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

by Carolyn Brown

  She slid into the only empty bar stool, pointed to the Jameson, and held up one finger. Rosalie set a red plastic cup in front of her and generously poured more than two fingers, wiped the moisture from a longneck bottle of beer, and put it on the bar.

  “You know me too well, but no beer tonight. Just a shot of Mr. Jameson to warm me up.” Betsy smiled.

  “I know when you’re all dressed up like that you are on the prowl, and I haven’t seen a cowboy in here tonight that will take your eye without twice that much whiskey and two or three beers in your gut. Pickin’s are slim, darlin’, unless you want to take a peek at the Brennan table. That Declan would give a holy woman a case of hot flashes.” Rosalie smiled.

  Betsy sipped the whiskey, letting the warmth slide down her throat. It didn’t create the fire that Declan’s kiss had, but the night was young.

  “I came to dance,” she said.

  “Vertically or horizontally?”

  “Depends on who wins.”

  “Who’s in the fight?” Rosalie asked.

  “Heart and mind.”

  “You might want to rethink that one-shot idea. That’s a tough fight. You know what they say about the heart, right?”

  A blast of cold air brought four cowboys into the bar and let a little of the smoke escape at the same time. A tall, dark one with brown eyes, scuffed boots, and a sexy swagger took her eye. He hung his hat and denim jacket on an empty hook and slung a bar towel over his shoulder.

  “Looks like you really do need some help, Miz Rosalie,” he said.

  “Betsy, I’d like to introduce my son-in-law, Bart. Married to my oldest daughter. He’s going to run the bar tonight and let me do the cookin’.” Rosalie grinned.

  “Just my luck,” Betsy said.

  “What was that?” Bart asked.

  “Pleased to meet you,” she said over the top of the fast song on the jukebox.

  She slid a couple of bills toward him. “I’m paying for a double shot of Jameson.”

  “Thanks,” Bart said.

  She hopped down from the bar stool, picked up her red cup, and headed back to where several Gallaghers had claimed a table. Tanner pointed to an empty chair, but a cowboy caught her on the way, wrapped his hands around her waist, and started swaying to an old song called “Country Bumpkin.”

  “I’ll be your country bumpkin, darlin’, for tonight or forever. God, you’re the prettiest thing I’ve ever laid my eyes on. My name is Jimmy Ray, and I hail from over the river up in Grandfield, Oklahoma. Go home with me and I’ll be the luckiest man on the earth.”

  She nodded toward Tanner and her cousins. “Nice to meet you, Jimmy Ray from Grandfield. My family is waiting for me.”

  “You are Betsy Gallagher? I heard you was the prettiest thing this side of the Red River, but they was lyin’. You are the most gorgeous woman in the whole state,” Jimmy Ray stuttered.

  “Thanks for the compliments.”

  “Here, let me carry your drink to the table and, Miz Betsy, may I have this dance? They’re playin’ our song.”

  Left standing in the middle of the crowded dance floor, she scanned the room for the Brennan table. Sure enough, there was Declan, sitting with his back to the wall. Her chest tightened. Declan was dressed in all black that night: black jeans that hugged his thighs, shined black boots, and a black shirt with white pearl snaps glowing in the semidarkness. His sandy hair was feathered back, but one sexy, little strand had fallen down on his forehead. Her mouth went dry when he winked slyly. Her heart fluttered, letting her know that it hadn’t thrown in the towel just yet and that the battle with it and common sense was not over by any means.

  Time stood still and even though it was seconds before Jimmy Ray returned, it felt like she and Declan had lived a whole lifetime in those moments. Then suddenly, Jimmy Ray, with his dark-brown hair worn a little too long, green eyes, and cute little goatee, had her in his arms, and they were swing dancing to “Honky Tonk Christmas.”

  “How did this get to be our song?” She smiled up at him.

  “I came here to get over a woman who left me last spring, just like this song says, and you’re going to put her out of my mind. We’re in a honky-tonk and it’s talkin’ about playin’ Christmas records on the jukebox in an old honky-tonk. You are my lucky charm,” he said.

