And there was a desperation behind her passion that didn’t feel right.
“Callan, baby, I’m all in. But is this what you really want?”
“You talk too much.”
“Possibly. Or maybe you talk too little.” He cupped her face between his hands. She had such a china doll face—so at odds with her grit and her strength. “I need to know you won’t regret this.”
Suddenly she was looking away from him. Shrinking back.
“Callan.” He had a horrible feeling she’d taken what he’d said as rejection, when it was the very opposite. He wanted to make love with her desperately. But it had to mean something. To both of them.
She gave a brittle laugh. “I can’t believe what almost happened. Hawksley must be rolling in his grave.”
“He might be surprised. But do you really think he wouldn’t approve?”
“I’m the last one to speculate on what his opinion would be.” She went to the sink and splashed water over her face. “I’m sorry about falling apart, earlier. I feel like such an idiot.”
“You shouldn’t. You were overdue for a good cry. You’ve been so angry at your father, you haven’t allowed yourself to properly grieve his death.”
She gave a short laugh. “Analyzing me again?”
“Well, I’m sure Zorro was a great horse. But not quite that great.”
She fought a smile, then gave in with a shake of her head. “You’re right about that. Turns out you’re right about a lot of things.”
“Like us being good for each other?” He tried to take her hand, but she slipped away from him.
“That was just a kiss. No I mean about the ranch. Moving here. You fit in. I didn’t think you would, but you do. Hey,” she pointed to the corner of the roof and the built-in speaker, “You’re even listening to country music now.”
“Thanks to you.”
“No. None of it is thanks to me. You’ve done all this yourself. I think Hawksley knew what he was doing. The Circle C will be in good hands with you.”
“Doesn’t have to be just me.” He wanted to offer her more than a business partnership. But Callan wasn’t going to let him close enough to matter to her. Hawksley’s goal had been to make her tough. And he’d succeeded.
“No. I think it’s better this way. And don’t worry—I won’t hold a grudge. In fact, if you want to stop by later tonight for a drink, that might be a good idea. So we can officially bury the hatchet.”
She was throwing him scraps now. A drink on Christmas Eve. Fool that he was, he would accept it. “Will your sisters be okay with me showing up?”
“If I’m good with it, they will be, too.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Court spent a long while in the horse barn, first cleaning out Zorro’s stall—which was a sad, sorry task—then puttering around the tack room. He thought about all the hundreds, if not thousands, of hours Callan must have spent in this room during her life. What to him was a room of saddles, bridles and bits, was for her, a patchwork of memories from her childhood.
All things considered, she’d handled the shocking events of the past few months—Hawksley’s death, the will, her mother’s letters—with remarkable strength. He admired and respected her for that.
But his feelings went a lot deeper.
And so did his conscience.
Court made a call to his father and they talked a long while. When Court finally managed to get his point across—and accepted—he made a second much shorter call. After that, he returned to the cabin to shower and change. Within the hour he was on the road to Marietta, to Ren Fletcher’s office.
Ren hadn’t sounded too happy about going to work on Christmas Eve. But when he’d heard what Court had in mind, he relented.
“You sure about this?” he asked Court, before handing over the official papers.
“Oh, yeah.”
Ren just shook his head. “I’ve seen a lot of crazy stuff in my career. The past two months at the Circle C have topped it all.”
Callan had every intention of going back to the house when she left Court. But as she stumbled out of the barn, eyes blurry once more with tears, she realized she couldn’t face her sisters. She’d put on an act for Court, pulling herself together at the end there, trying to be all cool and composed, but inside she was a mess. How could she have broken down in front of him that way?
Then kissed him. And what a kiss. She’d given herself over to him, and he’d done the same to her. She’d never experienced anything like it before. How could that be? It didn’t make sense.
She popped into the mudroom to grab her wallet and keys. In the background she could hear a movie soundtrack and her sisters chatting, then a telephone rang.
