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she’d resolved to do. Leaving the laundry room door open for Rainbow, she crossed the hall to the small spare bedroom she used for an office. The legal briefs were on her desk, waiting to be read, but they could wait. Right now, she had something else on her mind. Something personal.
Maybe there was nothing she could do for Rush and Clara. But as a lawyer, she would at least have the background to know something useful when she saw it. Or, if Rush’s case turned out to be hopeless, at least she’d be able to say she’d looked.
Sitting at her desk, she put on her glasses, logged into her computer, and googled the website for Arizona child custody laws.
* * *
The trail to the Christmas trees led along the boundary of the pastureland and over a low hill. In the backseat, Rush hung on to Clara to keep her safe as Conner’s ATV swayed and bumped over the rough ground. The melting snow had left puddles that splattered upward under the wheels. Clara squealed with laughter as the icy water splashed her face.
Bucket sat in front, next to Conner, his nose to the breeze. When a startled jackrabbit leaped out of the way and bounded off across the flat, the fool mutt was off the seat like a rocket, tearing through the sagebrush to give chase. Minutes later, he came trotting back, mouth grinning, tongue lolling, and leaped back onto the empty seat.
Conner laughed and scratched the dog’s shaggy ears. “Got away from you, did he, old boy? Maybe you need to chase something slower.”
“Conner, does Bucket chase cats?” Clara’s small voice was drowned out by the engine. Rush was close enough to catch the question, but Conner hadn’t heard.
“Wait till we stop.” Rush spoke into Clara’s ear. He knew why she was asking. She was still hoping for a way to keep the white kitten. Much as he wanted to make her happy, Rush couldn’t see any way to make her wish come true.
The ATV slowed atop the low hill that hid the pine-carpeted hollow from the road and from the rest of the ranch. Last year, Conner and Travis had discovered the trees, planted years ago by the ranch’s former tenants. Together, they’d come up with the idea of Christmas Tree Ranch. By the time Rush joined the partners last year, the Christmas tree venture was already underway. His good credit and the income from his veterinary practice had lent the ranch much-needed financial stability. And the ranch had given Rush a home and a new start.
Rush had never believed in miracles. But the trees, which seemed to appear out of nowhere, were a miracle in themselves.
“Look!” Clara was bouncing with excitement. “It’s a forest! A whole forest of Christmas trees!”
Rush had to hold her in place as Conner drove the ATV over the brow of the hill and down into the hollow where the trees grew. Conner pulled onto a level spot, where he’d left the half-loaded trailer, and turned off the engine. Bucket jumped down from the seat and raced off among the trees, where he loved chasing birds and squirrels.
“I’ll bet you don’t have trees like this in Phoenix, do you, Miss Clara?” Conner teased.
“Last Christmas, Annie and Cecil put up a fake tree,” she said. “I like real trees better. They smell nice.” She took deep breaths, inhaling the fragrance of pine. Rush hadn’t told her about losing Cecil and Annie, who’d been there for her since she was a baby. She was bound to be upset. He would need to find a time to break the news.
“Can we get a tree for the house?” Clara asked.
Conner answered before Rush could respond. “Maybe, but only if we have leftover trees that don’t sell. That means we’ll have to wait. Last year we sold them all.”
Clara frowned. “How long will we have to wait?”
“Maybe till Christmas Eve. We sell a lot of trees. People come from all over the county to buy them here and in Hank’s lot.”
“Who’s Hank?”
“He’s the man who—”
“He’s the man who sells our trees at his store.” Rush shot Conner a warning glance. To reveal that Hank was the parade Santa would devastate this child who still believed.
“But look at all these trees!” Clara gestured toward the lush green forest. “Can’t you just cut one down for the house?”
“It’s not that simple,” Conner said. “There are a lot of trees, and we’ve planted more. But it takes at least eight years to grow a nice Christmas tree. These trees need to last until the new ones are big. If we cut too many too soon, we’ll run out.”
“Oh.” Clara nodded, although Rush suspected that Conner’s explanation had been too much to grasp.
“But can’t we just have a little tree—like this one?” She ran to a tree about her own height, a healthy-looking volunteer that had likely sprung from seed. Wrapping her coat-clad arms around it, she gave Conner a sad-puppy look that would have softened a cast-iron girder. “Poor little tree. It isn’t very big or really pretty. Nobody will want it for a Christmas tree. Think how sad it must feel. Please . . .”
Rush had to bite his cheeks to keep from laughing. Poor Conner. He didn’t stand a chance.
Conner sighed. “Well, all right, I guess it wouldn’t hurt to cut it for a Christmas tree. But I don’t know what you’ll do for decorations. We’ve got lights, but we’re using those outside. There’s nothing else.”
She turned her soulful, brown eyes on Rush. “We can buy some, can’t we, Daddy? It’s just a little tree. It won’t need a lot of decorations.”
“Sure. A string of lights and some tinsel shouldn’t cost much. We’ll go shopping tomorrow. Then we can decorate the tree.”