  “But what if you aren’t my charm?” she asked.

  “That’s up to you to decide, but if you give me a chance, darlin’, I can charm you seven ways to Sunday,” Jimmy Ray said.

  “I’ll think about it,” she said.

  “One more dance, then. This could be our song too.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “I’m the one who loaded the jukebox, and this is the last song I plugged in, so it’s my lucky song.” George Strait’s voice came through loud and clear as he sang “When It’s Christmas Time in Texas.”

  Jimmy Ray swung her out, lost grip of her hand, and suddenly, another cowboy grabbed it and brought her to his chest.

  “Hello, Miz Betsy,” Declan said.

  Her hand tingled, her pulse raced, jitters danced around in her stomach, and she couldn’t take her eyes off his lips.

  “You are gorgeous tonight. See you later.”

  He twirled her out, and she landed back in Jimmy Ray’s arms. The flutters stopped as suddenly as they’d begun.

  “One for the heart. Zero for the mind,” she said.

  “What was that?” Jimmy Ray asked.

  “I’m thirsty. After this one, I’m sitting out a couple.”

  “Then I’ll work on making you jealous by dancing with a few more women, but, honey, I swear you’ve got the winning ticket. You just tap me on the shoulder and I’ll follow you anywhere.”

  “How long you been practicing that line?”

  “Five years. Since my first date, when I was a sophomore in high school.”

  Sweet Jesus! The kid was barely old enough to drink.

  She laughed. “Well, you keep practicin’ a few more years, honey, and I bet it works for you someday but not this one. You have yourself a good night and good luck.”

  His hand went over his heart and he shut his eyes. “And I didn’t even get a kiss. Couldn’t I just have one kiss for all the leather I’ve danced off my boots?”

  Betsy shook her head. “No, sir. Not even one kiss.”

  He leaned forward. “But when you walked in the door, I bet all my friends over there at that table I could get a dance with you and a kiss before I left the dance floor.”

  “Pay ’em up, sweetheart. And don’t ever make a bet that relies on anything from a redheaded woman. We’re meaner than a den of hungry rattlesnakes.” She pinched his cheek and tousled his hair. “You are cute, but you were still playing in a sandbox when I went off to college.”

  “Age is just numbers on paper,” he argued.

  “Nice try, Jimmy Ray. Enjoy your Saturday night.” She turned around, took two steps, and sat down in the chair beside Tanner.

  Eli handed him five dollars.

  “What’s that all about?”

  “Kid told us he had a bet going with his friends. Crazy fools thought you’d feel sorry for him and kiss him. I know you better.” Tanner chuckled.

  She whipped the bill from his hand and tucked it into her pocket. “Don’t ever use me to make money on a bet, Cousin, or it will come back and bite you square on the butt.”

  * * *

  A drummer without a sense of rhythm was beating out a rock tune in Declan’s head when he awoke on Sunday morning. The mother of all hangovers reminded him of why he should not chase every shot of Jack Daniels with a bottle of beer. He inched his hand across the sheets before he even opened his eyes. He didn’t remember leaving Burnt Boot Bar and Grill with a woman, but it could have happened.

  The coast was clear, so he opened one eye, expe
cting to be in a motel either in Gainesville or across the Red River at the casino hotel if he’d really been wiped out.

  He sat up so quick that the room did a triple spin right along with his stomach. “Thank God!” he mumbled when he realized he was in his own bed, right there on Wild Horse.

  “I’m a lucky man,” he said as he reached for his jeans and checked his wallet to make sure all the credit cards and money were still there.

  “Yes, you are.” His father, Russell, poked his head in the door. “I heard you staggering up the steps last night. Let you sleep until the chores were done, but now it’s time to get ready for church or explain to your grandmother why you aren’t going.”

  “Tell her I have a headache. It’s not a lie.”

  “There’re bananas on the buffet, and eggs. Don’t forget to take three aspirin with you.” Russell leaned against the doorjamb. “What’s her name?”

