Cowboy Boots for Christmas (9 page)

“Then I guess you really did shoot at them women?”

“No, I shot at a tree to scare them. They were rolling around in my front yard acting like a couple of idiots. I didn’t feel like going out there in my bare feet and pulling them apart.”

He grinned. “Last time I got in the middle of the feud, I got a bullet in my leg. So nowadays when I get a call to come up here, I take my time and have a few doughnuts before I leave Gainesville. If they kill each other, well, they shouldn’t be feudin’. Let’s have a cup of coffee and visit a spell and then I’ll be on my way.”

“And your report?”

“What report?” He grinned.

“Hey, Callie.” Finn pushed his way inside the house. “Is that kidney bean soup I smell? It’s my favorite.”

She turned around at the sink and nodded. “It’s ready to dip up a bowl, and we’ve got hot biscuits to go with it.”

“Now that’s a treat. Give me two minutes to wash up. It’s blowing like crazy out there and supposed to get worse. Could I get you to help me feed this afternoon? I promise we’ll be finished by the time Martin gets home. Where did that box of doughnuts come from?”

“It’s an empty box, so don’t get your hopes up,” she said.

“But where did it come from?”

“Remember the fight this morning?”

Joe chose that moment to imitate the noises he’d heard when Callie fired at the tree. “Cops! Cops! Hide!” he yelled in a deep voice.

He hung his coat on the back of a chair. “How could I forget it? Are you telling me that Honey or Betsy brought a peace offering?”

“No. Honey called the sheriff after the shooting. My gun was on the table, but we just moved it aside so he could eat his last two doughnuts. I think he was flirting with me.” She laughed.

“He’d have to be stone-cold blind or crazy as bat shit not to flirt with you,” Finn said. “Now about helping me feed?”

“I hired on to do whatever you needed,” she said.

“Whatever?” He wiggled his eyebrows. Even that silly gesture put her mind into the gutter. Need and want were two different things for both of them, and she still wasn’t over being angry at having her morning ruined or by him stopping at one red-hot, scorching kiss either.

“Needed, not wanted. Wash your hands and let’s eat dinner.”

***

Feeding cows, driving a truck, and cutting loose hay bales all came back to Callie like riding a bicycle, but that didn’t mean she enjoyed it. The wind got harsher as the day went on, and the skies got darker. If she was going to stay on the ranch, she’d have to buy a warmer coat next time they got into a bigger place than Burnt Boot because her jacket didn’t do much to keep the warmth in or the cold out. Running in the snow in nothing more than a sweatshirt was one thing; working in it was quite another.

She had located a fairly new pair of broken-in work gloves in the console of the old truck, and they fit just fine so her fingers didn’t go numb as she helped Finn toss hay out to the cattle. She’d worked on ranches from the time she was old enough to stick her hand under a hen’s feathers and get the eggs until she signed on the dotted line and became the property of the U.S. Army for six years. She had dreamed every night of getting away from the smell of cow manure back then, and now here she was right back in the middle of it.

“Let me help with that,” Finn yelled over the noise of bawling cows, wind, and the engine of the truck. He pulled a pair of clippers from his back pocket, snapped the wire loose, and kicked the hay bale away from the rusted tailgate.

A bit of a red flannel shirt peeked out from the mustard-colored work coat. Under that shirt was a broad chest of tight muscles, probably covered with a crop of soft chest hair. She fought back the desire to reach up under there and warm her cold hands.

“What are you thinking about? You look like you’re in another world.” He started around the truck with her right behind him.

“I guess I was.” She got into the pickup quickly so that all the warm air wouldn’t escape.

“One where there’s no cows or hay to deal with?”

“I didn’t like ranchin’ when I was a kid, and my opinions about cows and hay haven’t changed since I left it,” she said.

“You go there to that other world very often?” he asked as Shotgun jumped into the truck from the driver’s side and settled between them.

She wasn’t about to confess that the world she’d been visiting had to do with chest hair and not with sand and broiling-hot sun or even cows and hay.

“More than I should,” she answered honestly.

“At least Christmas on a ranch is a lot different than Afghanistan at Christmas, isn’t it?”

