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

by Carolyn Brown

  “Hello, Rosalie,” Betsy said as she shut the door behind her.

  “Well, speak of the devil and he shall appear. We were just decidin’ that this picture in the paper can’t be you and Declan because the girl is too fat.”

  * * *

  Betsy fought the urge to look down at her body to see if it did indeed look fat, but she hopped up on the bar stool at the opposite end of the bar from Declan and said, “Why would you think I’d be making a snowman with Declan? He is a Brennan, and I am a Gallagher, and never the twain shall mix.”

  “Kind of like Romeo and Juliet?” Rosalie said. “Jameson?”

  “No, beer. Tap, not bottle, and just a cup, not a pitcher. And Romeo and Juliet both died in the end. I’m not ready to drink poison, just beer once in a while and an occasional shot of good whiskey.”

  Rosalie filled a cup and set it before Betsy. “Not buyin’ for the boys playin’ poker?”

  “They can buy their own beer,” she said.

  “You got something against poker?” Declan asked.

  “Nope, I got something against buying them beer tonight.”

  “Whew! I was wrong about that chemistry between you two the other night,” Rosalie said. “Y’all are colder with each other than the weather. From the sounds of all those slamming doors out there in the parking lot, I’d say that I was right about folks gettin’ cabin fever.”

  Declan carried his pitcher to the table on the side of the bar away from Tanner and Eli and waited. Finally, Tanner made eye contact with him, and Declan nodded toward the jukebox. In a few seconds, Tanner said something about it being too quiet and pushed his chair back.

  “You’re not picking out all the songs. You’ll be playing nothing but Christmas,” Declan declared.

  “Remember, this is neutral territory, boys,” Rosalie yelled from the bar, which was now full, and people kept coming in by the droves.

  “Yes, ma’am,” Declan hollered back.

  “You ready to throw in the towel?” Declan asked as he plugged coins into the jukebox and picked songs out at random.

  “Hell no!”

  “She’s going to make buzzard bait out of you if she finds out.”

  Tanner shook his head. “A Gallagher never backs down.”

  “Okay, then, I’m tired of all this. I’ve got a woman I want to see, and this bet is getting in the way.” Declan pulled a roll of hundred dollar bills from his pocket. “They’re all there. Ten of them under the rubber band. I’m calling it quits right now. You win, Tanner.”

  “That’s the best news I’ve had since this thing started,” Tanner put his coins into the machine and deliberately picked out all Christmas music.

  “Crazy thing is that you can’t tell anyone other than Eli because Betsy’d shoot you for using her like that,” Declan said.

  “Probably, but it is sweet to know that I beat you. See you on poker night?”

  “Wouldn’t miss it,” Declan said and went to his table.

  The bet was done, over and finished. Now maybe the guilt that kept him awake at night would disappear, and he and Betsy could beat the odds. Romeo and Juliet did.

  And like Betsy said, they died, his conscience said bluntly.

  One of Tanner’s sappy Christmas songs started playing, and Tanner raised a can of beer toward him. Declan ignored him, but it wasn’t easy. His cousins, Quaid and Honey, joined him at the table before he could talk himself into starting a fight with Tanner. Honey picked up the pitcher, poured the extra cup all the way to the brim, and sucked down half of it before she came up for air.

  “I’m in love,” she said.

  “That’s your hormones, not your common sense, talking to you.” Quaid picked up the pitcher and drank from it.

  Declan was glad for anything that took his mind off Tanner’s smug grin. “With the preacher?”

  Honey nodded.

  “Then what in the devil are you doing here in a bar?”

  “I can’t go to the parsonage. Everyone in town would see me there, and it would ruin his reputation, maybe even keep him from getting the church he’s wanting up in Marlow, Oklahoma.”

  “You’ve known him all of two days, and you’re in love? Think about this, Honey. For God’s sake, use your head. You aren’t cut out to be a preacher’s wife even if the relationship did go that far. And Granny will have a fit,” Quaid said.