  “Who?”

  “Whatever woman has you this messed up.”

  “No one. I’m fine. I’ll be down soon as I get a shower and brush my teeth.”

  Russell chuckled. “A woman is the only thing that would make you stagger and come home singing something about the more you drink.”

  Declan held his head in his hands. “Blake Shelton. It’s all his fault.”

  “The country singer? Was he at the bar last night?”

  “Only on the jukebox. I didn’t intend to drink a drop. I just went for a good time. And then…well, then I got frustrated and started doing shots with beer backs.”

  Russell shook his head. “I’m just glad there’s not a big brunette in your bed.”

  “So you’ve heard the song?”

  “Yep, but Blake does a better job of it than you do. Who brought you home?”

  “I drove myself. Real slow, with Quaid driving right behind me. He offered to help me in the house, but I didn’t think I was that drunk,” Declan said.

  “Well, Son, it’s time to get downstairs to breakfast, or else your grandmother will be up here fussin’ at you for the way your eyes look,” Russell said as he closed the door.

  “Banana and then eggs and three aspirin,” Declan recited his father’s remedy for a hangover. Just thinking about eating a banana turned his stomach, but it had worked in the past, and he had confidence that by the time the preacher got wound up in the Sunday morning service, his headache would be gone. Maybe when the headache was gone, it would take the heartache with it.

  Dream on, big brother, Leah’s voice said loud and clearly in his head.

  “This bet is going to kill me,” he said as he stood under the shower. “I should have listened to Quaid—both at the poker game and last night when he told me it was time to stop drinking.”

  * * *

  Betsy was wedged between Tanner and her grandmother that morning in church. She’d picked out a cowboy old enough to take home when the bar shut down, but when they got to the parking lot and he laughed at her pink truck, it was like ice water had been poured on the whole thing. She’d sent him packing without even kiss.

  Now she was cranky and wished she had someone to talk to about this whole mess. Tanner had always been her person, the cousin who was more like a brother that she’d talked everything out with, from boyfriends to which bull to buy for her own private herd. But she couldn’t say a word to him or he’d find a way to kill Declan Brennan. The choir sang a song about putting your problems in a basket and taking them to Jesus. Betsy didn’t have a basket, and besides, she’d learned from past experiences that it took too long for answers to come back from heaven.

  She stole a glance across the middle section, where the O’Donnell families were all lined up on three different pews. Betsy’s eyes kept wandering until she spotted Declan on the far side of the church. Every time Honey Brennan hit a high note in the choir, Declan shivered. So he had a hangover. Well, praise the Lord and let Honey sing louder. He was suffering too, even if his was physical and her pain was down deep in her heart.

  Preacher Kyle took the podium and in a loud, booming voice, said, “Good morning.”

  Declan slapped a hand over one ear.

  “This morning, I’m going to talk to you about how a person’s life can do a complete one-hundred-and-eighty-degree turn in a matter of seconds. Just look at Adam. All it took was a moment to partake of the fruit of the forbidden tree. All it took was a few seconds for the serpent to talk Eve into taking the first bite,” Preacher Kyle said softly as he leaned over the podium.

  Tanner whispered, “Is he talking about that kid you were dancing with last night or the one you let walk you to your car?”

  “I went home alone. Did you?” she asked.

  “Shhh.” Naomi shot a dirty look their way.

  Yes, she knew how things could turn in a second, and it usually involved forbidden fruit of some kind or shape. She gave up trying to listen to the preacher when he went into the story of Ruth and Naomi, and how, if Naomi hadn’t left her country with her husband, then Ruth would have never married Naomi’s son. Because she made a spur-of-the-moment decision to go back to Naomi’s country with her, Ruth had a place in the lineage of Jesus.

  Three times, he said “Naomi” in the span of a minute. That must mean that Betsy was supposed to consider her grandmother and put all this desire behind her. She should be concentrating on the ranch and her duties. Even if most men didn’t make her insides go to mush, there were lots out there who’d be fine mates and fathers, who’d help her take care of Wild Horse.

