A Cowgirl's Christmas (20 page)

Her pretty niece wrinkled her nose. “Not that great. Austin and I had a fight just after Thanksgiving. We officially broke up the week before finals. I could hardly concentrate on my exams.”

“Sorry to hear that.” Callan could see that Dani looked worried, too. “Austin—he’s the one who likes to compete in rodeos, right?”

“Yeah. It’s like his passion, though he says he eventually wants to be a doctor. He idolizes dad. I think that’s the only reason he wanted to date me.”

“I’m sure that’s not true. But you’re both young. Maybe it’s good that you’ll be free now to date other people.”

Dani’s take on the situation didn’t seem to make Portia any happier. Before anything further could be added to the discussion, Eliot came in with the rest of the bags and suddenly everyone was busy, taking bags upstairs and helping Dani settle the baby.

An hour later Callan served tea, shortbread cookies and fruit, and then everyone was yawning.

“It’s been a long day,” Dani said. “Travelling with a baby is not easy.”

As Callan wished them all a good night, her sister gave her a hug. “We’ll talk tomorrow,” she said.

Callan wasn’t so sure she wanted to.

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S
age, Dawson and Savannah were over early the next morning to make everyone breakfast.

“You didn’t need to do this,” Callan told Sage as she watched her mix batter for pancakes. Dawson was outside grilling bacon and sausages on the barbecue while Savannah peeled mandarin oranges and arranged them on the fruit plate Sage had brought from home. “I could have handled breakfast.”

“I know cooking isn’t your favorite thing. Plus, I was excited to see everyone. Can you believe how much Bev has grown from last time?”

It seemed to Callan as if everyone was changing. Sage had moved past her nauseous stage and was now a blooming mother-to-be.  The baby was growing, Dani was becoming a self-assured mother, Portia seemed more like a woman than a teenager.

She should have used the past two months to change, too. Found herself a new home, a great new job. Heck, a hot new boyfriend, as well, why not?

Someone turned the television on in the family room and Callan tensed. She hadn’t been able to watch either of the TVs in the house during the past two months. The sound still made her think of her father, so much so that she almost expected to see him sitting in his favorite chair.

But he wasn’t, of course. Portia was curled up there instead, painting her toe nails.

Callan wanted to scream at her to move. She wanted to turn off the TV and tell everyone to just be
quiet.

God help me, she realized in that moment. If I’m not careful I’m going to be the great-aunt Mabel of our family.

But then Dani called out a question from kitchen. She’d just been upstairs changing her baby’s diaper. Now, with the baby in one hand, she was using the other to set the breakfast table.

“Why is the vet making a call on Christmas Eve?”

“The vet? Why do you ask that?”

“I just saw a truck turn in. Looked like old Arch Landen’s.”

Callan froze. This was about Zorro. It had to be. “Don’t wait breakfast for me,” she told Sage, before running to the mudroom for her boots and coat.

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C
ourt was making final arrangements with Arch when the barn door opened and Callan rushed in. Court stepped forward to stop her from going too far.

He took a gentle hold of her shoulders. “Hang on, Callan. There’s no reason to rush.”

She studied his face, while a quiet desperation tightened her features. “It’s Zorro, isn’t it?”

“I’m sorry. We tried everything. I was with him all last night.”

Callan looked past him, toward Zorro’s stall. Then the tension went out of her muscles and her shoulders sagged. “I should have been here with you.”

“Nothing anyone could have done, Callan,” the vet said. “It was just his time. We’ll take care of things from here on in, don’t you worry.”

Callan nodded and as tears began to fill her eyes she retreated to the other end of the barn. Court followed her into the tack room where she sat on one of the benches and let her head fall into her hands. The radio was playing softly in the background. He’d turned it on last night to keep himself company during the long dark hours.

He’d set up a cot with a sleeping bag and pillow. Every couple of hours he got up to try and make Zorro as comfortable as possible. Then, just before dawn, the horse had died. And for the first time in his life, country music hadn’t seemed hokey to Court. The heartbreaking song Alan Jackson had been singing at the time had felt about right.

He poured a glass of water and took it to Callan. “Want this?”

She glanced up with reddened eyes, tears staining her cheeks. “N-no, thanks.”

He hadn’t realized she was crying.

Not just crying. Sobbing.

He sat down beside her and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. Surprisingly she didn’t push him away. In fact she leaned into him and he held her tighter.

“S-sorry,” she managed to say between the sobs.

“It’s okay.”  A lot of tears for a horse, he was thinking, and then he realized what a fool he was. Callan wasn’t crying for poor old Zorro. She was crying for the father that she had loved and looked up to more than anyone in the world. The father she’d wanted so desperately to love her back.

She turned her tear-streaked face to him. “I c-can’t believe he’s gone.”

“I know,” Court said, this time pulling her face close to his heart and wrapping both of his arms around her. It tore at his insides to see the pain she was in. He was desperate to help her, to say just the right thing. At the same time he appreciated that she needed this outlet. She’d been holding it all in for far too long.

“I—miss him so much.”

