A Cowboy Christmas Miracle (Burnt Boot, Texas Book 4) (5 page)

“Sometimes the old ways are best.” Kyle smiled.

* * *

Burnt Boot was a small town—grocery store, bar, church, and school that made up the core of several ranches. If anyone wanted anything more than what they could find in town, they went to Gainesville or Denton.

But like all little Texas towns, the gossip vines were busy twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week with no time off for holidays, not even Christmas. Lord help if anyone saw Betsy’s and Declan’s trucks both parked at the back of the church on Thursday nights.

Fear was something that had never been in Betsy’s vocabulary, but it was that Sunday afternoon. A thousand what-ifs played through her mind. As if Declan could read her thoughts, he said, “We’ll only bring my truck on Thursday nights. Your pink one would stand out like a neon light above a…café.”

She held back the giggle. From the blush, it was pretty evident that he’d quickly substituted
café
for something else, and she’d bet dollars to cow patties that it was
whorehouse
. Betsy had no idea a cowboy as broad shouldered and hot as Declan Brennan could blush, and it gave her satisfaction to know that she wasn’t the only one who’d had impure thoughts in church.

“I only have one spare key to the back door. Which one of you wants to be responsible for it?” Kyle asked.

“Give it to Betsy. She wanted this program more than me anyway.” Declan glanced down the pew at Betsy. “You be responsible for the key. I’ll get us here on Thursday night to bring in the stuff.”

“Sounds good to me,” Kyle said as he stood, stretched, and rolled his neck. “I’ll take care of that now. Like I said, y’all let me know if I can help any other way.”

“We will, and thanks. What we tell you, it’s like confessional, isn’t it? It is confidential?” Betsy chewed at her lower lip.

“As solid as attorney-client privilege or, like you said, confessional.” Kyle waved as he disappeared behind his office door.

“So we’re really going to do this?” Declan drawled.

“Looks like we are. You afraid?”

He shook his head. “Not me. You?”

“Not me. I live for danger. I’m a Gallagher.”

“You saying that Brennans are sissies?”

“If the shoe fits,” she answered.

“It doesn’t, and I’ll make a thousand-dollar bet with you that I can bring in more stuff than you can and keep the secret about why I want it. I can sweet-talk these old ladies into anything I want,” Declan bragged.

She sat cross-legged on the pew. “You think I can’t sweet-talk the old guys into making a manger and a framework for a nativity scene and donating bales of hay?”

“Bet or not?” Declan asked.

“Gambling in the church. What would Preacher Kyle say about that?”

“I thought you lived for danger,” Declan said.

* * *

Dammit!

Betsy’s green eyes flashed both anger and excitement, and if she’d been any other woman in the whole state of Texas, Declan would have started his mission right then and there to get her into bed. But not a Gallagher! No way was he getting tangled up with Betsy. Declan liked his house, his job, and his place on the ranch too well to screw it up.

Betsy unwound her shapely legs, which were encased in tight denim, and slid down closer to him. With green eyes flashing, she shoved out a hand. “It’s a bet. Do we judge by the number or the value of the items?”

“It would be hard to judge by the value, since we’d argue until the devil turned blue from cold about that, so we’ll go by the number of items.” He wrapped his big hand around her small one and shook it firmly. The shock of her touch was unlike anything he’d ever experienced. Chalking it up to the risks they were both taking, he dropped her hand. The tingling sensation was still there when Kyle returned and gave her the key.

Declan was glad that he’d made the offer for her to be in charge of the thing because right then, his hand was so hot that it would have turned the thing into liquid metal.

“Okay, you two. Let’s see if you can bring in what we need for a proper program. When I take stock of it all on the Sunday before Christmas, I’ll decide if we have enough. If not, it will be a start for next year,” he said.

“I’ll see to it that we have enough,” Betsy said.

“I understand there is a tree lighting at the store and the bar this next weekend,” Kyle said. “So those will be celebrations.”

“It’s usually a war,” Declan said. “The Gallaghers do something to destroy or mess up our party, so then we’re bound to have to retaliate.”

“How are you ever going to work together to make this program happen?” Kyle asked.

“Don’t worry, Preacher. We’ll get it done in spite of each other,” Declan said. “I’m leaving now. Betsy, we’ll meet here next Thursday night to discuss the rules?”

She nodded curtly.

“Okay then. No gathering of items until we talk about it, or the bet is off,” Declan said.

“What bet?” Kyle asked.

“That I can bring in more than he can.” Betsy shoved her arms into her denim duster.

“So this is a competition?”

