A Cowgirl's Christmas (6 page)

Turned out she’d been so, so wrong about that.

It was Mattie, Dani and Sage who’d been right. Hawksley really had been a mean old bastard. So what if he’d left them all that money? What was she supposed to do with her life? Maybe she’d take Montana Sapphire, buy an acreage outside of town and...find a job on another ranch?

Her stomach hurt just thinking about it.

She’d lived her entire life on the Circle C. She loved this house, the animals, the land—they were a part of her. Now that her father was dead, no one knew the ins and outs of this place like her, not even Red the foreman. He’d only been here five years, compared to her twenty-six.

Why had her father done this to her? Had he really cared that much that she wasn’t male? She’d proven she could work as smart and as hard as any guy. It just wasn’t fair...

For the first time since Ren had told them about the will, Callan let her tears fall without checking them. The beautiful corals, greens and blues of the sunrise shimmered and blurred.

Slowly the sun emerged, first a deep red then so bright she had to turn away.

She stared at a cross-stitch picture her mother had made for her when she was a little girl, a poem about a mother’s love for her child. Beverly Carrigan had made one for each of her daughters, but Callan was the only one who still kept hers on the wall. She’d never cared much about décor. In their teens, her sisters had plastered their rooms with posters of movie stars and cowboys, horses and cute puppies and kittens.

For her, the bedroom was just a place to sleep and change her clothing. As the youngest, she’d landed the smallest in the house, but even after all her sisters left home she hadn’t moved into one of the larger ones because she didn’t see the need to change.

The aroma of coffee and bacon finally became too tantalizing to resist. Someone—probably Mattie—was already awake and preparing breakfast.

Callan crawled out of bed, wincing as her head throbbed. Okay, yes, she’d had way too much to drink yesterday. But she felt entitled. She pulled on clean jeans and a flannel shirt then went to the washroom and stared at her face in the mirror.

Not the prettiest sight.

She dipped her head, splashed cold water over her eyes. Good enough. Time to head for the kitchen to see who else might be awake. Turned out she was the last to appear.

Portia and Wren, Mattie’s beautiful twin daughters, so like their mother, were setting the large table while Mattie flipped pancakes at the stove.

Sage had spent the night here again, and was chopping fresh fruit at the island, while Dani sat in a quiet corner, breastfeeding baby Bev.

All three of her sisters turned to look at her with worry and concern as she entered the room.

“You okay?” Dani asked quietly, so she wouldn’t disturb her baby.

Callan nodded and poured herself some coffee. “Sorry I slept in.”

“You were out late,” Mattie said, with no judgment in her voice. “Nat and Eliot are helping with chores. When they come in, we’ll be ready to eat.”

“Eliot doing chores? That’s amusing.”

Dani smiled. “I know. He doesn’t have a clue. But he’s such a good sport.”

Callan leaned against the counter and sipped at her coffee, which tasted especially good this morning. It was nice having the house full of people, noise and activity. What was she going to do when her visitors left?

She decided not to think about that right now.

About ten minutes later, the guys returned to the house and washed up in the mud room. Mattie put out platters of pancakes and bacon, and Callan heated the maple syrup in the microwave before setting out the pitcher. With the added touch of Sage’s fruit salad the meal was delicious and no one stopped eating until the food was all gone.

“So what’s the plan today?” Wren asked. She was Mattie’s studious child, quiet to the point of being a loner at times. “I’d like to work on a research paper that’s due next week, if there’s time.”

“Absolutely,” Mattie said. “What about you, Portia? Do you need study time, too?”

Portia, the more social of the twins, glanced at her aunt Dani—who had been her psychology prof last year— then shook her head. “Nope. I’m good. I was hoping we could go on a trail ride?”

Callan’s heart plummeted. Normally she loved nothing more than taking her nieces out for a good long ride. But with her father’s death and the stupid terms of his will, she didn’t know if she’d ever be able to enjoy horseback riding on the Circle C again.

“Eliot and I were talking about taking a ride to check on the progress of the fencing,” Nat said. “Dawson was going to join us after he dropped Savannah off at school. Why don’t you come with us?”

Suddenly Wren looked tempted, as well. “I suppose I could work on my paper later.”

