A Cowgirl's Christmas (2 page)

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“I
t’s my fault he died. I knew he was having trouble with his heart. I should have made him go to the doctor.” Callan was in the kitchen, pacing around the butcher block island, talking on the phone with Mattie. She’d called Mattie first because she was the oldest Carrigan sister, just shy of forty. Their parents had spaced the sisters out with almost four years between each of them, so that made for quite a gap between Mattie and Callan.

Mattie lived at Bishop Stables in the Flathead Valley. She and her husband Wes Bishop had divorced this year, shortly after their twin daughters left for college, Portia to University of Washington in Seattle and Wren to the University of Colorado in Boulder. And the changes had kept coming for Mattie when Wes had sold all their horses out from under her, then sold Bishop Stables itself.

Fortunately, Mattie’s next door neighbor Nat Diamond had bought the ranch for her so she could continue doing the work she loved. Nat had been a good friend to Mattie when she needed one. Then, when the time was right, he’d declared his love. Now they were married and Callan had never seen her older sister happier.

“And how would you have done that?” Mattie asked. “No one has ever been able to make Hawksley do anything he didn’t want to. Don’t you dare blame yourself for this, Callan.”

“This wasn’t just a cold or an infected cut. He
died
. He’s
dead
, Mattie.” Callan’s throat stopped up again. She closed her eyes. Swallowed. Struggled to find her voice. “Must have been something I could have done.”

“Honey, you’re in shock. Is someone with you?”

“R-red made me some t-tea. Put some brandy in it.” She glanced at the mug on the counter, which she’d taken a few sips from before calling her sister. “Now he’s out working.”

“Well, call him back. You shouldn’t be alone.”

“We need to get those fences repaired.” She drew a deep, shuddering breath. Thinking about work helped ground her. “We’re behind because of the wedding. Should have brought the cattle down already. Has Nat?”

“Yes. But forget about the damn cows for once. Tell the men to take the day off. They should be in the house with you, especially Red and Derek. This must be a shock for them, too.”

“What the hell are we supposed to do in here? Hold hands and cry? Winter doesn’t care that Dad died today. If he were here, you know he’d want us to keep working.” She stared out the window, feeling helpless. The view was just as beautiful as it had been that morning, but she could no longer appreciate it. “I’d go myself if I could stop this damn shaking.”

“Oh, Callan. Have you called Sage?”

“I will.”

“Good. She’s only an hour drive away. I wish we were closer, but Nat and I will be lucky to get there before nightfall.”

“Don’t rush. Just drive safely.” Mattie and Nat lived in the Flathead Valley, a good six hours from the Circle C. Nat’s ranch, the Double D, was on par with the Circle C—tens of thousands of acres that had been in his family forever. He and Mattie shared all the same values and interests in life, which was one of the reasons they made such a great couple.

Callan wished she had the same optimism about her own future. Her father’s death was going to change things. A lot. She’d stay here, at the Circle C, obviously. But it was going to be lonely. Her father hadn’t been great company. He’d never been one for chitchat and had spent most of his evenings dozing in front of the television.

But he’d been here every morning and every night for her entire life. Except for the week he always took after Christmas to visit his cousin and his family in St. Paul.

“...sound okay to you?”

She realized she’d zoned out on her sister. “What was that?”

“I’m going to call Portia and Wren and arrange their flights to Bozeman. Then I’ll pack. We should be on the road within the hour. You hang tight. And call Sage. Do it now, Callan. And sis?”

“Yes?”

“I love you.”

Those words weren’t spoken often in this family, but they felt right today. “I love you, too, Mattie.”

Callan glanced down at her phone, intending to press Sage’s number next, but the screen was all blurred. She swiped away her tears then took a long drink of the lukewarm tea. The brandy felt nice and warm going down. She polished off the rest, then tried the phone again.

This time she could see. And Sage answered quickly.

“Hey, Callan. Hang on, I’ve got to wash my hands...”

She must have caught Sage in the kitchen of her chocolate shop, where she made all the delicious products for her store, Copper Mountain Chocolates. A few moments later Sage was back on the line, sounding anxious since it was unusual for Callan to call in the middle of a work day.