“Here, it’s really Christmas. Over there, it was like we were playacting, but we did have a pretty tree,” she said.

He reached around Shotgun and squeezed her knee. Denim and leather gloves separated skin from skin, or she was sure it would have left a red hand print on her leg. “That, honey, was the ugliest damn thing ever put up and called a Christmas tree. But I still smile every Christmas when I think about it.”

“Yellow light,” she said softly.

“Don’t start that shit on me now, Callie.”

“So you remember?”

“Of course, I remember. We all had to take those damn classes on sexual harassment. Red light meant back off six feet. Yellow light meant don’t come any closer, and green light meant lock the door because we’re about to start shucking out of our clothes.”

“I don’t think that’s the way the instructor really explained it,” she told him.

“It’s the way I heard it. So why did you say yellow light right then?”

She gathered her thoughts as she looked straight ahead, knowing if she looked at his jawline, his lips, or even that damn black hat, she wouldn’t be able to explain. “You know about my sister and the way she went from one boyfriend to another, each one not worth a damn. I’m afraid I’ll turn out to be like her.”

“Callie, you can kick that shit out of your head. You aren’t anything like that. You are raisin’ Martin, and you’re a damn good mother to that kid.”

“Maybe I just cover it up real good,” she said.

“Bullshit. Whatever you think is written all over your face. You couldn’t cover up anything,” he said.

She damn sure had him buffaloed, but she wasn’t going to ’fess up about the blistering-hot thoughts she’d had all afternoon.

***

Finn liked everything that had happened in his world since Callie showed up. He liked the way they worked together, her damn fine cooking, and the comfortable feeling between them. It had always been like that, from the first day they were sent out on a mission together. He’d about gone AWOL when they told him he’d be working with a female spotter, but she’d shown him that first time that she was solid as a rock.

A month ago, when he had driven through the cattle guard out by the road and through the arch onto Salt Draw Ranch, he knew that his soul had come home to roost. And now that Callie was there, he was more at peace than he’d been in two years, and he’d do anything to keep her around.

They finished up the chores and had just settled into the sofa with a cup of piping-hot coffee when Martin burst through the front door. Shotgun raised his head, jumped to his feet, and put his paws on Martin’s chest. Pistol opened his big, bulging brown eyes and ambled over to Martin. Angel darted from under the sofa and sniffed the backpack on the floor as if a strange critter had come to threaten her position.

Joe said, “Cat. Cat. Run, dog, run.”

“He doesn’t need a bit of coaxing to talk, does he?” Callie asked.

“Well, dammit, Mary! Joe wants apples!” He rattled on as he pranced back and forth.

“Hey, Joe, how you doin’, old man? I think they all missed me, Callie. Poor things had to stay home all day and wonder if I was comin’ back.” He kissed Shotgun right on the nose and got a big slurpy kiss up his cheek for his efforts. “I’ll change out the newspaper soon as I get something to eat. I’m starving.”

“So I don’t see black eyes or a bloody nose. You must’ve got along all right.” Finn patted Callie on the back as he talked.

“And I see your old work shoes on your feet,” Callie fussed.

“Ahh, Callie, I couldn’t wear them others to the first day of school. I like my teacher, but I don’t like all them girls except for Olivia. She’s okay because she’s real smart, and me and her tied for the math test today. We was the only ones who made a hundred.”

“Sounds to me like you had a pretty good day,” Finn said.

“I did, and tomorrow I get to ride the bus with Adam and Ricky and Olivia. They’re my new best friends. I’m going to put on my old jeans so me and Shotgun can go outside and play.” Martin ran off to his room to change.

“Shotgun! Hit the dirt, scumbag,” Joe yelled.

Callie grabbed the blanket from her bed and trailed it behind her on the way to the porch. She wasn’t in Afghanistan. She was on a ranch in north Texas. But it wouldn’t be real until she was out of the house and could feel the cold against her skin, know that she was for sure on Finn’s ranch, and discern the difference between nightmare and reality.

