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

by Carolyn Brown

  Declan glanced over at Eli. “Lay out the rules if there are any. If not, let’s finish this game and wait for some old gal to come through the door so Tanner can get on with the business of falling in love with her.”

  Eli nodded. “Rule number one: you have a month to make her fall in love with you and get her into bed. It can’t be a one-night stand. I’ll even give you a few extra days, since Thanksgiving is next week and you’ll be busy on the ranch.”

  Declan held up a palm. “Whoa, hoss! You’re already talking like I’ve lost this game. The rules are supposed to be for both of us.”

  Eli flashed a go-to-hell look across the table. “You have until the week before Christmas. Tanner will want to take his winnings and do some shopping with them. And I’m the one making the rules, so don’t be yelling at me. Rule number two: it has to be a woman you’ve never dated before. Rule number three: just to make it interesting, it really does have to be the next woman who walks into this bar, so that all four of us know who it is, and you can’t lie to us about having never dated her.”

  “So.” Declan checked the calendar on his phone. “Friday, December 18, one of us has to be dating, have slept with, and made the next woman who comes through the doors fall in love with him. And how does Tanner prove to you that he did all that? He could just lie and take my money. After all, that’s what a Gallagher would do.”

  “She has to tell it all over town,” Tanner said.

  “What if she doesn’t kiss and tell?” Declan asked.

  “If you are that irresistible, she’ll be bragging all over town that she’s snagged you,” Tanner said through clenched teeth.

  “Okay, you’re on. If you win this hand, I’ll take that bet. And not a one of us around this table can tell anyone about the bet. It has to be a secret, and if it gets out, then all bets are off.”

  Quaid threw up his palms. “You’re all crazy. What if the woman who comes through those doors is fifty years old and chews tobacco?”

  Tanner shrugged. “A bet is a bet. Hope you like older women, Declan. Thursday night’s pickin’s are pretty slim here.”

  There was no way a Gallagher was going to beat a Brennan in poker. “I’ll be glad to take your money tonight and at Christmas. I heard the crunch of wheels out there in the parking lot, so get ready to meet your woman, Gallagher.”

  Tanner fanned out a royal flush. “I reckon at Christmas you’ll have to shell out more, but this pot is right fine for now. And I just heard that truck door slam out there in the parking lot, so get ready to meet your date, Declan Brennan. Remember, it’s a secret, Eli and Quaid. Anyone tells, and this town will see the feud fire up hotter than it’s been since your family started it.”

  “We didn’t start anything. Y’all did.” Declan said a prayer as he glanced toward the door.

  Tanner’s cocky little grin faded, and his face looked like someone had smeared ashes all over it when the door opened. Eli’s eyes came close to popping out of his head and rolling across the floor, and Quaid sucked all the oxygen out of the air in one big gulp. Declan felt as if he’d just been struck by lightning straight from God’s hand.

  “You are a dead man, Tanner,” Eli whispered.

  Quaid exhaled so hard that it whistled through his teeth. “And so are you, Declan. Granny Mavis will kill you if you go after her.”

  “A bet is a bet. And a Brennan does not run from a fight,” Declan said.

  Sweet Jesus in heaven. Declan had been in love with Betsy since they were kids in the same Sunday school class. He might have lost the poker match, but here was his chance, and the Gallaghers couldn’t do jack shit about it. Poor old Tanner had just set the whole thing up on a silver platter and handed him the rights to the whole thing. Talk about luck—Declan had lost the money on the table, but he’d been given the rights to Betsy Gallagher.

  “Let’s call it off,” Eli said. “Just pretend it never happened and walk out of here.”

  All eyes went to Tanner.

  “Gallaghers don’t run either,” he murmured.

  * * *

  Betsy Gallagher, Tanner’s wild cowgirl cousin who would fight a Texas tornado with nothing but a sling shot, propped a hip on a bar stool. “How’s the poker game going tonight, Rosalie?”

  She whipped off a black felt cowboy hat, laid it on the end of the bar, and let a heavy work coat slip off her shoulders to drape over the curved chair back. Her bright-red hair fell in waves past her shoulders, and her emerald-green eyes scanned the back side of the bar, trying to decide whether she wanted a shot of whiskey or a cold beer.

