The Forest Ranger's Christmas (2 page)

And she sure wasn’t about to stand by while they accused him of theft.

* * *

Clint didn’t like this situation. Not at all. And judging from the fierce glare on Jocelyn Rushton’s face, neither did she. But even her frown couldn’t diminish her pretty features. Curls the color of damp sand bounced against her slim shoulders. She looked casual, dressed in a waist-length coat, tennis shoes and blue jeans that fit her long legs in a firm caress. Her intelligent blue eyes sparked with annoyance. And he couldn’t blame her. This was her grandfather, after all. If Clint didn’t want trouble, he’d better do something to stop it. And fast.

“I’m sure Frank is innocent of any crime,” he said. “But I’ve had a complaint that he’s illegally selling trees. He’s cut so many that I’ll need to see his permits.”

In unison, all eyes riveted back on Frank. The elderly man blinked vacantly. “Permits?”

“Yes, Frank,” Clint insisted in a gentle tone. “You need a permit to cut each one of these trees. Do you have them?”

“Why, no, I don’t,” he blustered. “I’ve never bought a permit in the past. I just drive my truck up on the mountain and take what I want. It’s not like I’m going into someone’s backyard and stealing the trees.”

Horror ignited in Tim’s eyes. “Aha! That’s a confession, Frank. We’ve got you now.”

Josie’s mouth dropped open in dismay and her beautiful blue eyes narrowed for a fight.

Oh, this wasn’t good. Clint regretted telling Tim that he’d drive right over here and speak with Frank about the situation. As soon as Clint had arrived, he’d heard the blare of the siren and known Tim was on his way, too. Without him intending it, the situation had been blown out of proportion.

“Tim, let’s hear what Frank has to say.” Clint tried to calm everyone.

“Theft?” the older man said, looking confused. “I cut down Christmas trees to give to the widows down at the civic center. How is that a crime?”

Clint tilted his head to one side. Was this an act? Or did Frank really not understand about tree permits? Everything Clint knew about this elderly man told him he was painfully honest. But cutting trees without a permit didn’t make sense, either. The whole situation gave Clint a bad feeling, as if he was about to get hit in the head with a brick.

“You took the trees without buying permits. That’s called stealing,” Tim crowed in victory.

Frank’s gaze zigzagged back to Clint. “I can’t argue with that, but it’s what I’ve done all my life. Someone’s got to cut trees for the widows in town. In my day, the dads used to go out with their sons. Now, parents are too busy to spend quality time with their kids and teach them to do a good deed for others.”

Point taken. It reminded Clint that he needed to be a better father to his own child. It wasn’t easy being both a mom and dad to a seven-year-old girl, but he’d never stop trying. He’d failed to make Karen happy, but he wouldn’t botch it with his daughter. Gracie was the light in his life. His reason for living. And right then, he decided to make time to cut down their own tree within the next few days, just as soon as she got out of school.

“I agree, Frank. But I still need to see your permits,” Clint said.

“It’s a clear case of theft.” Tim pursed his lips almost smugly.

“It is not. My grandfather is not a thief,” Josie cried.

She stepped protectively in front of Frank. Fire crackled in her eyes, absolutely stunning. But Clint reminded himself he wasn’t interested. Not after his abysmal failure with Karen.

His heart couldn’t take it.

He released a shallow breath and closed his eyes for the count of three. Technically, he could have Frank arrested. But he wouldn’t do that. Not in a zillion years. Not only was Frank a good friend, but Clint could just imagine his supervisor’s deep frown should this story hit the evening news. Clint could see the headlines now: Local Forest Ranger Has Elderly Man Arrested for Cutting Christmas Trees to Give Away to Poor Widows.

Clint shook his head. No sirree. He wasn’t about to let this happen. Not on his watch.

“Look, Ranger,” Josie said.

“Clint,” he corrected.

“Look, Clint. I think this is all just a big misunderstanding. My grandfather didn’t know he was taking the trees illegally. I’m happy to pay for them. If you’ll just tell me how much.” She dug inside her purse as though searching for her wallet.

Tim shook his head like a banty rooster. “It’s too late, Josie. You can’t steal trees, then buy us off. I’ll have to take Frank in.” He reached for his handcuffs.

“Officer Wilkins, please. Cuffs won’t be necessary.” Clint held out a hand, thinking the lawman had lost his mind. Maybe they all had.