“Good plan,” Mattie said. As she exchanged glances with Sage and Dani, Callan realized this had been set up earlier. Her sisters had just cleared the deck so the four of them could have some spare time together.

An hour later, Callan found out why.

“This is our chance,” Mattie said. “I’ve been dying to check those boxes of mom’s since I arrived, but I felt we should wait until the reading of the will, at least.”

“Oh. Right.” Callan had forgotten about the boxes their father kept locked in a trunk in his closet. “Except—I have no idea where he keeps the key.”

Sage pulled a small crowbar out of a canvas bag she’d tucked under the table. “Not a problem.”

Callan laughed. They all did.

“This is crazy,” Dani said. “But I’m all in. Just let me settle baby Bev in her crib. She’s due for her morning nap, anyway.”

“Oh, let me!” Mattie said, holding out her arms. “I need a cuddle.”

Twenty minutes later they were all in their parents’ bedroom, a room Callan rarely entered since Nora did the vacuuming, dusting and laundry. The room was neat. Hawksley always made his bed and put away his clothing when he changed. Few traces of his personality could be found in the room that had been decorated by Beverly Carrigan more than thirty years ago. The quilt was threadbare, but it was still the one that had been stitched together by great aunt Mabel for their parents’ wedding.

“I feel weird being in here,” Sage said.

No doubt she was still bothered by her memories of their mother and Bill Sheenan. Callan was glad she hadn’t been the one home sick from school that day. She felt certain the sight would have scarred her for life.

“Let’s get to it.” Dani opened the closet and grabbed one side of the trunk. Mattie grabbed the other and together they slid the trunk over the floor and out to the center of the room.

Callan took the crowbar from Sage and jammed it into the space between the lid and the box. The lock gave more easily than she expected.

For a moment they just looked at one another. Then Dani nodded at Mattie. “You’re the oldest. Open it.”

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W
ith theatrics befitting a Hollywood horror film Mattie eased the lid upward and the old hinges obligingly creaked. Callan knelt in front of the trunk beside Mattie and was soon joined by Dani and Sage.

Four yellowed envelopes sat on top of a pile of folded quilts, each of their names written in their mother’s script.

“Oh my God.” Tears started flowing from Mattie’s eyes. “If I’d known this trunk contained a letter to me from Mom, I’d have opened this years ago.”

“Me, too,” Dani agreed.

And yet they didn’t snatch up the envelopes. Callan felt spellbound. “Mom was the last person to touch them.”

“It’s like a gift from heaven,” Sage whispered. “Or a dream. I’m afraid if I reach for it, my envelope will disappear and I’ll wake up.”

Callan knew exactly how she felt. And yet they only had a few hours before the others returned from their horse ride. “Mattie go first.”

“Okay.” Mattie reached out her hand and touched the paper. She smiled. “It’s real.” Then she picked it up and turned it over. Whatever adhesive might have held down the flap had long ago broken down and she pulled out a single seat of paper filled with writing.

“I’m going to read this aloud.” She sank into a cross-legged position and leaned over the letter.

Dear Mattie, if you’re reading this it’s because I’m dead and never had a chance to tell you the truth about your father. I promised Hawksley I would keep this secret as long as he was alive. It was one of the conditions of our very complicated marriage, a marriage that suited the old adage, marry in haste, repent in leisure.

I was very young when I started seeing Hawksley. I’d just broken off with a man I was crazy about—and I was also pregnant with this other man’s baby. I told Hawksley the truth, and he offered to marry me. He’d been in love with me for a long time, and I think he saw this as his golden opportunity to have me. But in the end, I wasn’t the right wife for him. I wasn’t strong or tough enough.

But my life had its rewards, and you were the first, Mattie. Your biological father, Bill Sheenan, never knew you were his. Or at least he may have suspected, but I never confirmed it out of loyalty to Hawksley.

I’m so sorry for this deception, my girl. I hope I loved you enough to make up for the hurt of being denied your true father.

All my love, your Mother.

Stunned silence followed Mattie’s reading of the closing line. Callan had been nursing a suspicion about her own parenthood. But Mattie’s? Never. Was this what her father had been referring to when he’d uttered that last word in the ambulance? Maybe he’d thought she was Mattie. Everyone said they looked alike, and by then he would have been very lightheaded and confused.