  “It’s not Granny’s life. It’s mine, and when love hits, you just know it’s the right person. I guarantee, when you two find the right woman, you will know it from the beginning,” Honey protested.

  Declan listened to them argue, but what Honey said stuck in his mind. He glanced toward the bar where Betsy was nursing her beer and talking to Rosalie. With very little imagination, he could see her naked in the shower with him; he could feel her naked body against his as they danced in the bathroom. Was that feeling of contentment in the hotel, that simple excitement of building the snowman together—could that be love and not pure old lust?

  Betsy caught him staring, and her lips curved up into a slight smile. His pulse went into double time and sparks flew around the bar, dimming the glitter and shine of all the Christmas decorations.

  “What are you thinking about, Declan?” Honey poked him on the arm.

  “What you said about love—describe that to me,” he said.

  “It can’t be described. It is what it is. It’s either there or it’s not, and you can’t make it happen or keep it from happening. I felt it when I first laid eyes on John, and when I think of him, my heart does this fluttery thing in my chest.”

  “You sure it’s not the beer?” Declan asked.

  “Darlin’ Cousin, I’m very sure that beer doesn’t cause this. I intend to marry that preacher and leave River Bend. It might not be until next summer, but y’all can get ready for a wedding because my heart will have what it wants,” she said.

  Declan believed her. “Granny wants a preacher in the family so bad that she might forgive you, especially if it means she’s put one over on Naomi.”

  “They’re calling this the love war, you know,” she said.

  “I heard.” Declan nodded. “I’m going to the bar for another pitcher.”

  Chapter 19

  A tiny bit of sun peeked through the gray skies that Tuesday morning as Betsy drove from Wild Horse to Lottie Miller’s place. She’d always heard it called “Lottie’s place” and was mildly surprised when she drove onto the ranch and saw the old, weathered sign above the cattle guard welcoming her to the Double L Ranch.

  The house looked solid and sturdy, with natural rock siding, a chimney on one end, and a wide front porch, open at the south and north ends to catch the breeze. The house facing the west meant that she could see the sunrise from the back porch and watch it set from the front.

  Inhaling the cold morning air as she crossed the yard, she felt peace surrounding her, as if the ranch were already her home. Two rocking chairs with chipping, bright-yellow paint peeking through a blanket of snow on the seats and arms beckoned to her. A couple of feisty, yellow pups bounded around the house and jumped up on her legs, leaving big, wet paw prints on her jeans.

  “Get down from there,” Lottie yelled from the door. “Come on in out of the cold. Two winters in a row like this is why I’m heading for warmer climates. Them pups go with the ranch, so I hope you like dogs if you decide to buy the place. My old mama cow dog had four puppies on Halloween.”

  “Ranch ain’t a ranch without a couple of good cow dogs,” Betsy said.

  “Well, them boys will take some training to ever be good cow dogs. I made Christmas cookies yesterday after you called. Come on in the kitchen, and we’ll talk around the table.” Lottie held the door for her.

  Betsy had been in the house back when she was a little girl and Lottie had been her Sunday school teacher, but looking at it through the eyes
of an adult who might be living there for the rest of her life was a very different experience. The living room was small and cozy, with a blaze going in the fireplace, hardwood floors with bright-colored throw rugs tossed about, and a big window that overlooked the front of the property. A big, well-worn, brown leather sofa that looked as inviting as the rocking chairs on the front porch took up a big chunk of the room.

  Lottie’s rubber-soled shoes squeaked as she crossed the floor. Her slacks ended an inch above her ankles, and red-and-green-striped socks filled in the space between slacks and black lace-up shoes. Santa Claus was checking his list on her red sweatshirt, and a charm bracelet with holiday trinkets jangled with every step. Her white hair was pulled up in a tight little bun on top of her head.

  “You look festive today,” Betsy said.

  “Dressed up for y’all.” Lottie led the way through a small dining room. Betsy stopped at the huge picture window to admire a small herd of deer close to the tree line.

  “I don’t allow no huntin’ on my property and the deer know it.” Lottie motioned for her to follow her through an archway into the kitchen. “You can hang your coat on the back of your chair while I pour you a cup of coffee. Sugar or cream?”