“What’s up?”

“Bad news, Sis. Dad and I were riding up the ridge to Four Corners this morning when he had a-a heart attack.” She blurted out the final words as yet another sob broke in her voice. Agitated, she paced, pushing back her hair, wishing she could wipe out that last image of her father, pale and lifeless on the stretcher.

Sage was silent for a long time. Callan pictured her at the chocolate shop, her thick red hair up in the secure bun she wore when she was baking. She’d be wearing an apron over her long, lean frame. She was taking a long time to respond. Maybe she should have warned Sage to sit down before she’d given her the news.

“Is he—?”

“Gone? Yes.”

Sage gave a slight gasp.

“Sorry.” There was probably a softer, kinder way to deliver this news. But Callan had always favored the direct approach. She couldn’t have done soft and kind, even if she’d tried.

Once the news sank in, Sage was all action. “I’ll be right there. Give me sixty minutes.”

Callan nodded—a foolish thing, Sage couldn’t see her.

But her mind wasn’t functioning at top speed right now. She stopped her pacing and sank into one of the leather chairs in the family room adjoining the kitchen. One more call to make, this time to Dani who was on maternity leave from the University of Washington, at home with her newborn baby Beverly. The child had been born with Down Syndrome, which made all of the Carrigan clan—especially Dani and her new guy Eliot Gilmore—love her even more than if she’d been born ‘normal’.

The last few months had been rough on Dani. Giving birth had been difficult enough, but she’d had to extract herself from a painful relationship with the baby’s father and then deal with the reality of a child born with handicaps.

Callan didn’t want to put one more problem on her plate. But this sort of news—it had to be told. And she was relieved when Dani reacted with characteristic calm logic.

“Well, we’d all seen a decline in him this past year so I can’t say the news is a shock. I’ll book my flight right away, but Eliot will probably want to come so we won’t arrive until tomorrow.”

Callan took a deep breath. Dani had always had a settling effect on her. Probably because after their mother died it had been second-eldest Dani who had stepped into the role of caregiver to herself and Sage, since Mattie was already married with babies of her own.

“Leave the arrangements until I get there,” Dani continued.

It took a moment for Callan to understand what Dani met, and then she almost moaned. The funeral. That’s what Dani meant by ‘arrangements.’ She definitely did not want to deal with that. “Okay.”

“Good. And don’t worry about food or changing linens on the beds or anything else. Sage, Mattie and I will take care of all of that. You just take care of yourself.”

“You’re talking like I’m some sort of baby.”

“Hardly. But you are the youngest. And you were definitely the closest to Dad.”

Callan couldn’t argue with either point. She’d just turned twenty-six, but she would always be the youngest Carrigan sister. And she knew very well that her other sisters—especially Mattie and Dani—had serious issues with their father. Not just because he hadn’t been the warmest or kindest man. No, they resented him for how he’d treated their mother. But Callan had been so young when her mother died, those memories weren’t as strong for her.

Callan tucked her phone back into her pocket, feeling exhausted. The call to Dani had lasted only ten minutes. That meant it would still be about fifty minutes before Sage arrived. She ought to do something with that time. Despite her promise to Dani, she could at least freshen the linens in her sisters’ old bedrooms. Or take something out of the freezer for dinner.

But she couldn’t get that last glimpse of her father out of her mind.

How could it have happened so fast? One minute her dad was smiling at her. And then he was collapsed on the ground. It seemed so...arbitrary. And unfair. If only...

Callan shook her head, not wanting to let the same thoughts circle round and round her brain but unable to stop them.

Only hard work would distract her. Maybe she should go out and help with the fencing. She was on her way to the mud room to get her work gloves when the damn phone rang.

She paused. Had word gotten out about Hawksley’s death already? She didn’t want to deal with sympathy calls yet. But she had to check in case it was one of her sisters, so she pulled out the phone.

Ren Fletcher’s name popped out at her.

Dad’s lawyer.

She leaned her back against the mudroom wall and hit “talk.”

“Callan here.”