Josie stared at Tim in shock. “This is ridiculous.”

“I agree,” Clint said.

“But, Ranger...” Tim objected.

Clint leveled his best warning glare on him and shifted his weight protectively toward Frank. Thankfully, the cop clamped his mouth shut. Without saying another word, Clint had effectively controlled the situation. He flashed a smile of amicable indulgence toward Frank. The last thing he wanted was for this good man to think he was being accused of dishonesty.

“Don’t worry, Frank. I’m sure we can sort this out,” he said.

Tim backed up, tossing a wary glance toward him. Clint had jurisdiction in this situation and the lawman could do nothing without his say-so.

“Frank, I was told that you were selling these trees for a profit. From what you’ve said, that isn’t true.” Clint spoke in a congenial tone, determined to keep the peace.

Frank shook his head. “Absolutely not. I’ve never sold a tree in my life. Who told you that?”

Clint’s gaze wavered over the policeman for a fraction of a second. Tim had come to the Forest Service office less than an hour earlier to tattle on Frank. Unfortunately, the officer didn’t have his facts straight. Or he’d possibly omitted a few things from his report. Right now, it didn’t matter. Clint was not having Frank arrested.

“I realize now that was a mistake,” Clint said. “A complete misunderstanding. But I hope you can see why I had to check it out.”

Frank peered at the ranger with doubt. “It’s not true. I give all the trees away, except for the one I set up in my own living room each year.”

Clint reached inside his coat pocket and withdrew a slim pamphlet. Tree theft of any kind was a common occurrence that cost taxpayers millions of dollars every year. As the local forest ranger, Clint had to follow up and prevent theft whenever possible. “I’m afraid you need a permit. I’m surprised you didn’t notice all the signs we have posted along the main road leading up into the mountains. You didn’t see any of them?”

Frank shrugged his sagging shoulders. “Uh, sure, I saw the signs, but I didn’t stop to read them.”

“The lettering is quite large. We made the signs that way on purpose. You wouldn’t need to get out of your car to read what they say. This tells you all about the permits.” Clint handed him the pamphlet.

Frank barely glanced at the glossy paper. “How much is a permit? How do I buy one?”

Clint pointed at the brochure. “You can read all the information right there.”

Frank stared at it blankly. “Uh, my glasses are in the house. I’ll have to read it later.”

Clint considered the elderly man carefully. A sense of doubt assailed him, a nagging suspicion he’d been fighting off for some time now. But he didn’t want to embarrass Frank. Before he could act on his hunch, he’d have to get rid of the cop.

Reaching up, he clapped the policeman on the back. “Officer Wilkins, I appreciate you coming over here. But I believe it was a false call and I can take care of the situation from here on out.”

“Are you sure, Ranger?” Tim drawled, his chest puffing out with importance. “I can haul the suspect down to the jail for more questioning, if you like.”

“Suspect!”
The word burst from Josie’s mouth like a nuclear explosion. “Timmy Wilkins, this is my grandfather you’re talking about. And you know perfectly well that you used to steal candy from Milton’s Grocery Store when we were eleven years old. Who are you to accuse my grandfather of theft?”

“I, um, don’t recall that.” Tim ducked his head, his face flushing red as a new fire engine.

Clint shot Josie a quizzical look, wishing she wasn’t here right now. He felt out of sorts around her. Around any woman, for that matter. Ever since Karen had died. But Josie had made a good point. Officer Wilkins wasn’t without faults. None of them were.

“We’re not arresting Frank.” Clint’s voice nailed the final verdict.

“There’s no need to mollycoddle Frank just because we’re all friends and neighbors. The law is the law and it can’t be broken, even in a small town like Camlin,” Tim said.

Josie shook her head, not accepting his sudden lapse in memory. “My grandfather has not knowingly broken any law. You’re not taking him anywhere.”

“Of course he’s not.” Clint tried to show a tolerant smile. “Officer, I’m sorry to have dragged you away from your busy day. Merry Christmas.” He gave Tim’s shoulder a gentle nudge toward the squad car, then turned his back on the policeman and indicated the house. “Frank, can I speak with you inside for a few minutes? Alone.”

