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

by Carolyn Brown

  Finally, it was her turn, and to speed matters up, she ordered two hot chocolates. A cute little blond with long, dangly earrings shoved the cups out to her, and she carefully set them in the cup holders, paid the girl, and had to wait another five minutes before she could pull out onto the main road that led to the zoo.

  Declan’s truck was still moving toward a spot at the back of the lot when she pulled in. She parked right beside him, opened the door, got the hot chocolate, and slammed the door with her boot heel. No way was she spilling a drop after the wait she’d had. She might even lick the inside of the cup when she finished drinking it.

  The passenger door of Declan’s truck flew open, and she caught a whiff of hot sweet potato fries. Her stomach growled, and she remembered that she hadn’t had supper. “They smell wonderful,” she said.

  He took one cup from her, their hands brushing and sparks flying in the transfer.

  “So we are Mr. and Mrs. Wiseman in the storage building. Who are we in our apartments?” she asked breathlessly as she slid into the passenger seat and slammed the door shut.

  “You are Betsy, and I am Declan. The plates on our apartment doors have no last names or numbers. Just first names. Yours is in hot pink and silver, and mine is in gold and black. And, Betsy, I was hungry when I got to Sonic, so I ordered us each one of those double bacon burgers we had last night. If you don’t want yours…”

  She cut him off with a wave of the hand. “Oh, no, Declan with No Last Name, I’m eating every bite of that. I didn’t have supper, and I’m starving. Now, about that kiss?”

  He reached inside the sack and handed her a thick burger, took his out, and then flatted the sack on the console and poured all the sweet potato fries on it. “Which one?”

  She removed the paper wrapper from the burger and inhaled the aroma of bacon and hot cheese. “God, I love this kind of food. I could eat one of these every day. We already talked about the first one, and this is supposed to be business. I could sue you for sexual harassment.”

  “Not if the kiss was in the Mr. and Mrs. Wiseman storage house.”

  “But it was in my apartment, not in the storage place,” she reminded him.

  “And you kissed me back, so it’s not harassment, and the business agreement is between a Brennan and a Gallagher, and in our apartments, we have no last names, remember?”

  She bit into the burger, held up a finger, and chewed fast, so she could talk without having food in her mouth. “You’d make a very good lawyer.”

  “I enjoyed the kissing very much, and I would like to ask you out on a date. Dinner and a movie, maybe in Oklahoma City, away from prying eyes, or dinner and a ride down the river walk at Bricktown and maybe listen to some country music at the Wormy Dog Saloon. It’s a sweet little bar,” he said.

  She stopped breathing. Her chest hurt and her palms went all sweaty.

  “But I don’t suppose you’d be that brave, would you?” he asked.

  “Bravery,” she finally whispered as she sucked in a lungful of air, “has nothing whatsoever to do with it.”

  “I’m not your type?”

  It was tempting—too damned tempting—but she really wasn’t crazy, and she did like her red hair intact upon her head and not on the end of a bloody knife. “Come on, Declan, it’s not like taking a cat off to the country.”

  His eyebrows drew together in a solid line. “What? What do cats got to do with us going on a date in Oklahoma City?”

  “You know, if a cat needs to find a new home, you put it in the car and take it to someone’s barn, but if you don’t cross water with it, you know it will find its way back. Just because we cross the Red River into Oklahoma doesn’t mean Burnt Boot wouldn’t have eyes on us.”

  He picked up a fry and held it out to her. She held his hand steady and took a bite off the end. Then he popped it into his mouth.

  “This is a date right here, Betsy. We have shared food, eaten from the same potato stick, so we are on a date.”

  “Does that mean I get another kiss at the end of the date?” she teased.

  His blue eyes danced with mischief. “If I’m lucky.”

  “Well, I do like your apartment here. Love the decor.” Flirting with him was so much fun that she completely forgot that she did have a last name. “The table here”—she tapped the console—“looks like it came from a high-dollar furniture store. And I do love these seats. Do they recline?”

