Cowboy Boots for Christmas

by Carolyn Brown

  He wove their way through the rest of the congregation, shook the preacher’s hand, and was eager to get back to the safety of Salt Draw when he noticed a crowd of kids in the churchyard. When he rolled up on his tiptoes, he could see that Martin and the drummer boy had squared off with a whole group of other kids around them. Fists were up and their shoulders hunched forward in a stance that reminded him of a couple of young fighting roosters.

  “Shit!” he mumbled.

  “What?” Callie asked.

  “Trouble,” he spit out and took off for the middle of the parking lot with her right behind him.

  “Martin Brewster,” she yelled.

  Finn didn’t say a word until he was between the two boys with a hand on each of their heads. “This is Sunday. There’ll be no fighting on the Lord’s day. Why do you want to fight Martin anyway?”

  “He’s going to school over at River Bend. I heard my aunt Honey talkin’ about invitin’ him to join up with them, and that makes him my enemy,” the blond-haired drummer boy said.

  “Martin is going to public school,” Callie said.

  Keith dropped his fists and frowned. “He ain’t got on boots, so he ain’t a rancher. A cowboy wears boots, not them sissified shoes like he’s wearin’.”

  “Well, you was wearin’ a skirt awhile ago,” Martin countered.

  “Okay, boys. This is over,” Finn said. “We’re going home to have some dinner.”

  The Gallagher boy ran back to a group of his buddies, and Martin stomped all the way to the truck, where he fumed in the backseat. “Why’d you go and do that? I could have whipped his ass, Callie.”

  Callie turned around in the seat. “If I hear dirty words from you again, you’ll be punished. And the first thing you learn in combat is to know your enemy. If he’s smart, you be smarter. If he’s strong, then you be stronger. And the last is that you are not fighting anyone on the churchyard.”

  Martin looked up and nodded seriously. “The next time he’s a smart”—he paused but Callie knew it took a lot of willpower not to say a bad word—“aleck, I’ll just drag him off the churchyard and whip his”—another pause—“hind end there. I’m glad I don’t have to go to school with him.”

  “This is no way to make friends,” Finn said as he crawled into the truck.

  “I didn’t make a friend. I made an enemy, and I will whip him next time he calls me a sissy just because I don’t wear cowboy boots,” Martin said.

  “I guess we’d best go buy Martin some boots,” Finn said.

  Martin folded his arms across his chest. “Yes, sir, I need boots, but I can make it ’til Christmas. I plan on askin’ Santa Claus for boots.” He popped in his earbuds and stared out the window.

  “His shoes are new and they’re fine. I’m not wasting money on boots,” Callie said.

  “His shoes have neon green on them, and this is a country school where the boys wear cowboy boots,” Finn argued.

  “And once he testifies and that man is in prison, we’ll move on to a city where those green shoes will fit right in, Finn. He doesn’t need to be a follower. He has to learn to be himself and not mimic all the other kids,” she said.

  “Boots won’t make him a follower. They’ll just stop a lot of name-calling and fighting,” Finn argued.

  “My answer is no.”

  Finn started up the engine and drove out of the parking lot toward Salt Draw. He disagreed with her about the boots, so he’d have to find a way around her. One that made Callie think it was her idea all along.

  Chapter 5

  Callie pulled the seat belt around her body and propped an elbow on the console between her and Finn. Immediately he did the same, their arms touching, sending bursts of heat all the way to her shoulder.

  “Didn’t you love the Christmas tree over there beside the piano?” She tried to ease the tension in the air from the backseat.

  “Y’all want a fake tree or a real one or no tree?” Finn asked.

  Martin removed an earbud. “Did I hear something about a tree? I always wanted to go out in the woods and cut down a real tree.”

  “How about you?” Finn asked Callie. “We don’t have a lot of decorations, but there appears to be plenty of cedar trees on Salt Draw if y’all are up for a hike through the property. If we find the right one, we could maybe get it put up before we go to town for the official lighting ceremony this evening.”

  Martin let out a whoop in the backseat of the truck. “Can it be a big one? Big enough to reach all the way to the ceiling when we put the star on the top?”

  “If we can find one that big. I only have a small box of decorations, but I suppose there aren’t any rules that say we have to fill it all up this year, is there?” Finn said.

  “Heck no!” Martin said. “Will there be presents under it?”

  “You believe in Santa?” Finn asked.

  Callie poked Finn on the shoulder. “You remember what I told you over there in Afghanistan? If you don’t believe, there won’t be presents on Christmas morning. I believe in Santa, and you’d best be a believer if you want a new set of Rudolph antlers.”

  “What’s that about antlers? Is that what you want, Finn?” Martin asked.

  Finn smiled into the rearview mirror. “Ask Callie.”

  “I bought a set of antlers for him when we were over there in the war zone,” Callie explained. “He had to believe or he wouldn’t have gotten them. I imagine that he’s lost them by now and needs a new set.”