“Did anyone remember to invite great aunt Mabel and Eliza for Christmas dinner?” Dani called out.
“Hang on, I’ll ask Callan,” Sage replied. “I think I just heard her come in.”
Before she could be discovered, Callan slipped back outside and ran for her truck. A minute later, she was headed for Marietta. Once she was in town she knew just where she’d go.
Grey’s Saloon was doing brisk business this Christmas Eve and Callan had trouble finding a bar stool.
“What’s with all the people?” she asked Reese Kendrick, the bartender.
“Some don’t have family. The others are hiding from them.” Reese raised his eyebrows, knowing full well into which category she fell.
“Just pour me a glass of bourbon, thanks.” She leaned back in her stool and took a look around. Some familiar faces here. But lots of new ones, too. Possibly family from out of town taking a breather from the relatives.
The guy beside her caught her eye. “Hey cowgirl. Merry Christmas.”
“Same to you.” She nodded then averted her gaze, signalling her lack of interest in starting up a conversation.
The guy—in his thirties, not bad looking, with the callused hands of a man who worked hard for a living—didn’t take the hint. “My ex has the kids for the holidays. She took them to Phoenix to visit her folks. What’s your story?”
“I don’t have one.” She swirled the bourbon in her glass but didn’t drink any.
“Anybody in the bar on Christmas Eve has a story. Tell me yours, and I’ll buy you another drink.”
A man suddenly appeared behind her and placed his hands on her shoulders.
“She has a story, all right pal. But she’s telling it to me.” Dillon Sheenan glared at the man until he gave up his valuable bar stool.
“Just being friendly,” the man muttered.
“And Merry Christmas to you, too,” Dillon muttered. He sank onto the newly vacant stool and gestured at Reese, who correctly interpreted that a draft beer was required. “So.” Dillon gave her a sideways glance. “Haven’t seen you for a while.”
“I’ve been avoiding Grey’s,” Callan admitted. “Wasn’t sure if you were ready to see me again, or not.”
“I needed a few days to absorb the news. In some ways it explains a lot. I’ve always felt a connection to you, Callan. Never a romantic one. Brotherly is really the only word that fits.”
She gave him a grateful smile. “Same here.”
“Can’t predict how the rest of the family is going to react when they find out, though.”
“So you haven’t—?”
He shook his head. “So what are you doing here? Aren’t your sisters in town for the holidays? I would have thought you’d have a full house.”
“I do. It’s too full, actually.” She gave her glass another swirl. The truth was, she didn’t want to drink a drop of this. “You’re right, I should get back to them.”
“Hey. You’re not still avoiding me, are you?”
“No. We’re good, Dillon. Have a nice Christmas, okay? And all the best for the New Year, too.”
“Same to you, Callan.” He got up to give her a hug. A big, brotherly hug.
And she knew they were going to be okay. Better than okay. Eventually.
�
��Where have you been?” Dani was the first to notice when Callan slipped in the back door just before dinner. She had her baby in one arm, an eggnog in the other. “We’ve been trying to get into the Christmas spirit. But it was pretty difficult when we were worried to death about you.”
Callan knew she had a lot to be grateful to Dani for, especially in the years after their mother’s death. But sometimes her sister could be a bit too motherly. “Zorro died. I had some stuff to do after that.”
“Stuff to do? I saw you drive away in your truck.”
“Please, Dani. Don’t.”
“Honey, sorry if I sniped. But I’m worried. We all are. You don’t seem yourself.”
How could she? Her world had been upended. Her sisters’ had too, but not as badly. “I went to Grey’s. Ended up running into Dillon. He knows. But he hasn’t told the others.”
“Wow. I’ve been wondering how the Sheenans were going to feel when they found out. But that’s heavy stuff, and it’s Christmas Eve. Mattie, Nat and Wren arrived about an hour ago and Eliot’s making eggnog from scratch. He’s in the kitchen right now, mixing up a second batch. You’ve got to try it.”
