Colorado Christmas. C.C. Coburn

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СКАЧАТЬ lots aren’t tiny. You’re never going to graze that land. You’re allergic to horses, remember?”

      At the reminder of his allergy, Will sneezed, then scratched his shoulder. “Speaking of allergies, can I stay with you for a while?” Will suspected Luke had put him in the apartment above the stables on purpose, hoping he’d move on—preferably to another country. The smell of hay and horses had him sneezing for at least an hour every morning, and Luke kept hinting that if Will wasn’t doing any useful work around the ranch, he should leave.

      “I’d rather have my teeth pulled without benefit of anesthetic than share living quarters with you ever again,” Matt said.

      “There’s no need to get personal. I’ve grown up since the last time we lived together.”

      “Not enough to let you move in,” he muttered.

      True, he’d pulled a few shots in his past, and Matt had a very long memory. Unfortunately, there was a shortage of rental accommodation in town—especially with the holidays just around the corner. His land had a burned-out farmhouse that wasn’t habitable. Pitching a tent and living in it during winter wasn’t feasible. Come spring, he intended to start work on a cabin, but until then he was pretty much homeless. And car-less. He’d have to do something about that, too. Building the cabin would prove to his family and the town that Will O’Malley had grown up and was going to stick around and become a contributing member of the community. “Selling my land isn’t an option.”

      Matt shrugged. “Suit yourself.” He started up the car. “Take care, Will. If you need anything, you know where to find me. In the meantime, keep out of trouble, okay?”

      After waving Matt off, Will headed down the street, his mind filled with plans: saving the buildings, getting Matt elected sheriff, designing a log cabin, locating happy homes for old Miss P.’s dogs, finding a job that didn’t involve going anywhere near the mountain—or horses, buying a car, completing his community service without burning down the old folks’ home, talking Luke into holding the fundraiser at the ranch, and most importantly, getting the judge to have dinner with him.

      Chapter Three

      Two days later, and no closer to a solution regarding either his career future or how he could save the buildings, Will was strolling along Main Street, admiring the Christmas displays, when a car pulled up beside him. Louella’s piggy snout hung out the window, sniffing the chilled air.

      Frank Farquar plucked an enormous cigar from his mouth and asked, “Off to help out at the old folks’ home again?”

      Frank’s Aztec Red 1959 Cadillac Series 62 complete with tail fins of extraordinary proportions was a legend of a car. From the front of its shiny chrome double grille to the rear rocket-inspired, double bullet-head taillights, the Caddy was Frank’s pride and joy. Frank owned the rock quarry ten miles past the south end of town but, miraculously, not a speck of dust ever marred the Caddy’s paintwork. Will hadn’t yet got around to buying himself a vehicle. A car like Frank’s was one to be proud of—impractical but impressive.

      He ducked to look in the front window and got a wet kiss from Louella. “Yup. Going that way, Mr. F.?”

      “For you, boy, I’d drive all the way to Denver. Hop in.”

      Respecting Louella’s pride of place up front, Will got into the backseat. “Nice outfit, Lou,” he remarked, referring to her snappy tartan vest and scarf, and got a snort of appreciation in return. He figured Frank’s dressing up Louella had something to do with the fact that he was a bachelor who’d never had the chance to raise kids of his own. Given how eccentric Frank was, Will wasn’t surprised he’d never married, in spite of his reported wealth.

      “I see you cleaned up them demolition vehicles,” Frank said around the cigar he chewed but never lit.

      “With a lot of help from the local Boy Scout troop.” Will was grateful to them. Cleaning off the water-based paint in the subfreezing temperature hadn’t been easy. The kids were selling Christmas trees in their lot across the street and came over to offer their services in exchange for his autograph and some photos with him.

      “Has the judge come to her senses about dating you, boy?”

      “Not yet, Mr. F., but I’m optimistic.”

      “That you are. Never met anyone more optimistic than you. Even Lou—” he slapped his pig’s back with affection “—can get a bit down in the mouth at times, but I don’t think I ever seen you not smilin’.”

      Will would be celebrating his thirty-second birthday next month, yet people still saw him as a boy. It had never bothered him before, but now it didn’t sit so well. His old school buddies were all married; most had kids. That guaranteed weekends spent mowing lawns and taking kids to Little League, neighborhood barbecues and friendly softball matches stretching into the summer evenings. And nights curled up beside a woman who loved you. In truth, most of his old friends had found a contentment that had always eluded Will.

      He and Frank were a lot alike—lonely bachelors—although Will hadn’t yet resorted to driving around with a farm animal in his front seat for company. The town’s population numbered over two thousand, but the pool of eligible men the judge might date—if she ever dated—was small. Provided his brother Adam didn’t move back anytime soon. The career-oriented judge was sure to be impressed by a dedicated, overmuscled firefighter.

      Will put that unwelcome thought out of his mind and concentrated on Frank. He and Mrs. Carmichael, the florist, had been high school sweethearts. She’d gone off to college in Denver and eventually married and settled there. Widowed many years later, she’d come home to Spruce Lake and opened a florist shop. But the former sweethearts had barely spoken to each other since her return.

      “Here we are, boy.” Frank jolted Will from his musings as they pulled up outside the Twilight Years.

      Frank turned in his seat and held out a wad of money.

      “What’s this for?”

      “The Save Our Buildings fund,” Frank said. “I had this in my mattress. I was figurin’ maybe we could raise money for the town to buy back the old buildings. Like the judge suggested.”

      Will was touched. “Thanks, Mr. F., but I doubt there’s enough money in the whole town to do that.” His hastily devised plan during the protest was simply to raise funds to fight the development company in court and convince them to rethink their demolition of the buildings.

      “You’d be surprised how much money there is in this town,” Frank was saying. “Folks just don’t have nothin’ worthwhile to spend it on.” He proffered the wad of cash again.

      Will held up his hands. “Ah, I appreciate the offer, but I don’t feel comfortable walking around with all that money. Let’s open an account down at the bank, okay?”

      Frank considered his words, then nodded. “Good idea.”

      A thought occurred to Will. “Mrs. C. has a donation tin on her shop counter, but this is way too much to leave in there. As SOB treasurer, I know she’d be over the moon with a donation like this. You should be a cosignatory on the account with her.”

      “I doubt Edna would want to sign anything with me. We don’t exactly get along. In fact, you could say she hates me.”

      Poor СКАЧАТЬ