She tiptoed past Joe. His head was tucked under his wing, and for once he didn’t start yelling or making gun noises. She’d gone for weeks without the dreams, and this was the second night of them in less than a week. Martin was doing well in school, making friends, and she and Finn settled into their routine. He was constantly hugging her or touching her hand or her shoulder, and there’d been a few more kisses, but mostly it was workouts in the morning, work on the ranch in the afternoon, entertain Martin in the evening. So why tonight?

A raccoon half the size of Shotgun ambled across the porch, down the steps, and out into the night. She checked for other wild varmints before she eased down in the corner, drew her knees up to her chest, and tucked the blanket in tightly around her body. Those were real snowflakes falling from the sky, and the landscape said she was in Texas. This was Salt Draw for sure, and the vivid pictures in her mind had been a nightmare.

A cow bawled in the distance, and a coyote howled up to the north of the ranch. No cows and coyotes where she’d been stationed. She’d just sit there a little while longer to let her heart settle, and then hopefully when she went back to bed, she’d sleep peacefully until morning.

***

Shotgun cold-nosed Finn right on the cheek and his eyes snapped open. Slowly, his eyes adjusted to the darkness, and he could see the hackles on Shotgun’s back standing straight up. A low growl came from Pistol over beside the fireplace, and Angel’s eyes were trained on the window. A slight bump against the outside wall brought Finn to a sitting position.

He tiptoed across the room, peeked through the blinds, and saw a big raccoon making his way down the steps. “Just a coon, boy, and, no, I will not let you out to chase him.”

Then he saw Callie slide down into the corner and roll up in a ball. He jammed his legs into a pair of flannel lounging pants, his bare feet down into cold boots, and his arms into the work jacket hanging on the bedpost. When he reached Callie, he sat down, pulled her into his lap, and wrapped his arms tightly around her.

Heart pounded against heart. Snow whirled around in a kaleidoscope of patterns under the dim moonlight. Words weren’t necessary. Finn knew exactly why Callie was on the porch at three o’clock in the morning.

Shotgun made two passes through the yard, nose to the ground, before he gave up and came back to rest his head in Callie’s lap. She pulled one hand free of the blanket and scratched his ears.

“Must’ve been a bad one,” Finn finally said.

She nodded.

“Want to talk about it? Therapist says that talking helps. I’m a good listener.”

“Therapist is full of shit.”

“I’m still a good listener.”

“You know without me talking,” she said.

He hugged her closer. “I do, Callie, but if and when you want to talk, I’m here.”

“I know, Finn, and I don’t mean to be bitchy. What we did over there, just tell me it was for the greater good.”

He tipped her chin up and his lips felt oh, so warm when they touched her cold mouth. “It was definitely for the greater good. That’s the only way to think if we want to stay sane.”

“Okay, then let’s go inside where it’s warm. I’m convinced now that I’m not over there on a mission.” She pushed out of Finn’s lap and went into the house.

Shotgun raced inside ahead of Finn and dropped like a chunk of lead in front of the fireplace beside Callie. One side of her face was in shadow, the other side dimly lit by the glow of the dying embers. Finn had seen her like that lots of times on midnight missions, but never had she looked as beautiful as she did right then.

He went to his room, kicked off his boots, changed damp pajama bottoms for a pair of jeans, tossed his coat over the back of a rocking chair, and dug a thermal shirt from a drawer. He padded barefoot back to the kitchen, where he made two cups of strong, hot tea in the microwave and carried them to the living room.

He sat down beside her and put a cup in her hands.

“Thanks,” she mumbled.

“Drink it. It’ll warm you from the inside,” he said.

Finn scooted his feet toward the fireplace. “Remember when my cousin Sawyer sent me the whiskey in a mouthwash bottle?”

A smile played at the corners of her mouth and lifted his spirits. He knew how hard it was to shake off the nightmares.

“We saved it for just the right time,” he said.

She nodded. “And after that Christmas, we figured since we’d missed the turkey, we might as well drink the whiskey.”

“And you got drunk as a skunk. I swear you can’t hold your liquor worth a damn,” Finn said.

“That’s because you let me drink the whole damn thing except for two shots,” she said.

