Just a Little Christmas by Janet Dailey (2)

Chapter 2

Jubal’s breath caught. He hadn’t recognized the woman talking to his daughter with her back toward him. But as she turned, he’d felt the same slammed-in-the-gut sensation as he had on the day when Ellie Marsden had loaded her beat-up Chevy and put Branding Iron—and him—in her rearview mirror.

Now, ten years later, here she was in the flesh—a little older but as beautiful as ever, her dark eyes skillfully made up, her ebony hair anchored in a sophisticated twist. It was really Ellie Marsden, or whatever her name was now. Elegant, citified, and—Jubal’s stomach lurched as his gaze moved downward—pregnant. Lord help him, she was as round and ripe as an October pumpkin!

“Hello, Jubal.” Her throaty voice had taken on a huskier, richer tone with the years. “I was just thanking your daughter for saving my dog.”

“That’s a dog?” He scowled at the little white fluffball in Gracie’s arms. He should have come up with something clever, Jubal thought. But nothing had come to mind. He was still the same country bumpkin she’d left behind ten years ago—and damned proud of it.

“He’s a miniature poodle—a teacup.” Gracie loved dogs and had read a lot about them. She’d begged him for a small dog, but Jubal didn’t have much use for anything that didn’t earn its keep. The two mutts that helped herd cattle on the ranch were friendly enough. If she wanted a pet, the girl could make do with them. He didn’t need the complications of another animal.

“His name’s Beau. I saved him from a fight with Francine’s cat,” Gracie added. Knowing she’d want him to be proud, Jubal patted her shoulder. The tiny dog sniffed his fingers with its button nose.

“She grabbed him away just in time,” Ellie said. “But I’m concerned about that scratch on her hand. It really should be checked and disinfected. Is the emergency clinic open on Saturdays?”

“Just in the mornings.” Jubal frowned at the scratch on his daughter’s hand. On the ranch, Gracie always seemed to be getting stuck by barbed wire, pecked by chickens, or stung by bees. This scratch didn’t look any worse than the usual. He had salve and Band-Aids in the truck. And Gracie had gotten a tetanus shot last year so that wasn’t a worry. But seeing Ellie’s concern put a new light on things. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to get his daughter checked out at the clinic.

“So it would be open right now,” Ellie said. “Please let me pay for her visit. I was about to offer when you showed up.”

“I can pay,” he said. “Go finish your breakfast, Ellie.”

With his hand still on Gracie’s shoulder, he pressed his daughter toward the exit. Still clasping that useless fluff of a dog, Gracie resisted as if her boots were glued to the floor. “I want Ellie to come with us,” she said.

“Ellie’s got other things to do,” Jubal told her.

“No, it’s fine. I was planning to come along, since Gracie got scratched saving my dog.” Ellie stood, giving him a full view of her belly bump, which was covered by a loose black cashmere sweater that had probably cost more than new tires on his truck would. “Just let me get my bag and my jacket, and I’ll be right behind you.”

“You’re sure your . . . husband won’t mind?” Jubal had noticed her bare finger; but if her hands were swollen from her pregnancy, she could have removed her wedding ring.

“No husband,” she said. “I’m—uh—recently divorced.”

Whatever recently meant. It was hard to believe any kind of man would leave a wife in Ellie’s condition. Maybe she’d had an affair and the baby was somebody else’s.

Jubal swore silently. Ellie’s life was none of his damned business. Speculating about her now would only distract him from his real problems. But if the way his daughter was clinging to that ridiculous bit of a dog was any sign, he hadn’t heard the last of Ellie Marsden.

* * *

Ellie made her way back to the table to get her things and let her mother and Ben know where she was going. Ben gave her a teasing grin. “See, I told you it was a good idea to come with us this morning. Now everybody knows you’re back in town and that you’re pregnant. No more hiding. Where’s the rat?”

Ellie resolved not to be baited. “Gracie has Beau. We’re taking her to the clinic to get the scratch on her hand looked at.”

“We? You and Jubal?” Ben’s grin broadened. “That didn’t take long.”

Ellie shot him a warning glare. “Don’t start any rumors, Ben. I’m not one bit interested in Jubal McFarland—especially since I know he’s married.”

“Oh, but he isn’t married,” Ben said. “Not anymore. Jubal lost his wife four years ago. It’s just him and that little girl, all alone on their ranch.”