  “Yes, ma’am, and I special ordered the bench backseat so it can be used as a bed.”

  She turned around and glanced over her shoulder. “And how many women have been in that bed?”

  “I’m waiting for the right woman to sleep with in that particular bed, so the answer is that I have never been with a woman in that bed. FYI, darlin’, I’ve never even made out in the backseat of this truck. Would you like to be first?”

  “Oh!” She faked shyness and fanned herself dramatically with her hand. “I simply could not. I’m saving myself for marriage.”

  She thought for a few seconds that he was going to choke plumb to death before he swallowed and burst into laughter so loud that it probably woke up every goat in the kiddy zoo. “It wasn’t that funny.”

  “Yes, it was. You should be onstage, darlin’.”

  “As a comedian?” She cocked her head to one side and laughed with him. “Now, wouldn’t that go over like a cow patty in the punch bowl at a church social.”

  He laughed harder.

  “Turnip greens,” she said.

  The laughter stopped and his nose twitched.

  “See? My two lines are used up. Everything I say is not funny,” she said.

  “But why turnip greens?” he asked.

  “Because I hate them. I don’t care how much bacon the cook puts in them, I still hate them, and when I was a little girl, I had to eat at least one bite of everything on the table.”

  “Me too, and you are so right; turnip greens are not funny, no matter how you say the words.”

  She blew on a hot fry and said, “There went my clown hat, and it wasn’t even warm yet.”

  He reached across the seat and traced the outline of her lips. “I like you, Betsy. We could be good together in another world.”

  “Yes, we could,” she said. “But we’re living in this world. Now, it’s time for Cinderella to finish this burger and go home.”

  She gulped down her burger past the lump in her throat and leaned across the console to plant a kiss on his cheek. “Thanks for this evening, Declan. It was fun and I loved every minute of it, but right now, I really am taking my chocolate and going home.”

  “Don’t forget to hook your bra,” he said.

  Her hands automatically went to her back. “You rat. My bra isn’t undone. That kiss didn’t knock me off my balance that much.”

  “But it made you doubt for just a minute, didn’t it?”

  * * *

  Betsy was humming when she walked into the ranch house but stopped when she heard Naomi fussing in the kitchen. She was back in the Gallagher world, and all she wanted to do was get in her truck and go back to the storage unit where she was Mrs. Wiseman. Or even Betsy with No Last Name in Declan’s apartment-slash-truck.

  “Betsy, is that you? Where have you been? I swear that Tyrell has stepped on my last good nerve. My favorite horse has a cut on its leg from having to carry that man for ten miles through mesquite and brush. He’s one of my best stud horses, and I didn’t even want him to be used to take Santa to the party, but I gave in and let Tanner talk me into it. This is all Mavis Brennan’s fault. I want you to come up with something that will pay her back for this. I can’t trust your male cousins to do a job right.” Naomi talked all the way from kitchen, through the dining room, and into the foyer.

  “No, thank you. I had to let every kid in north Texas sit on my lap and tell me what they wanted for Ch
ristmas. That is enough of a contribution to the feud,” she said.

  Naomi sniffed the air. “Have you been drinking?”

  She started up the stairs. “No, ma’am, unless you call a cup of hot chocolate from Starbucks drinking. Last I heard, they did not put women in jail for that.”

  “Don’t you walk away from me when I’m talking to you,” Naomi said.

  Betsy took off her coat and sat down on a step. “I thought we were through. What do you want to talk about?”

  “What were you doing in Gainesville for starters?”

  She almost said, “It’s a secret, and if I tell you, I’ll have to kill you,” but caught herself in time. “Granny, I’m almost thirty years old. I think that’s plenty old to go when I want and come in when I want and not have to answer to you about my whereabouts. If you want to control me that much, I’ll move back home with Mama and Daddy, or I can always move into one of the newlywed cabins.”

  “You will not! Not unless you are married.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Your truck has been seen pretty often in Gainesville. It’s not hard to keep up with you when you insist on driving that ugly pink truck. Are you seeing someone?”