  “I did not. I brought them to Salt Draw with me, and I wore them last year,” Finn said.

  “What do you want for Christmas, Callie?” Martin asked.

  “A box of candy and a pair of warm socks and maybe some perfume,” she said.

  Finn’s hand found hers and squeezed. “You’re not hard to please.”

  “Not when it comes to presents. Presents are just an added bonus. If I have family all around me, then I’m a happy lady,” she said.

  “That’s what she asks for every year,” Martin said. “She’s got an old empty box that she keeps her jewelry in and an empty perfume bottle that she sets on her dresser. I think someone important gave them to her, but she won’t never tell me who it was.”

  Finn made a turn from the paved road and crossed the cattle guard under the sign that said Fiddle Creek, which was swinging between two tall metal posts. In a few minutes he’d parked the truck in the backyard and Callie bailed out without waiting for him to play the gentleman and open the door for her.

  She hurried from truck to kitchen, grabbed a faded apron from a hook beside the pantry door, slipped the bib string over her head, and opened the oven without tying the waist strings.

  “Man, this place smells good. I’m hungry enough to eat every bit of that roast all by myself.” Martin came in right behind her, sniffing the air and rubbing his stomach.

  Finn shook his head. “I don’t think so. I’m getting my fair share of that food. My stomach was growling so loud right there at the end of the church service, I was afraid that baby Jesus would think it was a howling wolf and start crying.”

  “Martin, you get on back to your room and change your good clothes. Put on your old shoes if we’re going to be stomping around in the woods.” Callie kicked her high heels into the corner and reached around behind her waist to tie the apron.

  “Let me do that,” Finn said quickly.

  Tying apron strings wasn’t a big thing, but it felt so personal and intimate. Callie quickly moved toward the coffeepot, poured the last cup, and popped it into the microwave. “That will be hot in a minute.”

  “For me or you?” he asked.

  “We’ll share it, since it’s the last cup.”

  The bell dinged and he took it out, offering it to her first. “You don’t think that woman will really bring an apple pie over here tomorrow, do you? Truth is, I don’t even like apple pie.”

  “I remember you bitchin’ and moanin’ about it when they served it instead of peach or cherry in the mess h
all.” She grinned. “And don’t worry, she was just mouthin’ to get ahead of Honey. Lord, who names their child ‘Honey’?”

  “It’s probably a nickname,” Finn said. “But I don’t care what it is. I don’t intend to be drawn into their feud. Verdie made it sound like a silly little thing, but those two were pretty serious this morning.”

  “Yep, they were. And it looks like you are going to be the match that lights the bonfire.” Callie handed the cup to him.

  He closed his hands around hers for a few seconds before taking the cup. “I think Gladys was teasing about the intensity of this whole thing. It was just a catfight, and it’ll blow over.”

  Her fingers tingled long after he’d backed up and leaned against the counter. “I think Gladys was dead serious, but don’t you worry, I’ll keep those big mean old kitty cats from tearing you to shreds with their sharp claws.”

  “Whew!” he said. “I’m glad you came along when you did.”

  “I know, darlin’. Madam Fate sent me at just the right time.”

  Finn set the coffee down and took two steps forward. His arms went around her waist and hers went around his neck. She felt as if any minute she’d drown in his blue eyes when she looked up at his face. The tip of her tongue moistened her lips as his eyelashes slowly came to rest on his cheekbones. It would be their first kiss and already her chest was so tight, she couldn’t breathe.

  “Hey, is dinner on the table? Need me to set the table?” Martin yelled as he ran down the hall.

  Callie quickly backed up, picked up a pot holder, and opened the oven door. She could feel Finn’s eyes on her as he handed the boy the plates from the cabinet. She had to remind herself to breathe in and breathe out, or she would have fainted right there on the kitchen floor.

  “Hey,” she said, “since we won’t have enough decorations for the tree, maybe we could each buy an ornament on Friday night when we get paid.” If she said something, maybe normality would return and she’d quit feeling like her whole body was on fire.

  ***

  Callie acted as a measuring stick and stood beside the first cedar tree. Finn shook his head. “Too small. It’s not even as tall as you, so it’s not five feet three inches.”

  “It’s a foot taller than me,” she argued. “That leaves room for the tree stand and the star without it bending at the ceiling.”

  “It’s too skinny, and besides, when we cut it down, it won’t be that tall,” Martin said.

  “And it’s got a big hole in the branches right there,” Finn pointed out.

  So they trudged on another quarter mile through the brush and mesquite. She stole sidelong glances toward Finn as they searched for the right tree. It didn’t matter if he wore fatigues or tight-fittin’ jeans; he still had the cowboy walk that made women take a second look. Honey and Betsy would have gone after him even if there wasn’t a feud or if he didn’t own a prime piece of Burnt Boot land.

  “I see it!” Martin yelled and ran on ahead with Shotgun at his heels.

  Finn sat down and braced his back against a big pecan tree. “Why can’t I buy that kid some boots?” he asked abruptly.