“This is crazy,” Mattie said slowly. “And yet...something about it feels right. At least it makes me feel less guilty about the lack of connection I had with Hawksley.”

“I never would have guessed,” Dani said. “Too bad we didn’t find this out before Bill Sheenan passed away.”

“The timing is interesting,” Mattie said. “Both men dying within a year of each other. You realize if Mom hadn’t been killed by that stupid cow she would be sitting here right now, telling us this news in person.”

“Don’t you wish she’d told you from the beginning?” Sage asked.

“I’m not sure,” Mattie said softly. “My relationship with Hawksley would have been even more tense. But I do wonder if Bill Sheenan knew the truth. I can remember him singling me out a few times at various community events. He’d ask how I was doing, and seemed really interested.”

“I wonder what’s in the other letters?” Callan’s eyes were on the one meant for her. She rubbed her fingers together, resisting the urge to grab for it.

“I’m not sure I want to read mine,” Dani said. “I’m still reeling from Mattie’s.”

“Same here,” Sage agreed.

“Then I’ll go next.” Before anyone could argue, Callan snatched hers and pulled out the letter.

Dear Callan, you were a handful from the start. My most challenging delivery, a colicky baby and a temperamental toddler. But you adored Hawksley from the beginning, would follow him every chance you got.

I wish I had been able to share those feelings. But a few years before you were born, I’d become deeply unhappy with my marriage. I made the mistake of inviting Bill Sheenan in one night when your father was camping out in the mountains, during the fall round-up. I’d dated Bill when I was younger and he had a sensitive side that I could never see in Hawksley.

I do believe you were conceived that evening, Callan. I pray this doesn’t hurt you too much. If I had been a stronger person, I would have left Hawksley. But I didn’t, and my relationship with Bill helped me get through some of the tougher times.

It also gave me you. Please know that you are loved, Callan. Certainly by me, and even by Hawksley, though he isn’t one to show such things. You are the only one of my children he ever carried on his shoulders or invited to sit on his lap when he was watching television. Believe in that bond. And forgive me if you can.

All my love, your mother.

When she reached the end, Callan turned the page over, hoping for more. But that was all her mother had written, a handful of paragraphs that changed who Callan thought she was, and how she fit into this world.

“So I am a bastard after all.”

Sage wrapped her in a hug. “Don’t. That’s such an ugly, old-fashioned word.”

“I think Mom was right,” Mattie added. “You were Hawksley’s favorite. Always.”

“Really?” Callan said sarcastically. Then she blinked, as the significance of her father’s will clicked into place for her. “This is why he left the ranch to Court. Because we aren’t really his children. Court is related to him by blood. Not us.”

Her words stunned them.

Dani was the first to recover. “But Sage and me. We must be Hawksley’s children...?”

They all stared at the two remaining letters. Then at each other.

Sage shrank back. “You first, Dani.”

Solemnly Dani took the penultimate envelope and slid out the letter. She took a big breath, then began:

Dear Dani,

I hope that I am able to deliver this news to you in person one day, after Hawksley has had a long, long life. But in the event that doesn’t happen, it’s only fair that you know you are not Hawksley’s biological daughter.

For years after Mattie was born, I prayed for a second child. Being a rancher’s wife—especially a rancher as taciturn and somewhat cold as Hawksley—was hard on me. I coped by pouring love into my garden in the summer, quilting in the winter, and always and most importantly, my baby.

But I wanted more than one child, and so did Hawksley. Finally he agreed to come with me for medical testing. That was when we discovered that for unknown reasons—perhaps a childhood illness, or one of his many tumbles on the ranch—Hawksley’s sperm count was too low for us to have another child.

He was devastated by this news—and so was I. It took me another year to convince him to let me try artificial insemination. I went all the way to Seattle, since Hawksley didn’t want the biological father to be from Montana.

The profile we chose was from a man who worked as a professor. He had great health, a high IQ, was tall and handsome. As you grew older and it became clear just how intelligent youwere, yourself, I was often tempted to tell you the truth.