As she walked down the hall, Callan could hear the television in the family room. For the first time, she peered into the room not expecting to see her father. Savannah was cuddled between Portia and Wren. They were watching A Charlie Brown Christmas. Callan could remember watching that same program with her sisters. On the mantel were stockings for each of the kids, including one that said “Baby’s First Christmas.”
Callan blew her nieces a kiss then went to the kitchen to say hello to the newcomers. After all the hugs and hellos, she glanced around thinking how different the place felt when it was full of people. Her sisters had all added their own festive touches. There were tins of baking stacked on the counter, cinnamon-scented candles on the table and potted poinsettias on either side of the hearth.
She settled on a stool and took a sip of the eggnog. Creamy, nutmeg-and-rum-flavored heavenliness coated her mouth and glided down to her stomach. “Eliot. It’s crazy how delicious this is.”
“Good. Enjoy.”
Since the big turkey dinner was tomorrow, her sisters had opted to prepare a ham for tonight, complete with scalloped potatoes, green beans and several different salads. When it came time to sit down and savor, Mattie proposed a solemn toast to their parents. “We had quite a shock the last time we were together. But we have to believe Mom and Dad did what they thought was right and in our best interests.”
“Maybe so, but I intend to learn from their mistakes,” Dani said. “No matter how big a jerk Adrian Carlson is, Eliot and I are going to be honest with baby Bev about her father.”
“It’s the best idea,” Mattie agreed. “Though from what you tell me, Adrian doesn’t want to be very involved in her life.”
“Not beyond his monthly support payments,” Dani agreed. “And his lawyer is already petitioning to have the amount lowered.”
“Frankly,” Eliot said, “I wish we could tell him to go to hell with his money. But there’s an important legal principle involved here.”
“Why doesn’t Bev’s daddy want her?” Savannah asked.
The adults went silent, realizing they’d made a mistake mentioning the subject in front of her.
But, as usual, Dawson was honest with his daughter. “Bev was born with Down Syndrome. That’s why her eyes have that shape. Her daddy didn’t like that she was different from other babies.”
“That’s just bad, Daddy. How could he do that?”
“It’s his loss, Savannah. He misses out on his sweet daughter. And baby Bev will be fine. Look at all the people who love her.”
Callan could feel tears coming on. Sometimes her family made her very proud. And the men her sisters had ended up with—they were each very different. But the family was better for every one of them. She got up on the pretext of boiling water for tea, but even after she had a pot steeping she lingered in the kitchen.
She couldn’t help wondering what Court was doing right now.
She should have invited him to dinner, not just drinks. So why hadn’t she?
Not because she bore him any ill-feelings. No, she’d come to terms with Hawksley’s will.
It was the way she’d thrown herself at him. And he’d turned her down. That had never happened to her before. Any man she’d been willing to sleep with—and there hadn’t been many, despite her habit of flirting at Grey’s—was more than happy to oblige.
So why hadn’t Court? He found her attractive. He’d told her so many times. And he’d kissed her like a man who really wanted her, too. She stared out the kitchen window and wondered how much longer until he arrived.
After their legal affairs were taken care of, Ren invited Court for Christmas Eve dinner and wouldn’t take no for an answer. It was a quiet affair. He and Tully were doing the big family gathering tomorrow. Court left early, sensing the couple would enjoy some romantic time alone by candlelight to enjoy their Christmas tree...and each other.
It was eight-thirty by the time he arrived at the Circle C. The dazzling Douglas Fir guided him home for the final stretch and when he drew closer he saw by the number of vehicles parked out front that a big family gathering was in process.
He hoped they were finished dinner. He’d promised he’d stop by, and so he would. But his agenda was different now.
With the envelope tucked in his back pocket, he picked up the wine and poinsettia he’d purchased in town. As he walked toward the porch, he couldn’t help admiring the way the place looked, so solid and homey. Someone had added a wreath to the front door and he could hear Christmas carols playing before he even knocked.