  “No, ma’am, just black,” Betsy said.

  She was mighty glad that she’d answered before she noticed Declan Brennan sitting at the table with a cookie in one hand, a cup of coffee in the other, and a big smile on his face, because at that moment, she couldn’t have uttered a word. So Lottie meant “y’all” as a plural.

  “Help yourself to the cookies. I made plenty, so don’t be shy,” Lottie said.

  Declan held one up. “They are really good, just like I remember from Sunday school.”

  Betsy removed her coat, hung it over the back of a chair, and sat down with a thud. Her knee touched Declan’s under the table and she quickly pulled it back.

  “What are you doing here?” she whispered.

  “I imagine the same thing you are,” he answered.

  “And you’ll both do well to remember that the feud ain’t got no place here on my ranch. I don’t care about your last names or why Wild Horse or River Bend wants this place, but I do care about who is going to live here. I’ve given sixty years of my life to this land, and I want to know it’s took care of proper.” Lottie carried a cup of coffee to the table and set it before Betsy.

  “I want to buy this, not for Wild Horse but for me. It will never be a part of Wild Horse,” Betsy said.

  “And I want to buy it for myself also. It will never be a part of River Bend,” Declan said.

  “Why? You go first, Declan,” Lottie said.

  “Bigger is not always better. I want to start my own business separate from River Bend,” he answered.

  “Why?” Lottie asked a second time.

  “I like the life Leah has,” he said honestly.

  “Your turn, Betsy.” Lottie turned her attention from Declan to her.

  “The same reasons. I want out of Wild Horse, but ranchin’ is in my blood. I want to live in Burnt Boot. It’s home, and I want my own place that’s away from the feud. I’m so sick of it, I could scream.”

  “Both good, solid reasons. I was hoping one of you would give me something that I didn’t like, but you didn’t, so if you’re serious about this place, then this is what we’re going to do. You are going to help me finish getting it ready for sale, and if one of you is still standing when Christmas comes, I’ll give that one first chance at buying it.”

  “What if we’re both still standing?” Betsy asked.

  Lottie wiggled her finger. “Now that would be a miracle, since you are a Gallagher and Declan here is a Brennan.”

  “Together. You want us to work together?” Declan asked.

  “If you want out of the feud, this is a good way to do it,” Lottie said.

  “Granny will have a fit,” Betsy said.

  “Naomi Gallagher has been throwin’ hissies long as I can remember. I don’t reckon one more will kill her, or Mavis Brennan either. That’s my terms, kids.”

  “I’m really not a kid,” Betsy said.

  Lottie’s thin mouth turned up at the corners. “What are you, twenty-five?”

  “Thirty next spring.”

  Her brown eyes sparkled when she turned to Declan. “And you are the same age?”

  “Thirty-two last summer,” he said.

  “I expect it’s past time my Sunday school lessons took root and y’all figured out you should get away from all that fussin’ and fightin’. This last year has been the worst I’ve seen in my lifetime.”

  “And what would you like me to do first?” Declan asked.

  “Not ‘me,’ ‘us.’ You are going to work together,” Lottie said.

  “Sweet Jesus,” Betsy mumbled.

  Lottie pointed a finger at Betsy. “No blasphemy in this house. Today, you can clean out the hay barn. I want the whole thing swept until there ain’t a single bit of straw on the floor and the tack room put to rights. Mice have been in there because I kept horse feed in the closet, so it smells like urine. That should take all day tomorrow and the next day. On Friday morning, we’ll meet back here at eight o’clock and talk about what the next job is.”

  “Starting now?” Declan asked.

  “Did you bring your work gloves?” Lottie asked.

  He nodded.

  “Finish your cookies and coffee and then you can get to it. Dinner will be served at noon, and you can leave at six. If your people throw you out, I’ve got one spare bedroom that Betsy can have and the bunkhouse sleeps four, so I expect Declan could stay down there, but there will be no hanky-panky on my ranch,” she said.