Stunned into momentary silence, Ellie forced herself to speak and move. “That doesn’t make any difference. I came home to have this baby, not to troll for men. So give me a break, big brother!” She shrugged into her jacket and snatched up her purse. “Don’t wait for me. If you’re not here when I get back, I’ll walk home. I could use the exercise.”

“What about your breakfast, dear?” Clara asked. “You need to eat.”

“I’ll be fine. Why don’t you box it and take it home to Ethan? He’ll be hungry when he wakes up.”

Before Ben could needle her again, she turned and made her way to the door. The strains of “Let It Snow” muffled the buzz of conversation as she passed each table. She’d probably triggered some juicy gossip this morning, but that couldn’t be helped. Before long she’d be old news, Ellie told herself. And it couldn’t happen soon enough.

Jubal and his daughter were waiting on the porch. Gracie had tucked Beau under her jacket to keep him warm. “Can I hold him in the truck?” she asked.

Ellie studied her dog. Beau seemed to have taken to his young rescuer. Peeking out from under Gracie’s jacket, he yawned, a sign he was relaxed and contented. “Okay, you can hold him a little longer,” she said. “But when we get to the clinic, he goes back into my bag.”

“Come on.” Jubal led the way down the walk to where his pickup was parked. The breeze was cold, the air specked with lightly falling snow.

Ellie stifled a gasp as she recognized the red ’82 Ford Ranger they’d dated in. The truck had been old at the time. By now it was practically an antique. But it was freshly washed and appeared to be in good repair. Jubal, she remembered, had always believed in taking care of things and making them last.

“Up you go.” He opened the passenger door and gave Gracie a boost to the jump seat in the rear of the cab. Then he offered Ellie a careful arm-up to sit beside him. Memories swept over her as he closed the door and went around to the driver’s side. How many nights had their teenage lust steamed up the windows in this truck? Just thinking about it brought a flush to Ellie’s face. But the past was a closed door, and she knew better than to open it, especially with Gracie here. As far as Jubal’s daughter was concerned, she was just a friendly lady who’d shown up with her little dog.

As Jubal drove to the clinic, Ellie cast glances at father and daughter. Today she’d barely glimpsed the Jubal she remembered. Time and hardship had weathered him like a dry Texas wind. Creases framed the corners of his azure eyes, and his mouth had settled into a grim line. Did he ever smile? Did he ever laugh the way she remembered—laughter so deep and warm that she could feel it when he held her in his arms?

And there was Gracie. Anyone could see that Jubal loved his daughter. But she had the look of a little girl who’d grown up without a mother—the boyish clothes, the pigtails, which she’d likely braided herself, the ragged fingernails on her small, chapped hands. Ellie sensed an absence of soft, pretty things in her young life— things a man like Jubal was bound to overlook. Maybe that was one reason his daughter was so drawn to Beau.

Warm beneath Gracie’s coat, the tiny poodle had fallen asleep with his head resting on her sleeve. Gracie lifted her gaze and gave Ellie a smile. Her blue eyes sparkled with tenderness.

Ellie felt something soften in the region of her heart. This young girl, so appealing and so needy, would rouse all her motherly instincts if she allowed it. But Ellie couldn’t let that happen. She was here to have her baby, regain her bearings, and get on with her life—and that life didn’t include settling down in a place like Branding Iron. Bonding with this vulnerable child would only hurt her when the time came to leave.

And Jubal . . . Ellie studied his profile, her gaze lingering on the strands of gray that silvered his temples. He was barely thirty-one—she even remembered his birth date. But he looked older. Hard work and loss had taken their toll on the boy she’d left behind. Once he’d been her world. But there could be no going back. He was someone else now. So was she. All they could do was bury the past and move on with their separate lives.

* * *

The low brick building that housed the Branding Iron Clinic stood at the far end of Main Street. Staffed by a rotating doctor and nurse, the facility had saved many town residents the forty-mile drive to the hospital in Cottonwood Springs for treatment of cuts, sprains, fevers, and other minor ailments, as well as immunizations, prescriptions, and checkups. For life-threatening emergencies, the local fire engine, driven by volunteers with paramedic training, doubled as an ambulance. But some things couldn’t wait. Over the years, a surprising number of babies had been born in the clinic’s treatment rooms.

Jubal pulled the pickup into the empty parking lot. After coming around to the passenger door, he offered a hand to help Ellie to the ground. Her skin was baby soft, the contact brief against his work-roughened palm. As her boots touched the asphalt, the poodle, who’d been handed back to Ellie when they parked, poked its white head out of her purse to look around and sniff the air.

