The Sound of Sleighbells

Book 6: Christmas Tree Ranch

by Janet Dailey

Genres: Contemporary Romance; Holiday Romance

Synopsis

In her newest Texas-set Christmas Tree Ranch novel, New York Times bestselling author and America’s First Lady of Romance combines the popular Western ranch setting of Diana Palmer's romances with the relatable small-town characters of Robyn Carr's women's fiction, to create heartwarming holiday magic filled with family, love, second chances and new beginnings.

After her divorce, Ruth McCoy is eager to trade her children’s painful memories for new holiday traditions. But Ruth has a whole new set of distractions when fate brings the man she once loved together with the son he never knew he had . . .
 
Life has thrown Judd Rankin some tough turns, and he’s startled by the feelings he still has for Ruth. Though the successful rancher knows better than to chase old dreams, he doesn’t mind lending the struggling single mom a hand. And when Judd sees Ruth’s teenaged son’s interest in his custom saddle business, he’s happy to let the boy help him build the harness for Branding Iron’s Christmas sleigh. Besides, the kid reminds Judd of the young man he once was. A man who believed anything was possible . . .
 
Powerless to deny the growing bond between her son and Judd, Ruth knows it’s only a matter of time before her secret is discovered. But will the revelation shatter the tender feelings between her and Judd—or turn out to be her family’s greatest gift?

Release date: September 26, 2023

Publisher: Zebra Books

Print pages: 256

Sample

“Mommy, when is Daddy coming home? Will he be here for Christmas?”

As she tended the bacon on the stove, Ruth McCoy felt the words tear at her heart—not for herself but for her four-year-old daughter, who couldn’t understand what her father had done or why he was gone.

Nearly a year had passed since Ed’s abuse had turned deadly dangerous. He’d gone to prison, and Ruth had filed for divorce. He would never harm his family again. But little Tammy had been too young to understand. She was still too young.

“When is he coming home, Mommy?” Tammy tugged at Ruth’s shirttail.

“He isn’t coming home, silly. He’s in jail!” Six-year-old Janeen strutted into the kitchen, dressed in her Saturday play clothes. “He did something bad, and he’s never coming home again!”

“No! Don’t say that!” Tammy burst into tears. Sobbing, she ran out of the kitchen.

“Janeen, you know it hurts your sister’s feelings when you talk like that,” Ruth scolded gently.

“Then why does she keep asking? She knows it’s true.”

Ruth sighed as she turned the bacon in the big cast-iron skillet. Ed had never abused his daughters, and they hadn’t been there on the day he was arrested. Each of the girls had her own way of dealing with the loss of their father. Janeen’s way was to act as if she didn’t care. But Ruth knew that she was as deeply affected as her sister.

With Christmas less than six weeks away, Ruth was desperate to make the holiday a time of healing. She’d set aside some money for a tree and some presents. But would that be enough? Where would the joy come from?

“Can I please have an Eggo, Mom?” Without waiting for an answer, Janeen opened the freezer, found the frozen waffles, and popped one in the toaster.

Count your blessings, Ruth admonished herself as she set a carton of eggs on the counter next to the stove. She had food on the table and a home for her family. She had a good job as custodian at the local elementary school. Her three children were healthy, and Ed was out of their lives. After a psychiatric examination had determined his fitness to stand trial on charges of kidnapping and attempted murder, he’d been sentenced to thirty years behind bars, without parole.

Things were all right now, maybe as good as they’d ever been. But for a woman whose life had been one long string of disasters, worry was second nature.

She was draining the bacon on a paper towel when she heard the sound of a squeaky bicycle wheel outside. That would be her fifteen-year-old son, Skip, coming home from his morning paper route. His footsteps crossed the porch, and he opened the door.

“That bacon smells great. I’m starved.” He was a handsome boy, with light brown hair and blue eyes. His face was ruddy with cold. Since his stepfather’s arrest, Skip had become the man of the family. He took his responsibilities seriously. Maybe too seriously, Ruth thought.

“Eggs over easy?” she asked.

“You bet. And maybe Janeen can toast me one of those Eggos.”

“Toast it yourself,” Janeen said. “Just because you’re a boy, that doesn’t mean I have to wait on you.”

Skip just grinned. “I’ll go wash up.”

“Make it quick. And tell Tammy that breakfast is almost ready.” Ruth cracked two eggs into the sizzling bacon grease. The electric stove was old, as was the house. But it was just a rental until she could sell her land and buy something nicer.

