A Cowgirl's Christmas

by C. J. Carmichael

  “Are you sure? Mattie called last night and we got to wondering if we were being selfish asking you to stay at the ranch just so we could have one last Christmas there.”

  “I don’t think you were being selfish. It’s your home, too. But I hope you’ll help me get it ready for Christmas.” The idea of putting up lights and decorating a tree on her own made her feel super-depressed.

  “We definitely will,” Sage promised. “Dawson, Savannah and I will come over and make a party of it. So don’t you worry about Christmas. But I am wondering what you want to do about Thanksgiving. Last night Mattie said she’d like us all to go to her and Nat’s place. What do you think? Might be fun.”

  Callan had never seen the Double D Ranch, but from all accounts it was quite the showplace. Most other times she would have jumped at the offer for a tour and to spend more time with her family. But she wasn’t sure she had the mental energy for a trip right now. “Maybe. I appreciate the invite.”

  Sage looked at her with obvious worry in her eyes. But she didn’t press the point.

  Computerizing the financial records of the Circle C ranch preoccupied Court’s evenings for the next three weeks. He worked on them from the time he finished his dinner until after midnight without a break.

  The project took over the cabin. Stacks of paper and banker boxes were on chairs, in corners, and all over the kitchen table and counters.

  Hawksley had been a terrible record-keeper. Invoices and receipts weren’t categorized, the bank balance was never reconciled and sometimes the only record of a transaction Court could find was a note on the back of a discarded envelope.

  Fortunately Hawksley had been smart enough to hire a qualified accountant to do his taxes, or God only knew what sort of mess he’d be in with Internal Revenue. Plus, payroll was handled through the bank, so employee deductions weren’t a problem, either.

  Still, proper financial records were important for controlling costs and profitability of a business. The bigger the mess became, the more Court worried about what he would find once the project was done.

  Every three or four days, he made another trip to the main ranch house to collect more banker boxes. That was the only time he saw Callan, as for some reason she’d stopped coming out to check on Zorro. Hawksley’s old horse still wasn’t doing well, though Court continued to tempt his appetite with warm gruel and special horse treats recommended by the vet.

  Two day before Thanksgiving, Court finished his microwaved turkey pot pie dinner then made his way to collect the last of the banker boxes. During the day they’d had some snow, but now the evening sky was clear enough that he could see the first few stars. The path between the cabin and the Carrigan’s ranch home was well trodden by now. And the routine between him and Callan went like clockwork, too. Usually she had the boxes stacked and waiting under cover of the front porch. He’d tap on the door, they’d exchange a few polite words, and then he’d be off, using a headlamp to light his way home.

  Today, however, there were no boxes waiting. The porch had an abandoned, sorry look about it. The outdoor furniture had been covered to protect it from the snow, and the flowers that had bloomed so brightly when he’d first come to Montana were now wilted and brown.

  Callan’s truck was parked in its usual spot, so she had to be home.

  He knocked.

  As he waited for her to come to the door, he eyed the second vehicle parked next to Callan’s. Hawksley’s old SUV was covered in snow. Probably not smart to leave it out all winter without anyone driving it.

  He supposed it should be sold. Unless one of the Carrigan girls wanted it.

  Finally the door opened. Callan looked flushed, maybe a bit flustered, as well.

  “Sorry. I was upstairs, knee deep in Sage’s old barrel-racing trophies.”

  “Dusting?” he guessed.

  “Packing. I’m going through the house room-by-room, packing up personal effects that won’t be included when we sell the place.”

  He didn’t try to hide his disappointment. “Still sure you don’t want to live here?”

  “Still sure.” She stepped aside so he could enter. “Sorry, I forgot to put out the boxes. The last two are over there.” She pointed to a spot next to the front hall closet. Next to them was a small suitcase, about the size of a carry-on bag.