Clint sure didn’t want Tim around for what he had to say next. Unfortunately, he had a feeling about Frank that would undoubtedly upset the elderly man and his fuming granddaughter even more. It’d be best to deal with the problem in private. Without anyone else present, including Josie.

But Clint couldn’t back down. The issue was too important. He just hoped that, when he was finished with what he had to say, he and Frank Rushton were still good friends.

Chapter Two

“S
ure we can talk, Ranger. Come on inside where it’s warm,” Frank said.

Clint glanced at Josie. “I’d like to speak with your grandfather alone for a few minutes, if you don’t mind. It’ll only take a minute.”

She shook her head. “Sorry, but I’d like to be included.”

He hesitated, frowning with displeasure, but Josie didn’t give him the chance to argue. Frank lumbered toward the house and she followed, chugging through the snow like a bulldozer. Feeling as if the bottom of her world had just crashed through the floor. Dazzling smile or not, she wasn’t about to leave Clint Hamilton alone with her grandfather. Not when he could change his mind and have Gramps arrested.

Gramps circled around to the side entrance into the kitchen. He opened the door, then stood back to admit Clint and Josie first. She wasn’t surprised. Her grandfather was the kindest, most decent man she knew. Always putting others first. Generous to a fault. It wasn’t odd that he cut and gave trees away to the local widows. And it didn’t sit well with Josie to have him accused of theft. At least the ranger was being reasonable about the situation.

For now.

As she stepped inside, the warmth of the kitchen enveloped her. Then a sour odor like stale, damp socks struck her in the face.

Josie’s gaze swept the normally tidy room in astonishment. Dishes crusted with food sat piled high on the stove and in the sink. A brick of cheddar cheese sat drying on the countertop, greening with mold. Several cupboard doors hung open. Moving past Clint, she reached up and closed them. Something crackled beneath her feet and she crinkled her nose.

Her mind churned, trying to make sense of the mess. Grandma had always kept a spotless house. Since her recent passing, Josie had come to visit Gramps twice. She’d cleaned his house each time, but it had never looked this bad. And she figured this was one more reason he needed her help.

Gramps indicated the chairs at the scarred, wooden table. “Take off your coat and have a seat, Ranger. You can talk freely in front of Josie. What did you want to say?”

Clint stood right where he was, his brow creased. He obviously didn’t want Josie here, but she wasn’t budging. As if realizing that, he indicated the rumpled pamphlet Gramps still clutched in his gnarled fist. “Frank, I don’t mean to embarrass you in any way, but can you read that brochure to me?”

Frank’s eyes widened. “Of course I can read it.”

Yes, of course he could. At Gramps’s age, his eyesight wasn’t the best, but Josie knew he could read. And she couldn’t prevent an annoyed frown from creasing her forehead as she looked at Clint Hamilton. Nor could she soften the demanding tone of her voice. “What exactly are you implying, Ranger?”

Clint shifted his booted feet, his persistent gaze centered on Gramps. “Truly, I don’t mean to be rude, Frank, but would you get your glasses and read it to me now? Please?”

“Ranger, stop this,” Josie demanded, openly hostile now.

Clint’s gaze rotated to her, his dark eyes piercing her to the back of her spine. She expected him to make a biting remark, but he merely looked at her with a glaze of forced disinterest. As though he was trying not to like her.

“Please, call me Clint.”

Not if she could help it. Not as long as he posed a threat to her grandfather.

“What is it you want, exactly?” she asked, bristling.

Clint’s mouth tightened, but he had the decency to drop his gaze. “I don’t want anything, but I’d rather have this discussion with Frank alone.”

“I already said I’m not leaving,” she insisted.

He dragged a hand through his short hair. “I’m sorry for that, but I need to know if your grandfather can read.”

“Of course he can read. Why would you think he can’t?” She leaned her hip against the counter and folded her arms, feeling irritable. She’d been worried about Gramps for several months now, and this volatile situation frosted the cake. With Grandma gone, Josie felt an urgency building inside her. To take care of Gramps. To keep others from hurting or taking advantage of him. To be with her family, little that she still had. And a nosy forest ranger would not get in her way of that task.

“Please, just humor me,” Clint said.

She narrowed her eyes. “I thought you were his friend.”

“Believe me, I am.” Clint met her gaze again, the intensity of his eyes unwavering.

