The Forest Ranger's Christmas. Leigh Bale

      It didn’t help that Gramps had a penchant for gossip.

      He gestured to the side, where at least two dozen fir and spruce trees leaned against the chain-link fence that edged his driveway and bordered his front lawn. “I haven’t done anything wrong, Ranger. I just cut fresh Christmas trees like I’ve done every year of my life since long before you was even a gleam in your daddy’s eyes.”

      Trees? This was about Christmas trees?

      The harsh sound of the siren died abruptly, and everyone in the yard exhaled with relief. Finally Josie could hear herself think.

      “Gramps! What’s going on?” She squinted at her grandfather until the red orb on the police car was shut off , then she blinked.

      “Why, Josie. I didn’t expect to see you here.” Gramps engulfed her in a tight bear hug.

      The scents of peppermint and arthritis cream assailed her nostrils. When Gramps released her, she drew back and gazed at his gruff face, looking for signs of distress. He wasn’t a young man anymore, but he appeared strong, his cheeks flushed from the cold winter air. His steely gray eyes twinkled with joy and she couldn’t help smiling back. How she loved him. How glad she was to see him again.

      “Remember I called you last week to tell you I was driving in today?” she said.

      He blinked and gave her an absentminded frown. “Oh, yeah. That’s right. When did you get into town?”

      “Just now. Are you okay?”

      He waved a grizzled hand in the air. “Sure, I’m fine. How was your drive? Did you get caught in any snowstorms along the way?”

      “No, but I—”

      “How long can you stay?”

      “About five weeks. But I want to talk—”

      “So long? Why, that’s wonderful news. We’ll have so much fun. But we better go shopping. Ma always made a big ham for Christmas dinner, but maybe you’d like something else this year. What about prime rib? We can have whatever you like, as long as there’s pumpkin pie and homemade rolls. You know your grandma made the best—”

      “Ahem.” The ranger cleared his throat. “Sorry to interrupt your reunion, Frank. But we’ve got to clear this matter up.”

      Josie gazed at Clint, recalling what Grandma had once told her about the man. A single father, with a cute little girl he was raising. Tall and well-built, with a blunt chin, short brown hair, and a dazzling smile that sucked the breath right out of her lungs. When he smiled, that is. But he wasn’t smiling right now.

      From her peripheral vision, Josie was conscious of Officer Wilkins joining them again. Without the wail of the siren, they automatically lowered their voices to a rational level.

      “Can you tell me what this is about?” she asked, trying to calm her jangled nerves.

      “Honey, you remember Clint Hamilton, the local forest ranger,” Gramps said.

      How could she forget? They hadn’t said more than a handful of words to each other in the more than three years since he’d moved to town, but Josie would have to be a saint not to notice his slightly crooked smile and dark good looks. And she was definitely no saint. Not in this life, anyway. But since her broken engagement with Edward had been a mere eight months earlier, she wasn’t interested in another romance. At least, that’s what she told herself.

      “Clint and his little daughter, Gracie, are members of my church congregation,” Gramps continued. “You’ve met them a few times over the past years. They were at Ma’s funeral back in September.”

      Ma. The affectionate name Gramps used to refer to Viola, his wife of fifty-seven years. When she’d died three months earlier, something had changed inside Josie. She loved her job as a pharmacist, but suddenly work wasn’t enough anymore. She wanted more, but wasn’t sure what that might be. And so she’d decided to take a break and figure things out. Already, being here made her feel lighter inside. As though her presence really mattered. To Gramps, anyway.

      She nodded at Clint. He’d been one of the pallbearers for Grandma’s casket. And following the service, he’d shaken Josie’s hand and offered sincere condolences for her loss. She’d looked into his caring eyes and felt her sorrow melt away. Then he’d stepped aside and she’d been blown back to her lonely reality.

      “Clint, you remember my granddaughter, Jocelyn Rushton.” Gramps bumped the ranger with his elbow and gave a sly grin. “She’s sure pretty, isn’t she? And a good cook and seamstress, too. Viola taught her.”

      Clint’s gaze darted Josie’s way. “Yeah, glad to see you again.”

      Momentarily distracted, Clint stuck out a hand for her to shake. While her cheeks heated up like road flares, he shot her a guarded look, his warm brown eyes sweeping across her face.

      “Hi.” Her voice sounded small and uncertain, not at all like the professional woman she tried so hard to portray. Then she realized she was staring. Oddly fascinated by the hint of stubble across his masculine chin. “Can you tell me what this is about?”

      “Your grandfather is in a lot of trouble, Josie.” Stepping near, Tim hitched up his waistband. The pepper spray, ammunition pouches, flashlight and radio on his police belt jangled.

      Clint interceded. “I’m terribly sorry for all this trouble, Frank, but I’ve had a report of stolen Christmas trees.”

      Josie’s gaze darted over to the row of spruce and fir. She didn’t understand what was going on yet, but a twinge of alarm tugged at her stomach and she couldn’t help feeling as protective as a mother grizzly. This was Gramps, after all. Not a stranger to these men. And certainly not a criminal.

      “My grandfather would never steal anything,” she said.

      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?”