Page 42 of The Sound of Sleighbells

Ruth glanced down at Judd’s forest-green L.L. Bean vest, which she’d forgotten to return. “Thanks. It’s . . . borrowed.”

She sighed as the girl hurried to join her friends. Returning the vest shouldn’t be a problem. She could give it to Skip tomorrow. He could take it to Judd after school when he went to work on the harness. But she was annoyed with herself for lacking the presence of mind to give it back.

Outside the office, the school Christmas tree shone with the same old-fashioned lights and ornaments Ruth remembered from her own school days as a student here. She checked in with the secretary and picked up a message from Silas, saying her station wagon was ready. Then she walked up the hall to her small office across from the lunchroom.

On her way, she passed colored paper Christmas trees taped to the wall and winter scenes with snowmen made of cotton balls and glue. In the gym, where the piano was kept, a first-grade class was practicing “Here Comes Santa Claus,” their song for the program in the park. Janeen would be with them, singing her little heart out.

With Christmas happening all around her, Ruth had every reason to be glowing with holiday spirit. Her children were healthy, she had a steady job, and this Christmas they would celebrate with good food, friends, gifts, and no Ed to spoil the day by getting drunk. So far, her plan to make this the best Christmas ever seemed to be working—not to mention Judd’s purchase of her land.

So why did she feel as if she were slinking around under a heavy black cloud?

From the direction of the preschool room, she saw a small figure running toward her. It was Tammy.

“Mommy!” she called as she came within hearing. “Shawn spilled his orange juice all over the story rug. Miss Carson needs you to come quick!”

The call of duty. After slipping off Judd’s vest, Ruth grabbed a mop, a bucket, and a roll of paper towels, and followed her daughter back down the hall.

* * *

Late that night, Digger rode his motorcycle to the convenience store, stepped into the phone booth, and called the prison. Minutes passed while he fed quarters into the phone and waited for Ed. The big man wasn’t going to be happy when he heard what Digger had to say.

“So, did you find the stash?” Ed growled.

“It wasn’t there, Ed. Either somebody found it first, or you were lying to me.”

“Are you calling me a liar, you little pissant? If you were here, I’d punch your face in for that. The stash was there, I swear it.”

Digger had three quarters left in his hand. He deposited two of them. He was running out of time. “You said there was another stash. I need it, Ed. Tell me where it is.”

Ed laughed. “Not so fast. First you got to earn it. Bring me something good—or better yet, let me know when you’ve punished that bastard Judd Rankin so that he’ll never touch my wife again. Then it’s all yours.”

“Give me a clue, at least.” Digger put his remaining quarter into the slot. The last sound he heard was Ed laughing before the phone went dead.

* * *

Judd was tooling the leather pieces to cover a pair of rawhide stirrups when Skip walked into the workshop alone. His face was ruddy with cold. He was wearing the green, down-filled vest that Judd had lent Ruth the day before.

“Are you on your own today?” Judd asked. “Where are Trevor and Maggie?”

“They’ll be along,” Skip said. “The bus lets us off at Trevor’s house. They wanted to get a snack. I just wanted to get to work, so I walked on ahead.” He took off the vest and held it out to Judd. “This is yours. My mom told me to bring it to you.”

“You can keep it if you want,” Judd said. “It’s an extra. I’ve got others.”

“Thanks. It’s nice and warm, but Mom would never let me keep it. You know how she is.”

“Yes, I do. Proud and stubborn. You can hang the vest on the coat hook. The offer’s still open if you change your mind.”

Skip hung the vest next to the door and walked over to watch Judd stamp the leather. “What was my mom doing with your vest anyway?”

“I paid her a short visit yesterday morning. We went to the park. She was cold.” Judd glanced up from his work. “She was concerned about your keeping up in school—wanted to make sure your time here wasn’t interfering with your homework.” It was a half truth, the best Judd could do without saying too much.

“Heck, I get most of my homework done in class.”

“But she wants to make sure your grades are good enough to get you into college.”

“My grades are fine. But like I told her, I’m not planning to go to college. I want to make saddles, like you do.”

“That’s what your mother told me. I’ve seen you work. I know you could learn to make good saddles. But the market for handmade custom saddles is pretty small. Most riders buy their tack ready-made. You’ve seen those Angus cows in my pasture. It was the livestock, not the saddles, that kept this ranch afloat while I was building my business. They’re still my safety net when times get tough. Learn the trade if you want, Skip. Leather tooling can be a great hobby and earn you a little money. But get your education. Get some serious job skills because I guarantee you’re going to need them.”

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