Read A Cowboy Under My Christmas Tree Online
Authors: Janet Dailey
A Cowboy Under My Christmas Tree (12 page)
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“It is a nice one,” Theo agreed.
The boy looked at the old man as if he was about to say something else but didn’t quite know how. Then his words came out in a rush. “Do you think I could work part-time for you too?”
Theo was startled by the question. “I don’t know. What were you thinking of doing?”
Douglas scuffed the dropped pine needles and twigs with his winter boot. “I could sweep up the sidewalk after school. Make signs. Maybe help with bagging the trees. The smaller ones.”
“Hmm,” the old man said thoughtfully. “Did you talk to your mom about it?”
“No,” Douglas said, abashed. “I just thought that maybe I could earn more.”
“Ah.” The old man considered the request. “Tell you what. You come by tomorrow with your mother and we can discuss it then.”
Douglas thought that over. “She might have an interview or something.”
“Then you can bring a note. Let’s see what she says. I can’t promise anything until then, but I won’t tell her that you set aside a tree.”
“Okay!” Douglas turned when he heard the door of the newsstand begin to open and saw Julie’s gloved hand on the glass inside. He looked quickly back at Theo. “Don’t tell her either. About the tree or about working for you.”
“I won’t.”
The door swung all the way open and Julie came out with a newspaper and a couple of candy bars, letting Doug pick the one he wanted. “Looks like Puff made herself comfortable.”
“Yes indeed.” Theo lifted the fluffy white dog out of his jacket, tangled leash and all. “Time to go home, pooch.”
“How about you?” Julie asked. She set Puff down on the sidewalk.
Theo jerked a thumb over his shoulder at the trailer. “I’ll head inside when my nephew gets here. I’m too old for this kind of cold, let me tell you.”
“Theo, you ought to let the younger generation take over,” Julie said sympathetically.
He took the newspaper she handed him and shrugged. “Maybe so. Business is down.”
“But—” Douglas began and shut up in the same second.
The old man patted his shoulder. “Of course you Fultons have always been my best customers. A tree, a wreath, fresh garlands—your mother likes to go all out.”
Douglas hesitated a second before replying. “Well, this year, we might be getting just the tree. I don’t think Mom has much time to decorate. But don’t worry—Christmas isn’t here yet. ”
He turned at the sound of squeals from a couple of kids, younger than he was. A family group was heading their way.
Theo rose stiffly from his folding chair so they would know the lot was open. “Customers. How about that. G’night, you two.”
Julie handed Puff’s leash to Doug when he’d put the candy bar in his pocket. She put on her gloves as they began to walk back. The energetic dog tugged him along, happy to be out in the fresh air again.
By the time they reached their building and climbed the stairs to their floor, they were both a little out of breath.
Julie’s light knock brought his mother to the door with a finger to her lips. Maureen pointed to the alcove that served his little sister for a bedroom.
“Just got her to sleep,” she whispered. “Thanks again, Julie.”
“You bet. Talk to you tomorrow, Douglas,” Julie whispered back. She went down the hall to her apartment, quietly unlocking and closing her door as Maureen brought her son inside.
He hung up his jacket and began to get ready for bed without argument. The little boy was in his pajamas and headed for the bathroom to brush his teeth when he stopped to look at his mother.
She was reading more recipes, working her way down the stack of cookbooks and making notes on a pad of paper.
“Past your bedtime,” she said absently.
“You can’t see the clock from there.”
“Mom radar. We always know.”
He went to her side and folded one arm to lean on her shoulder.
Maureen turned to kiss his cheek. “Guess you’re getting too big to cuddle. You used to slide into my lap and stay there.”
“Just wanted to see what you’re doing.” Douglas looked at the pad of paper, his gaze moving over the numbers. “Is that your math homework?” he teased.
“Just trying to figure out what it would cost to make some different cakes. Besides the ones for friends, I mean. And not from cookbooks.”
Her son settled his chin on his folded arm, yawning. “Why?”
“Oh, it’s fun to invent something new. Recipes are only a starting point once you know the basics. ”
Douglas thought that over. “I like the one we always have—the spice cake with white icing.”
“And I always bake it,” she reassured him. “Now go to bed.”
“Okay. Love you.”
“Love you too. Sleep well.”
Douglas really was tired. Without a backward glance, he headed off to the small bedroom next to his sister’s, going past the foldout couch where his mother slept.
Maureen watched him go, then closed the cookbook, thinking hard. She sighed, looking at a framed picture taken four years ago at the bakery, of all of them. Well, nearly all.
Amanda hadn’t arrived yet. In the photo, Maureen was visibly pregnant, her white apron rounded out. Hank had his arm around her shoulders, smiling down at Douglas between them, munching on a chocolate cupcake.
After the car accident that had taken Hank’s life—and shattered hers—she had kept going.
She’d had no choice.
A bewildered widow with no one to turn to and a baby on the way, she’d sold the business they’d started together, but not for much. The proceeds and the insurance Hank had insisted on buying had been enough to keep her and the kids since that dreadful time, but the money was running out.
Maureen had not anticipated that it would take so long to land a job now that she needed one. In her field—baking, catering, and food prep—night shifts were the rule, not the exception. Not something she could easily do with one child in grade school and one not ready for kindergarten.
She hated having to stall Douglas on the Christmas tree when she knew he wanted a big one—a real one. And now that Amanda was old enough to demand a pink sparkly tree, Maureen had to choose between them. They couldn’t afford both.
She flipped over the page that Douglas had seen to the one below it, where she’d been balancing income with expenditures. Not fun, especially at this time of year. They were barely breaking even.
