Page 8 of The Sound of Sleighbells

“We saw his bike,” Skip said. “It was in the storage room, under a canvas. Judd told Trevor to leave it alone. He seemed almost angry.”

Ruth’s throat tightened. It was hard to believe he still had that vintage Harley. Maybe his parents had stored it for him before they passed away. She forced herself to speak “So, now that you know about him, are you still going to his place to work on the harness?”

“Sure. Why not?”

“And are you going to tell him what you just found out?” Ruth’s hands tightened on the steering wheel as she waited for Skip’s answer.

After a moment’s thought, he shrugged. “Not unless he asks me. After all, as you said, it’s none of my business. And he paid for his mistake.”

“That’s wise, I suppose.” Ruth forced her hands to loosen their grip on the wheel. She felt as if she were walking a tightrope without a safety net, and the slightest misstep could plunge her into disaster.

She’d never wanted this to happen. When Judd had gone to prison and she’d married Tom, she’d closed a door on the past and locked it tight. Now that door was threatening to burst open and spill all the old heartbreak out into the world. And the one who stood to suffer most was her son.

* * *

Judd finished fitting the quilted leather seat, backed with sheepskin, onto the rawhide-covered wooden saddle tree. It was an exacting task, tiring because of the concentration it required, but satisfying, too, like seeing a work of art come together piece by piece.

Time tended to fly while he was working. This saddle was a presentation model, to be awarded to the all-around winner of a national rodeo competition. Judd could only hope that it would be used for work, as his saddles were meant to be, and not just mounted and set in a display case.

He’d learned the basics of saddle-making in prison. After his release, he’d arranged to go to Australia for a yearlong apprenticeship with a master saddlemaker. Returning to Branding Iron, where he’d inherited the family ranch, he’d sold enough pastureland to set up his own workshop. The black Angus cattle he raised had been his financial mainstay at first. Now he was making more from the saddles. But the beef cattle made for a nice safety net.

Moving away from the bench, he walked across the floor to stretch his legs and work the kinks out of his hands. The broken sleigh harness lay strung out where the boys had left it. He could see where the straps had rubbed thin and where the leather had worn through at the buckles. Making it usable, let alone parade-worthy, was going to take a lot of work.

What had he gotten himself into? Given more time, he might have paid for a new harness and donated it to the parade committee. But finding a ready-made double harness could involve weeks of searching. And since the parade was to be held on December 19—the last Saturday before Christmas—that gave them less than a month to get the harness ready.

With pre-Christmas orders coming due, the last thing he needed was one more project, to say nothing of two teenage boys hanging around the shop, making noise and asking questions. If they wanted that harness in time for the parade, they’d better be prepared to do most of the work themselves.

But he had agreed to cut the leather strips for them. That would mean sacrificing an entire side of cow leather. At least it was for a good cause, he reminded himself. But even that would take all the time he could spare.

The boys appeared to be good kids, polite and respectful. He’d met Trevor last year, along with his family. The new boy, Skip, was a little older and perhaps more level-headed. He’d seemed interested in everything around the shop. Judd could only hope he wouldn’t ask too many questions.

And he hoped Trevor would leave the subject of the bike alone. Judd had almost forgotten about it until the boys had uncovered it in the storeroom. Just seeing it had brought back memories Judd had hoped to bury forever.

Once again, he was flying along the back roads, under a star-studded night sky, the Harley purring between his legs, and Ruth on the seat behind him, her arms circling his waist, her head resting against his back, and her jeans-clad legs fitting behind the curve of his own. They usually wore helmets but had left them off tonight. Her long, mahogany hair fluttered behind her on the wind. She was so beautiful. And she was his. All his . . .

Judd’s hand clenched into a fist. Maybe he should just sell the damned bike. He could donate the money to some worthy cause and be done with it—forget that he’d ever owned it.

Forget her.

Ruth’s life had been hard, he knew. Back in the day, he’d dreamed of giving her every good thing she deserved. But one reckless moment had killed that dream forever. Five years later, he’d walked out of the prison gates only to learn from old friends that she’d married another man and had a young child. Even now, with her husband in prison, he knew better than to contact her. He was an ex-convict, a branded man, and she had her own life. There could be no going back and picking up where they’d left off.

He’d seen her in town a few times, but always from a distance. She was still beautiful, but she appeared so careworn that it almost broke his heart. Once he’d glimpsed an ugly bruise on her cheek, but the anger that surged in him had no place to go.

Forget her. He had his ranch. He had his work. And he had no need to prove his worth to anybody. Now it was time to stop brooding and get back to the saddle, which sat half-finished on the stand. The pieces had been cut and intricately hand-tooled, but countless hours of trimming, fitting, and sewing remained before it would be finished and ready for shipping.

And meanwhile, there were the new leather strips to be cut for the harness. He might as well do it now, Judd told himself. That would give him one less thing to worry about.

He was examining the sides that hung from the sliding overhead rack when his phone rang. Not many folks had his number—just a few neighbors and business connections. It was most likely a customer waiting on an order.

He strode to the phone and picked up the receiver.

A familiar voice replied to his hello. “Howdy, Judd. This is Abner, your neighbor.”

“Hey, Abner. Is everything all right? I hope my cows haven’t gotten loose on your property again.”

“No, everything’s fine. I know what a busy man you are, but I’m calling to offer you an invitation.”

“An invitation, you say?” Judd wasn’t interested in socializing, but he was curious.

---