A Cowgirl's Christmas

by C. J. Carmichael

  He didn’t wait for an answer but stepped inside and closed the door. “Have you taken anything?”

  “We have pain relievers somewhere, but I couldn’t find the bottle.”

  “I’m not surprised. Looks like you can hardly open your eyes. Want me to check your medicine cabinet for you?”

  “Don’t have one.”

  “What?”

  “Dad never got sick. Neither do I.”

  He looked her up and down. “Obviously.”

  She sighed. “Well, this is the first time in years. But I’m sure I’ll be better after a good night’s sleep.”

  “I wouldn’t be so sure.” He held up a packet. “I bought some of this, in case. Hot lemon tea with good stuff to combat cold and flu symptoms. I’ll put on the kettle.”

  She held out her hand. “Just leave it with me.”

  “You can hardly stand. Go flop down on the sofa. This will only take a few minutes.”

  Callan knew she ought to argue more forcefully but she didn’t have the energy. Her entire body thanked her when she curled up as instructed on the long end of the sectional sofa. It was no longer just her head that was aching but every muscle and every bone. She felt a little cool but couldn’t summon the will to grab the blanket at the other end of the sofa so she curled her legs up to her chest and shivered.

  “Good God,” Court said, when he came back with the hot lemon drink.

  Callan had no idea how much time had passed. Could have been five minutes. Could have been an hour.

  “You’re freezing,” Court continued, setting down the drink then arranging the blanket over her. “Hang on, I’ll get your pillow and duvet from your bedroom so you can be properly warm and comfortable.”

  “Don’t,” she managed to whisper through a throat that felt dry and painful. The lemon tea smelled wonderful. But the mug was so far away. She closed her eyes and dozed off again.

  Callan’s room was a mess, with clothing on the floor and stacks of paper on the bedside table and dresser. Real estate listings, Court noticed, which made him feel a complicated mixture of guilt, disappointment and...resignation. Callan had been upfront about her plans from the beginning. Obviously she was taking steps to act on them soon.

  Court grabbed the pillow and duvet and made a quick exit. Downstairs, he found Callan sleeping or passed out, hard to tell which. He eased the pillow under her head so she wouldn’t wake with a kink in her neck, then replaced the skimpy blanket with the duvet.

  She sighed but didn’t awaken. She looked very soft and feminine lying there, absent the usual defiant set to her chin.

  These past few weeks Court had been spending most of his time with Red and the other hired men, especially Derek, who had been working at the Circle C for about fifteen years. From things they’d said, he’d gained a better understanding of the factors that had shaped Callan and made her who she was.

  She’d been the youngest of the sisters, and so must have been impacted the most by the absence of a mother during her childhood. Sure, her sisters had stepped into the void to some degree, but only for a few years. They’d all had their own dreams, careers and passions to follow.

  And so Callan had transferred all her affection and love to the one person who was left to her—her father, Hawksley.

  From Red, Court was learning that Hawksley Carrigan had shown a much different side of his character to his daughters and employees on the Circle C, than he had during his stays with the McAllisters every Christmas.

  No good-natured sharing of laughs and stories.

  With Hawksley, according to Red, it was always about work, doing more for less, not wasting time or money. In the five years the two men worked together, never once had they sat down to share a drink together just to enjoy one another’s company.

  And despite being so wealthy, Hawksley was a miser too, refusing to replace any vehicle or piece of equipment until it was on its very last legs. Buildings and equipment were kept in top shape and running order on the Circle C—but thanks to a lot of elbow grease on the part of the people who worked there.

  “And he was hardest on Callan,” Red admitted. “If she was driving the four axle and it broke down, it was her fault. Many times I witnessed him blaming her when they lost a calf, even though there was nothing anyone could have done. But she took the abuse and never complained.”