He moved closer so that his feet were against hers. “Well, you were the one bitching about not getting to eat the big turkey dinner, and I was being a gentleman, letting you have all you wanted so you’d be happy. I bet it was even frozen turkey and the gravy was that canned shit.”

“You couldn’t see past Lala in those days, cowboy. I didn’t give a shit about the dinner itself. I just wanted to share it with you,” she said.

“Why didn’t you say something?” he asked.

“You were up in Lala’s brown eyes,” Callie said.

He set his half-empty cup on the coffee table and took hers from her hands and put it beside his. Then he laced his fingers in her hands and leaned in closer, gazing right into her eyes.

“Right now I only see Callie Brewster,” he whispered.

“Good. I never did like Lala. I knew something wasn’t right with that woman,” she whispered.

His lips were still cool when they landed on hers. His hands moved up under her shirt to massage the tight muscles in her back. She groaned.

He backed off. “Did I hurt you?”

“God, no! It felt wonderful,” she said. “Hold me, Finn. I don’t want to go to bed alone.”

He picked her up and carried her to the recliner, where he sat down with her in his lap and then pulled the lever. They faced each other, her body pressed against his, his face buried in her hair. “I’m right here, Callie. All night if you need me to be.”

Sleep didn’t come when he shut his eyes. Instead he got a picture of Callie lying beside him in the sand, camouflage covering everything but their eyes as they watched a truck approaching. Together they took out the target. Together they made it back to base in one piece. But it wasn’t until time and experiences brought them both to Salt Draw that they were really together.

He’d barely shut his eyes when all hell broke loose. Joe started squawking about police and coroners. Pistol added his high-pitched barking, and poor old Shotgun went crazy, running from the window to the door, howling like a rabid coyote at the full moon. Callie’s cussing over the top of it all came through loud and clear.

Finn jerked the lever and Callie was suddenly standing in the middle of the floor.

“What is going on out there? It sounds like Big Foot is on our porch,” Callie said.

Finn threw the door open. “It’s cattle and a lot of them. Looks like another stampede, only this time it stopped in our front yard.”

She flipped on the porch light. Shotgun pawed at the storm door, and Joe started yelling about crackers and cats, as if he couldn’t figure out what he wanted.

“There’s a big hindquarter pressed up against the door, and I can see a brand. Looks like these came from River Bend Ranch because there’s an RBR right there in plain sight. I guess we call them, right?”

“The Gallaghers are getting back at the Brennans for ruining Santa Claus and their tree. Dammit, Callie. I thought we were through with this feud. Call the sheriff and get him out here before you call anyone else,” Finn said. “Me and Shotgun will get them off the porch.”

“Looks like more than a hundred of them, but how did they wind up in our yard?” Callie asked.

“I expect that Betsy is sending you and Honey a message,” Finn said. “And to think I came to Burnt Boot for peace and quiet.”

She found the sheriff’s number in the old phone book on top of the refrigerator and poked the numbers into her cell phone.

“Sheriff Orville Newberry here,” he answered.

“Hello, this is Callie Brewster out at Salt Draw. We’ve got cattle all over the ranch with the River Bend brand. They’re even on our porch. I expect when we call the Brennans there’s going to be a problem because they’re going to blame the Gallaghers for turning their cattle loose,” she said.

“Go on and call them. I’ll be there right soon. And, Callie, it’s nice to hear your voice again,” the sheriff said.

With modern-day technology lending a helping hand to the gossip grapevine, news traveled faster than the speed of light, even at midnight on a cloudy night. The Brennans, led by Honey and Declan, showed up at Salt Draw before Finn and Shotgun shooed the last cranky heifer off the porch.

They arrived on four-wheelers, with dogs that Shotgun did not like, to round up their cattle and take them back to River Bend Ranch. Honey was decked out in a cute little snug-fitting light blue jacket that matched her gloves and stocking hat, tight jeans, and cowboy boots.

“Does she go to bed with her hair done and makeup on?” Callie grumbled.