“Of course you do.” What a fierce, loving heart she had. The harder Hawksley had been on her, the more she’d tried to please him. She’d taken everything Hawksley dished out because she’d thought it proved that he loved her and wanted her to be strong.

And maybe Hawksley had, and maybe those had been his intentions. Who was Court to judge?

Only Hawksley knew his own heart. But now he was gone. And not only had he left Callan alone, he’d given her beloved Circle C Ranch to a distant relative. A virtual stranger.

Then
he’d cheated Callan of her very identity, by letting her and her sisters find those letters.

If Hawksley had only found the courage to tell the truth in person, he could have cushioned the blow. He might have told his daughters he loved them, and that he couldn’t possibly have loved them more.

But was that even the case? Again, Court had no way to know.

“Oh, God, I’m sorry. I just—once I started, I couldn’t stop.” Callan was gaining back her control.

He stroked her hair, and felt like he would hold her forever, if she’d let him.

She swiped away her tears with the arm of her jacket, then sighed and leaned back into him.

Suddenly he became aware of the lemon scent of her hair, the sweet curl of her ear, the white skin of her graceful neck. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. She glanced up, a question in her eyes, and then, in the same moment, they were moving together for a kiss, a real, genuine, heart-stopping kiss.

Callan. She broke his heart and mended it all in that same instant.

He hadn’t planned the kiss. And he didn’t plan what happened next, either. Callan sliding her hands under his jacket, running them up and down his back. Callan kissing him so passionately, he almost went crazy. Callan shrugging her jacket off her shoulders, then slipping his off, too.

She had a plaid shirt under the jacket, which wasn’t buttoned. Under that, a tank top, no bra, just her beautiful, firm breasts pressing up into the lacy-trimmed cotton.

This was fast.

And there was a desperation behind her passion that didn’t feel right.

“Callan, baby, I’m all in. But is this what you really want?”

“You talk too much.”

“Possibly. Or maybe you talk too little.” He cupped her face between his hands. She had such a china doll face—so at odds with her grit and her strength. “I need to know you won’t regret this.”

Suddenly she was looking away from him. Shrinking back.

“Callan.” He had a horrible feeling she’d taken what he’d said as rejection, when it was the very opposite. He wanted to make love with her desperately. But it had to mean something. To both of them.

She gave a brittle laugh. “I can’t believe what almost happened. Hawksley must be rolling in his grave.”

“He might be surprised. But do you really think he wouldn’t approve?”

“I’m the last one to speculate on what his opinion would be.” She went to the sink and splashed water over her face. “I’m sorry about falling apart, earlier. I feel like such an idiot.”

“You shouldn’t. You were overdue for a good cry. You’ve been so angry at your father, you haven’t allowed yourself to properly grieve his death.”

She gave a short laugh. “Analyzing me again?”

“Well, I’m sure Zorro was a great horse. But not quite
that
great.”

She fought a smile, then gave in with a shake of her head. “You’re right about that. Turns out you’re right about a lot of things.”

“Like us being good for each other?” He tried to take her hand, but she slipped away from him.

“That was just a kiss. No I mean about the ranch. Moving here. You fit in. I didn’t think you would, but you do. Hey,” she pointed to the corner of the roof and the built-in speaker, “You’re even listening to country music now.”

“Thanks to you.”

“No. None of it is thanks to me. You’ve done all this yourself. I think Hawksley knew what he was doing. The Circle C will be in good hands with you.”

“Doesn’t have to be just me.” He wanted to offer her more than a business partnership. But Callan wasn’t going to let him close enough to matter to her. Hawksley’s goal had been to make her tough. And he’d succeeded.

“No. I think it’s better this way. And don’t worry—I won’t hold a grudge. In fact, if you want to stop by later tonight for a drink, that might be a good idea. So we can officially bury the hatchet.”

She was throwing him scraps now. A drink on Christmas Eve. Fool that he was, he would accept it. “Will your sisters be okay with me showing up?”

“If I’m good with it, they will be, too.”

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C
ourt spent a long while in the horse barn, first cleaning out Zorro’s stall—which was a sad, sorry task—then puttering around the tack room. He thought about all the hundreds, if not thousands, of hours Callan must have spent in this room during her life. What to him was a room of saddles, bridles and bits, was for her, a patchwork of memories from her childhood.

All things considered, she’d handled the shocking events of the past few months—Hawksley’s death, the will, her mother’s letters—with remarkable strength. He admired and respected her for that.

But his feelings went a lot deeper.

And so did his conscience.

Court made a call to his father and they talked a long while. When Court finally managed to get his point across—and accepted—he made a second much shorter call. After that, he returned to the cabin to shower and change. Within the hour he was on the road to Marietta, to Ren Fletcher’s office.

Ren hadn’t sounded too happy about going to work on Christmas Eve. But when he’d heard what Court had in mind, he relented.

“You sure about this?” he asked Court, before handing over the official papers.

“Oh, yeah.”

Ren just shook his head. “I’ve seen a lot of crazy stuff in my career. The past two months at the Circle C have topped it all.”

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