to the point of dragging out the same decorations year after year.
Thinking about the decorations reminded Bret of the year he’d suggested to Patti that they should replace the bedraggled-looking Christmas tree angel they’d found the first Christmas they were married.
The tiny figure had lost the tip of one of her wings, her dress hung limp and the glitter had long since disappeared from her halo. Patti had been shocked and incensed that he would suggest such a thing. The angel was part of the Bishop Christmas tradition.
Now the children were just as bad about adhering to tradition. Christmas season didn’t officially begin in the Bishop household until the tree was up, decorated and Bret had placed the angel with great ceremony at the top.
If Chris had his way, Bret would be up on the stepladder tonight, clutching the tiny ornament in his hand.
Bret had tried to explain that he didn’t have time to go to town today, that he had too many other things to do. That’s when Chris had asked if he could get Roy to take him to get the tree.
Bret didn’t know what he would have done during the past three years without Roy Baker. The ranch hand originally had been a part of the crew that worked for Bret’s father ever since Bret had been a teenager. When Patti died, Roy—with no commotion—had moved to Bret’s ranch and taken over the daily chores around the place. He knew as much about ranching as anybody in the district, but had never wanted the responsibility of his own place.
Roy was exactly the kind of friend Bret had needed during that black time after Patti’s death, when Bret hadn’t been certain he could survive without Patti by his side.
Roy had filled in wherever he was needed. A shy man only a few years older than Bret, Roy understood what needed to be done to keep the ranch in working order without Bret having to mention it.
Bret had been grateful for the help. They had never discussed whether the move would be temporary or permanent, but during the past three years Roy had settled into the small house that was part of the ranch buildings and become an integral part of the Bishop family circle.
Bringing a brand-new motherless child home from the hospital had been a painful and traumatic time for all of them. Bret hated to think what they would have done if fate, in the form of another lifelong friend, hadn’t come to his rescue.
Freda Wilkenson had spent her early youth caring for her invalid mother and had never had time to develop a social life of her own. A few years older than Bret, Freda, timid and soft-spoken, approached him with a suggestion a few days after he’d brought Travis home.
Her mother had recently passed away and Freda felt lost with nothing to do to fill her empty days. She offered to move out to the ranch as housekeeper and to look after the children.
Accepting her offer of help had saved his sanity.
Bret knew that he couldn’t have gotten through these past three years without the help of Roy and Freda. They had been there for him, encouraging him to establish some kind of life for his children during those days when all he’d wanted to do was to saddle up and keep on riding until he fell off the edge of the world.
Eventually he’d learned a very important lesson—a person couldn’t feel sorry for himself for long when he had four children who needed his attention and care.
He still saw Patti in the silvery-gray flash of Chris’s eyes…and caught a glimpse of her sparkling mischievousness in Brenda and Sally. But it was Travis who repeatedly pulled at his heartstrings. As though to make up for her loss, Patti had somehow passed on to her youngest son not only her black curls and features, but her gentle and loving personality as well.
Travis didn’t talk much. With three older siblings, he didn’t have to, since all of them had a habit of anticipating his every want and need. Despite the attention, he wasn’t spoiled. He was just a happy little boy who offered his unconditional love to everyone around him.
Travis had listened to the girls over breakfast that morning as they asked when they were going to go shopping. He had stopped them all by asking if he was going to get to see Santa at the mall again this year. No one had thought Travis could have remembered his visit last Christmas, but obviously he had.
In an effort to gain some time, Bret had agreed to let Chris ask Roy to take him to town today to buy a tree, but only if Roy didn’t have something else he needed to do.
Bret knew he was being a coward. He knew he should have agreed to take Chris into town, himself. It was just that Christmas never seemed to get any easier for him. He wished he could disappear until all the fuss of the season was behind him for another year.
He hated having to go into town for supplies between Thanksgiving and New Year’s. Shiny tinsel streamers and giant red bells arched across the main streets of the small ranching community where they did most of their shopping. Every store he entered had its own display, generally accompanied by Christmas music.
There was just no getting away from the music. Even the country music station he listened to in the truck interspersed the current hits being played with familiar voices singing traditional songs.
A person couldn’t get away from the reminders, no matter how much he tried.
A strong gust of wind grabbing at his hat brought Bret jarringly back to the present. He reached up and once more tugged the brim down low over his eyes.
Looking around, he noticed that while he’d been lost in thought, they’d managed to reach the dirt road that led back to the ranch buildings. Bret signaled the horse by subtly shifting his weight. Hercules immediately responded with ground-eating strides and Rex loped along beside them.
They reached the ranch buildings minutes before the storm hit. Safely inside the barn, Bret watched from the wide doorway as large hail bounced off the ground and the surrounding buildings. He breathed a thankful prayer that he’d gotten home when he did.
He took his time unsaddling Hercules and cooling him down before he wiped the horse dry and fed him. Although he could always explain to Freda and the kids that he’d been waiting for the first of the front to pass by, he knew the truth.
He dreaded going inside. If Roy hadn’t taken Chris to town when he got home from school, then Bret knew he’d have to do so as soon as they ate.
If Roy had taken Chris to town, then Bret would have to help decorate the tree tonight. He knew he was putting off the inevitable. Sooner or later he would have to go into the house and face whatever festivities the family had planned for the evening.
By the time Bret sprinted across the wide expanse between the barn and house the hail had been replaced by pounding, icy rain splashing mud and turning the ground into a slippery quagmire.
He took the back-porch steps two at a time, then paused beneath the shelter of the roof to wipe off the bottoms of his boots before entering Freda’s spotless kitchen. He removed his gloves and opened the door, already anticipating a cup of Freda’s coffee to help remove the chill.
The first thing he noticed when he opened the door was the dark kitchen. The kitchen was the heart of their home, and its light generally came on first thing in the morning and stayed on until the last thing at night.
Today it was dark and deserted.
Bret absently brushed his hat off his head and hung it and his coat on a set of hooks beside the back door, next to the children’s jackets. He noted that Chris’s coat wasn’t there, which probably meant that Chris and Roy hadn’t returned from town, but didn’t explain why Freda wasn’t in the kitchen preparing supper.
“Hello?” he called. “Anybody home?”
Bret heard scrambling upstairs and the clattering of feet on the wooden stairs. At least somebody was here.
Eleven-year-old Brenda was the first to appear. Her golden eyes were wide with concern. Bret had a sudden sense of unease flash over him, which was confirmed with her first words.
“Dad! Thank goodness you’re home!