Read Online The Humbug Man by Diana Palmer - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Diana Palmer
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coffee and smoking a cigarette. “But it’s interesting all the same to see how they’re operated. There’s more to it than just grouping numbers of cattle together and feeding them twice a day.”
“This is interesting, about the danger of explosive gases,” Blake murmured.
Maggie looked up from her
Ranch
magazine, where she was going over a recipe for a beef casserole. “Gases?”
Blake went into a long and nauseating explanation of how the unvented waste from livestock could create explosive and toxic gases, while Tate watched, faintly amused at her wide-eyed disgust.
“Son, I don’t think your mother’s in raptures over the gory details,” he murmured. “She might find some tips on range management a little easier to take.”
“Right,” Blake agreed readily, flushed because his idol had actually called him “son.” He looked at Tate with more emotion than he realized, so hungry for a father of his own that he was as open as a book.
Tate, watching that expression unfold, felt a wild stirring inside himself. A protective stirring, just as he had the morning he’d shot at the wolf when it threatened Blake. The boy and the woman were getting to him, growing on him, taking him over. Once, he’d have drawn back in anger from that kind of affection. But now…
He looked at Maggie, his eyes quiet and tender on her down-bent dark head as she read her magazine. She and Blake were already part of his life; it was as natural as breathing. He looked forward to coming home at lunch, at night. He looked forward to every new day. That was when it dawned on him that Christmas was five days away and they’d be going back to Arizona soon afterwards. He felt sick all over.
To ward off thought of the future without them, he got to his feet. “What are we going to do about a tree?” he asked suddenly.
They both stared at him.
“Well, we have to have a tree,” he explained. “It’s going to be Christmas in five days.”
Maggie felt the same sickness he’d just experienced at the thought of what came after the holiday, but she forced herself to smile. “What are we going to put on it?” she asked. “Do you have any decorations?”
“We could put one of my hats on top, I guess,” he mused, “and whip a rope around it for a garland.”
“We could put it in one of your boots,” Blake chuckled and got a black glare for his pains.
“Suppose we make decorations?” Maggie pondered. “I can bake cookies in different shapes to go around it, and do you have some popcorn and thread?” Tate nodded and she grinned. “We can make garlands of popcorn. But what about Christmas dinner? Tate, can you get a ham and a turkey?”
“There are three hams in the deep freeze,” Tate replied. “But a turkey…” He frowned. “I guess I could get one from Jane Clyde, over the mountain.”
“Is it far?” Maggie asked.
“Just an hour’s drive or so.”
She thought of him on that winding road, of how dangerous it was in snow and ice. “We don’t need a turkey,” she said. “Really, I hate turkey. And so does Blake,” she added, daring her son to argue.
But he was quick, was Blake. He’d already followed her reasoning and was agreeing with enthusiasm that turkeys were the curse of civilization.
Tate didn’t say anything else about going over the mountain to get a bird. But he smiled to himself when he left the room. They weren’t fooling anybody—he saw right through them.
For the next few days, Maggie and Blake worked on decorations and made presents. Since the nearest store was down the mountain, they decided to make do with what they’d brought with them from Tucson. Maggie had Tate run her back to the cabin to check on everything, and she dug out the shopping bags full of things she’d brought with her from the city for Christmas.
“More decorations,” she murmured, tossing out tinsel and gently laying a box of colored balls on the sofa. “And this is what Blake especially wanted for
“This is interesting, about the danger of explosive gases,” Blake murmured.
Maggie looked up from her
Ranch
magazine, where she was going over a recipe for a beef casserole. “Gases?”
Blake went into a long and nauseating explanation of how the unvented waste from livestock could create explosive and toxic gases, while Tate watched, faintly amused at her wide-eyed disgust.
“Son, I don’t think your mother’s in raptures over the gory details,” he murmured. “She might find some tips on range management a little easier to take.”
“Right,” Blake agreed readily, flushed because his idol had actually called him “son.” He looked at Tate with more emotion than he realized, so hungry for a father of his own that he was as open as a book.
Tate, watching that expression unfold, felt a wild stirring inside himself. A protective stirring, just as he had the morning he’d shot at the wolf when it threatened Blake. The boy and the woman were getting to him, growing on him, taking him over. Once, he’d have drawn back in anger from that kind of affection. But now…
He looked at Maggie, his eyes quiet and tender on her down-bent dark head as she read her magazine. She and Blake were already part of his life; it was as natural as breathing. He looked forward to coming home at lunch, at night. He looked forward to every new day. That was when it dawned on him that Christmas was five days away and they’d be going back to Arizona soon afterwards. He felt sick all over.
To ward off thought of the future without them, he got to his feet. “What are we going to do about a tree?” he asked suddenly.
They both stared at him.
“Well, we have to have a tree,” he explained. “It’s going to be Christmas in five days.”
Maggie felt the same sickness he’d just experienced at the thought of what came after the holiday, but she forced herself to smile. “What are we going to put on it?” she asked. “Do you have any decorations?”
“We could put one of my hats on top, I guess,” he mused, “and whip a rope around it for a garland.”
“We could put it in one of your boots,” Blake chuckled and got a black glare for his pains.
“Suppose we make decorations?” Maggie pondered. “I can bake cookies in different shapes to go around it, and do you have some popcorn and thread?” Tate nodded and she grinned. “We can make garlands of popcorn. But what about Christmas dinner? Tate, can you get a ham and a turkey?”
“There are three hams in the deep freeze,” Tate replied. “But a turkey…” He frowned. “I guess I could get one from Jane Clyde, over the mountain.”
“Is it far?” Maggie asked.
“Just an hour’s drive or so.”
She thought of him on that winding road, of how dangerous it was in snow and ice. “We don’t need a turkey,” she said. “Really, I hate turkey. And so does Blake,” she added, daring her son to argue.
But he was quick, was Blake. He’d already followed her reasoning and was agreeing with enthusiasm that turkeys were the curse of civilization.
Tate didn’t say anything else about going over the mountain to get a bird. But he smiled to himself when he left the room. They weren’t fooling anybody—he saw right through them.
For the next few days, Maggie and Blake worked on decorations and made presents. Since the nearest store was down the mountain, they decided to make do with what they’d brought with them from Tucson. Maggie had Tate run her back to the cabin to check on everything, and she dug out the shopping bags full of things she’d brought with her from the city for Christmas.
“More decorations,” she murmured, tossing out tinsel and gently laying a box of colored balls on the sofa. “And this is what Blake especially wanted for
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