Page 34 of The Sound of Sleighbells

“I told this stubborn woman I had no use for knickknacks like these,” Abner said. “So, we’re going to sell them, probably on eBay, and put the money in the bank to start a college fund for you. How does that strike you?”

Skip could almost feel his heart drop. It was a generous gift—a fabulous gift. But a different plan had sprouted in his mind only today. He’d meant to keep it to himself for now, but that was fast becoming a problem.

“Well, Skip, what do you say?” his mother prompted him.

“Thank you.” Skip stumbled over the words. “That’s unbelievably kind of you, Abner. But here’s the thing. I might not be going to college.”

“What?” The word emerged as a strangled whisper from his mother’s throat. “But of course you’re going to college. You have to go to college. It’s been my lifelong dream to see you get a good education.”

“It may be your dream, Mom. But not mine. I’ve decided what I want to do, and I don’t need college.”

She folded her arms across her chest, her expression a wall of resistance. “Tell me what you’re thinking,” she said. “And this had better be good.”

Skip took a deep breath. “I really love working with leather, Mom. It just feels natural and right to me—like nothing I’ve ever done before. I want to learn to make saddles, like Judd does.”

Skip hadn’t expected his mother’s reaction to be a happy one. But when he saw her go rigid as stone, he knew he should have kept the news to himself.

“What gave you that fool idea?” Her voice was taut with anger. “Have you been talking with Judd? Did he plant that notion in your head?”

“No, Mom. I came up with it by myself. It wasn’t Judd at all. In fact, when I asked him to teach me, he said he didn’t have time. I’d have to learn some other way.”

“How would you learn? In prison, like he did?”

Skip’s temper flared. “Judd’s a good man. Why do you hate him so much? You won’t even come to his house. What did he ever do to you?”

“That’s enough, young man.” There was cold steel in Ruth’s voice. “I have something to settle. You stay here and keep an eye on your sisters. I won’t be long.”

Snatching up her purse, she stalked out the door to her station wagon. The tires spat gravel as she gunned the engine and headed for the road.

As she drove through the twilight, Ruth’s hands gripped the steering wheel so hard that her knuckles ached. Was she angry or plain scared? Maybe both.

She could feel her precious son slipping away—drawn by the magnetism of the one man who could take him from her and ruin his life. She had to put a stop to it any way she could.

Taking deep breaths and willing herself to be calm, she drove through Judd’s gate and pulled up to the house. The window lights were off, but his black pickup was in the shed, so he should be home. Maybe he was working.

She slipped her purse under the seat and pocketed the key before climbing out of the vehicle and mounting the steps to the front door. The bell, when she pressed it, was so loud that the sound startled her. It was probably meant to be heard when he was working.

She waited, hesitant to ring the bell again. Maybe he hadn’t heard. Maybe he wouldn’t come. But in the next moment, she heard a stirring from the rear of the house. The porch lights came on, and the door opened.

His tall frame filled the doorway before he stepped back to let her in and closed the door behind her. The living room was dark, but she could see him clearly in the light from the hallway. He was wearing jeans and a faded flannel shirt rolled up at the sleeves and open at the throat. The rich aroma of leather lingered on his skin and clothes. His shadowed expression was unreadable.

“Hello, Ruth,” he said. “Is something wrong?”

The gentleness in his voice would have weakened her defenses if she hadn’t been so angry. “Yes,” she said. “And I need to set you straight before the situation gets any worse.”

“This sounds serious,” he said. “Come sit down and we’ll talk.”

“Since I won’t be staying long, we can talk right here,” she said, planting herself next to the door, giving herself a ready exit in case she needed to storm out.

“Fine. I’m listening.” His voice had taken on an edge.

“I have two things to say. I’ll start with the easier one. Your friend Digger has been harassing me. He came roaring up to my house this afternoon while I was on the porch. He showed off in the street, grinned at me, and roared off.”

“Did he threaten you?”

“Only by implication—just letting me know he was there. But I won’t put up with his driving up, disturbing the neighborhood, and scaring my children. Tell him that if he comes by again, I’ll call the sheriff.”

“I’ll do that and more,” Judd said. “I’m sorry he’s bothering you. I’ll see that it doesn’t happen again. But you said there was something else you had to tell me?”

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