Gracie hopped out of the truck, closed the door, and followed them into the clinic. This was silly, Jubal thought. With a little antibiotic salve, her hand would be fine. Was he going through the motions just to impress Ellie?

Damn fool waste of time and money on both counts. Ellie was a spoiled princess. She’d always been a princess, even back in high school. She was never cut out for Branding Iron. He should’ve realized that before he humiliated himself by asking her to marry him.

A young Latina woman in a white lab coat greeted them at the front desk. Jubal had assumed she was the nurse until he read her name badge—DR. PAULA RAMIREZ.

Her gaze fell on Ellie’s bulging middle. “Sorry, I’m new here and on my own today,” she said. “Have you been in before? Is everything all right with your baby?”

Ellie looked flustered for a moment. “Oh, we’re not here for me. It’s her.” She nudged Gracie forward. “She got a bad cat scratch. We just want to make sure it won’t get infected.”

“Oh.” The doctor held out her hand to Gracie. “Come on into the exam room and we’ll take a look. Your parents can come too if they want.”

“Oh, we’re not—” Ellie protested, but Gracie and the doctor had already vanished down the hall.

“You go on,” Ellie said. “I’ll wait out here. Maybe you can explain that we’re not—”

“Why bother? This is about Gracie, not us.” Jubal walked away, leaving Ellie in the empty reception room with her dog.

* * *

Stung, Ellie sank onto a worn vinyl chair. If Jubal had wanted to make her feel like a fool, he’d succeeded. After a put-down like that it would serve him right if she left now and walked the six blocks back to the bed and breakfast.

But Gracie would be disappointed to find her—and Beau—gone. And she was still determined to pay for the treatment. If Jubal was still driving that old truck, he couldn’t have much spare money.

And she could pay. She was doing all right with the cash settlement from the divorce. Despite the limiting prenuptial she’d signed, she’d gotten enough in a lump sum to set aside a fund for her daughter’s education and get by until the time came to leave and find a job. She could certainly afford a few dollars for the clinic fee.

Just to be ready, she found her credit card and placed it on the counter. Beau was squirming in her bag, wanting to get out and investigate. She let him loose on the floor, where he went into a joyful frenzy of checking out new smells. He was sniffing a chewing gum wrapper next to the vending machine when Ellie heard the door of the exam room open and the sound of footsteps coming down the hall. She picked up Beau and tucked him back in the bag as Jubal, Gracie, and the doctor came into the reception room. Gracie’s hand had a Band-Aid decorated with superheroes.

Ellie stepped to the reception counter and pushed her credit card toward the doctor. “This is on me,” she said.

Jubal had his wallet out. He grabbed a fistful of bills. “No, it isn’t,” he said. “The girl’s my daughter. I’m paying.”

The doctor glanced from one to the other. Even if Jubal hadn’t told her, she’d probably figured out the two weren’t a couple. “I’ll tell you what,” she said. “Since the nurse called in sick, and I don’t even know how to run a card or make out a receipt, it’s on the house. No charge.”

Ellie saw fit to protest. “Oh, but we can’t just—” “It was only a disinfectant wipe, a little salve, and a Band-Aid. She’ll be fine. Don’t worry about it.” Her dark eyes met Ellie’s. “Please know that we’re here if you have any concerns about your pregnancy.”

“Thank you,” Ellie said, feeling Jubal’s gaze on her. “Since I just got into town, that’s good to know.”

“Have you made arrangements for your delivery?” the doctor asked. “We work with the hospital in Cottonwood Springs. We can find you an obstetrician and do most of the paperwork from here if you like.”

“That sounds like a good idea. I’ll be in touch later this week.” Ellie turned to go.

“Don’t forget this.” Jubal picked up her credit card and thrust it toward her. His look reminded Ellie of a thunderstorm lurking just out of sight on a blue sky day.

“Oh—thanks.” She took the card and put it in her bag. After making sure Beau was comfortable, she led the way outside to the truck. Gracie stuck close to her side, reaching down to tickle Beau’s fluffy ears where they stuck out of the bag. The little girl still deserved a nice reward for saving the dog.

“You can take me back to the bed and breakfast,” Ellie told Jubal as he opened the door of the truck and let Gracie climb onto the seat. “Ben said he and my mother would wait. But before I get in, I want to ask a favor.”

Jubal’s eyes narrowed. He waited in silence, clearly not trusting her as she stepped out of the girl’s earshot.

“I’d like to do something nice for Gracie,” she said. “I was thinking I could pick her up after school on Monday, maybe take her for pizza or an early movie. Then I could take her home. Would that be all right?”