“Well, hello, Finn,” Honey said sweetly as she parked her four-wheeler right up next to the porch. “Looks like somebody done cut the fence to our pasture of prize breeders and turned them loose on Salt Draw. You reckon your bodyguard did that? We called the sheriff on our way over here to tell him. I reckon he’ll have a few questions for her. I suppose I would be willin’ to drop all charges, which I do plan to file, since I’m sure you probably got at least one high-dollar breedin’ from the best bull on River Bend Ranch while my herd was mingled up with yours.”

“Callie didn’t do any of this. She’s been in the house all night,” Finn said gruffly.

Callie never wanted to slap the shit out of someone so bad in her entire life, and right here at Christmas when folks were supposed to be nice and have kindness and love in their hearts.

“I’ll drop the charges against her if you’ll go out with me on Friday night,” Honey said. “Little dinner at my place. Little movie afterward with some wine, and then we’d see where it leads.”

“For one thing, you twit,” Callie said, “you can file all the charges you want to, but there’s got to be some proof for them to stick. I was either in this house all evening or on the porch and have witnesses to prove it.”

“Guess that answers your question,” Finn said. “I’m surprised you haven’t gone gunnin’ for the Gallaghers.”

“That’s exactly why we called the sheriff. Damn Gallaghers have gone too far this time,” Declan said. “We’re going to nail their asses to the wall and laugh when they have to spend time in prison for this. Honey, get back on your machine and help us. We’ll be until daylight gettin’ them all back in our pasture. Don’t suppose you’d want to help us, Finn?”

“Ain’t my feud or my problem. I didn’t cut a fence, yours or mine. You get your herd back through and make sure ain’t none of them carryin’ my brand or the Salt Draw one, and I’ll fix my own fence.”

Sheriff Orville showed up at ten minutes past one while Honey and Declan were trying to herd one rangy old bull from behind the house toward the gap in the fence out near the road. He parked the car, sidestepped every cow pile between there and the house, and handed Callie a box of a dozen frosted doughnuts with sprinkles on the top.

“Most of the shops shut up in the middle of the afternoon, but Walmart stays open all night.” He smiled. “You can have them for breakfast. Might be a little warmer inside for me to take down your report of what’s happened here.”

Honey skidded to a stop beside the porch, hopped off, and popped both hands on her hips. “Orville, I’m pressing rustling charges against Callie Brewster and Betsy Gallagher both. Way I see it is that Betsy cut the fences and Callie intended to sell my cattle on the black market.”

“Way I see it is that y’all are back in the middle of your feud, and Miz Callie ain’t got a thing to do with it. You can press charges all night, but if you ain’t got evidence to bring to court, you might as well spend your time primpin’ and cussin’,” Orville said. “You can come on down to the office tomorrow afternoon and give me your statement.”

“You can come to the ranch,” Honey said.

Orville crossed his arms above his doughnut belly. “I could, but I ain’t. Last time I got in the middle of the feud, I got shot. I ain’t goin’ nowhere near them ranches unless it’s life or death. This ain’t. So you got something to say, you come to the office.”

“I’ll put these doughnuts inside. Thank you for them. It’s late, Sheriff. Maybe we could tell you our side of the story tomorrow, too,” Callie said.

“That’d be just fine, and it’s Orville, ma’am.” He tipped his hat and headed back to his car. In his haste, he stepped in a fresh pile of manure.

“Well, crap!” Callie said when he was in his vehicle.

Finn chuckled.

“What’s so damn funny?” Callie asked.

“You’re right. He is flirting. We can share the doughnuts with Martin tomorrow. You going to help me fix a fence?”

“Who says I’m sharing? And, yes, I’ll hold the flashlight,” she answered.

***

Martin was out the door and running toward the school bus before Callie realized he wasn’t wearing his good shoes again that morning, but then she’d only had two hours of sleep after helping Finn with the cut fence. Thank goodness for Shotgun, who kept Salt Draw cattle at bay so they could get the barbed wire tightened enough to keep their cattle in and anyone else’s out.

“Don’t go out there. Danger. Danger. Danger,” Joe fussed when Martin left.

“Why couldn’t your owner have liked country music instead of cop shows?” Callie made a mental note to check Martin’s shoes the next day. She’d paid good money for new shoes, and he’d picked them out himself, so be damned if they were going to sit in the closet until he outgrew them.