  “They got a little rowdy a little while ago, but I nipped it in the bud. What will it be tonight?”

  “I’ll have a single shot of Jack Daniel’s and a longneck Coors,” Betsy answered. “Whiskey to warm the soul. Beer to sip on all evening. Looks pretty quiet back there right now.”

  Rosalie poured the whiskey and then dried off a bottle of cold beer and set it in front of Betsy. “I got to admit, it does go better when at least one of the O’Donnell cowboys joins the game. It’s like church then. Gallaghers on one side. Brennans on the other. The rest of the folks in the middle. That middle section keeps things balanced.”

  Betsy nodded and glanced back through the bar to where the poker game was breaking up. Poor old Tanner’s face was the same color as the swirling smoke, so he must have lost that night. He’d be like an old grizzly bear with a sore tooth for a week. He didn’t like to lose, but it had gotten worse in the past couple of months when he and Eli started letting the O’Donnells and the Brennans into the game.

  “Because of those damn Brennans,” she mumbled.

  “Did you say something?” Rosalie asked.

  “Talkin’ to myself,” Betsy answered. “They’re breakin’ up the game early.”

  Rosalie talked as she unloaded the dishwasher. “Looks like it. It’s not quite closing time, and I usually have to run them out.”

  Betsy sipped at her beer and listened to the Bellamy Brothers on the jukebox. “If you want to close early, I’ll take my beer with me.”

  “Naw,” Rosalie drawled. “Enjoy your beer and the music. Never know who might drop in even yet. But it’s good to have a slow night once in a while. Friday and Saturday nights are ball breakers,” Rosalie said.

  Betsy liked Rosalie, but she missed the previous owner, Polly. It was amazing how one year could make such a difference in a town the size of Burnt Boot. Just a few months ago, Polly sold the bar to Rosalie and her ranch to Rhett O’Donnell.

  “It was those O’Donnells moving to town that started all this,” Betsy whispered before she finished off her whiskey and took a long gulp from her bottle.

  “What was that?” Rosalie asked.

  “I figure it was the O’Donnells coming to town that started all this crap,” Betsy said.

  “I hear it was the fact that the Brennans had a hellfire-and-damnation preacher runnin’ their family back in Prohibition days and you Gallaghers were runnin’ moonshine to get by and got caught. Your family blamed the Brennans for rattin’ you out, and that started a feud,” Rosalie said.

  “But”—Betsy tipped up the beer again—“it was the O’Donnells coming to town that set this last round of battles into action.”

  “Betsy.” Declan nodded to her on his way out the door.

  “Declan,” she muttered and barely looked his way. Lord have mercy! If he weren’t a Brennan, she’d have chased him right out the door. She’d had a crush on him years ago, but her granny would see her hanging from the tree in the church parking lot if she even caught her glancing toward a Brennan.

  “Well?” Tanner asked.

  “I needed a drink in the worst kind of way. How much did you lose?”

  Tanner caught Rosalie’s eye, pointed at Betsy’s beer, and held up his forefinger. Rosalie dried off a bottle and set it before him.

&n
bsp; Tanner propped a hip on a stool next to Betsy. “Hey, girl, what brings you to town on a Thursday night?”

  “Bad night, was it?” Betsy turned toward him.

  “No, I won a bundle,” Tanner answered.

  “Then why do you look like you just saw a ghost?”

  “Don’t look to me like he saw a ghost. Looks more like he turned into one,” Rosalie said.

  “I ain’t feelin’ too good right now. Might be comin’ down with something,” Tanner answered.

  “Well, damn, Tanner. Thanksgiving is a week from today, and you’re supposed to fry the turkey. If you’ve got something, you’d best get over it before then,” Betsy said. “And don’t give it to me. Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday. I’ll never forgive you if you ruin it for me.”

  “I thought Christmas was your favorite holiday,” Tanner said.

  “It is, but my favorite part of that was the Christmas programs at the church, and since we aren’t having them this year, then Thanksgiving will have to do.” She tipped up the bottle of beer and gulped twice.