“Hi, Callan, this is Ren Fletcher. I’ve heard the news about your father. I’m terribly sorry.”

“Yeah.” She could only trust herself to utter one syllable without crying.

“I’d like to come by the ranch and talk to you and your family, if you don’t mind. Hawksley left his final instructions with me, as well as his will.”

“Oh.” This was good. This meant they wouldn’t have to make all the choices about the funeral themselves. “My sisters should be here by tomorrow afternoon. So if you could come around four that would work.”

Ren cleared his throat. “Your sisters...yes, that’s good. I’d also like your cousin from St. Paul to be there.”

She was drawing a blank again. And then she remembered. Yes, the cousin from St. Paul. “You mean Aaron McAllister?” Aaron and her dad had spent their boyhood summers together on the Circle C. The cousin was married and had a son of his own, but that was all she recalled. “I’ll have to check Dad’s papers. Hopefully he has their phone number written somewhere.”

“No need, Callan. I’ve already called them.”

“You have?”

“Your father mentioned you and your sisters have never met that side of the family. Part of his instructions to me were that immediately upon his death I was to call Aaron McAllister myself.”

“Okay. Well thanks. Do you think he and his wife will come for the funeral?”

There was a pause at the other end. “Aaron’s wife June had a stroke a few months ago and he’s unable to leave her. Their son is coming, however. His name is Court.”

Court McAllister. She wondered what he was like and how well had he known her father. It was a long way to travel for someone he would have seen only once a year. “With my sisters home we won’t have much room at the house.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that. I’ve booked him a room at the Graff Hotel.”

Pricey place. Her cousin must be well off. “He should only need to stay a few days. I imagine my sisters will want to have the funeral as soon as possible.”

Ren cleared his throat again. “Yes, well, we need to talk about that. I strongly suggest you not plan anything until our meeting tomorrow afternoon.”

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C
ourt McAllister stood in the lobby of the Graff Hotel, waiting for his Visa to be processed so he could get the key to his room. He’d been up at six that morning, to the airport by seven, and traveling ever since.

He was tired. Sad about his Uncle Hawksley’s death. And more than a little trepidatious about meeting the Carrigan girls in a couple hours.

But none of that prevented him from admiring the rich panelled wood and marbled flooring of the remodeled hotel. He hadn’t expected Marietta, Montana to offer anything this beautiful and impressive.

How many other surprises were in store for him this trip?

A lot, he hoped.

Like, maybe he’d find the Carrigans to be warm, welcoming and friendly.

Now there was a fantasy. Maybe they would be at first. But once they found out what was in their father’s will?  He’d be lucky if they didn’t point a shotgun in his face.

If someone did, it would be Callan. She was the one Hawksley spoke of most often, usually with a hint of pride, even though he tried not to show it. He said she was tough, confident, hard-working and stubborn.

As for her social skills, those seemed to be comprised of being able to out-drink and out-snooker the other cowboys who hung out at the bar with her on Friday nights. Must be quite the character this Callan. He wished he could say he was looking forward to meeting her.

“Here’s your key, Mr McAllister. I hope you enjoy your stay in Marietta.”

He managed a brief smile at the woman, then picked up his suitcase and carry-on and headed directly to his room. Once there, he showered quickly and changed into jeans and a blue shirt, throwing a leather jacket over top, then pulling on his boots.

He’d travelled in loafers. But he guessed the boots would be more appropriate for his first visit to the Circle C.

The time was creeping up on three-thirty. Soon that lawyer, Ren Fletcher, would be coming to pick him up and drive him out to the ranch. Court was excited about seeing it for the first time. He’d heard so much about the Circle C from his father and Hawksley. They had so many stories from their years as young boys, growing up on the backs of horses and roaming over hundreds of acres with the sort of freedom Court could hardly imagine.

He was what his father and Hawksley called ‘a city kid.” Raised in St. Paul, where he’d gone to college, trained and now worked as a CPA, his only experience on horseback came from the weekends he’d spent with his parents on their land outside of the city, where they kept a handful of horses.

Theoretically he knew a lot about ranching—Hawksley talked about little else during his visits each Christmas. But in practice he was a greenhorn.