That was just the problem. She didn’t believe him. Not when he dredged up things that didn’t matter, let alone make any sense. Her past relationships had taught her not to trust easily. Especially men. In her life, Gramps had been the only man not to let her down.

And yet Josie couldn’t deny a feeling of unease. She knew Gramps so well. The crinkle lines that framed his mouth whenever he smiled. The way his bushy eyebrows curved together when he was upset about something. The deep, rich timbre of his laugh. But now her mind sorted through the numerous times during her childhood when she’d asked him to read to her. Bedtime stories. Magazine articles. New books Grandma had bought for her. Gramps had always deferred, telling her a story from his memory or tickling her instead. Silly distractions she’d never suspected before. But that didn’t mean Gramps couldn’t read.

Or did it?

No, Josie had never heard anything so outrageous in her life. She refused to believe it. It couldn’t be true. And yet an inkling of doubt nibbled at her mind. It’d be so difficult to hide a handicap like illiteracy. Gramps couldn’t have made it through his long life without knowing how to read and write.

Or could he? What if the forest ranger was right and Gramps couldn’t read?

* * *

Clint stepped back, giving Josie some space. She was visibly upset, with her blue eyes narrowed, her hands clenched. He would rather have this conversation without her present, but she’d made that impossible.

He considered leaving right now, without another word. He hated causing these people any more distress, especially after he’d accused Frank Rushton of tree theft. But he couldn’t leave. Not now. Not in good conscience. Not until he knew the truth and did something to help Frank.

“Go ahead, Gramps. Read.” Josie turned to face her grandfather.

Clint waited. When he’d seen Josie at her grandmother’s funeral, he’d noticed the way her stunning eyes glimmered with tears, and the grief etching her delicate face. He understood grief and couldn’t help feeling her loss.

But he’d heard that she was a career woman, one who couldn’t seem to settle down with a man. From the tidbits of information Frank and Viola had told him, Josie’s parents had divorced when she was thirteen. She’d been engaged twice, but it hadn’t worked out. She’d quit on both guys just like Karen had quit on him. Apparently Josie had an aversion to marriage, which suited him fine. He had a child to protect, and he wasn’t about to become Josie’s third conquest.

She loved her grandparents, he had no doubt. And he couldn’t blame her for feeling protective of Frank. No one lived in this small town and didn’t hear what a kind, charitable man Frank Rushton was. But right now, Clint had a hunch. His own past experience with Karen told him he was right. Frank couldn’t read. Not because he couldn’t see well enough without his spectacles, but because he didn’t know how to put the letters together to form the words.

“Please, Frank. Get your glasses and read for me,” Clint insisted.

Frank’s shoulders tensed, but Clint couldn’t back down. As a ranger, he had an obligation to protect the national forest. It was his job. His first priority after Gracie. If Frank was going up on the mountain to cut trees, he needed to be able to read the posted signs. Clint also wanted to help Frank, if he could.

With a labored breath, the elderly man nodded, and his head drooped in resignation. “All right.”

He disappeared into the living room. Josie stood beside the doorway, arms folded, her mouth set tight in outrage. Clint decided to be patient. He couldn’t help feeling surprised to see her here. Christmas was still weeks away and he knew from talking to Josie’s grandparents that she’d never spent this much time with them in the past. Not since she was a little kid. So why was she here?

“How’s your work at the pharmacy going?” he asked, trying to make small talk. Trying to keep from becoming her enemy.

“Fine.” Her clipped reply didn’t encourage further banter.

“It must have required a lot of schooling to become a pharmacist.”

“It did.”

He thought about his own master’s degree in geology. Even with his advanced education, he still felt like a fool in this woman’s presence. All jittery and nervous. He could take or leave most women. But with Josie, something was different. Something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. It was as though he knew her from some far-off memory. As if there was a magnetic attraction he didn’t understand, yet couldn’t deny.

“You’re in early for a holiday visit this year,” he said.

“That’s right.”

“Any special reason?”

“It’s not your concern.”

He rubbed his hand against his bristly chin. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.”

She was a blunt little thing, he’d give her that. So blunt that she bordered on rude. But Clint got the impression it was all an act. A form of self-preservation. He could read it in her wary eyes. A mist of fear seemed to hover over her. And that brought out the protective instincts in him like never before. Safeguarding women was a weakness he’d never seemed able to overcome. His own mother had been widowed after Clint had graduated from college, so he came by the trait naturally. Mom had needed his help and he’d gladly stepped up to the task. But Josie was different. Caring for another woman would only bring him and his daughter more heartache. Something he must avoid like the plague.

