A Cowgirl's Christmas

by C. J. Carmichael

  “I admit that’s where some of Hawksley’s biases play in. He felt it would be better to have the ranch in just one person’s hands—and preferably a man’s.”

  Callan swore.

  “I agree. It’s not fair. That’s why I’m offering you fifty percent now. Because it’s the way things would have worked out, if the ranch had been divided equally and fairly from the beginning.”

  Court watched as Callan thought over his offer. No doubt what she really wanted was for him to walk out of her life and stay out. Court could sympathize. But he’d grown up on Hawksley’s promises that one day he would own the Circle C. He’d studied and trained to be an accountant like his father, all the while knowing it wasn’t his true destiny.

  Evenings and weekends, he rode the horse that Hawksley had bought him for his tenth birthday. When he was eighteen, Hawksley had bought him a second horse, and this one Court had used to learn basic roping and cutting skills. He’d been good enough to enter competitions, had even won a few events.

  His successes had pleased Hawksley—a few times Hawksley had even come out with his father to cheer him on.

  But Court was all too aware that he lacked real-life experience. The foreman at the Circle C could help him with that. But he also needed Callan.

  Her father had been so sure that she would agree to stay on at the Circle C once she got over the shock of the will. But Court was afraid he’d under estimated his daughter. She looked so delicate and pretty. But scratch beneath the veneer and she was pure grit. He admired her tremendously. Not that he could let her know that, or she’d walk all over him.

  “What if I stick out the year and we find we don’t work well together?” Callan asked him. “What happens then?”

  “I’ll still deed over the fifty percent. But one of us will have to buy the other out.”

  She scrunched up her face as she mulled that over. “Who buys out who?”

  “We could flip a coin.” He thought a moment. “Or shoot a game of pool.”

  She tried to fight it, but he saw her smile. And it made him feel good, knowing he’d been able to coax a little humor out of her.

  “What was it like when Hawksley came to visit your family at Christmas? What did you do?”

  Her questions caught him unaware, as did her pensive tone. “We spent a lot of time riding horses. In the evening he and dad would look at pictures from their summer at the ranch and share the same stories over and over. They never got tired of them.”

  “Where did you ride horses?”

  “My folks own about a hundred acres outside of the city. Both Mom and Dad are avid riders. That’s how they met. They used to take lessons from the same trainer when they were in their teens.”

  Callan raised her eyebrows. “So that explains it.”

  “Why I didn’t take a tumble when you were racing to the barns? Yeah, I guess it does.”

  Again she smiled, a fraction wider this time. But almost immediately she sobered. “I wish Da—Hawksley had told us stories like that. He never talked about his past much, unless it was to explain how to do a job on the ranch.”

  “Since he and Dad were both single children, they grew up more like brothers than cousins. I know my Dad still wants to come to the Circle C and pay his respects, once Mom’s condition has stabilized.”

  “I did hear your Mom had a stroke. That’s awful. Is she going to be okay?”

  “We hope so. She has a lot of weakness in her left side. Trouble walking and speaking. But she’s getting therapy.”

  “Why didn’t your family ever visit the Circle C when Hawksley was alive?”

  “He never invited us. Dad told me he wanted to keep the two sides of his life separate.”

  “I can guess why.” Callan’s tone was bitter. “It’s clear Hawksley considered you and your parents his real family. Who knows what we were to him? Just an obligation, I guess. We weren’t his kids, but he’d promised our mother he’d raise us as his own.”

  That was pretty much the way Hawksley had described the situation to them, so Court couldn’t argue with her. He tried to remember a time when Hawksley had said something nice about his daughters, something he could recount to Callan as an offering, to make her feel better.

  But Hawksley had only rarely mentioned his wife and daughters during his visits.

  She jumped up from her seat. “Hell, I forgot all about the coffee. How do you take yours?”

  “Black.”

  Apparently she did, too, because she filled two mugs and brought them straight to the table. She pushed his across the island toward him. “How much longer are you planning to stay at the Graff Hotel?”

