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

by Carolyn Brown

  “It’s our story,” he said.

  “Yes, it is. You promise to have the hotel ready with ice and drinks and have everything perfect?”

  “Anytime, darlin’. Anytime you can get away to have a night with ol’ country here and you’ll promise to kiss me and hold me tight,” he answered.

  “Why does it have to be so complicated?”

  “To make us enjoy it when ol’ country does come to town. Now for a shower and then snowman building, and by then, we’ll be hungry and this cowboy would like to take you to lunch at the Cracker Barrel. What do you say?”

  She stood on tiptoe and pulled his lips to hers. “Yes, darlin’.”

  Chapter 17

  Five inches of snow lay like a big, white, fluffy blanket on the enormous empty lot on the huge mall parking lot behind the hotel. Not a footprint or tire track anywhere in it—not even a few little rabbit tracks like Betsy would see in the country up around Burnt Boot.

  She’d dressed warmly in long underwear under her jeans, which were tucked inside her cowboy boots, a flannel shirt, and her mustard-colored work coat over it all. She’d pulled a ski mask over her red hair and face, leaving only her eyes showing. Declan had dressed pretty much the same way except that he’d forgotten to pack long underwear, but he did have a pair of work coveralls in his truck. So he’d zipped them up over his clothing, tucked the legs down into his cowboy boots, and pulled a ski mask over his face.

  Betsy was glad that the mask didn’t cover those pretty blue eyes because she loved seeing the laughter and excitement in them. Right now, he was looking at the snow like he was that little, long-legged twelve-year-old boy again. She couldn’t help but wonder if the same happiness showed in her own eyes.

  Declan took her gloved hand in his “Well, darlin’, I do believe we have enough here to build a snowman or maybe two. The only question is where do we want him to stand when we get done?”

  “Over there by that lonesome tree. We might even borrow a few twigs from it to make his arms,” she said.

  “Then we’ll begin rolling right here.” He dropped her hand and made a snowball about the size of a baseball.

  She did the same. “I’ll make the middle while you do the bottom.”

  “How big do we want him?” Declan asked.

  “Tall as you,” she answered.

  “And how do we plan to pick up his fat, little middle section? We don’t have a crane,” Declan said.

  “I’ll make it about half the size it should be, and we’ll put it on the first part and then pack snow around it until it’s big enough. This is wet snow. It’s going to pack really well,” she said.

  “Go on and start rolling then,” he said.

  “Why?”

  “Because I want to be behind you, so I can see that cute little butt of yours.” His eyes said he was grinning even though she couldn’t see his mouth.

  “Maybe I had the same idea about your tight, little cowboy butt,” she said, smarting off right back at him.

  “Oh, so you think I’ve got a cute rear end?” he asked.

  “No, I think you’ve got a sexy ass, Declan Br—”

  He shook his finger. “No last names. We’re out here playing in the snow like a couple of kids who only know each other’s first names.”

  “Okay, then let’s make this snowman one that will still be standing here in this parking lot when Christmas morning comes around,” she said.

  “Yes, ma’am, and on that day, we’ll come back here and take pictures of him or what’s left of him, okay?” Declan asked.

  “It’s a date.”

  Two hours later, they stood back to look at their creation. They were tired, covered in wet snow, and half-frozen, but a six-foot snowman stood before them. Declan had taken several pictures of it with his camera to prove that they had indeed built the huge thing and hadn’t even begun to use up all the snow on the parking lot. But alas, although he had stick arms, he didn’t have a carrot for a nose or any other facial features.

  “We could use rocks, but they’re all covered up,” she said.

  “We could go into the Cracker Barrel and buy a carrot and some black candies for his eyes and mouth and maybe even get him a hat,” Declan said.

  “Yes, yes, yes!” She clapped her gloved hands together and snow flew everywhere.

