voices.

“That must be our neighbor, Travis,” Gracie said. “He bought the old place up the lane. I bet he’ll help Dad move the limb. Hey, let’s go watch!”

Not a bad idea, Ellie thought. Her car wasn’t that far, even to walk. The morning was cold but sunny. And if she was there she could leave as soon as the road was clear. “That’s fine, Gracie,” she said. “But would you run into the house and grab my purse off the rack? That way I won’t have to come back for it.”

“Sure. I bet Beau is really lonesome for you.” Gracie flashed into the house. A moment later she caught up with Ellie partway down the drive. “Here’s your purse. I’ll carry it for you.” She slung the strap over her thin shoulder and led out as they set off down the lane.

They hadn’t gone far when Ellie spotted the two pickup trucks parked one behind the other. She recognized Jubal’s old red Ford in front. The one behind looked almost as old and was a rusty black. Coming closer, she could see Jubal at the rear of the purple car, sawing side branches off the fallen limb. A tall, wiry stranger was gathering up the limbs and stacking them in the dry grass at the roadside. His arms were full of wood, but he paused to nod a greeting.

“Good morning, Miss Gracie.” He’d taken off his coat to work. His body was all lean-roped muscle, with part of a tattoo showing below the left sleeve of his T-shirt. Beneath the battered felt hat he wore was a face that could’ve starred in a Clint Eastwood Western—long-jawed, with a hard mouth and narrow eyes that spoke of having seen too much.

“Travis, this is my friend, Ellie.” Gracie made the introductions. “Travis’s dad is Hank, the man who has the Christmas tree lot.”

He balanced the armful of limbs for the briefest tip of his hat. “Hope you won’t mind keepin’ that bit to yourself, ma’am. My old man and I, we don’t have much use for each other.”

“Of course,” Ellie said. “And thank you for your help.”

He glanced at the Purple People Eater. “Yours?”

“In a way. I need a bumper sticker that says MY BMW IS IN THE SHOP.”

Seemingly unimpressed, he shrugged and rebalanced his load.

“Hey, Travis!” Jubal was not at his best this morning. “Are you going to stand around all day? We need to get this limb moved so the lady can head back to town.”

Travis dumped his load and ambled back to the rear of the car. The huge limb had been lightened enough to drag to the side of the road, but it was going to take two men to do it. With Gracie cheering them on, Jubal and Travis lifted the limb and pivoted it on its shattered base until it lay along the edge of the lane. Pushing and pulling, they dragged it into the grass, clearing the way for Ellie to leave.

Travis surveyed the limb and the stacks of cut and broken branches. “Looks like a pile of winter firewood on the hoof,” he said. “Hope you won’t mind me cutting some of it up to haul home.”

“Be my guest,” Jubal said. “And tell anybody else you know that they can help themselves.”

Ellie took her purse, fumbling for her keys as she walked to the mismatched driver’s door. She was grateful that Gracie and Travis were there. After last night, saying good-bye to Jubal alone would have been painful.

Moving to her side, he opened the door for her and lent his arm for balance as she eased behind the wheel. When she looked up and met his gaze, his eyes were surprisingly warm. But she was still hurting from last night, when he’d made it clear that he wanted no part of her. Whatever he was selling this morning, she wasn’t buying it.

“Thank you, Ellie,” he said. “I mean it.”

“Good-bye, Jubal.” She closed the door, started the car, turned around, and drove away.