Mistletoe Man - China Bayles 09 Read Online Free PDF Page A

sizzles for
six months and winter temperatures dive below zero just long enough to wipe out
your best cash crop while scarcely inconveniencing the weeds.
    We crossed the wooden bridge over
Mistletoe Creek, and I pulled the truck to a stop in front of the house. As
Brian and I climbed out, we were greeted by Max, who came bouncing down the
path on a bandaged right front leg. The black-and-white Border collie was
followed by a sturdy-looking woman in jeans, sweatshirt, and green down vest, a
muffler around her neck and a yellow baseball cap pulled over her taffy-colored
hair. Donna, the younger and more likable of the two sisters, is pushing
thirty-five. She manages the sales and deals with the public while Terry
handles production, but there's enough work on both sides so that they occasionally
have to swap off. And after Aunt Velda came back from her tour around the
galaxy and required more supervision, Donna has taken care of her, as well.
She has her hands full.
    "Hey, Max,"
I said, as Brian got down on his knees to pet the dog. "I heard you'd been
eaten by a possum trap. What are you doing out and about?"
    "Border collies
don't know the meaning of the word bed-rest," Donna said. Her nose was red
with the cold, and she swiped it on her sleeve. "Sorry you had to drive
out all this way just to pick up those wreaths." She nodded ruefully at
the brown van parked beside the barn, its innards spread over the ground and
covered by a tarp. "Looks like we won't be driving Lizzie until Terry gets
her repaired. We can use Aunt Velda's old Ford truck around the place, but we
can't drive it on the highway. It doesn't have a current license plate."
    I understood. Around here, people with big ranches
hang onto their junky old pickups and use them to check on the cows, monitor
fences, and haul hay and firewood. "No problem," I said. "Brian
is spending the weekend with his grandparents in Seguin, and this stop was on
our way."
    Brian turned to me.
"Is it okay if me 'n' Max go down to the creek and look for frogs?"
He looked up at the sky, anticipating my objection. "It's stopped
raining—almost."
    "The creek's
only a trickle along here," Donna said. "It's not deep enough for him
to get into any trouble."
    "Okay—but your
grandmother won't be very happy if you show up at her house with wet
shoes," I told Brian. "Stay out of the water." I watched as boy
and dog trotted off toward the creek, thinking that it's a funny thing about
boys. If you put a rake in their hands and shove them outdoors on a cold,
drizzly day, they'll howl as if you're engaging in child abuse. But put them
within fifty yards of a creek and they'll want to be in the water, no matter
how cold it is.
    "The wreaths are in the barn, boxed and ready
to go," Donna said as we started up the path. "I'm sorry Terry isn't
here. She borrowed a friend's car and went to San Antonio for parts for Lizzie.
But there's coffee and pecan pie— pecans from our very own trees. We had a
great crop this year." She gave me a sidelong glance. "I hope you've
got time for a slice before we load your truck."
    "Pecan pie?" I said warmly. "You
bet! I don't have to get Brian to his grandparents' until six."
    The Fletchers' house is a small, tin-roofed Texas
cottage, its board-and-batten wood siding painted gray, the window frames and
trim a cheerful red. In the summer the walls are covered with moonflowers and
morning glories and cardinal climber, but the first frost had killed the vines
and nothing was left but a sinister brown tangle. We followed the gravel path
around the corner of the house, sending three or four Rhode Island Reds
scrambling out from under a waist-high rosemary bush. Lavender and sage grew
along the wall, and the path was bordered by bright green curly parsley, which
survives all but our hardest freezes. From the ragged look of the foliage,
though, I guessed that it might not survive the chickens. I wondered if they
were laying eggs with chlorophyll-colored yolks.
    Donna opened