  One side of Rosalie’s thin mouth turned up in a slight smile. “I wouldn’t mess with a redhead who’s got a temper like hers, not when her favorite holiday has been spoiled. If I was you, I’d take them winnings and go buy her a real nice Christmas present.”

  Betsy pointed to the jukebox. “Listen to that song, and take a lesson from it.”

  “The Bellamy Brothers at their best.” Rosalie wiped down the bar. “And what they’re singing is the gospel truth.”

  “Jalapeños” was the name of the song, and the lyrics said that life wasn’t nothing like a bowl of cherries. It was more like a jar of jalapeños because whatever you do today could come back and burn your ass tomorrow.

  Betsy grinned at Tanner. “Remember that. You don’t want what you do today to come back and burn your ass at Christmas if you give me the duck.”

  Tanner gulped. “I don’t even have the duck. I think Tyrell got it last year from Randy so he could pass it on to you, but I promise, I don’t have it.”

  “The duck?” Rosalie asked.

  Betsy motioned for another beer. “It’s the white elephant gift at the Gallagher Christmas party. It all started sometime before Tanner and I were born. Someone gave another member of the family a duck decoy for Christmas as a joke. The next year, the lady who got it painted eyelashes on the thing and gave it to someone else. It’s been around for maybe forty years, and every year, it gets more bizarre. Now, it’s so decorated, it doesn’t look like a decoy, but more like a yard sale reject. I do not want the duck, Tanner, and you’d best be sure Tyrell doesn’t give it to me or it’ll be worse than a jar of jalapeños coming back to burn your ass.”

  “I’m not responsible for what Tyrell does.” Tanner slid off the stool, settled his black cowboy hat on his head, and started for the door. “See you later.”

  “He’s actin’ strange,” Rosalie said.

  “Yep, he sure is. He’s got that ugly duck and is probably planning to give it to me. The Gallagher family has gotten so big that we draw names for the big all-family party, and I know he has my name. If I get it, I swear I’ll finagle a way to get his name next year, and he will be sorry,” Betsy said. “I’m on my way to the river.”

  “What’s on your mind, kiddo?” Rosalie asked.

  “Nothing. Just dissatisfaction at where I am right now, and I think things through better on the banks of the river,” Betsy said.

  Rosalie turned off the outside lights, locked the door, and sat down on a stool beside Betsy. “I’m a damn good listener. Have two daughters and raised them all by myself after my sorry excuse for a husband left us.”

  “I’m just antsy,” Betsy said.

  Sorting out feelings had never been Betsy’s strong virtue. She’d always plowed into any situation like a bull in a china shop and tried to lasso it to the ground. She hadn’t known Rosalie but a couple of months so she sure wasn’t about to tell her all her intimate fears.

  Rosalie turned up the beer and took a long gulp. “How old are you, Betsy? Twenty-five?”

  Betsy smiled. “Add five to that.”

  “Lord, girl, you don’t look thirty. Why aren’t you settled down with one of these cowboys around here? I’ve seen plenty of good-lookin’ ones, and you might be a spitfire, but you’re a damn beautiful one.”

  “Thank you. Problem is that I’m kin to half the cowboys and the other half are my enemies. Haven’t found a neutral one that took my eye. No, that’s a lie. I found three, but I lost them, and that’s probably what’s eating at me. That and this damn Christmas season with none of our traditions.” Betsy clamped a hand over her mouth. She hadn’t meant to say anything, and yet she’d blurted out her problems.

  “Who were those three?” Rosalie asked.

  She dropped her hand and sighed. “Finn, Sawyer, and Rhett O’Donnell.”

  “What do you think was the problem?”

  It felt good to talk to someone about things, and Rosalie wouldn’t charge her megabucks like a shrink.

  “I came on too strong, and they fell in love with someone else,” Betsy said.

  “What do you intend to do different next time?”

  “I have no idea, Rosalie. I’m ready to settle down, ready to have a family, and that proverbial old biological clock folks talk about is starting to sound pretty loud,” Betsy answered.

  “Stop chasing it. Sit down and be still, and it will come to you. Those other three weren’t right for you or it would have happened. Now, what’s this about Christmas traditions?”