After Ed had dynamited their old farmhouse—with Skip and his friend Trevor barely escaping death inside—she’d counted on the insurance claim to pay for a new place. Then the letter had come from the insurance company. Since her husband had blown up the house himself, the loss had been ruled as arson, which wasn’t covered by the policy. Her only recourse was to sell the forty acres of used-up land the house had stood on—land that had been in her family for three generations. So far, there’d been no offers.

“Mom, can I go to Trevor’s today?” Skip asked as the family sat down to breakfast.

“Sure. I’ve got some errands to run after breakfast. Can I drop you off? It’s chilly out.”

“Thanks. That would be great.”

Ruth was grateful her son had such a good friend. They’d been neighbors until the explosion last year. Now, with Ruth’s move to town, and with Skip in high school while Trevor was in ninth grade, it was harder for them to spend time together. But they managed, usually on weekends.

With breakfast out of the way, Ruth took a few minutes to make herself presentable before going out. She’d never fussed much with her appearance. But now that she was single and had her own money, it was a pleasure to indulge in some good makeup and get her reddish-brown hair cut in a fashionable pixie.

She’d been a pretty, popular girl in high school before getting pregnant by her biker boyfriend. Like Ed, Judd had gone to prison. She sure could pick them, she thought wryly. She’d never even told Judd about the baby. Instead, she’d found Tom Haskins—a good man who’d wed her while she was pregnant with Skip. They’d lived in Cottonwood Springs, where Tom had found a job managing a service station. She’d counted herself lucky—until her husband was killed in a robbery, leaving her with a young son to raise alone.

A few years later, still in Cottonwood Springs, she’d been working as a waitress when she’d met Ed McCoy. They’d married and moved back to the small farm she’d inherited outside Branding Iron. Good old Ed with his pretty words, volatile temper, and rock-hard fists. At least he’d given her two beautiful daughters.

No more men, Ruth vowed as she broke more eggs into the pan. Maybe not ever. Three tragic relationships were enough. Now that she was free, she would focus on what mattered most, building a better life for herself and her family.

Skip gazed out the car window at the bleak November countryside as his mother drove him to the Chapman ranch. He looked forward to visiting there. Trevor’s father and stepmother treated him like family. And he always had a good time with his best friend—the friend who’d refused to leave him and flee to safety when Ed was threatening to blow up the old house.

Tammy and Janeen, too young to be left at home, sat in their boosters in the back seat. Dressed in their new winter coats, they’d been singing Christmas songs most of the way. But now they were quiet.

“Do you and Trevor have something special planned for the day?” Ruth asked as she turned off the highway onto the unpaved ranch road.

“Maybe. Trevor said something about visiting a neighbor’s ranch. He’s a man who makes custom saddles. Trevor says he’s made saddles for movie stars, athletes, and lots of other famous people. I’d like to see how he does it.”

“What’s the man’s name?” The car slowed as if Ruth had taken her foot off the gas pedal. Skip noticed how her voice changed. It sounded tense and uneasy.

“Sorry,” he said. “Trevor told me, but I can’t remember. He owns that big Angus ranch a couple of miles from our old place. And he drove the sleigh in last year’s Christmas parade. Trevor says he keeps pretty much to himself, but he’s nice once you get to know him.”

“Well, don’t trouble him too much.” Ruth pressed the gas pedal again, and the old brown station wagon jolted ahead along the bumpy lane. “People who keep to themselves tend to have a reason for it.”

“Like what?”

“Never mind that. He just might not be everything Trevor thinks he is. That’s all.”

Skip was about to ask her more when she swung the car through the ranch gate and pulled up to the Chapman house. Trevor’s stepmother, Jess, had come out on the porch.

“Hello, Ruth,” Jess said, as the side window came down. “Have you and the girls got time to come in? Maggie’s here. We were going to make cookies this morning.”

“Oh, please, Mom!” the girls chimed in from the back seat. They adored Trevor’s eight-year-old cousin, Maggie.

“I’d love to, but I’ve got shopping to do and errands to run,” Ruth said. “If I turn my girls loose in your house, they won’t want to leave. I’ll have a dickens of a time getting them back into the car.”

“Well, why don’t you leave them here while you do your errands?” Jess asked. “I know they love Maggie. Let them have fun while you take some time for yourself. Drive to the mall. Buy yourself a nice lunch. Do some early Christmas shopping. You can pick them up this afternoon when you come to get Skip.”