  It only took a few minutes to talk the salesclerk out of a carrot from the kitchen and to find a bag of big licorice gumdrops. Betsy found an old straw hat that was on sale for half price and bought their snowman a bright-green-and-red-plaid scarf to tie around his neck. But by the time they paid for their purchases, the snow that had accumulated on their boots and clothing had begun to melt, and they left a puddle of water in front of the cash register.

  “I’m so sorry about this mess,” Betsy said.

  “Go on and finish your job,” the saleslady said. “We’ll clean this up. What a honeymoon you’re having. Be sure to take pictures of all this.”

  “Honeymoon!” Betsy said when they were out of the store and trudging back to their poor faceless snowman. “Why would she think that?”

  Declan laughed. “Only stupid kids, silly teenagers, or crazy newlyweds would be out in this weather making a snowman.”

  “Well, since we are past the kid and the teenager stage, that only leaves one category, and she chose it,” Betsy agreed.

  “So now we have to be Mr. and Mrs. Wiseman the rest of this trip because only married people go on honeymoons,” he said.

  They rounded the north end of the mall and saw that tire tracks had plowed through the snow all the way from the hotel to the snowman. A woman was standing outside a bright-red Jeep, taking pictures of every angle of the snowman. When she saw them, she waved and motioned them forward.

  “I believe it’s time to pull our ski masks down, Mrs. Wiseman,” Declan said.

  “Why? Are you getting cold?”

  “No, but if you will read what’s written on the side of that Jeep, you’ll see that woman is from the Gainesville newspaper. This big snow is front-page news, and several folks in Burnt Boot get the newspaper.”

  “Oh no! What are we going to do?” she asked.

  “Well, the one thing we are not going to do is let her see our faces.” He quickly pulled his mask back on.

  She followed his lead and jerked her ski mask from her coat pocket and made sure every bright-red strand of hair was tucked up under it.

  “Check me out,” she said.

  “I have many times, and I’ve liked every angle. There’s a bit still showing in the back. Here, I’ll put it under your collar and adjust the back of the mask so it covers it. There we go,” he said.

  “Hey, are you the newlywed couple who built this big, old boy?” the lady yelled when they got closer.

  “We are,” Declan said.

  “Come stand beside it and let me take your pictures. It’s the best one I’ve found and I’ve been out scouting the town all afternoon. What’re your names?” She snapped dozens of pictures as they gave the snowman a face, wrapped the scarf around his neck, and settled the straw hat on his head.

  “We are the Wisemans. Maria and Joe,” Declan said.

  “Well, Maria and Joe, will you please remove your ski masks for the camera? I want to put you on the front page of tomorrow’s paper with your snowman.”

  “Can’t do that,” Declan said. “And we’d appreciate it if you didn’t use our names. We kind of eloped, and our families don’t know. They think we’re on business trips, so we’d better not let our faces show.”

  “Why don’t you take a picture of us from behind, putting on his hat?” Betsy asked.

  “Would you mind if I put it in the cutline that you are newlyweds who have to tell your folks before your names can be released and then maybe tell everyone you’re Maria and Joe Wiseman in a later edition? And maybe you
could take my card and send me a picture of you together to put in that edition?”

  “Sure thing,” Declan said.

  “Okay, pretend you are putting on his hat, and let me get a picture of that. He’s a gorgeous snowman. Looks like he should be on a Christmas music album,” she said. “Oh, by the way, I’m Lacy, and here’s my card.”

  Declan took it and shoved it into his pocket.

  “Don’t forget to send me the picture,” she said.

  “We won’t,” he said and then picked Betsy up by the waist and held her high enough so she could pretend to put the hat on the snowman.

  “That’s fantastic.” Lacy snapped at least a dozen shots in the thirty seconds Declan had Betsy in his arms. “Let’s go have a cup of coffee. I’ll treat since you’ve been such good sports.”