  “I’m hoping tonight will be the last time. Eventually I’d like to settle in the furnished cabin down the road. At some point I need to get back to St. Paul, pack up my things and settle business with my firm.”

  “The cabin is quite nice. The foreman before Red used to live there. Red has a wife and three kids and they prefer to live in Marietta. The cabin probably needs a good cleaning, but it’s comfortable. Red should have the key.”

  “I’ll ask him this evening. I’ve set up a meeting with him at the hotel at seven. Want to come?” He kept his tone casual, but couldn’t help feeling anxious about her reply.

  “Why would I do that?”

  “If we’re going to run this place together, don’t you think we both need to talk to Red?”

  “You’re assuming I plan to accept your offer.”

  Damn right he was. “Only a fool would walk away from the opportunity to own fifty percent of the Circle C.”

  “Then call me a fool. Cause I’m walking. If Hawksley didn’t consider me Carrigan enough for the Circle C, then I don’t want any part of it. I promised my sisters I’d stay here until after Christmas, but come January I’ll be moving out and putting this place up for sale.”

  The woman was incorrigible, insufferable and unpredictable. Court had never met anyone like Callan. What sane woman would walk away from an offer—a very generous offer—like the one he’d just made?

  And she’d meant it, too. No sooner had he finished his coffee than he’d been shown the door.

  “That takes care of our business,” Callan had said briskly. “If you don’t mind, I need to start packing.”

  Gravel crunched under Court’s boots as he headed for his truck. He was just opening the door when Callan reappeared on the front porch.

  “You and Red better make plans to move those cattle soon. A heavy snow won’t be long in coming.”

  Before he could answer she’d withdrawn inside, closing the door firmly behind herself.

  “Damn woman.” He started the engine and took off for the highway, his mind running through the past few hours, trying to work out if he could have handled the situation smarter. If only Hawksley had set up Callan as a fifty percent partner in his will. But the old coot had stubbornly insisted that a man needed to be the one in charge. “Callan will be mad but she’ll see sense eventually.”

  But Hawksley hadn’t counted on how hurt his daughters would be after they read those letters from their mother. He and Beverly should have told the girls the truth right from the beginning. Damn Hawksley and his stupid male pride.

  Court glanced at the reflection of the Circle C ranch in his rear-view mirror and despite all the recent aggravation with Callan, his heart swelled with unbelievable joy.

  He’d had the same feeling earlier, while riding. This land was wonderful, strong and beautiful, clean and pure. Hawksley and his father had told him that love of Montana and ranching was in the Carrigan blood.

  Based on the way he felt today, he had to believe they were right.

  He wished he could fully enjoy this moment. But thoughts of Callan, her hurt and her sorrow, kept nagging at him. He wasn’t about to throw away his father’s legacy and walk away like she wanted him to. But he didn’t want to take the Circle C away from her either. There had to be some way to get her on side with the idea of working together.r />
  Callan turned on the television, but instead of making the house feel less empty it just made Hawksley’s absence all the more noticeable. It didn’t feel right to hear the TV and not see him sitting in his favorite chair.

  So she switched it off then wandered from room to room, not knowing what to do.

  She’d promised her sisters she wouldn’t sell until the New Year. She understood why they wanted one last Christmas holiday together in their family home. But Christmas was almost two months away. She simply couldn’t see staying here alone for all that time.

  Especially if she wasn’t working. She’d go insane.

  She hadn’t played to go to Grey’s Saloon for a third night in a row.

  Somehow, it just happened.

  One minute she was standing at the door to her fath—Hawksley’s study, feeling like she could scream. The next she was in her truck, considering her options. There were friends she could visit. Maybe she should grab a bite at the Main Street Diner.

  Or...she could hang out at Grey’s.

  Like a homing pigeon, her truck gravitated to her usual parking space a few blocks off Main Street, where she could leave it overnight if she had to. And face it, she didn’t often leave this place in any condition to drive.