  The story he’d heard from Derek was the one that bothered Court the most. It seemed that Hawksley, Derek, Sage and Callan had been out repairing fences just a few years after Beverly’s death. Dani was still living at home but she’d begged off work so she could focus on her studies, something she did often, according to Derek.

  They’d been driving home in the pick-up truck and Hawksley was pushing the speed on the old dirt road when suddenly a doe leapt out from the bushes. The truck and animal collided, leaving the deer badly injured but not dead. Hawksley insisted it was time his kids learned a lesson—sometimes you need to be tough to be kind. He took out his shotgun and held it to Sage, but she wouldn’t take it.

  When he offered it to Callan, though, she didn’t say no. Hawksley made her line up her shot between the doe’s eyes and then helped her press the trigger.

  Hearing that story had changed Court’s feelings about Hawksley.

  He put a hand on Callan’s forehead, not surprised to find it hot and damp. In the bathroom he found a facecloth which he soaked with cold water then wrung dry. He placed this cloth on Callan’s forehead.

  And her eyes opened.

  “Court?” Her voice sounded awful.

  “Lift your head a little. Try drinking this.” The formerly scorching hot tea was lukewarm now, and she was able to down most of it in just a few minutes. “Take your time.”

  “So good,” she murmured, before drinking some more.

  “I brought extra packages. I’ll leave them on the kitchen counter next to the kettle.”

  “Thank you.” She handed him the empty mug then sank back into her pillow. She closed her eyes took a deep breath, opened her eyes again. “I’m good. You can go home now.”

  He ignored that, taking the extra packages of lemon tea to the kitchen, then washing up her mug and leaving it on the drain board. By the time he returned to the living room she was asleep again.

  Noticing several past issues of Western Horseman, he sat down by the window and read through them. When it was almost dark enough that he needed to turn on the lamp, she opened her eyes again.

  “You’re still here.”

  He set down the magazines. “Want some water?”

  She didn’t say yes but he could tell that she did, so he got up for a glass. When he handed it to her, she downed it all in less than a minute.

  “How’s Zorro doing?” she asked.

  He glanced away. “Not great. I’ve been mixing up that gruel for him every morning but he hardly eats any of it. He’s drinking at least. When you’re better maybe you could come take a look at him.”

  “I couldn’t do anything you’re not doing.” She closed her eyes and sighed.

  Court fought the urge to brush her hair off her face. To kiss her forehead and see if it had cooled any. From the look of her, it had. She wasn’t as flushed and she’d stopped shivering.

  “I’m a lot better now. You should go.”

  “Want me to call Sage? Maybe she’ll come spend the night with you.”

  “No!” Her eyes popped open wide, and she shook her head. “You have to tell her I’m okay. Sage can’t risk catching this. She’s...pregnant.”

  “Really? Wow. That’s good news.” He’d grown to like Sage and Dawson since getting to know them the day of the round-up. Another kid would be nice for them, and for Dawson’s daughter Savannah, too.

  “Well, it’s sort of secret, still. They haven’t told anyone but family.”

  She glanced at him, then away. He felt the bite behind the words, one more reminder that he was the outsider here.

  “Is there someone other than Sage I can call? I don�
��t think it’s a good idea for you to be alone. I’ll gladly stay the night. I could use that same room upstairs.”

  “No. Just go already. I’m fine.”

  “You’re just so alone here. I’ve been wondering, is there a reason you don’t have a dog?”

  “Hawksley didn’t believe in allowing animals in the house. Last dog we had was killed by coyotes.”

  Court shook his head, remembering how Hawksley had always fussed over their golden retrievers whenever he came to visit. It must have been an act. Or maybe, somehow, his father really had brought out the best in the old geezer. Because he sure hadn’t been the same man here on the Circle C as he’d been on his visits to St. Paul.

  “Stop fussing, Court, and go home.” Callan hesitated a long moment, then spoke again. “I’m grateful for what you’ve done. You’re actually a really decent guy and I’ve been nothing but a jerk to you. But I think we can blame Hawksley for that. He put me in a really tough position.”