  “Is that how you’re keeping up with me? Tomorrow morning, I’m taking that truck to the dealership and trading it in for a black one, or maybe a white one. There are lots of those on the road.”

  “Answer me, Betsy Gallagher.” Naomi’s voice got louder and shriller with every word.

  “Okay, Granny, I can honestly say that I’m not seeing anyone.”

  “That’s all I wanted to hear. You could have said so in the first place. I hear that the preacher’s wife has a brother who is a good veterinarian. I think we should invite him to dinner sometime.” Naomi’s tone had done a complete turnaround.

  “Why, are you going to get married again?”

  Naomi threw up her hands. “You are impossible.”

  “It’s the Gallagher in me.” Betsy picked up her coat and hurried up to her room, where she threw herself on her bed, stared at the dark ceiling, and played out every nuance of the whole evening.

  Chapter 11

  Declan parked far enough out in the store parking lot that he wouldn’t block anyone trying to drive up to the two gas pumps. Fuel was always at least ten cents per gallon more expensive in Burnt Boot than down in Gainesville, but it was nice to have it when a rancher needed it.

  He pulled his work coat tighter across his broad chest and made sure to close the door as quickly as he could, so he didn’t let too much cold in or too much warmth out.

  “Hey, Declan,” Jill O’Donnell called out from the back of the store. “Think we’re going to get a white Christmas two years in a row?”

  Declan shivered. “That would be a miracle, but I’d sure like to see another one for Leah’s sake. She loves the holidays, and this year is going to be tough on her. I hadn’t seen a white Christmas since I was little boy until last year. Two in a row might go beyond a miracle and take some pure old magic. Granny asked me to come by and pick up ten thick-cut pork chops. She’s got some hogs about ready to butcher, but we’re waiting on the weather to get a few degrees colder.”

  “I’ll get them cut and wrapped. There’s hot coffee in the pot up there on the counter if you want a cup. I figured with this cold snap, folks might like something warm to wrap their hands around while they shop.”

  “Thank you. That does sound good.” He followed the aroma of hot coffee to the counter and poured a cup. The store window became a Technicolor screen for pictures of Betsy, both past, when she was a little girl with red braids, and up through the years to the present, when she’d worn those tight-fitting, fancy jeans to the bar last weekend.

  Someone touched him on the arm and startled him so that if he hadn’t finished off the coffee, he would have spilled it all over his coat.

  Jill laid two packages wrapped in white butcher paper on the counter. “I didn’t mean to startle you. Your mind must’ve been a million miles away.”

  He tossed the empty cup in the trash can. “Not quite that far.”

  “So I hear that the Brennans kidnapped Santa Claus. What do you think they’ll name this battle? We’ve had the pig war and the shit war this past year.”

  “I wish they’d name it the final battle,” he said.

  Jill wrote up the bill for his pork chops and flipped it around for him to sign. “I don’t see that happening in our lifetime. Besides, Burnt Boot would probably shrivel up and die without the feud.”

  Declan initialed the bottom of the ticket. Jill pulled it off to file in the box under the cabinet and tucked the yellow copy in the sack with his order.

  “There you go,” she said.

  A movement outside caught his eye, and he glanced outside to see Betsy slide out of the truck. Staring at her wasn’t wise, but he couldn’t look away. She was beautiful even in her scuffed-up boots and old, mustard-colored work jacket.

  “If that wind don’t blow something across the river, I’ll be surprised, Jill,” she said as she pushed into the store. “Oh, hello, Declan. I didn’t see your truck.”

  “Betsy.” He tried to keep his voice cool. “I parked on the side instead of out front.”

  “Remember, folks, this is neutral territory,” Jill reminded them. “I understand that feelings are running high between your families right now, but no arguing or fighting in here.”

  Betsy turned away from him. “Granny sent me to get two pounds of bologna and a pound of white American cheese.”

