Page 5 of The Sound of Sleighbells

“The leather’s too far gone,” Judd said. “Even if we could piece it together, the harness wouldn’t hold up on the horses, especially if they got spooked or stubborn and needed some firm handling. I think Abner’s got an old harness he used for hauling hay. That might do.”

“I’ve seen that harness in Abner’s barn,” Trevor said. “Abner is the best Santa ever, and the sleigh is perfect. But that ratty old harness would spoil it all. And look at the bells—they still ring but they’re not shiny. And the strips could break when we put them on the horses. How can we have a sleigh without sleighbells?”

Judd’s frown deepened. Skip could tell he didn’t want to make this his problem. But Skip had an idea. Maybe it would help.

“The metal parts of the harness—the buckles and rings—are still good,” Skip said. “And the collars would be okay with some polish. Could we just replace the worn leather straps?”

Judd frowned. “We could. But it would take a lot of time. And I have saddles to finish before Christmas.”

“We’d help,” Trevor said. “Wouldn’t we, Skip? I’ll bet Maggie would help, too. Hey, we finished the sleigh last year. If we could do that, we can fix a harness.”

Skip could tell that Judd was hesitant. He’d be taking on a lot, especially with his own work to finish. And he hadn’t planned on a couple of kids hanging around, getting in the way. If he said no, Skip wouldn’t blame him.

“Let’s put the harness aside while we finish this job,” Judd said. “Then we’ll talk about it. Don’t be too disappointed if I say no. I’ve got customers waiting for their saddles. They need to come first.”

“We understand,” Skip said, although the look on Trevor’s face made him wonder whether he’d spoken for both of them or just himself.

They carried more things out of the storeroom—a silver-plated trophy cup, a moth-eaten buffalo robe, a hand-woven Navajo rug, a pair of beaded moccasins, a guitar autographed by Willie Nelson, a pair of sheepskin chaps, a set of mounted moose antlers, an antique shotgun . . .

As Trevor put it, this stash of treasures would make the ultimate yard sale.

At last, the end was in sight. Aside from a few closed boxes, just one large object remained in the back corner of the storeroom. It was loosely covered with a dusty canvas tarpaulin.

“Do you want us to bring that out here?” Skip asked.

“No, leave it,” Judd said. “That’s not going anywhere. It’s—”

“Oh, wow!” Trevor had pulled the tarp aside. “This is unreal! A Harley-Davidson Road King!” He ran a hand over the leather seat of the classic motorcycle. “Is it yours, Judd? Do you ride it?”

“Yes, and no.” Skip, standing close to Judd outside the storeroom, noticed the way the man’s body tensed as he spoke. “Cover it up and come out here, Trevor. It’s a souvenir from another time, that’s all.”

Entranced, Trevor stared at the bike. “I have a book about motorcycles at home. I love them. What model is it?”

“Never mind, Trevor. I said cover the bike and come out of the storeroom.”

“I’ll help him.” Skip dashed into the room and nudged his friend, who seemed mesmerized by the vintage bike. “Come on, Trevor. Do as he says.” He grabbed the edge of the canvas and started pulling it over the bike. Trevor helped him. They finished the job and came out of the storeroom together.

“Those boxes can stay where they are,” Judd said. “Let’s take a break, and then I’ll show you the saddles.”

“Have you got any Mexican Cokes in that fridge?” Trevor asked.

“You bet.” Judd smiled. “And I think I saw a couple of bottles with your names on them. Help yourselves. I need to check something on my computer. Oh—if you need it, there’s a bathroom just inside the door to the house.”

He disappeared into what Skip assumed was his office. In the miniature fridge, the boys found glass bottles of Coca-Cola from Mexico.

They popped off the caps. Skip took a deep swallow. “Man, this is good,” he said, taking another swig.

“I know. It’s sweetened with sugar cane, not corn syrup. I’ve only tasted these Cokes here. Wish I knew where Judd gets them.” Trevor lifted the bottle to his lips again. “And I wish I could have a ride on that sweet motorcycle.”

“That’s not going to happen,” Skip said. “He didn’t even like you looking at it. Something about it being a souvenir of another time.”

“A man with a mysterious past.” Trevor laughed. “Just like in the movies.”

“My mother would say that his past is none of our business,” Skip said. “I just hope he’s willing to help us with the harness. We can’t fix it without him.”

Chapter Two

After lunch and some early Christmas shopping at the Cottonwood Springs Mall, Ruth picked up her three children at the Chapman Ranch. The girls, who’d left with a covered bowl of homemade cookies, were so tired that they dozed off in their booster seats. But Skip couldn’t stop talking about his new friend, Judd Rankin.

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