  But tonight, if she avoided the bourbon and stuck to beer, maybe it would be okay. She’d only have a few, and she’d grab a meal. That would help absorb the “poison” as Court liked to call it. Man, was he a prig, or what? Didn’t he ever let loose?

  No sooner was she in the door than she ran into someone she knew. A skinny cowboy with cute puppy-dog eyes she’d sort-of-dated for a while a few years ago. Justin gave her hug.

  “Aw, Callan, I was sorry to hear about your dad.”

  “Sorry enough to buy me a beer?”

  Justin drew back, looking surprised. Then he grinned. “Does nothing faze you?”

  “Just like my truck, I’m built tough.”

  She joined his friends at their table and had a couple beers before she remembered her plan to eat. Holding up her hand, she called out to one of the servers. “Nachos for me and my friends, please.”

  By the time the order arrived, Justin had pulled her up to the dance floor.

  “You seeing anyone these days, Callan?” he asked as he pulled her in for a two-step.

  “Why would you ask that?”

  “I dunno. Just wondering.”

  “Well, don’t wonder, Justin. Why don’t we just dance?”

  He shrugged. “Sure, Callan. You call the shots, I’m good with that.”

  He shut his lips then, and focused on his moves, which were good. She’d forgotten how smooth Justin was on the dance floor. They stayed for the next song and the one after that. By the time they returned to their table, most of the nachos had been eaten.

  She grabbed a few, then Gerry, the guy who’d given her a lift the other night, challenged her to a game of pool.

  “You’re on.” She scarfed the nachos, grabbed a few more, then headed to the back where Gerry already had a beer waiting for her. “Rack ‘em up.”

  She had a nice beer buzz going and was enjoying the game and the bantering with Gerry when suddenly she noticed someone new come in the door. Immediately the funk she’d walked in with settled back on her shoulders.

  It was her barroom buddy, Dillon Sheenan.

  Only he wasn’t just her barroom buddy anymore. He was her frigging half-brother. How messed up was that? And what was she supposed to do about it? Tell him?

  No. She’d dealt with enough crap today. Maybe she’d just try to avoid him.

  But of course that didn’t work.

  “Hey, Callan.” He watched her make a shot. “You’re hot tonight, babe.”

  Ewww. “Don’t call me babe.”

  “What the hell? I always call you babe.”

  “Not any more you don’t.” She bent over the table to line up her next shot. Sensing his eyes on her, she stood. “And don’t check out my cleavage, either.”

  Dillon threw up his hands. “What’s gotten into you, tonight?”

  “I know. Right?” Justin was on the sidelines, watching, too, now. “She’s been touchy all night.”

  “Back off you guys,” Gerry said. “Haven’t you heard about her daddy’s will?”

  Callan stiffened. She hadn’t expected word to get out this quickly. Someone from the family must have talked. But who? She knew Ren Fletcher was much too professional to be the source of the gossip. Maybe Savannah had overheard Dawson and Sage discussing the terms then said something to her friends? “Shut up, Gerry.”

  But Gerry had an audience now, not just Dillon and Justin but about half-a-dozen other people who’d overheard and were now moving closer to get in on the rest.

  “Hawksley’s left the Circle C ranch to that guy from Minnesota, the one who came in the bar the other night and put the moves on Callan.”

  “No shit.” Dillon looked as affronted as if it were his own birthright that had been taken from him. “This isn’t true, is it Callan?”

  Everyone was staring at her, waiting for her answer. She tossed her cue stick down. “Yeah. It’s true.” Then she started for the door, ignoring the follow-up questions, shrugging off the hands that tried to grab hold of her arms.

  She stopped at her chair to retrieve her jacket, left some money for her tab, then made for the exit. She didn’t put her odds at a clean getaway very high, and she was right. Dillon followed right after her.

  It was dark outside, and cold. She buttoned up her jacket then checked to make sure her keys were still in her pocket.