“That would be asking too much, Jess. My daughters can be a handful. I can take them with me.”

“Please, Mom!” The girls had unbuckled their booster seats and were tugging at their mother’s coat. “Please, we’ll be as good as gold!”

Jess laughed. “I think you’ve been outvoted, Ruth. They can help Maggie and me make cookies and watch videos afterward. You come on in, too. I’ll make us some coffee.”

Ruth relented and let the girls out of the car. Jess was a good friend—pretty much her only friend. It wasn’t easy to bond with other women when you were being controlled and abused at home or when your husband was known to be in prison. Jess was the youth counselor for the school district. She’d supported Ruth and her children through the difficult period of Ed’s trial and the divorce. She’d even helped Ruth find her job. Ruth would always be grateful—especially for Jess’s genuine friendship.

With the girls skipping ahead of her, Ruth followed her friend into the remodeled ranch house. It was the kind of place Ruth had always dreamed of having—a cheery fireplace, a few live plants, shelves of books and a rack of music CDs, rugs, and cushions in warm colors. Trevor’s border collie, Glory, dozing in front of the fire, raised her head, then settled back to sleep.

One door off the hallway was closed. “Cooper asked me to give you his best,” Jess said. “He’s bucking a deadline on one of his magazine articles. But don’t worry, kid noises never bother him. Have a seat on the sofa. I’ll have some coffee ready in a jiffy.”

“Oh, please don’t bother,” Ruth said. “I need to be going soon. I just wanted to spend a minute with you and make sure the girls were settled.”

“Your girls will be fine. They’ve already found Maggie in the kitchen. But as long as you’re leaving soon, maybe you can drop the boys off at the Rankin place. They were planning to walk, but the wind is chilly out there. I can pick them up in a couple of hours.”

“Of course.” Ruth felt as if a clock had stopped inside her, the gears jammed and refusing to move. She forced a smile. “What will the boys be doing there?”

“When he last came by, Judd mentioned needing to clean out his storeroom. When Trevor offered to help, Judd took him up on it. Trevor’s excited because, as he says, there’s some cool stuff in that storeroom. And he’s hoping Judd will show him some of his work.”

“So he’s not expecting Skip to come along?” Ruth forced her tight throat to form words.

“Not unless Trevor told him. But he won’t mind. He’s a nice man—although he’s not very sociable. We only got to know him after he rented our pasture for his cows.”

“All the same, Skip wasn’t invited. Maybe I should just take him home and bring him another time.”

“Nonsense. It’ll be fine, Ruth. Skip can help with the work.”

The debate ended as Maggie came bounding into the living room. A redheaded, eight-year-old dynamo, Maggie was the daughter of Big Sam Delaney, former sheriff and now mayor of Branding Iron. Her stepmother, Grace, a teacher, was Cooper Chapman’s sister. Among her many talents, Maggie was an enthusiastic cook.

“Hi, Mrs. McCoy.” She greeted Ruth with a friendly grin, then turned to Jess. “Aunt Jess, we’re almost out of chocolate chips. Do you have any more?”

“Look in the bottom bin of the fridge,” Jess said. “I put them there so they’ll stay fresh and so nobody will find them and eat them.”

“Like Trevor?” Maggie grinned.

“Yes, and like his father. Are Janeen and Tammy okay?”

Maggie nodded. “They’re helping. We’re having fun. I’ll find the chips.”

As she danced away, Skip and Trevor came out of the hall, wearing their warm coats, caps, and gloves. “We’re ready to go, Mom,” Trevor said.

“Okay, but Ruth will be dropping you off, while I stay here and supervise the girls.”

“I guess that’s my cue.” Ruth stood and found her keys in her purse. “Let’s go, boys. Thanks for taking my daughters, Jess.”

“No trouble at all. Remember what I said. Treat yourself. Have some fun. You don’t get enough of that.”

With the boys in the back seat of the station wagon, Ruth drove out through the gate and made a left turn onto the road that would take her to Judd Rankin’s old family ranch.

Ever since learning that her first love was out of prison and back in Branding Iron, she’d avoided any contact with him—not an easy thing in a small town. But Judd had become reclusive, which made it possible. Ruth had kept a strict distance between them for her son’s sake as well as for herself. But today, without warning, all her precautions were about to be tested.