  “I’m a Gallagher,” Betsy said.

  “And he’s a Brennan, but you’re also a man and woman,” Lottie said. “You can leave your good trucks parked in the yard and take my old work truck anywhere on the ranch you need to go, but it ain’t been tagged in twenty years, so don’t be drivin’ it off the ranch.”

  “Speaking of that, where is your truck?” Betsy asked Declan.

  “In the backyard. I came in through the kitchen door,” he answered. “Are you ready to do some serious work?”

  “Are you?” Betsy shot back.

  “Yes, ma’am,” he answered.

  “Y’all come on back in here at noon, and we’ll have a bowl of good, hot soup together. It’ll give you energy to finish up the day,” Lottie said. “I go to bed at nine o’clock, so if you want a bedroom or the key to the bunkhouse, you’d best be back here before that.”

  * * *

  Lottie sat down on the corner of the sofa and called Gladys on an old black phone that had sat on the end table for at least thirty years. “They both showed up and I did what we talked about.”

  “I still think that’s who is in the picture in the paper,” Gladys said. “She would have had on long under britches, and you know what they say about the camera adding ten pounds.”

  “You ready to see what happens next?”

  “Me and Polly’s been sittin’ here waitin’ on your call. You want to let Verdie know, or should we?”

  “I’ll do it. I’m making them clean the hay barn and tack room today and tomorrow and the day after that. When they get that done, I’m going to make them put up all my Christmas decorations, inside and out. I called off the auction. With this weather, it would have been a bust anyway.”

  Gladys giggled. “Keep us posted about what’s happening. Mavis and Naomi are going to have fits.”

  “It’s got to end, or the next stunt they pull could end Burnt Boot altogether,” Lottie said.

  * * *

  Betsy kept her gloved hands tucked deep in the pockets of her coat and bent her head against the hard north wind whistling down across the river, bringing spitting sleet with it again. She should turn around right then
and walk away. Neither of them had said a word from the house to the barn. She’d bailed out of the passenger side of the truck without waiting for Declan to play the gentleman and open the door.

  She could see the house from the barn doors, and her heart yearned to live there, to curl up on that sofa in the evenings after a long day’s work with those two pups on the rug in front of the fireplace. There were two more small ranches for sale, and either one of them would work just fine, but Betsy wanted this one, no matter what it took.

  Her phone rang, and she fished it out of her hip pocket, saw that it was her mother, and answered, “I want this place so bad I can taste it, Mama, but there’s a hitch in the deal.”

  “Your daddy and Naomi say that you are to come home right now. Naomi says you can move back into the house and she’ll retire right after Christmas. Your daddy says that you are not spending a day with a Brennan,” Willa said.

  “How did you know all of this so fast?”

  “The gossips must’ve seen your truck and his both out there at Lottie’s place, and Gladys talked to Lottie a few minutes ago, and, girl, this is nothing but trouble. I’ll buy you either one of those other ranches. Let Declan Brennan have that one.”

  “I will not be bested by a Brennan,” Betsy said. “I’ve got a beep, and it’s Granny.”

  “I wouldn’t want to be you right now,” Willa said.

  “Bye, Mama.”

  Betsy took a deep breath and answered the phone, but before she could say a word, Naomi started in. “What is going on? Wild Horse doesn’t want Lottie’s place. It’s not attached to our land. Get in that ugly truck of yours and get your ass back here where you belong.”

  “And let Mavis Brennan win again this week?” Betsy said slyly.

  “What?”

  “She’s done took your preacher away from you and caused Angela and Jody to move back into their little house. You’re going to let her win again. She’ll be struttin’ all over Burnt Boot by the end of the day, tellin’ everyone that she’s whippin’ your butt.”

  A long silence made Betsy look at the phone to see if Naomi had hung up on her. When she put it back to her ear, her grandmother said, “You sit tight on that place. I heard that Lottie offered you a bedroom. Take her up on it so you can get in better with her. We’ll whip them Brennans on this deal and Mavis can lick her wounds when Wild Horse buys the ranch.”