A Cowboy Christmas Miracle (Burnt Boot, Texas Book 4) (21 page)

Rosalie poured two fingers in a red cup and set it on the bar in front of her and made change for the bill that Betsy gave her. “So I guess from the song you just picked out, you want to be mad for a while longer. You sending a message to Tanner, Declan, or the whole Gallagher and Brennan clans? I’ve heard all kinds of rumors.”

“Biggest rumor?” Betsy sipped the whiskey.

“That Tanner was bettin’ with both of you and wound up with two thousand dollars. Second biggest is that Declan really won the bet, but he fell in love with you and that’s why he paid off Tanner, so he could ask you out on a real date. Either one of them true?”

Betsy shrugged. “First one isn’t. I did not have a bet with Tanner. You’d have to ask Declan for answers to the second one, not me.”

“Holy smokes! That song is coming on again,” Rosalie said.

Betsy held up six fingers. “It’s going to play for the next twenty minutes. Six times in all. Some men are dense. Like second grade students, they need lots of repetition to get the message.”

“Well, he ought to get the message that you aren’t going to drive a stake through his heart but that he’d best give you some space,” Rosalie said.

Terri sang that she wasn’t ready to make up, that she thought she was right and he was wrong and not to try to make her smile because she wanted to be mad for a while. Betsy tapped her fingers on top of the bar, keeping up with the beat through every song. When the last one finished, the whole crowd applauded.

Declan made his way through the crowd and went to the jukebox, plugged in a fistful of coins, and poked a few buttons, then raised his red cup in a salute toward Betsy.

“I think he got the message.” Rosalie smiled. “Another whiskey?”

“No, maybe a club soda,” Betsy said. “I want to be sober.”

Jamie O’Neal started singing “When I Think about Angels” and Betsy glanced across the room at Declan, who winked. The lyrics said that everything about her was a beautiful distraction and everywhere he went or everything he did made him think about her, and that when he thought about heaven, he thought about angels, and when he thought about angels, he thought about her. A girl was singing, but Betsy heard it as a song from a guy because Declan had played it for her.

The next song came from Sammy Kershaw—“She Don’t Know She’s Beautiful”—and Rosalie smiled. “I think y’all need to talk, rather than fighting with the jukebox.”

“Not yet. I’m not done being mad,” Betsy said.

Rosalie went to the other end of the bar and drew a beer for a customer, then made her way back to Betsy. “Got to admit, it would take more than twenty-four hours for me to get over that too. I hear that Mavis is crowing now that John and Honey are an item and this new battle in the feud has been dubbed the love war. Kind of fitting here at Christmas.”

“I could care less about the love war,” Betsy declared.

“Sounds to me like you might be the biggest star in this war.” Rosalie laughed. “A preacher and Honey wouldn’t be anything like a Gallagher and a Brennan falling in love.”

“You know what love is?” Betsy asked.

“Trust?” Rosalie said.

“It’s a four-letter word, and I’ve been warned many times about those damn things.”

Tanner propped a hip on the bar stool beside her and motioned for Rosalie to bring a pitcher of beer. “Betsy,” he said softly.

“If you’re planning on pouring that on my head, I wouldn’t,” she said coldly.

“I came to apologize. I should have told you or put an end to the bet when you came in the bar that night, but it would’ve been letting a Brennan defeat me,” he said.

“Did you hear that song I just played six times? Do I need to play it another six? I’m mad, and it’s going to take me a long time to get over it,” she said.

Tanner put up his palms. “Will you call me when you’re over it?”

“It might take fifty years.”

He dropped his hands. “That’s a long time to carry a grudge.”

“That was a nasty thing you did. You caused this, and I hope Granny punishes you.”

Eli started across the room, and she gave him an evil look that stopped him in his tracks. He went back to the jukebox and chose half a dozen Christmas songs, but even that didn’t sweeten her mood.