He frowned and rubbed the bridge of his nose—a gesture Ellie remembered from the old days. The wind had taken on a biting chill. Snowflakes peppered Jubal’s face as he spoke.

“I don’t know if that would be a good idea, Ellie. I can see that my girl’s taken to you and that little mutt of yours. But Gracie’s got a tender heart. It would damn near kill me to see it broken.”

Like I broke yours, Ellie thought. But she wasn’t about to give up.

“I hope you won’t deny your daughter a little bit of fun and attention. She deserves it for what she did. And don’t worry, I’ll make sure she understands that I’m not here to stay or to be her regular girlfriend. Please, Jubal. I know she’d enjoy it. I’ll even give you my cell number in case you need to track us down.”

He released a long sigh. “All right. I guess I owe her that. She doesn’t have much fun living out there on the ranch, helping me with the chores. And she doesn’t seem to have many friends at school. At least she doesn’t bring them home or go to their houses. That’s why I’m asking you to be careful.”

“I understand. I can tell you really love her.”

His mouth tightened. “Gracie’s all I’ve got—and all that’s left of her mother.”

Ellie nodded. She knew better than to ask Jubal for details. Even if she’d chosen to speak, the lump in her throat would have choked off the words. With the wind blowing through her jacket and Beau shivering in her bag, she accepted his hand and climbed into the truck.

* * *

A few minutes later, Jubal dropped Ellie off at the bed and breakfast. On the way, he’d listened as she’d told Gracie about her plan for Monday. Gracie had clapped her hands with excitement. It had been a long time since Jubal had seen her so happy. Still, he couldn’t help wondering if he’d made a mistake. People didn’t change, and the Ellie he remembered could blow hot one minute and cold the next. If she hurt his daughter, he would never forgive her.

“Can we turn on the radio?” Gracie asked as they took the road out of town. “I want to hear some Christmas music.”

“Sure. Go ahead.” He let her punch the buttons and select the station—not that there were that many to choose from. The strains of “Silent Night,” sung by a children’s choir, drifted from the aging radio in the dash.

“Listen, Dad. Doesn’t that song make you feel like Christmas?” Gracie asked.

“Uh-huh,” Jubal lied. Thanksgiving had barely passed, but Gracie was already getting excited about the holidays. She’d even been badgering him to get a tree and put it up. But Jubal had never felt less like celebrating Christmas. The best he could do was try to get through the season before he had to tell his daughter the truth—that the ranch his family had owned for four generations, along with the sturdy rock house that had sheltered them, was no longer theirs.

* * *

“So how did it go with Jubal?” Ben swung the pickup onto Main Street and headed for home.

Ellie sighed. “It didn’t go anywhere. Grow up and stop teasing me, Ben. I’m not sixteen anymore.”

“But teasing you is so much fun.”

Clara shook her head. “She’s right, Ben. You’re old enough to know better. Stop it.”

Ben’s only response was a chuckle, but he didn’t say more. Light snow peppered the windows as they drove. Windshield wipers swished and thumped in the silence. Ellie’s hand stole into her bag to rest on Beau, who’d fallen asleep.

“There are a few things I didn’t see fit to ask him,” she said to Ben. “Who was Jubal’s wife? What happened to her?”

“Remember Laura Gustavson? Jubal married her about a year after you left town.”

“I do remember her.” Laura had been in Ellie’s class. She was pretty and smart but so quiet that nobody paid her much attention. A farm girl, she’d worn hand-me-downs and done chores every morning before riding the bus to school. Jubal had made a wise choice.

“I was on duty the night she was killed,” Ben said. “Awful accident on a rain-slicked road. Her car hit a bad spot and hydroplaned into a big truck. She didn’t have a chance.”

“Was she alone?” Ellie thought of Jubal and how he must have taken the news.

“Jubal and their little girl were waiting at home. But she wasn’t really alone. She was six months pregnant. The baby died, too.”

“Oh, no. I’m sorry.” Heartsick, Ellie mouthed the empty words. She thought of Jubal, the worry lines etched into his face and the gray hair at his temples. All this while she’d been living the good life, blissfully unaware, in San Francisco.

“What about Jubal’s father?” Ellie remembered an irascible, middle-aged man who’d barely spoken two words to her when she came out to the ranch to ride horses with his son.

“He died three years ago. A stroke, if I remember right.” Ben pulled into the driveway of his mother’s home. “Jubal’s had a hard time of it. But the man’s tough and proud. Smart, too. I hear he’s got some big plans for the ranch. If I were a betting man, he’s one I’d put my money on.”