“Everything between the Gallaghers and Brennans is a competition,” Declan said. “Have a happy Thanksgiving, Preacher. If you don’t have a place for dinner that day, you are welcome at River Bend.”

“Or at Wild Horse,” Betsy said.

“Thank you both, but I’m going home to Waurika, Oklahoma. My fiancée and I are having dinner at my folks’ place.”

“Then enjoy it,” Betsy said.

Declan crawled into his club cab truck and laughed out loud. He’d win this crazy Christmas war, collect his thousand dollars from Betsy, and give it to Tanner. That would make her even madder at her cousin when she found out what had happened at the poker game. He started the engine and had put the truck in reverse when someone tapped on the window.

Betsy made the motion for him to roll down the window.

He hit the button, and it slid down slowly. “What? Do you want to cancel the bet right now?”

“I just want to know what time we’re going to meet on Thanksgiving night since the can for notes might not be in place until after that.”

“How about ten o’clock? Park your truck at the bar. I’ll pick you up there, and we’ll park under the shade trees out back of the church and go inside to set up the rules.”

She gave a brief nod and walked away, her cute little butt swaying from side to side and making his mouth go dry.

Declan could not remember a single Thanksgiving without his sister, Leah. He’d just celebrated his second birthday when she was born, and ever since they were kids, Thanksgiving had been their favorite holiday. She hadn’t been welcome on River Bend since she’d married a man Mavis didn’t like. So this year, he planned to take her up on the offer to have Thanksgiving with her and her new husband, Rhett O’Donnell. The first plan had been to fix a turkey at her new home on Burnt Boot Ranch. Then the O’Donnells decided to get together with Sawyer and Jill at Fiddle Creek Ranch, so the plan changed.

Granny Mavis shot a dirty look his way that morning when he kissed her on the forehead and wished her a happy Thanksgiving. She didn’t say anything, but the cross between a disgruntled snort and long, wistful sigh let him know that she was not happy with him.

As near as he could count, there would be about fourteen people at the dinner, which made it a small gathering compared to the one that would be held on River Bend, with almost two hundred people.

And you, Granny darlin’, would give me more than evil looks if you knew that I was meeting Betsy Gallagher tonight
, he thought as he got into his truck and drove from Wild Creek to Fiddle Creek.

The trip took all of five minutes and would have been shorter if he could have gotten there as the crow flies, instead of by the road. Leah met him at the door with a hug and led him inside the Fiddle Creek bunkhouse.

Leah had always been the quiet Brennan, the good girl who did exactly what she was told and made no waves—right up until Rhett O’Donnell arrived in Burnt Boot on his motorcycle. Happiness and that little touch of sass she’d found hiding deep in her soul looked every bit as beautiful on her as her sparkling, sage-green eyes that morning.

Declan hugged her tightly to his side. “This is nice, Leah. Real nice. It’s warm and homey, and I’m jealous of you for having it.”

“You just got to find a soul mate, Brother, and then it doesn’t matter where you live or what you have because everything is wonderful,” she said softly.

A blaze in the fireplace crackled, sending warmth throughout the bunkhouse. Two cats were tangled up together, sleeping in front of the flames. The wonderful aroma of a variety of cooking food drifted from the kitchen. Three elderly women, Verdie, Gladys, and Polly, giggled like little girls as they worked together in the kitchen.

All three were the same age as his grandmother and Naomi Gallagher, and the feud would have probably completed destroyed Burnt Boot if it hadn’t been for Verdie, Gladys, and Polly setting down ground rules years and years ago, like the fact that the church, the bar, and the store were neutral territory.

“Hey, Declan,” Verdie yelled across the room. “It’s good to see you here.” She wore a bright-orange apron over a pair of baggy jeans and a sweatshirt with a turkey done up in sequins on the front. Two bobby pins held her black hair away from her face and her brown eyes glittered when she looked at Callie and Finn’s children playing with the cats.

Gladys peeked around the kitchen door and waved and so did Polly, both wearing matching aprons. They were sisters-in-law and lived together these days, since Polly sold the bar to Rosalie.

But they couldn’t have been more different. Gladys was a tall, rawboned, older woman with high cheekbones and very little white streaking her jet-black hair. Polly was just as tall, but her hair had more white than black and her face was softer.

“How’s things over on River Bend?” Gladys asked.

“Same as ever,” Declan answered. “This place smells wonderful. Do I smell homemade bread?”

“Wouldn’t be Thanksgiving without it,” Gladys said and went back into the kitchen.

Leah took Declan by the hand and pulled him across the room. “Come on over here. We’re making a centerpiece out of leaves the kids gathered for us and an old tree branch.”