“Tell me you didn’t really go out with Declan. Please promise me that you didn’t…” Tanner stopped. “You didn’t really fall for that line of bull he puts out, did you? It’s all a lie.”

“And you know because you use the same lines, right? All of you are pigs from hell. You wouldn’t know love if it bit you square on the ass. Rosalie, I need a burger basket, double meat, double cheese, lots of onions, so I can breathe on these sorry suckers who want to sit close to me and talk,” Betsy said.

Tanner started to walk away but stopped when Betsy tapped him on the shoulder.

“One more thing, darlin’ Cousin. I’m not promising anything and I’m not telling you just what we did do in that big, king-size hotel bed.”

His face went pale. “When Granny hears that, she’ll send one of us gunnin’ for Declan.”

“And if a single one of you lays a hand on a hair on his head, you will answer to my shotgun. I mean it, and you can spread the word. If anyone gets to shoot him, it will be me, and I haven’t decided if I want him dead yet. Understood?”

“But Granny—” he said.

“I’m meaner than Naomi Gallagher ever hoped to be and don’t you forget it.”

Rosalie chuckled. “Sounds like a love war to me. You just took up for a Brennan.”

“I didn’t take up for him. I’m saving him until I decide what his punishment is going to be. For the record, I’m still deciding what Tanner’s and Eli’s ultimate fates will be too.”

“Maybe we’d better rename this new feud the come-to-Jesus war.”

“Or come-to-Betsy war.” She finally smiled.

Betsy found a note in her coat pocket on the way home that evening. It simply said, “You have a right to be mad as long as you want. When you are ready to talk, call me. Until then, know I am sorry for all this.” At the end was his phone number written in big letters.

She tried.

She really, really tried to get over it as she drove toward Lottie’s place on slippery roads. But the big, gaping cut across her heart still hurt too badly. She’d bluffed very well, but Tanner was her favorite cousin. And Declan? A lump formed in her throat.

She wasn’t ready to go home, so she made a loop around town, driving slow and looking at all the Christmas lights. The tree in front of the grocery store was still standing although the wind had tangled the garland and knocked a few of the ornaments off. The angel on the top of the tree beckoned to her with open arms, but what could a plastic angel do to relieve her heartache?

Driving past the bar again, she glanced over at the Gallagher tree. It didn’t look a whole lot different than the Brennans’—garland twisted up from the hard north winds and a few busted ornaments, but both were still standing.

The church was dark and that was a crying shame. It was Christmas. The church should be the first building in town to show the spirit, not the bar and the store. If the feud ever ended, Betsy made a vow that there would be no trees in town and that a lovely, life-size nativity scene would be placed on the church lawn.

With all the lights in town shining brightly, a soft glow covered Burnt Boot that Friday evening. It reminded her of a Thomas Kincaid picture on her grandmother’s calendar. She’d given it to Naomi for Christmas last year, and looking back, the year had been anything but peaceful and sweet. And it was ending on a note that said she might never be welcome at Wild Horse for the holidays again.

She found herself at the locked gates at the end of the road leading down to the Red River. Not sure how she’d gotten there but knowing that she could think better under her old willow tree than anywhere else, she parked the truck, climbed over the fence, and made her way down to the very tree where she and Declan had started this whole mess. Was it only three weeks ago? Mercy, it seemed like years.

But you’ve known him your whole life
, her conscience argued as she trudged through the snow on the uneven ground.

“Which means I should have known better,” she said.

The limbs of the poor weeping willow dragged to the ground with the weight of the ice and snow, but they did provide enough cover that part of the ground under the tree was still bare. Enough that she could sit down and pretend she was in an igloo somewhere far, far away from Burnt Boot. Maybe that’s what she needed—a trip out of the forest for a few days.

“Can’t do that. I want that ranch too bad to throw in the towel now. And besides, a Gallagher does not run from problems,” she whispered.

“Neither does a Wiseman.” A branch cracked and ice filtered down on her boots as Declan pushed his way uninvited into her Texas-style igloo.