  “I was about to leave anyway. See you around, Jill. Betsy?” Declan tipped his cowboy hat at the two ladies and pulled a piece of paper from his pocket on his way from the store to his truck. Making sure no one was looking as he passed Betsy’s truck, he quickly opened the door, tossed the note on the seat, and eased the door shut, making as little noise as possible.

  * * *

  “So where did y’all find Santa Claus? I heard he was all the way down in Houston and that you had to get him and the horse out of an animal rescue place. They’re saying he was stripped of everything but his long johns and socks,” Jill said as she sliced bologna.

  “Truth is he called us from a motel in Dallas. Those Brennans took him to a barn out in the middle of nowhere and stole his boots and beard. I wouldn’t put it past Mavis to put them in a frame and hang them above the mantel, like Granny did Mavis’s hairpiece after they got into that fight last year,” Betsy said.

  “Y’all did burn up baby Jesus,” Jill said.

  “And the next chapter begins. Wonder what they’ll call this one,” Betsy said.

  “Declan and I were just wondering the same thing.”

  “And what did he say?”

  Jill wrapped the meat and laid it on top of the meat counter. “The final war is what he’d like it to be called, but I don’t see that happening. I bet it’s something like the Santa war.”

  “It would be nice if that’s where it landed and not on something worse.”

  Betsy signed the ticket and carried a brown paper bag with her meat and cheese to the car. She threw it over into the passenger’s seat and was about to get inside when she noticed the folded paper. She picked it up and laid it on the dash, slammed the door, and drove out to the road before she opened it.

  “What in the hell were you thinkin’? The can is for notes. What if someone saw you?” Betsy fussed, but the corners of her mouth turned up as she read the note.

  Mrs. Wiseman, please bring your offering to the Wiseman estate on Wednesday evening at eight o’clock. We should be safer than usual, as a lot of the town’s concerned citizens will be in church at that time. See you there.

  If he’d put it in the can, she wouldn’t have found it until Thursday, and taking stuff to the storage unit on Wednesday was a great idea. Most of the gossipmongers would indeed be in churc
h at that time, not holding a phone in one hand as they pulled back the draperies with the other one.

  “This secret business gets more complicated by the hour. Rumor would have it that I was having an affair with Kyle.” She tucked the note into the glove compartment and made sure it was locked before she continued on toward Wild Horse.

  Her mind whirled around in circles worse than the dead leaves in the middle of the road that afternoon. She and Declan would definitely have to figure out ways to get notes back and forth. It wasn’t like it would be a forever thing; it was just a few weeks until Christmas, and then there would be no more Wisemans, or Betsy and Declan with No Last Names.

  She was cranky when she got home, and seeing a moving van there didn’t help matters one bit. Her grandmother hadn’t mentioned buying new furniture, and yet some of the cousins were moving in beds, and was that a baby bed?

  “Hey, you better get into the house with that sandwich stuff because Granny is fussing about it,” Tyrell yelled. “On second thought, don’t rush and you can be on top of the shit list instead of me.”

  She picked up the sack and took the porch steps two at a time. “What’s going on?” she asked Tanner.

  He shrugged. “You’d better ask Granny. I’m not sayin’ a word.”

  Betsy carried the sack to the kitchen and plopped it down on the countertop. “Why did you buy a baby bed?”

  “I didn’t buy any of that stuff that’s coming into the house,” she said. “I wish I would have told you to buy an extra pound of cheese. We’ll be feeding a lot of folks for lunch.”

  “Why?”

  Naomi pointed toward the pantry door. “Get out two loaves of bread and start making sandwiches while we talk.”

  Betsy brought out a loaf of wheat and one of white bread, took mustard and mayonnaise from the refrigerator. She had removed the twist tie from one loaf while Naomi added more noodles to the simmering pot of chicken broth on the stove.

  “It’s like this. You don’t like the office. Angela needs something to keep her busy, but she also needs to be close to her baby. I should have realized that one woman can’t run this ranch the way I have. It’ll take two, so you and Angela are going to do it together. She’ll take care of the business end, and you can continue to work outside. I’ve given them the old nanny’s suite right across the landing from your bedroom.”