  “Going away for Thanksgiving?” he asked. His own plans had changed last week when his father phoned to say he’d found a special clinic in New Mexico for Court’s mom. They’d been lucky to get a spot right away, but it meant they’d have to cancel on the holiday.

  “Mattie and Nat have invited the family to the Double D in Flathead Valley.”

  “I see.” He waited to see if she would ask about Zorro or any other ranch-related matter, but as usual she just seemed to want him to leave.

  “I was thinking about your dad’s truck. Probably won’t do it any good to sit out all winter. Do you think any of your sisters might want it? Or yourself?”

  She pressed her lips together, but not before he’d seen the bottom one tremble. Eyes averted, she shrugged one shoulder. “No. You might as well sell it.”

  “Have to wait until probate is lifted to do that. But for the time being I could move it to one of the Quonset huts, I guess. Do you have the keys?”

  “Hang on.” She returned a moment later with a key chain with two keys on it. “I put the spare on here, too.”

  Rather than pass it to him, she lobbed it through the air then stepped back, crossing her arms and looking, despite the proud tilt of her chin, rather lost and vulnerable.

  In that moment Court couldn’t have cared less about his Excel spreadsheets. He wished she would invite him in and they could sit down and talk—openly and honestly—about how they both felt. Most of all, he wished she could see him as a friend and not the enemy.

  But that, he was afraid, would never happen.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Callan bowed out of the family plans for Thanksgiving at the last moment, opting instead to ride up to the ridge just before Four Corners, where her father had died. Maybe by going back she could finally put an end to the nightmares that wouldn’t leave her alone. She put off the ride until midday, when the temperature rose above freezing. Even so, she needed her long underwear and a merino wool long-sleeved T-shirt to insulate her from the cold. On her way down the stairs she passed the suitcase she’d packed for the weekend at Mattie’s.

  When she’d packed it, she’d had serious intentions of going. But at the last minute she jammed out. She made an excuse to Sage and Dawson, who’d offered to give her a ride. Sage hadn’t been happy and had tried hard to get her to change her mind.

  Callan made up a story about some dinner her friends wanted her to attend.

  It wasn’t a total lie. Friends had invited her out to a holiday party. But she wasn’t going to that, either.

  No, she’d decided to use the holiday to lay aside some ghosts. She wouldn’t have to worry about running into Red or one of the other men, since Thanksgiving was one of the rare days when only essential chores were done at the Circle C.

  She didn’t have to worry about Court, either. He ought to be in St. Paul by now.

  As she tacked up Montana Sapphire, Callan resisted the urge to check in on Zorro. She knew he was getting plenty of care. She’d seen the vet’s truck out here again this Monday. Callan had her own problems to deal with now.

  Montana Sapphire was a little strong-headed for the first bit. Callan knew it was her fault for having neglected her for so long. “Sorry, Sapphire. I’ll be better from now on.”

  Being on the back of her horse again felt great. She’d been lucky with the day. A nice blue sky, calm air and not much snow was the best you could hope for when December was just around the corner.

  Callan took Sapphire up the same route she’d followed that fateful day with Hawksley. She paused in the place where she’d seen him smile. Looking around, she had to wonder what had brought it on. The view wasn’t much in thi
s spot, too many trees.

  She supposed he’d been smiling at the day, at the great weather and the prospect of the views that would soon emerge as they gained the ridge. Never guessing that he’d never make it to the ridge, never see the views.

  She swiped away the tears that had begun to fill her eyes. Damn it, she hadn’t come up here to cry like a baby. This was therapy. And it was supposed to make her feel better, not worse.

  She urged Sapphire further. they were almost at the spot when she heard someone riding up from behind. She tensed and pulled in on the reins, pivoting Sapphire so she could see who it was.

  Something told her, even before she saw him, even though she knew he was supposed to be in a different state, that it was going to be Court.

  And it was.

  As he emerged from the pines, steady on the back of Pinstripes, she wondered if he had changed in the past six weeks—or was she just seeing him differently?