  Declan set Betsy on the ground but kept her hand in his. “We’ve got plans and…” He had to think fast and fake a sneeze before he said Betsy. “Maria is getting really cold, so I think we’ll go on in for a while. We’ll look for the picture in the paper tomorrow. Remember, darlin’, we’ll have to cut it out and put it in our wedding album.”

  “Yes, we will,” Betsy said. “Thanks for the offer of coffee, Lacy.”

  She managed to keep the laughter inside the ski mask until she reached the elevator in the hotel. The mask was a blur as it came off her head, red hair with static electricity sticking up like she’d stuck her finger in an electrical socket, and laughter echoing off the walls of the elevator.

  Declan removed his mask, grabbed her around the waist, twirled her around a couple of times, and kissed her so hard and passionately that she went limp in his arms. “That was more fun than anything I’ve done in years.”

  “What?” she asked breathlessly when he finally set her down. “The lies or the snowman?”

  “All of it,” he said. “I’m hungry. How about you?”

  “Starving. That aroma of cooking food in the Cracker Barrel almost made me stay there, rather than going back to finish up Mr. Snowman.”

  The elevator doors opened, and they were just closing the door to their room when they heard a voice calling out, “Joe and Maria. Hey, Joe! You lost something.”

  “Dammit!” Betsy swore even though she’d been doing so good at not cussing. “She caught that other elevator. Put your mask on or do something. I’m hiding out in the bathroom.”

  “Hell’s bells!” Declan muttered. He opened the door just enough to stick out a hand. “What did I drop?” he asked.

  “My business card.” She smiled and snapped a picture of one eye, his hand, and the door. “Here it is.” She put it in his hand and turned back toward the elevator.

  “So much for going to the restaurant for something to eat. We’d better order some pizza,” she said.

  “Pizza sounds good. I’ll order while you get out of those wet clothes. Hang them over the shower rod and they might be dry by morning,” he said.

  “And to look on the bright side”—she rose on tiptoe to kiss him—“if we order pizza, we can get a six-pack of beer with it and some pasta and breadsticks, and we can always hit the vending machine for snacks, so we’ll be good for the whole day.”

  He ran a forefinger from her temple to her lips. “I like cold kisses.”

  “I like hot dessert,” she grinned.

  “It’ll take at least forty-five minutes for them to get our order ready and drive all the way out here on these roads. How about we combine the kisses and the dessert while we wait?” he asked.

  She started stripping out of her clothes while he picked up the menu card beside the phone and dialed the number.

  “You need what?” she heard him say and then put his hand over the receiver. “He has to have a name and a room number to call back to the hotel and verify that this is legitimate. What if that nosy newspaper lady is in the lobby?”

  “Give me that phone.” She held out her hand.

  “This is Betsy Gallagher. I’m in room 312, and you can call this number”—she rattled off the number on the phone—“to verify it. But there’s a stalker in the lobby. A woman with a big camera, and if she asks you any questions, you are to say that you are delivering the order to Maria Wiseman. Write that down because it will mean a twenty-dollar tip if you do what I tell you. If you don’t, I’ll make you wish you had. Do you understand me?”

  “Yes, ma’am. I do this kind of business all the time.” The young man laughed. “Maria Wiseman, what would you like to order?”

  “A meat lover’s pizza with hand-tossed crust.” She looked up at Declan to see him holding up two fingers and said, “Make that two large ones of the same. A tray of chicken Alfredo and one of spaghetti and meatballs, a medium order of breadsticks with sauce, and two large bottles of Pepsi. And a six-pack of beer, preferably Coors.”

  “That’s sixty-nine dollars and seventy-five cents total with tax,” he said. “We take cash, credit cards, or checks if they are local.”

  “It will be cash,” she said.

  “I’ll be there in forty-five minutes or I’ll cut the bill in half.”

  “Thank you.” Betsy ended the call and laid her phone on the desk.

  “You’re pretty good at that. This isn’t your first rodeo, is it?” Declan asked.

  She smiled. “Not really. I’m pretty open with everything I do, but I do have a few secrets.”