A scrawl at the bottom of the page circled some important names. Macy’s Cellar. Bloomingdale’s. Lord & Taylor. She still had contacts in the business, and she would just have to find more, see if she could get a buyer for a major department store interested in custom recipes.
It wasn’t like she could bake a thousand cakes at home to sell. She needed an advance for supplies and to pay for the use of a professional refrigerator, and oven after hours, and a babysitter. None of which came cheap. Making a go of baking again was almost too much to imagine, but she had to try.
For now, they had a roof over their heads and everything they needed. She’d even managed to give them separate bedrooms—sort of. Maureen stared blankly ahead, half seeing her reflection in the window against the darkness outside.
The apartment hadn’t seemed so small four years ago. She and Hank knew how to live on next to nothing, plowing their profits back into the bakery, happy just to be together, raising their little guy. The stairs that now seemed endless had been no big deal until her second pregnancy. Hank had done all the carrying, of course. Something else Douglas did without being asked, like a shadow of his father.
She needed the help, but it still hurt. Maureen bit back a sigh. She rose and put the cookbooks away.
About an hour before midnight, a truck pulled up with Greg at the wheel and Sam in the passenger seat. Greg put on his flashers and double-parked. Outside of the occasional pedestrian heading home, the side street was deserted.
Greg rolled down the window to talk to his uncle, who was on his feet, roping the trees to the framework. “How’s business?”
“Picked up a bit tonight. Sold some nice trees.”
“Which ones?”
“The biggest,” Theo said proudly. “You know how it goes, the family comes looking for a medium and the kids get Mom and Pop to spring for a seven footer. They hail a taxi and bribe the guy to tie it on top. Ho-ho-ho.”
“How many?”
“Four out the door, and one on layaway.”
“What? We don’t do layaways.”
“Special customer—” Theo squinted into oncoming headlights, his wrinkled face suddenly white. “Hey, watch out!”
Greg looked into his rearview mirror and saw a large pickup that had just turned the corner. It raced toward them and swerved around the SUV, clipping the far corner of the A-frame. A tree fell forward with a thump, just missing Theo, who stumbled as he dodged it.
The old man swore loudly in Greek as his nephew and Sam scrambled out. Mohsan, the newsstand owner, looked through his window, concerned by the commotion.
“You all right?” Greg asked Theo.
“What does it look like? I’m on my feet, ain’t I? Somebody pick up that tree.”
Greg led his uncle to the folding chair. “In a minute. Who the hell were those guys?”
Sam saw the truck reach the other end of the block, zooming through the intersection several seconds after the light turned from yellow to red. A few cars honked. The streetlights gave him a glimpse of the truck’s cab, filled with what looked like Christmas trees, tightly wrapped and tied down.
“Tree sellers, maybe. The cab was piled high with ’em.” He turned to Greg and Theo.
The old man grunted. “Sellers, hah. More like thugs. Seen ’em before, but not for the last few years. No permit. Dried-up trees. They sucker people with low prices and muscle in on legit operations by parking around the corner and siphoning off customers.”
Sam listened as he walked around the frame, looking for damage. Except for one broken brace, it was intact and felt solid. He reappeared in the area where the sellers waited for buyers and lifted the fallen tree, settling it back into the frame.
The newsstand owner had come out. “They were driving like maniacs! You could sit there and get killed! Theo, you okay?”
“I’m fine.”
“You want cocoa? Free.”
“It’s always free,” Theo reminded him.
“Even so,” the newsstand owner said. “It’d do you good.”
“Thanks, Mohsan,” Greg said. “Not right now, I guess.”
He had a hand on his uncle’s shoulder, staying close to him. It was clear to Sam that Theo would never admit he was shaken up, but his nephew wasn’t taking any chances.
“Should we report it?” Sam asked.
Greg looked at him skeptically. “You see the plates?”
“No. The truck was moving too fast.”
“Then there’s nothing to report.”
Theo rose, brushing off Greg’s hand. “I’m tired. I oughta turn in.”
“Good idea,” his nephew said. “I’ll drive you home.”
The old man didn’t argue about staying in the trailer, for a wonder. He stomped over to the passenger side of the SUV and got in, staring straight ahead with fire in his eyes, as if he could still see the vanished truck.
“Sam, can you cover the lot for an hour?” Greg asked.
“Sure.”
Greg looked toward his vehicle. “I’ll drop Theo at his house in Astoria, have some soup with him and Aunt Effie, make sure he’s all right. Then I’ll be back. It’s time I took a shift.”
“Fine with me. I doubt that truck will be back.” Sam walked with Greg to the driver’s side. “Take it easy, Theo,” he said when the door was open.
The old man didn’t look his way. “Fifteen years in this location and no trouble,” he muttered. “I don’t like it. I don’t like it at all.”
Greg gave Sam a what-can-you-do shrug and got in. They drove away.
A couple of people walked by after a while, but no one stopped to browse. Sam figured he might as well go inside the trailer and pack. He could leave the door open. It wouldn’t take him long. Outside of the Stetson, everything he’d brought to New York could be thrown right back into his dad’s old GI duffel and taken up the block.
Except for the Santa made of red and white carnations and the red-foil-wrapped miniature pine tree. He decided to leave those on the shelf over the trailer’s messy bed.
He made sure he had his phone, stopping for a minute to look at the photos he’d taken of Nicole while they were working on the Now window. There were only a few. He wondered why she hadn’t called him back.
Hard to believe she’d been asleep this long. She was probably out with friends, or someone from the ENJ crew. Still, she could have let him know. He was kind of ticked off about it.
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