Santa's Sweetheart (The Christmas Tree Ranch #4)(9)

He swore silently, remembering what she’d said about his needing a woman in his life.

Maggie had set him up.





Chapter Three


“Well, Maggie?” Grace took her seat again, lowering herself to eye level with the little girl. “Do you have something to say to us?”

Maggie gazed down at her red canvas sneakers. “I’m sorry, Miss Chapman. I promise not to go on strike again. But please—” She looked up again with eyes that would melt a heart of granite. “Please don’t make me play sports. I feel so clumsy and stupid out there. I’ll do extra work, clean up the classroom, anything.”

Grace sensed Sam Delaney’s eyes watching her.

Hot. Wynette’s description came back to her, and it fit. The sheriff was tall and broad-shouldered, with a square chin and gentle gray eyes. She could understand what the women of Branding Iron saw in him. But to her he was just a parent. And her only concern was his daughter’s problem.

“Let me tell you a secret, Maggie,” she said. “When I was your age, I was a lot like you. I loved to read, and I was a good student. But I was awful at sports, always missing the ball, or dropping it, or tripping over my own feet. I hated being laughed at and being the last one chosen for teams. But I couldn’t quit because my teachers wouldn’t let me. And you know what? I’m glad now. I never did get to be an athlete, but I learned a lot—things like being part of a team and being a good sport. I learned to laugh at myself when I made a mistake—and that still comes in handy sometimes. You can learn those things, too. That’s why I’m going to insist that you keep on going to phys ed with your class. I’m sure your father will back me up on this.” She glanced at the sheriff. He nodded.

“So it’s decided. No more strikes. Are we straight, Maggie?” Grace asked.

“Straight,” Maggie said. “No more strikes.”

“High five?” Grace held up her hand.

“High five!” Maggie’s small, open palm smacked her teacher’s. Then the little girl turned to her father. “Okay, Daddy, can we go get our Christmas tree now?”

The sheriff shifted uneasily in his chair. Now what? Grace wondered. The man didn’t look happy. Had she said or done something to upset him? Or was he struggling with his daughter’s request for a tree? He’d already mentioned that this holiday would be difficult for him.

“We can talk about the tree after we leave, Maggie,” he said. “But first, I have something else to discuss with your teacher.”

*

Sam cleared his throat. He saw Maggie’s face light up. The little matchmaker probably thought he was going to ask her teacher out on a date. But she was about to be disappointed.

Even if he’d planned to ask the woman out—which he most certainly hadn’t—once Grace Chapman saw what he’d done to her car, she’d be livid. She’d probably never speak to him again, except to make sure he paid for the damage.

“Is there a problem? Can I help?” Miss Chapman’s eyes were dark pools of concern. Sam felt lower than a snake’s belly, but there was no way to make this any easier.

“I’m afraid the problem is with your car,” he said. “I swerved into it in the parking lot when a boy ran in front of me.”

Maggie gasped, her eyes wide with horror. “Daddy! You’re the sheriff! What will people say?”

“Well, at least you didn’t hit the boy.” Miss Chapman was making an effort to stay calm, but Sam could see the strain in her face and hear it in her voice. “Is the car drivable?” she asked.

“It should be. But it won’t be pretty. You’re going to need a new right rear fender. Don’t worry, I’ve got insurance to pay for it—I’ll use my own policy, not the county’s, since I was off duty. And I know the owner of a good body shop in Cottonwood Springs. He’ll have it fixed as soon as he can get the part. Meanwhile, my insurance will cover the cost of a rental car for you, and . . .” Sam let the words trail off as he realized he was saying too much too fast. She probably thought he sounded like an idiot. Well, blast it, he felt like an idiot.

With a weary sigh, she rose from her chair, slipped on the coat she’d draped over the back, and took her purse out of a desk drawer. “Let’s go. I might as well see the worst of it.”

*

Grace locked the classroom door behind her and led the way outside. Sam Delaney walked beside her. His size and masculine presence made her tingle with awareness. But never mind that. The big lug had crashed into her precious Honda, the car she’d scrimped to buy and kept in tip-top condition over the years. It was her baby and, for all she knew, it could be totaled. If it was, his insurance probably wouldn’t pay enough to replace it. Merry Christmas, Grace.

With Maggie scampering ahead of them, they crossed the parking lot. Grace couldn’t see her car. It was hidden behind the sheriff’s Jeep, which looked as big and tough as a Sherman tank. She’d bet money that it had survived the collision without so much as a scratch. While her poor, innocent little Honda . . .

She groaned as they rounded the sheriff’s vehicle, and she saw the damage. The right rear fender of her car, which dangled from the chassis by a couple of bolts, was crumpled like a scrap of tinfoil.

Poor baby. Grace felt like crying.