He sat down and left a foot of space between them, but that didn’t stop the sparks from heating up the tiny space. If it had been natural heat, the ice would have melted in seconds, sending a shower of cold rain down on their heads. She didn’t look at him, didn’t dare, not the way the emotions were rattling around in her body. Anger and peace made strange bedfellows. Or maybe they made impossible bed partners because she couldn’t have one when the other was present.

After several minutes of silence, he laid his gloved hand on hers.

She left hers on the sand and didn’t jerk it away because his touch brought a measure of comfort to her troubled soul. A herd of deer appeared on the other side of the river and cautiously approached the still, cold water for a drink before bounding back into the wooded area and disappearing in the mesquite and scrub oaks.

The moon tried to throw off a little light, but dark clouds kept covering it, along with the stars. Was this what it was like when baby Jesus was born in that stable more than two thousand years ago? Did the shepherds and wise men have trouble following the bright star?

She looked up through the icy limbs at the sky. Three stars peeked out boldly from behind a cloud. Which one should she follow? The one that pointed her down the sandbar, over the fence, and back to Wild Horse? The one over there that seemed to be sending her back to the Double L to fight for the place her heart wanted so badly? Or that one right smack above them that said to follow Declan wherever he led?

After a while, Declan stood up and walked away. He didn’t look back or say a word, and his absence created a big empty hole in her heart. When she looked back up, a bright star was shining right above her head.

* * *

On Saturday morning, Lottie announced that she and Betsy would spend the day in the kitchen making cookies. “We’ll make a dozen different kinds to wrap up and take to the neighbors on Monday. I have to make them this year since it’s my last year here. And, Declan, the ranch books are right there. Today you get to go over them. I put a brand-new spiral notebook and a pencil there beside them so you can take notes. And there’s a calculator there too. I set up a card table over there in the corner of the living room for you to work on. One day next week, you get to look over the books, Betsy. This way you’ll know exactly how the ranch has produced for more than fifty years and know that I’m giving one of you a really good deal on this place.”

“You don’t have it on a computer?” Declan asked.

“Why would I? Whole world has gone crazy after all this technology, but not me. House catches on fire, I know to grab those books and the bag of money I got socked away that the bank or the IRS don’t know about. It’s my egg and butter money, and I figure I paid taxes on the chickens and cows once, so it’s fair and square. I’m not big enough to carry one of them big computers out of here,” Lottie said.

“They make laptops,” Betsy told her.

“What if it went boom, or what is it that you young folks call it when one of those idiot machines quits working?”

“It crashes,” Declan said.

“That’s it. Think about it.
Crash
is not a good word. No, thank you. I will keep my books on paper. Now if y’all want to put all them figures into a computer after I’m gone, then that’s your business, but until then, it’s paper and pencil. Not even pens because sometimes I have to erase.” She turned from him to Betsy. “We’ll start with gingerbread cookies. We make them in a bar pan and cut them into squares. Recipe makes a lot, but then we’ll be visiting quite a few houses on Monday, so that’s good. Get five pounds of flour from the pantry, Betsy.”

“I may come to the little kids Sunday school class tomorrow if you’re bringing cookies,” Betsy said.

“I always take cookies to Sunday school class.”

“I remember,” Declan called out from the living room.

By suppertime, Betsy was physically exhausted and Declan was in the same shape mentally. They sat down to a meal of homemade chicken noodle soup and thick chunks of toasted homemade bread with a side dish of cheese, pickled okra, and black olives and a huge platter of cookies for dessert.

Neither Declan nor Betsy had said more than a handful of words to each other all day and that had been at the table when one of them asked for salt and the other one for butter. Lottie had prattled about everything, anything, and nothing, but Betsy had learned to pick out the thread of the conversation and let the rest float away.