Jill tucked a strand of red hair behind her ear and frowned. “Do we need candles, or would they get in the way of conversation? I don’t like leaning around the centerpiece to visit with folks across the table from me.”

Declan smiled at the women around the table. “This is what I imagined when we were kids and we talked about the perfect Thanksgiving.”

“It is, isn’t it?” Leah sighed.

“Hey, Declan,” Callie looked up from the extra fall leaves on the table. “Glad you could make it. Sawyer, Finn, and Rhett are out hunting down mistletoe, because later tonight, everyone is putting up Christmas decorations. They’ll be back any minute.”

Callie frowned and glanced across the room at her four kids. She laid a hand on her huge baby bump and stuck another leaf in the arrangement. “I have to use all of them, or one of the kids will get their feelings hurt because their special leaves didn’t make it into the arrangement. But it’s beginning to look like a pile of leaves out in the yard instead of a centerpiece. After this, I should rethink having a dozen kids, or else we should make more table decorations.”

Short, with dark hair and dark-green eyes, Callie was a beautiful woman, but more important than her looks was the fact that she had the mothering instinct down to an art. But then, she’d had lots of experience in raising her younger brother, Martin, and then added to that when she’d adopted three homeless children. Although the baby she was carrying was her first baby, it would be her fifth child.

Declan headed toward a rocking chair and Leah caught him by the arm.

“Was Granny okay?” she asked.

“Of course not. Her world is falling apart a stitch at a time and she’s mad as hell.”

“She’s put her world back together before. I’m sure she’ll do it again.”

A blast of cold air blew in the door, bringing three tall cowboys with it. Sawyer raised a hand. “Hey, Declan, glad you could make it. You missed the fun of climbing a tree to get mistletoe.” He held up a burlap feed bag with enough mistletoe to supply most of Burnt Boot that season. “Jill says we’re hanging it everywhere, so I brought plenty.”

Sawyer, the man of the Fiddle Creek bunkhouse slash home, was Jill’s husband. He set the bag on the floor and hung his heavy, mustard-colored work coat on a rack beside the door. All three of the O’Donnell cousins had features that testified that they were kinfolk—dark hair, square-cut jaws, and chiseled faces. But they all had different eye colors: Sawyer, the comedian, had dark brown; Rhett, the rebel cowboy, had light green; and Finn, the quiet cousin, had blue.

Declan waved. “Leah, how much of that stuff are you hanging over at Burnt Boot Ranch?”

Leah blushed. “Lots and lots, so you’d best be careful if you plan on bringing a woman to the ranch for me to meet.”

“I’ll be sure to have lots of ChapStick.” He grinned.

Coats and hats came off and were hung up. Rhett shook his hair out of his short ponytail, letting it hang at chin level. Leah quickly crossed the room and lifted up on tiptoe to brush a quick kiss across his lips.

“Thank you, darlin’, for braving the cold wind to get that for us,” she said.

He kissed her on the forehead. “I’d fight a war to get you anything in this world.”

Declan wanted what they had. Hell, he’d even be willing to leave River Bend to get it. At thirty-two, he was older than Leah by two years, so he should have found his soul mate before she had.

Sawyer crossed the room and pulled a rocking chair up close to Declan’s. “Tell us about that poker game last week. I heard that it got heated and that Tanner won.”

“Yep, and believe me when I say it was not easy to see him take that money. Must’ve been close to five hundred dollars in the pot,” Declan said.

Sawyer slapped his forehead. “Ain’t that just my luck? I knew I’d pay for not playing with y’all, but I didn’t want to go out in the cold. I could’ve bought Jill that little antique side table she’s wanting for Christmas with that money.”

“What’d it get heated about?” Finn asked.

“Women,” Declan said.

Rhett kicked off his boots, stretched out his long legs, and propped his feet on the coffee table. “Well, that ain’t no big surprise, is it? Tanner thinks he’s God’s gift to the female population.”

“So does Declan.” Leah laughed.

“Hey, now!” Declan protested.

“What’d y’all get into it about? Who had the most notches on the bedpost? Never seen you speechless before, so I must’ve hit the nail on the head.” Leah crossed the room and tousled his hair.

“Granny would shoot me dead if I started carving on the bedpost,” he said.

“Granny would do worse than shoot you if she knew about a certain little black book that’s hidden inside the back pocket of your Bible case,” Leah said.

“Whoa! Now you’re getting personal and telling secrets.” Declan smiled.

“I think we’d best turn this conversation to the ball game coming on this afternoon,” Rhett chuckled. “Are we all rootin’ for the same team?”