He came around to open the door for Ellie and help his mother down from the truck. “The two of you are invited to Sunday dinner at our place tomorrow. Jess says she’s looking forward to some girl talk.”

“Tell her I am, too. And thanks.” Ellie squeezed her brother’s arm, then turned away to let Beau do his business by the big sycamore. It meant a lot that Jess wanted to be friends. Maybe tomorrow she could enjoy a peaceful day with her family—a day free from concerns about Jubal, his tragic past, and his heart-stealing little girl.

* * *

Jubal tucked Gracie into bed, kissed her forehead, and turned off the light. His daughter was growing up fast. Before long she’d be too big for a nightly tuck-in. But he would enjoy the sweet ritual for as long as it lasted.

Moving as if under a heavy weight, he walked back down the hall and stood looking out the front window. The wind had picked up, blasting the house with snow as fine as sand. So far, the storm didn’t look that bad. The few head of cattle he’d kept to winter over were safe under the cover of the open shed, with plenty of hay and water. The horses and the two dogs were snug in the barn, the chickens locked in their sturdy coop. This would be a good night to light a fire, make some coffee, and settle down with a book. But Jubal knew it wasn’t going to happen. He had too much on his mind.

An alcove off the living room served as the ranch office. Jubal sat down at the massive desk that had been his great-grandfather’s and switched on the computer he’d bought the day after his father’s funeral. A staunch traditionalist, Seth McFarland had refused to have a computer in the house—didn’t trust the contraptions, he’d said. He had kept the ranch accounts in an old-fashioned ledger. Only after he was gone, and Jubal was transferring the records online, had he realized what a godawful mess the old man had made of the ranch’s finances.

Jubal had been hoping to raise certified organic, grass-fed beef that would command premium prices. It was a risky business, but if done right, it was one way a modest-sized spread, too small to support a big herd, could earn good money. But making the needed changes—buying new equipment, replanting the pastures, buying a prime bull and some top-grade cows and calves, and contracting with a processor that handled organic beef—would require plenty of ready cash. For that he would need spotless credit.

Putting his plans aside, Jubal had spent almost three years paying for his father’s mismanagement. Little by little, by working hard and squeezing every penny, he’d made good on the old debts. A few weeks ago, he had paid off what he’d thought was the last of his father’s creditors.

With high hopes and a detailed business plan, he had gone to the local bank and applied for a loan. The day after Thanksgiving, after hearing nothing for more than a week, he’d gone in to check the status of his application.

Clive Huish, the bank’s loan officer, had lived in Branding Iron for the past six years. A friendly, easygoing type, he had ushered Jubal into his private office, shown him to a seat, and closed the door.

“Is something wrong, Clive?” Jubal had asked. “I submitted everything you asked for.”

Huish sat down. A bead of sweat gleamed on his balding head. The file folder containing Jubal’s application lay open on his desk. “Your plan looks good and your credit is clean,” he’d said. “But we did some due diligence—looking into the legal background, the usual stuff—and something came up. I’m sorry, but we can’t give you an unsecured loan.”

“That’s not what I’m asking for,” Jubal had argued. “The loan would be secured by the ranch.”

The bank officer had shifted in his chair and cleared his throat. “You don’t own the land your ranch sits on,” he’d said. “It was transferred four years ago, before your father passed away.”

That was when the bottom had dropped out of Jubal’s world.

* * *

Now, after checking his e-mail, Jubal spent a few minutes updating the ranch account with the feed and other supplies he’d purchased over the past week.

On the desktop screen, the cursor hovered over the file he’d created for the proposed changes to the ranch—his dream file, as he’d jokingly called it. A couple of mouse clicks and it would no longer be there to torment him. Just like his real-life plans for the future, the dream file would be gone.

His finger quivered over the mouse button, then hesitated as he thought of Gracie and all that he wanted for her—security, nice things, the college education he never had. With a ragged sigh, he moved the cursor off the file. Call him a mule-headed fool, but he couldn’t give up on the one chance to give his daughter a better life.

He’d been in a state of shock since getting the news from the bank. But now that he’d had time to think about it, he had plenty of questions. What had compelled his father to transfer the land? Who really owned it now, and why had he been allowed to keep running the ranch as if nothing had happened?

And the most puzzling question of all—why in hell’s name hadn’t his father told him about the sale?

He needed answers. If there was any way to salvage this mess—so help him, if it meant selling his own soul—he would find it.