  “Yeah, he did. But he's dead now. And we don’t have to abide by the dictates he put in his will. I’d still love to be a fifty-fifty partner with you, Callan. I could really use your help.”

  “No. You don’t need anything I have to offer. I saw you with Red and the other hired men earlier today. You’ve only been here two months and those men already like and respect you. It takes a lot to impress guys like Red and Derek.”

  He was taken aback by the sentiment and the unwilling approval in her voice. “That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.” He allowed a teasing note to soften his voice.

  “Must be my weakened state. Take the compliment and run. You’re not likely to get another.”

  The next afternoon Callan was brushing snow from the windshield and hood of her truck when she saw Court heading toward her from his cabin. He was in dark jeans, clean boots and a sheepskin jacket that went well with his dark brown hair and eyes. Definitely not work clothes.

  “You look better today,” he said.

  A lot of the credit went to the drugs he’d brought over yesterday, which had allowed her to get a solid night’s sleep. “Must have been one of those twenty-four hour things. Did you put Hawksley’s truck away?”

  “Yeah, it’s in the old Quonset hut. If you ever want to use it, the keys are hanging on the rack by the door in Red’s office.”

  “You keep talking like I have some right to it. I don’t. The truck is yours. Yours alone. I just wanted to make sure it hadn’t been stolen—though who would want that rusty old thing, I can’t imagine.” She stood on her toes, trying to brush the snow from the top of the cab.

  Court caught up to her then and took the brush out of her hands. With the advantage of his height, he was able to easily brush off the rest of the snow.

  “Where are you headed?” He opened the driver’s side door and tucked the snow brush behind the front seat. “It’s Sunday, so I’m guessing the chocolate shop is closed.”

  “Just going for a drive.” She had the real estate listing for that cabin on the acreage in her pocket and planned to do a drive-by.

  “I’d be happy to treat you to a sandwich and coffee at the Java Café.”

  A “no thanks” was springing automatically to her lips when she realized that she actually wanted to say yes. Why, she didn’t know. Maybe because he’d been kind yesterday, and didn’t deserve yet another rebuff from her?

  “All right. But we’re taking my truck. And I’m driving.”

  He grinned. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

  By the time she’d settled herself behind the wheel he was already in the passenger side reaching for the radio controls.

  “And listening to my music,” she added, slapping his hand away. “Don’t you dare change a thing.”

  The song in progress was by the Dixie Chicks and they were on the first chorus, singing about not being able to follow and taking the long way instead. Court listened quietly until it was over, then said, “Have to admit. That’s a good song. Makes me think of you.”

  She didn’t ask him what he meant. Decided to take it as a compliment, which made them even for the weekend.

  The Java Café was a cozy place, full of unique finishings arranged artfully to create private nooks and alcoves where customers could feel they were squirreled away from the rest of the world. Callan was glad to find her favorite corner unoccupied, and so she held the table for them while Court ordered.

  “I’d like peppermint tea and the veggie bagel,” she requested, then added, “Please.”

  By Court’s raised eyebrows, she gathered it might be the first time he’d heard her say that word.

  She had to stop being so rude to him. It wasn’t his fault Hawksley had stripped her and her sisters of the Circle C. Not the first time she’d reminded herself of that, and probably wouldn’t be the last.

  Fifteen minutes later, they had their sandwiches and drinks brought to them by one of the wait staff. Court was giving her his impressions of Mariettawhich were positive so far. “I found a good place to get my hair cut last week. And I love the pizza place on Main. Still haven’t tried out Sage’s Copper Mountain Chocolates, though. That’s next on my shopping list.”

  “You won’t be disappointed. She has this magic skill with cacao beans. She sources them straight from Venezuela, she even knows the names of the plantation owners she deals with.”