  “What was that all about?” Dillon shoved his hands in his jean pockets and hunched his shoulders against the wind. He hadn’t stopped to put on a coat or anything. “It doesn’t make sense. Why wouldn’t Hawksley leave his ranch to you?”

  “It’s complicated, Dillon. And you might not like the answer.”

  “Me? What do I have to do with this?”

  “Last chance to go back into the bar and enjoy a fun, uncomplicated Saturday night.”

  “No way. I want you to level with me.”

  “Okay, well hang onto your boot straps. Because we found out that Hawksley wasn’t our biological father. That’s why he left the ranch to Court, because he was the closest blood relative on the Carrigan side.”

  “But the guy’s name is McAllister, isn’t it?”

  “His father’s mother was Hawksley’s father’s sister. She married a McAllister, but she was still a Carrigan by birth.” When she noticed Dillon frowning, she lost her patience. “Look, I’ll draw you a family tree sometime, okay? Make it nice and simple.”

  “Stop being an ass. I get the part about Court being a blood relative. But what does any of that have to do with me? And who was your birth father, if not old Hawk?”

  Callan took a deep breath. “Remember last fall when Sage told us about that affair between my Mom and your father?”

  Now it was Dillon’s turn to freeze. “Yeah...but that - ” He stopped. Shook his head. “How long did it go on for?”

  “Apparently they were an item before Mom got married. Mattie, it turns out, was your father’s child.”

  “Holy shit.”

  “It gets stranger. After about a decade apart, they hooked up again and guess what? Your dad is also my dad. You and I, Dillon, are half-siblings.”

  “No. You’re messing with me.” Dillon stepped back, and stared at her.

  “I wish.” She jabbed at the sidewalk with the toe of her boot.

  “You...and Mattie. Both Dad’s?”

  “According to Mom’s letters. I guess only DNA tests could tell us for sure. But since it turns out Hawksley was sterile...”

  “No effing way! Then what about Dani and Sage?”

  “Mom went to a fertility clinic in Seattle. Used sperm donors.”

  He looked away, shook his head, then suddenly pounded his fist against the door of the saloon. “God damnit. I wonder if Mom knew.”

  Sage slum
ped against the wall of the Saloon. Dillon’s Mom’s tragic suicide might just be tied up with this. “I’m sorry, Dillon.”

  “Not your fault. I just—” He nursed his fist, which had to be throbbing after that punch. “I need to go. You going to be okay?”

  “Sure.” She understood. Like Dillon, she preferred solitude when she had heavy emotional crap to deal with.

  He didn’t say anything else, just took off down the street. Slowly Callan sank until her butt hit the heels of her boots. Resting her head against the solid wall behind her, she closed her eyes. From within, music pounded, along with sounds of people having fun.

  She shouldn’t have told Dillon that way. What a moron she was. He’d been one of her best friends. Now he probably hated her.

  The night stretched out before her, as did the rest of her life. Where the hell should she go? She couldn’t face the empty house at the Circle C. She just couldn’t.

  “So is this what the locals do on a Saturday night?”

  The voice startled her. She opened her eyes to see a familiar pair of boots about three feet away from her.

  She looked up. Yup, just her luck it was Court McAllister.

  CHAPTER SIX

  “Did you get tossed out of the bar?” Court asked.

  “No!” She tried to scramble to her feet, but her center of gravity was askew. When Court held out a hand she ignored it, preferring to fall to her hands and knees, and then push herself upright. Only then did she notice Red was standing on the other side of Court. The grey-haired foreman was frowning. She guessed what the two of them were thinking.

  “I only had three beers.” Why was she defending herself? She owed neither of them an explanation. “If you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll walk to Sage’s place.” Occasionally, when she couldn’t coax someone into giving her a ride home, she camped on her sister’s sofa. She hadn’t done this since Sage and Dawson’s wedding, but her options right now were limited.

  “Hang on, Callan,” Court said. “I can give you a lift back to the Circle C.”

  She shook her head. “And then drive all the way back to the Graff? Nah, don’t bother. I’ll be fine on Sage’s couch.”