  Because he looked nothing like an accountant from St. Paul anymore. His skin was tanned from the outdoors, he looked broad-shouldered and strong, and he sat in his saddle like it was his second home.

  “Is this where it happened?” he asked.

  He knew why she’d come here. Or at least he’d guessed. It bothered her that this man she wanted to hate unreservedly could have such insight into what made her tick. She wondered if she should just abandon her plans and ride back home. But she was so close. And when would she have another opportunity? In another few weeks there might be so much snow she wouldn’t be able to get here until spring. And by then probate would be cleared, the house sold, and God only knew where she’d be living.

  “I came up here to be alone.”

  “I can wait here,” he said respectfully.

  She sighed. Whether he was fifty feet away or five didn’t much matter. His presence would still be on her mind. “Do what you want.” Then she signaled Sapphire to go on up the last stretch, right before the ridge, where Hawksley had fallen. When she came to the spot, she could see broken branches on the shrub that had cushioned his fall. She slid off her horse, trusting Sapphire not to go far.

  Night after night in her dreams she saw him here, heard the final words he’d had for her. I kept my word, Bev. And then, right before he died, Bastard.

  Had he realized either time that he was speaking to her, Callan?

  She would never know.

  She took a deep breath then bit the inside of her cheek, commanding the tears not to come. This was simply about facing facts. Death came to everyone eventually, and it had found Hawksley here, doing something he loved, on the land he cared more about than anything else. She bent to survey the damage to the huckleberry bush. Pruning away the dead branches, she knew that next spring the bush would thrive as if nothing had happened.

  She turned at the sound of snapping branches from the trail behind her. Court was walking toward her, leading Pinstripes with the reins.

  “I know you asked to be alone,” he said. “But aren’t you tired of it?”

  Later, Callan couldn’t figure out how it had happened. Had she leaned in toward him? Had he first held out his arms? In any event, she’d ended up with both his arms circled around her, his cheek resting gently on the top of her head.

  He felt strong and warm, and he’d smelled of wood smoke and peppermint.

  She closed her eyes and didn’t say anything. Just the physical connection was enough. And after many long minutes, when she finally lifted her face and met his gaze, what happened next seemed inevitable, too.

  They kissed.

  And this time the connection wasn’t about comfort, but about sex and attraction. The jolt of the sensations, so sharp and electric, had her tensing mere seconds into the kiss.

  “This isn’t right.” She stared into his eyes, wanting to see that he agreed with her. But he was smiling.

  “Feels pretty good to me.”

  “You and me. It’s crazy.”

  “Some feelings can’t be denied, Callan. I admit this isn’t convenient. When I was in St. Paul, I tried to talk myself out of being attracted to you. Didn’t work.”

  Desire flared up in her veins again and she struggled to tamp it. “Speaking of St. Paul, shouldn’t you be there right now?”

  He was still holding her. And it felt so sweet. It took a lot of willpower to push against his chest until he broke the connection between them.

  “My dad decided to take my mother to a special clinic in New Mexico. They have these hot springs that are supposed to have special healing powers.”

  “Oh. I hope they work for her.”

  “Can’t hurt. She’s already doing so much better. What about you? I thought you were going to Mattie’s?”

  “Changed my mind.” The truth was she’d never intended to go, but had gone through the motions to make her sisters happy.

  “Any plans for dinner?”

  “No.”

  “Want to do potluck? I bought one of those tofu turkey things and a pumpkin pie when I was in town yesterday.”

  She had full intentions of turning down the offer. But the tofu turkey was her undoing. Not many men would be so considerate. “I have a box of Sage’s orange and ginger truffles.”

  “If we add some wine, we can make it work.”

  Callan was relieved when Court suggested they eat at his cabin. She had no memories of the place. It would be a lot easier than sitting at the table where, only last year, Hawksley had unknowingly eaten his last Thanksgiving meal.