  “We lost the Christmas decorations when our private schools were burned down and blown up, so there won’t be Christmas at the church this year.”

  “And you liked that program?” Rosalie asked.

  “It was my favorite part of the season. But the most aggravating thing is that the Brennans don’t have any babies due between now and Christmas, but my cousin Jody and his wife, Angela, have a new baby coming in just days. It’s a boy, and she’s going to name him Christian in hopes that his name marks him and he grows up to be a preacher like her daddy and her brother.”

  Rosalie slid off the bar stool and started cleaning up. Betsy followed her, setting the chairs on the tables after Rosalie wiped them down.

  “Your cousin’s wife is sad because of this?” Rosalie asked.

  “More than sad. It’s what she’s focusing on, and she thinks if her baby doesn’t get to be baby Jesus that he’ll grow up to be an outlaw. I really like her, so it makes me sad, and I could strangle those Brennans for burning our school and starting all this.”

  “But the Gallaghers retaliated by blowing up their school,” Rosalie reminded her.

  Betsy sighed. “Do you realize how much I’d give to end this feud, so we could live normal lives around this place?”

  “It would take a hell of a lot to end a hundred-year-old feud, especially when Naomi and Mavis hate each other so much.” Rosalie finished the last table. “Ready to grab that extra beer for the river and call it a night?”

  “We’re all tired of it, but Granny Naomi and Mavis Brennan.” She sighed a second time. “It’d take a damn nuclear explosion for them to ever bury the hatchet.”

  “Well, miracles do happen during the Christmas season, so keep the shovels right handy. Them two old women just might need them to dig a hole for the feudin’ hatchet by the time the holidays are over.” Rosalie drank the rest of her beer and tossed the bottle in the trash can, turned off the lights in the bar area, and nodded toward the clock.

  Betsy’s boots hit the floor with a thud when she hopped off the bar stool. “My therapy session appears to be over.”

  A smile lit up Rosalie’s eyes. “I’ll send you a bill next week. Just listen to me, girl. Sit down and let love come find you. That way, it’ll work.”

  Betsy picked up her ex
tra beer and headed for the door. “Pretty hard to do when your name is Betsy Gallagher, but I’ll try. Same time next Thursday?”

  “I’m open anytime for you, kiddo.”

  Chapter 2

  Aggravated and angry, not to mention cold and downright frustrated, Declan sat down under the limp, bare limbs of the weeping willow tree and tossed a smooth rock out into the Red River. The moonlight lit up the peaks of the swirls that started small and grew outward to the bank. He picked up another rock and threw it the opposite direction, but a big fish flopped up out of the water and spoiled the circles before they reached the red-dirt sandbar.

  He wanted—no, he needed desperately to talk to his sister, Leah, about this mess he’d backed into. But she’d probably tell him the same thing Quaid had, which was to give Tanner a thousand dollars and forget the whole thing. Declan shook his head slowly. He could not let a Gallagher win that easy.

  But holy hell! Betsy?

  He’d admired her since they were kids sitting on the opposite sides of the church. Her red hair, hanging in braids those days, had intrigued him. Those gorgeous emerald-green eyes mesmerized him, especially when they were teenagers. But she was a Gallagher, and that just didn’t mean no, you cannot date her; it meant hell no, you will not even think such thoughts.

  “Declan?”

  He looked up to see her silhouetted by the moonlight. Curves in all the right places, red hair flowing down her back, and yet he couldn’t believe his eyes.

  “Betsy?” he muttered.

  “What the hell are you doing here this time of night?”

  It was Betsy, all right. With that gravelly, sexy voice, there was no denying it.

  “I might ask you the same thing,” he answered.

  She pushed the branches aside and sat down, leaving a foot between them. “This is my thinkin’ place, and you have no right to be here.”

  “It’s also my thinkin’ place,” Declan said.

  “I’ve never seen you here before, so you are lying to me.”

  “Cross my heart”—he made the sign over his chest—“and hope to die, I am not lying. I come here all the time. I guess Brennans and Gallaghers don’t usually think at the same time or our paths would have crossed before now.”