“I’m not one to meddle in other folks’ business but I’ve got something to say. Pass the soup down to Declan, Betsy. His bowl is empty and he’s trying to figure out a way to ask for it without using words. This cold business between y’all has to stop. I know you are both angry, and rightly so, but you ain’t never going to get this resolved by the silent treatment. At meals, you are going to talk to each other and to me, or you can pack up your bags and get off this ranch. I don’t like tension,” Lottie said.

“Would you like some more soup, Declan?” Betsy said.

“Yes, ma’am. I can pass my bowl but please don’t accidentally drop it in my lap,” he answered.

“That’s better,” Lottie muttered and went back to eating.

“Bread?” Declan asked.

“Yes, please,” Betsy said.

“The Sunday school class is going to miss you,” Declan said.

Lottie’s old eyes lit up when she smiled. “I know, and I’ll miss them, but it’s time to move on. My bones get cold in winters like this, and I can’t get out and take care of the cows with snow and ice on the ground. Last year it was tough getting the hay in the barn.”

“You hauled hay?” Betsy exclaimed.

“I’m a rancher,” Lottie huffed. “Hired me a boy to throw it on the truck after I got it baled, but I helped him stack it when we got to the barn. When it was all gone this winter, I knew it was time to sell the cows and the ranch. I can’t do that another summer.”

“How long has it been since the bunkhouse was used?” Declan asked.

“Before you moved in, maybe ten years. Me and Leland, we sized down but we took care of the place ourselves with help from one or two hired boys in the summertime.”

“And before that?” Betsy asked.

“We had four hired hands all the time. Leland never would make none of them the foreman, but whichever one was the oldest got the bedroom with a door. The others had to make do with the bunk beds.”

Betsy kept a close eye on Declan’s soup bowl. Words, hard as they were to say, weren’t going to keep her from having this ranch. And evidently, he’d found some very nice figures in those books for him to talk to her.

When supper was finished, dishes done, and Declan off to the bunkhouse, Betsy took a long, soaking bath. The bathroom was small and gave testimony to its age. The wall-hung, pea-green sink had a floral curtain hanging around it, hiding the plunger, various cleaners, and a brush to clean the potty, which was the same color as the sink. The tub though—now that was pure luxury, even if Lottie had painted the outside to match the rest of the fixtures. The inside of the deep claw-foot tub was shiny porcelain, and the water came up to Betsy’s chin when she laid back.

When the water went lukewarm, she got out and wrapped a big towel around her body, padded softly across the hall to her bedroom even though a SWAT team storming the house wouldn’t have awakened Lottie. She’d worn herself out with all the baking and cooking that day and had gone to bed right after eight o’clock.

Betsy dressed in flannel pajama pants and a thermal knit shirt before picking up her latest novel, a thick romance titled
The Traitor
by a favorite author, Grace Burrowes. It seemed fitting after the ordeal with both Tanner and Declan.

She opened the book, but before she read the first sentence, a bit of bright neon-orange caught her eye on the nightstand.

“A sticky note?” She frowned.

It hadn’t been there earlier before she’d gone to take a bath. Where had it come from and who put it there? She stared at it a full minute before she reached across the bed to pick it up.

Stuck to an individually wrapped Twinkie, she brought both up at the same time and peeled the note off. She stared at it for several seconds before reading the familiar handwriting:

You were in the fifth grade. I was in the seventh. Miz Lottie’s Sunday school room about Christmastime. She had to be gone that Sunday, and the substitute brought a basket of individually wrapped treats. There was one Twinkie in the basket and you grabbed it first and said it was your favorite snack in the whole world. Enjoy this one tonight.

It was signed with Declan’s initials inside a heart.

She carefully removed the wrapper from the snack, eased the cake out without leaving a sticky mess, and ate the whole thing before she put the note and the wrapper in a shoebox where she stored all her Declan memories. Someday, she might burn them, or when she was past eighty and making cookies in the kitchen of this very farmhouse, she might remember that Christmas when she and Declan fought over who would own the ranch.