Skip had always believed that he was the son of Tom Hastings—the kindly father he remembered from his early childhood. He’d seen the family photos—including one of a proud Tom holding him as a baby. That the two looked nothing alike had never seemed to trouble him.

When Ruth had married Ed, he’d given Skip his name; but Ed had never cared for his stepson. It was the memory of Tom’s fatherly love that had kept Skip grounded growing up. What would it do to the vulnerable boy to find out his lineage had been a lie—and that his real father had been a biker who’d killed a man in a street brawl and served five years for manslaughter?

After Judd’s arrest, Ruth could have told him about the baby in a visit or a letter. But for the sake of her child, she’d chosen to keep the truth from him. Given the chance, she would make the same choice again.

Now she could only let her son go to Judd and hope that neither of them would discover their connection.

She pulled up to the ranch gate and stopped the car. In the near distance, the rambling brick house, screened by bare cottonwoods, was just visible. “Here we are, boys,” she announced. “You can walk the rest of the way.”

“It’s okay to come up to the house. Then you can meet Mr. Rankin,” Trevor said.

“Thanks, Trevor, but I’m in a hurry today. I’ve got a lot to do.” Ruth was trembling beneath her coat. “Maybe another time. Have fun, you two. But remember, you’re there to help.”

“Thanks, Mrs. McCoy.” Trevor climbed out of the car. Skip followed him.

Ruth watched for a moment as the boys headed up the driveway, Trevor, slim and dark, Skip, taller, his body beginning to fill out. Tearing her gaze away, she forced herself to shift gears, turn the wagon around, and leave. She’d feared this day would come. Now that it was here, there was nothing she could do except hope for the best.

From where he stood on the porch, Judd Rankin watched the boys walk up the driveway toward the house. He’d been expecting Trevor. The second boy was a surprise. But Trevor bringing a friend shouldn’t be a problem. Cleaning out the storeroom was a big job. He could always use an extra pair of hands.

He’d glimpsed a brown station wagon letting the boys off at the gate, then driving away. Somebody must’ve been in a hurry—or maybe they didn’t want to deal with an ex-convict. That was all right, too. Judd had learned not to take things personally. Other people’s attitudes were not his problem.

Trevor waved as he caught sight of Judd on the porch. A good kid. Judd liked him and liked his parents. He’d reserve judgment about the other boy.

Judd greeted the pair as they mounted the porch steps. “Thanks for coming, Trevor. And I’m glad to meet you, young man.” He extended a hand to the new boy. “Judd Rankin’s the name.”

The boy accepted the shake. His hand was chapped and roughened. “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Rankin. I’m Skip McCoy. My real name is Thomas, after my father, but I’ve always been Skip.”

Judd’s throat tightened. When he’d come home to Branding Iron, after five years in prison and a year in Australia, he’d learned that Ruth was married to a man named Ed McCoy. Could this young man be her son?

But no, the boy had said that his father was named Thomas. Probably no connection to Ruth at all.

In prison, Judd had hoped that Ruth would wait for him. Even after his letters were returned unopened, he hadn’t stopped wanting her. But she’d wasted no time moving on. When she and her husband had moved back to Branding Iron a few years later, he’d resolved to stay out of her life. Even with Ed McCoy in prison now, that hadn’t changed.

“Come on in, boys,” he said. “I’ll take you back to my workshop and get you started.”

Skip followed Judd Rankin through the house. He liked what he saw. Polished wood on the walls and floor—real, not cheap imitation; a big, stone fireplace, copper lamps and fixtures, cushiony, well-worn leather furniture. Books and magazines were stacked on the coffee table. The framed western scene on one wall was a real painting, not a print. And the big-screen TV was enclosed in a wooden cabinet. If he ever had the money to build his own place, Skip thought, this was how it would look inside.

But one thing struck him as strange. There were no photographs of people anywhere—no parents, no friends or family, not even a picture of Judd Rankin himself—a lean, rugged, Clint Eastwood type who looked as if he’d stepped out of a cowboy movie.

“Hurry up, Skip,” Trevor called over his shoulder. “You’re falling behind.”

“Sorry, I was just looking around.” Skip caught up. “I really like your house, Mr. Rankin.”

“Thanks. It’s taken me years of work to get the place the way I want it. You’ll see some of that work today.”

“Are you going to have a Christmas tree?” Trevor asked.

“I don’t celebrate Christmas. When you’re alone, it’s just another cold December day.”

“You could come to our house,” Trevor said. “My folks would be happy to have you.”

“Thank. . .