Yes, he knew something was up. He could feel it in his bones. Even so, Josie was right. Her presence here wasn’t his business. He tried to tell himself he didn’t care, but he knew that wasn’t true. She obviously didn’t want to tell him about it, so he shut up.

A horrible silence followed.

Frank returned, wire-rimmed spectacles in hand. It took another two laborious minutes for him to clean them, then plant the glasses firmly on the bridge of his nose before he held up the pamphlet and stared at the words. His hand trembled, betraying his anxiety. But he didn’t read. Not a single word.

Possibly because he was holding the pamphlet upside down.

Clint stepped forward and gently turned the leaflet right side up. With eagle-eyed focus, Josie watched every move.

She laid a hand on his arm. “Gramps? Read it out loud.”

The tender gesture didn’t go unnoticed by Clint. Maybe it was good she was here to offer moral support to her grandfather.

Frank whipped the glasses off his face and tossed them on the table. They clattered against the porcelain cookie jar shaped like a yellow pineapple. Josie gasped and stepped back.

Frank stared at the floor, obviously embarrassed. And Clint hated every minute of it, knowing he was the cause. Knowing he’d hurt this good man to the core.

“I’m sorry, Josie. The ranger’s right. I can’t read. Not a word,” Frank said.

“Gramps!” A look of incredulity washed over Josie’s face and she clapped a hand to her mouth in disbelief.

All the sadness of the world filled Frank’s gaze, a lost expression Clint had frequently seen in Karen’s eyes.

“Why do you think after your mom died your grandma and I pushed you so hard to do well in school?” Frank asked Josie. “We didn’t want you to end up like me. Can’t even read the daily newspaper. Uneducated and stupid.”

“You’re not stupid, Gramps. You’re the smartest man I know,” Josie objected in a passionate voice.

Clint agreed. “Definitely. You’re very smart, Frank. Being able to read has nothing to do with a person’s intelligence, believe me.”

But a sick feeling settled in Clint’s gut. He took no delight in revealing the truth. He’d suspected for a long time that Frank couldn’t read. Too many clues had led to this conclusion. But now, Clint’s heart tightened with compassion. He couldn’t forget how Frank and his wife had lovingly provided child care for his daughter when they’d first moved to town three years earlier. Even when Clint had been called out overnight to fight wildfires, Frank and Viola Rushton had tended his little girl as if she were their very own. And look how Clint repaid them. By revealing a secret Frank had kept hidden all his life.

The elderly man lifted his gaze to Clint, his eyes filled with uncertainty. “What gave me away?”

Clint smiled warmly, trying to lighten the tense moment. Trying to show an increase of love toward this good man and his irascible granddaughter. After all, it was the Christian thing to do.

“To begin with, you held the hymnal upside down at church once. I’ve also noticed you can’t seem to orient yourself in the scriptures. You flip through the pages and quote them from memory better than anyone I know, but you can’t find a specific verse when the Sunday school teacher calls on you. And I’ve seen you at the power company, paying your bills in person, with cash, instead of paying online or mailing in a check, like most people do.”

Josie narrowed her eyes. “How would paying with cash indicate he can’t read?”

“My wife did the same thing. She always paid our bills in cash because she couldn’t write a check.” Clint had been proud of Karen’s accomplishment when she’d learned to read, but he didn’t like talking about her now. Even after seven years, the pain of how she’d died was still too raw, the guilt over her death still too fresh.

“I don’t understand,” Josie said.

Clint released a deep sigh. “Let’s just say I recognized the signs. You fake it quite well, Frank. And today, when you claimed you hadn’t read the tree permit signs up on the mountain, it all added up. Those signs are too large for anyone to miss, unless you can’t read them.”

And Clint knew firsthand what it was like to cope with illiteracy. Karen had been highly defensive about her disability and had found ways to hide it from other people. She’d constantly feared someone might find out and make fun of her. That, coupled with the physical abuse she’d endured as a child, had left Karen with no self-esteem whatsoever. Even after they’d married and she’d learned to read, she’d never gained much confidence. And no matter how hard Clint tried to convince her, she’d never really believed that he or God loved her.