* * *

Betsy usually loved the holidays, but that day, she wanted to be anywhere else in the world other than sitting beside her grandmother at the head table for the annual Gallagher Thanksgiving dinner. Naomi waited until everyone was served and eating the first course—crisp salad with the ranch cook’s special dressing—to tap her glass with the edge of her knife and stand up. She picked up a microphone and flipped the switch.

“Welcome to the Gallagher Thanksgiving dinner. I’m glad you are all here. Please know that each and every one of you is very important to Wild Horse Ranch. It’s been my privilege to run this ranch for fifty years, and for that, I’m thankful today. Find something in your hearts to be thankful for and you’ll always be happy.” She raised her glass high and everyone followed suit. “To Wild Horse.”

“To Wild Horse,” everyone shouted.

Naomi sat down and clinked her glass with Betsy’s. “What are you thankful for today?”

That no one found out about me and Declan on the riverbank
, she thought.

“Wild Horse,” she said.

“Good girl.” Naomi beamed.

Angela caught Betsy’s eye and smiled shyly. Betsy winked and Angela’s smile widened. She couldn’t tell Angela yet, but everything was going to be all right. Baby Christian could kick and scream in his swaddling clothes and Angela would be his mother in the nativity program. Tyrell and Tanner could be shepherds, and Eli could play one of the three wise men.

“Where is your mind? I’ve asked you the same question twice,” Naomi barked.

“I’m sorry. I was thinking about how uncomfortable Angela looks.” Like a child, Betsy crossed her fingers and tucked her hand under her thigh.

“I wouldn’t mind seeing you in that shape next year at this time,” Naomi said.

“What if I don’t want children?”

“Of course you want children. That’s the future of Wild Horse and the feud.”

“What if I don’t want to mess with the feud?”

Naomi looked as if she could shoot blue blazes from her eyes. “One more word like that, and I’ll kick you off my ranch right now. It’s not a joking matter, and you’ve been raised better than to even let such thoughts enter your mind. What has gotten into you this past week?”

“Nothing. Just restlessness, I guess. I love Christmas, and my favorite part is the weekly programs at church, and we don’t have them this year. It’s made me cranky,” Betsy said.

“Well, snap out of it. The Brennans have to be taught a lesson.”

Betsy’s eyes went to each person in the room, assessing each for whatever item or donations she might convince them to give to the Christmas secret. She made a mental list, but since it was all Gallaghers, there wouldn’t be an argument from Declan over them. He could work his spell on the Brennans; she’d work hers on her family. The fighting would come about over the folks who were neutral, like the O’Donnells, Polly, Verdie, Gladys, and Rosalie. Betsy’s eyes narrowed as she thought of Rosalie, and she clamped her jaw so tight that it ached. She wanted Rosalie on her list, even if she had to give Declan both Polly and Gladys.

“She’s my therapist,” Betsy muttered, then clapped her hand over her mouth.

“What was that?” Naomi asked.

“I was thinking out loud. This is really good pumpkin pie, Granny. Do all of your famous recipes come with your job?” Betsy asked.

“Of course.” Naomi beamed and brushed her bright-red hair sprinkled with white away from her face. “And you will add to the recipe box and pass it on to your granddaughter some day.”

“Why not my daughter?” Betsy asked.

The smile faded quickly. “You will have sons to work the ranch. They can have daughters and sons, and you can choose your strongest granddaughter to run the place. That’s the way it’s done.”

“Not with you. You married into it and inherited because Grandpa was the oldest son. By rights, my dad should be the next ruler of Wild Horse,” Betsy said.

“He will have his place in the business, but you will run the ranch as a whole.”

A picture of the little house where Angela and Jody lived flashed through Betsy’s mind. That’s what she wanted. Not a house with a ballroom big enough to seat two hundred people or a ranch that took hours to drive around on a four-wheeler.

* * *

Darkness comes early at the end of November in Texas, but the moon was bright, and it would light up her truck no matter where she parked it, so that evening, she took the old ranch work truck into town. She nosed it into the gravel lot behind the bar, where the beer and liquor vendors parked to bring their wares through the back door.

She had barely turned off the engine when Declan’s big, black truck slid in beside her and he slung the passenger door open. She picked up her purse, which had her phone and her list of folks she’d fight to keep, and crawled in beside him.

“We still going to do this, or have you chickened out?” he asked.

“We are doing it,” she said.

He wiggled his eyebrows. “Oh, really?”

“Get your mind out of the gutter, Declan. Is that all you think about?”

“Sometimes I do think about food, but that could be simply because I need it as fuel so I can chase women,” he said.

“You and Tanner are probably related somewhere in the pre-feud days.”

“Hey, now, them are fightin’ words, and we’ve called a truce until we get this Christmas crap done.”