  She went home to shower and change, putting on nothing more fancy than jeans and a sweater. Despite their kiss this wasn’t a date. And she certainly wasn’t making peace with Court. It was sort of like the Christmas truce that occurred in the trenches of World War I.

  On her way out the door she grabbed the box of truffles and a bottle of white wine from the small collection Dani added to every time she came to visit. As a rule when Callan felt like drinking she went to Grey’s. And she tended to prefer beer or bourbon to wine.

  But for Thanksgiving she would make an exception.

  Though it wasn’t yet dark she also took the lantern with her, figuring she’d need it for the walk home.

  First thing she noticed when Court opened the door to her, before she’d even knocked, was the music playing softly in the background. She wrinkled her nose. “Still haven’t elevated your musical tastes to country?”

  His smile was rueful and kind of charming. “Afraid not. If it bothers you I can turn it off.”

  “Nah. It’s fine.” She remembered how peaceful she’d found it the other night when he’d given her a lift. Peaceful would be good for a day like this one. She handed him her contribution to the meal, then hung her coat on a peg by the door. “Mashed potatoes or a salad would have gone nicely with the turkey. But my fridge is kind of bare.”

  She ate toast for breakfast, frozen dinners at night. Cooking had never been her thing, and now that it was just for herself she couldn’t be bothered.

  “No worries. I’m roasting potatoes and onions and I tossed together a salad, as well.”

  “That’s why the place smells so good.” She looked past him to the living area, where stacks of banker boxes flanked the stone fireplace.

  “Sorry. It’s kind of a mess in here. I’ve been working on computerizing the accounts.”

  “How’s it going?” She followed him inside, through to the kitchen where he’d already opened a bottle of wine and set out two goblets.

  “Surprisingly well. Hawksley was completely disorganized when it came to keeping records but he had great business sense. The Circle C is a remarkably profitable operation.” No sooner had he said that than he grimaced. “Probably not the most diplomatic thing for me to be pointing out under the circumstances.”

  He handed her a glass of wine and she wandered to the glass door that led to the outside deck. A rosy band of color was setting off the mountain peaks to the west. Above that, the sky was a beautiful deep blue, like a glacier-fed lake in the s
ummer time.

  “You’re not telling me anything I didn’t already know.” And it wasn’t the money she cared about, anyway. Even if the Circle C had been a break-even operation she still would have been happy to spend the rest of her life working there.

  She turned back to the kitchen. Court was chopping cucumber, adding the chunks to the salad bowl by the sink. She leaned against the counter and watched. “What was your life like in St. Paul?”

  “Good enough. I liked working at the accounting firm with my dad. If I’d stayed, I would have eventually been invited to be a partner and I was okay with that, if not terribly excited.”

  She couldn’t imagine two jobs more different than rancher and accountant. Yet she could see him fitting into both. Certainly as a rancher it helped to have a head for numbers. “Did you leave more than a job behind when you came out to Montana?”

  “You mean a woman?”

  She nodded.

  “Nothing serious. I’ve been accused of having commitment issues.”

  She’d heard the same thing from a few guys about herself. “And do you?”

  “I don’t think so. I want marriage and kids. Do you?”

  “Haven’t thought about it much.” That was a half-lie. At twenty-six she wasn’t ready to have a baby, she knew that for sure. But she would like to find a guy, eventually.

  “Well, I have. Almost got engaged once. In the end I couldn’t do it. My dad always said I would know when it was right. And since I didn’t, I guess it wasn’t.”

  She wondered what the woman had been like, the one he’d almost asked to marry him.

  “That’s it for the salad,” he said. “Any objections to bottled dressing?”

  “Hell no.”

  “Want to pick something from the fridge?”

  She went to open the door and was impressed to see an orderly and clean interior, with left overs stacked tidily in see-through plastic containers. She selected a balsamic vinaigrette. “So are you a neat freak about everything?”