  “Interesting how different the four of you turned out, isn’t it? Dani being a professor in Seattle and Sage a chocolatier. Only you and Mattie chose to make your living on ranches, among cattle and horses.”

  “Sage needed a new direction after she injured her knee barrel-racing. And Dani was like Mom. Neither one of them took to ranching life.”

  “Well, it can be hard.”

  “More often than not.”

  Court cupped his hand around his mug of black coffee. “Derek told me about something that happened when you would have been around ten or eleven. You and Sage were with him and Hawksley, driving back from repairing fences, when Hawksley hit a doe.”

  Callan tensed. She hadn’t thought about that day for a long while. “Why would Derek tell you about that?”

  “It made an impression on him. What your father asked you to do—that was pretty harsh.”

  She blinked, stared down into her tea. “It had to be done. The doe was suffering.”

  “Most fathers would have insisted their daughters turn their backs and cover their eyes. Not given them the gun and made them shoot the bullet.”

  “That was Hawksley’s way. And it made me tough.”

  “Is that when you made your decision to become vegetarian?”

  She nodded. No one else had ever put two-and-two together the way he had. She wasn’t sure she liked being under such close examination. “I can’t understand why you decided to bring this up. It was a long time ago.”

  “Most of us can look back and identify the key moments in our life that helped shape us into who we are as human beings. I’m guessing that was one of your moments. And maybe one of Hawksley’s, too.”

  “Jeez, you’re like Dani. She’s also forever analyzing stuff. But this is too heavy for me. Let’s talk about something different.”

  “Okay. Pick a frivolous topic. Say a guy is taking you on a date. Would you rather he bought you chocolates or flowers?”

  Callan didn’t like this conversational direction much better. “I’d rather he bought me a beer and challenged me to a pool game at Grey’s.”

  Court didn’t laugh. “You don’t have to be tough all the time, Callan.”

  “And you’re analyzing me again. I think we should go.”

  “One minute.” Court put his hand over hers. “Are you pushing me away because you’re not interested? Or because you’re scared?”

  His hand, which had once been so white and smooth, was callused now, and she liked the way it felt on her skin. She wanted to grab on tight. She wanted him to kiss her again. But there was something blocking her from doing these things
or even admitting that she wanted them.

  It didn’t feel like fear. It felt like a solid wood wall.

  Court was still waiting for her answer, but all she could do was shrug.

  After another long minute, he removed his hand. “You win, Callan. Let’s go.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  The week after her twenty-four hour bug, Callan had little appetite - or energy, for that matter. She’d always been an early riser, but in the morning she had to force herself out of bed in order to put in a full day at the chocolate shop. When she’d started helping out Sage, she’d enjoyed learning the tricks behind making all the delicious chocolates and truffles. But the job had become drudgery, something she only continued so Sage wouldn’t tire herself out too much.

  When she wasn’t at Copper Mountain Chocolates, Callan wandered around the house. Every room now had several packed boxes stacked in the corners. When it came time to sell, it would be easy to strip out what mattered and leave the rest.

  She wished she could leave now. She felt suffocated by the memories in this place. Looking at the fireplace, she thought of all the pictures they had posed for there. Every birthday and Christmas, their mother would gather them on the hearth, arranged from oldest to youngest. Mattie and Sage had both been married here. Even the imperfections in the house were lovable, because of the stories behind them, like the nicks in the wall around the hall mirror. Sage had replaced the mirror with a dart board, and they’d played several rounds before their mother found out and nixed the idea.

  The red stain on the carpet in her father’s study came from a glass of wine Mattie had snuck from the dining room table when she was around twelve then spilled when Dani insisted she wanted a taste, too.

  And the buckled hardwood by the back entrance was the result of Callan neglecting to close the window properly during a big rainstorm.

  Hardest of all for Callan were the nights. She almost never slept a solid eight hours anymore, thanks to nightmares about the day her father had died. She’d hoped that trip up to the ridge would help. But it had not.