  “Me either,” he said. “Always been right out in the open.”

  “No secrets about anything?” she asked.

  “Well, I don’t kiss and tell.” He grinned.

  She unbuttoned her flannel shirt and carried it to the bathroom. When she turned around, Declan was right behind her. He put the lid down on the toilet and sat down, reached out, and drew her to him, burying his face in her midsection.

  “I wish we could go public, but if we did, it would turn Burnt Boot upside down, and we’d never get the stuff we need for the Christmas program,” he said.

  She kissed the top of his head. “We’re like the song. Even though I’m not a city girl, it’s the same thing. We come from two different worlds that are really just alike but they can’t be mixed. So we’ll enjoy what we have a day at a time, Declan, and when it’s over, we’ll have our memories.”

  He pulled her tighter into his embrace. “What if that’s not enough?”

  “Then we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it. Forty minutes now until the pizza gets here, so let’s go curl up under the covers and get warm,” she teased.

  He tugged her long underwear down to the floor and slung it up over the shower rod with her other wet clothes and then stripped out of his own, leaving all of it in a pile on the bathroom floor.

  “Nice outfit there,” she said.

  “I like yours much better.” He picked her up and carried her out of the bathroom, flipped back the covers on the bed with one hand, and tossed her into the middle. She squealed when she bounced, but he landed beside her and his lips found hers in a searing kiss that erased every sane thought from her mind.

  When the pizza guy arrived thirty-nine minutes later, Declan met him at the door, handed him a fistful of bills, and brought the food to the bed. “The woman is still in the lobby, and she took a picture of him delivering pizza to the newlyweds. She offered him ten bucks to take a picture of either or both of us with the camera on his phone.”

  “That hussy! Why would she do that?” Betsy fumed.

  “I think she smells the lie and is curious,” Declan said. “She’ll leave pretty soon. The desk clerk isn’t allowed to give out information about guests.”

  “Too bad it’s against the law to shoot people like that. We were nice to her.”

  Declan chuckled. “You can’t shoot her. You don’t have a gun.”

  Betsy inhaled deeply and let it out in a whoosh. “I never leave home without a gun. Dammit! I hope to hell she
doesn’t go pokin’ around our vehicles. That pink truck stands out like a sore thumb out there.”

  “You are a legitimate guest here, and, honey, I never leave home with the tags on my truck that really go with it. Right now, I’m running Oklahoma tags from a 2001 truck that is sitting in a junkyard.” Declan flashed another of his heart-stopping grins.

  Betsy eyed him. “Why?”

  “Protection. Oh no!” He gasped.

  “What?” she asked.

  “Speaking of protection…”

  “I’m on the pill.”

  He swiped a hand across his forehead in a dramatic gesture. “I should have asked, but when I’m with you, I’m worse than a teenager. And, Betsy, the thing about protection with the truck is not against jealous husbands. I don’t date or go to bed with married women. It’s just that I’ve been caught speeding so often that I can’t afford to get caught again and lose my license. So I’ve got a couple of fake ID’s and a bunch of truck tags just to keep me out of jail. If I can stay out of trouble for six months, then I’ll be fine.”

  “I didn’t ask,” she said.

  “I know, darlin’, but I want you to know that.”

  “Thank you. I swear I’m trading in that pink truck for a black one, or a maybe a white one. You see a lot of those on the roads, so no one would recognize it. Do you reckon you could get me one of those junked plates sometime?” she asked.

  “Got a few extra in the barn. I’ll bring you one next time we go to the storage unit.”

  Chapter 18

  Betsy listened to the radio all the way home on the slippery roads Monday afternoon. Because of the bad weather, the hotel had generously offered all its guests a late checkout at two o’clock that day. Declan had left first, and she had made one more sweep through the room to be sure nothing had been left behind—especially anything that would identify either of them if that nosy lady from the newspaper came snooping around.