  Services ended with Rhett O’Donnell delivering the benediction, and afterward, as luck would have it, everyone was slow in standing up, so Betsy and her grandmother were among the first out of the church that morning.

  “Fine sermon, Kyle,” Naomi said as she pumped his hand up and down. “I hope the young people were listening and think before they bite into that forbidden fruit.”

  “So do I, Miz Naomi,” he said.

  “A word in private,” Betsy whispered.

  “Wait for me in my office. You can come in the back door and go through the hallway if you like,” he said softly.

  “Hey, Tanner, can you give Granny a ride home? I’ve got dinner plans with my college friend, Iris,” Betsy asked.

  “Sure thing,” Tanner said. “You should bring Iris to dinner sometime. You’ve talked about her for years and we’ve never met her.”

  “She’s shy, and I sure don’t want her around you,” Betsy said.

  “Come on, now. I’ll be nice.”

  “That is exactly why I haven’t brought her home to meet all y’all.”

  Betsy waited until most of the Gallaghers had gone before she made her way around to the back of the church, let herself inside, and tiptoed through the hallway to Kyle’s office door.

  She eased it open and sat down in a chair across from his. Crossing one leg over the other, she thought about what she was going to say. Would she be honest, or would she tell him that her friend Iris had this terrible problem? She was so thankful for her imaginary college friend.

  The north wind whipped a tree branch against the window at the same time the door opened. She turned slightly, expecting to see the round, ever-smiling face of Preacher Kyle. But she looked up at Declan Brennan instead.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked.

  “I might ask you the same thing,” she said coolly, but her heart raced.

  Chapter 7

  “Well, I see you are both here.” The preacher breezed into the room. He loosened his tie and hung his jacket over the back of his chair before he sat down. “Ahh, it’s always good to sit after delivering a sermon. I’ve been invited to Fiddle Creek for dinner with Sawyer, Jill, Polly, and Gladys. They said it will be thirty minutes, but I can call them if you need more time. Your problems are more important than my growling stomach.”

  “She’s a Gallagher.” Dec
lan slumped into the other chair.

  “He’s a Brennan.”

  “Well, now that we’ve established the lineage and DNA, what else has you in here?”

  Declan set his jaw so hard that it ached. “I wanted to talk to you in private.”

  “So did I,” Betsy said.

  “But it’s the same problem. I could see the looks you were giving each other across the church. Do you want to stop this idea of the Christmas program?”

  “No,” Declan said. He’d wanted to talk to the preacher about his feelings, not put an end to the program.

  Betsy shook her head and smoothed the wrinkles from her long, denim skirt.

  “I kissed her in the movie theater. We can’t meet at the church to put our Christmas stuff in the back room because someone saw us, so we met at the movies and her cousins came in, so I kissed her and pulled up the hood of her jacket to cover her hair so that he wouldn’t know we were together.” Declan kept his eyes straight ahead and didn’t look at Betsy.

  “I kissed him back,” Betsy said.

  “This is not a confessional. I’m not going to make you do penance for kissing each other. You are both consenting adults, and kissing does not make babies. It can lead to what does make them, but again, you are consenting adults, so what’s the problem?”

  Declan had wanted to bare his soul about the bet and ask Kyle’s advice on what to do about that before it went another day further, but he sure couldn’t mention it in front of Betsy. She might be a member of the family that was his family’s archrival, but no woman deserved to find out she’d been the object of a bet.

  “We’ve decided to rent a storage space to put the donated items in, rather than bringing them to the church. Since we can’t sneeze without everyone in town bringing us chicken soup, we thought it would be best to do it that way,” Declan said.

  Kyle smiled. “Excellent idea.”

  “But I’ll still bring the programs into the church for you on Thursday. I kind of like sitting in the quiet sanctuary alone and thinking,” Betsy said.

  “Thank you. Is the therapy session over, then?”

  “Can I talk to you later? Alone?” Declan asked.