And then, like a perfectly orchestrated movie, it began to snow. And Callan opened the door.
She hadn’t dressed up for the holidays. She was still wearing her jeans and flannel shirt, open to reveal a glimpse of the pink tank top he now knew she wore without a bra. Her outfit was ordinary, but she was not. Her dark hair fell in soft waves about her face, and her eyes shone a brilliant, bewitching shade of blue.
“Merry Christmas,” he said, offering the flowers.
“Thank you. Come in.” She set the flowers at the foot of a gaily lit Christmas tree, and he placed the bottle of wine beside it.
“Come say hi.” Her voice was soft, but husky. “Everyone is in the—”
“Actually,” he touched her arm. “Could we have a minute alone, first?”
She seemed worried by the idea, but nodded and led him to her father’s office. The room was much tidier now that all the files and papers had been cleared out. Callan shut the door behind them then sat on the cushioned window seat.
He took the chair from behind the desk and wheeled it close to her.
“It’s been a crazy couple of months, Callan. In some ways, they’ve been the best months of my life. And I’m sorry to say that, because I know for you they’ve been among the worst.”
“Yes. But that’s not your fault. And I’m glad you’re happy on the Circle C. I think the place suits you.”
“Maybe. But I can’t stay.”
Callan frowned. “What?”
“Because I only want the place if you come with it. And you’ve made it clear that isn’t going to happen.”
“I—I don’t understand.”
“I know you don’t have the same feelings for me that I have for you. I fell for you almost the first moment I saw you. It was like my father said. I just knew.”
She stared at him, unable to believe he was saying these words when just this afternoon he’d turned her away.
“I care too much about you, Callan, to take away the home that you love.”
“But—it’s what Dad wanted. To right the wrong that was done to your grandmother so many years ago.”
“I used to think it mattered what Hawksley wanted. But he’s dead. And what he put in his will—it isn’t fair and it isn’t right.”
She herself had felt that
way at first. But she’d never expected Court to see things this way.
“I really enjoy working here, Callan. It’s what I feel I was born to do. But I didn’t grow up on this land. I don’t know every coulee and every rise the way you do. I don’t love the animals with the same intensity. Or have all my childhood memories wrapped up in every room, every building. I’ve seen how much you care. And I want you to have it back.”
With that Court pulled an envelope from his pocket and gave it to her.
“I went to see Ren Fletcher today. I asked him to draw up papers that would turn over my interest in the Circle C to you.”
She stared at the envelope in her hands. Just a few ounces of paper. But the papers inside had the power to restore her life to the way it had been before her father died. The Circle C would be hers. She could live here until the day she died, if she chose.
But—what had Court meant when he said he loved her? Had he really meant it?
“Where will you go?”
“Not sure. Maybe back to St. Paul. My parents are there. My old job. Or I could see if I could find a spot at a ranch someplace. Start at the bottom. Work my way up.”
“You’re giving up too much.” She handed him the envelope. “I can’t accept.”
Gently, he pressed it back to her. “It isn’t the Circle C I really want, Callan. If it was, trust me, I’d take it.”
Callan was still in shock thirty minutes later, when her sisters came into the study to check on her.
“Was that Court McAllister who dropped by a while ago?” Dani asked. “Why didn’t you invite him in for a drink?”
Wordlessly, Callan handed her the envelope. Dani slid out the papers, read them carefully, then shook her head. “He’s giving the Circle C to Callan.”
“What?” Mattie grabbed the papers. “Let me see. I don’t believe it.”
Sage sat down on the window seat next to Callan. Gently Sage took her sister’s hands. “Something has happened between you and Court, hasn’t it?”
“I don’t know. I mean, yes. He told me he loved me. But I never led him on. I’ve been incredibly rude to him, actually. And so terribly angry.”
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