  She cleared a space of pecans and sat down beside him. “I told you why, and I don’t want to talk about it. We should pick up these pecans for our Christmas baking.”

  “There’s probably a hundred bags of picked-out pecans in the freezer. Verdie said they had a bumper crop last year.”

  A snowflake floated down from the pale gray skies and rested on her cheek. He gently brushed it away with the tip of his forefinger. And then the whirr of blades cut through the cold wind whistling through the treetops.

  She grabbed his hand. “Shhh, do you hear that?”

  He went completely still, only his eyes moving to check the skies. “It’s probably a medical helicopter going down to Dallas. We are safe, Callie.”

  She blinked several times. “Certain noises still make my heart race.”

  “The whirring of the blades. The rapid gunfire on television. The smell of any kind of fire might always send our minds back over there,” he said.

  “Don’t I know it.” She shivered.

  He scooted closer to her, draped an arm around her shoulders, and drew her to his side. “They didn’t tell us about this part when we signed up, but it is what it is.”

  “Are we talking about the war?” she asked.

  “I think it’s all tangled up together like one of those yarn balls my sister has when she knits,” he said. “War. Relationships. It’s all a ball that has to be untangled a few inches at a time.”

  He tipped her chin up with his gloved fist, but that time she didn’t have the chance to moisten her lips. His mouth claimed hers, and the whirlwind took them away to another world where there was no noise to startle either of them. She clung to him like a lifeline in an angry sea with choppy waves. When the kiss ended, she leaned against him, wanting more and yet knowing it was a bad idea.

  “I’ve wanted to do that since you got out of that van. Hell, I wanted to do that in Afghanistan for a long time, but I was afraid you’d knock me on my ass.” He chuckled.

  “What is that noise?” She couldn’t tell him that she would have pushed him into the nearest empty bunk, not knocked him on his ass.

  “I reckon we’ve got a boy and a dog on their way back to tell us they’ve found the perfect tree,” he explained.

  Martin broke through a copse of mesquite and threw himself on the ground. “Y’all old people had to stop and rest, did you? Well, me and Shotgun done found our Christmas tree, and it’s perfect. Hey, these are pecans. We got to come out here and pick these up so we can make lots of Christmas candy instead of just one pan full of fudge.”

  “Or you could pick them up and sell them,” Finn said.

  “They’re a long way from the house.” Callie was amazed that her words sounded normal with her heart about to jump right out of her chest.

  “Shotgun can come with me. He’ll protect me, won’t you, boy?” Martin grabbed the dog’s ears and kissed him on the nose. “Now y’all have to get up and help me cut down this perfect Christmas tree.”

  ***

  Martin picked leaves, spiderwebs, and even a bird’s nest from his perfect tree as it lay stretched out over a good portion of the front porch. He hummed the song about the little drummer boy, coming in with “rum-pa-pum-pum” at the right places.

  Callie opened the front door. “I’m going inside to make hot chocolate and get out some cookies. The wind is shifting around to the north. It’s liable to get serious about snow before the night is done. How long will it take to get that thing ready for the house?”

  “Just long enough for me and Shotgun to find some scrap wood and a couple of screws to make a stand for it,” Finn said.

  “Can’t he stay here with me? I like it when he’s close by.” Martin’s wide eyes said that he didn’t feel safe alone.

  “If he marks that tree, we’ll have to live with the smell. We couldn’t find another one that good before Christmas,” Finn said.

  Martin pointed to the other end of the porch. “You’ll sit right there and watch me get all this stuff out of it, won’t you, Shotgun? You won’t go peeing on a Christmas tree when there’s all them mesquite trees out there just waiting for you.”

  The big yellow dog flopped down and shut his eyes.

  “See, he’ll be just fine,” Martin said.

  The norther hit with a force when Finn was halfway to the barn. The temperature dropped at least fifteen degrees in five minutes, and a cold mist began to fall. If it kept up, there’d be a sheet of ice over everything come morning. That would mean giving the cattle extra feed and chopping through the ice on their watering troughs.

  He zipped his work jacket up and held on to his cowboy hat. When he was in the barn, he stomped his feet to get warm. Screws and maybe a couple of pieces of wood would be in the tack room, so that’s the direction he headed as he fussed at himself. A mama cat followed by three kittens scampered from one
stack of hay to another. He made a mental note to feed them regularly and to tell Martin that they were there. In a week, he’d have the whole bunch of them tamed and named, with Shotgun protecting them.

  A quick movement took his attention to a top shelf the minute he was in the tack room. Two mice were gray blurs as they ran from a hole in a box onto the rafter and out of sight.

  “Here, kitty, kitty, kitty,” he called out to the mama cat. “Until I can bring food to you, these mice will be supper.”

  He was still looking up when he realized the boxes were labeled with big lettering written in black marker. Evidently one housed an artificial Christmas tree.

  He moaned out loud. “And I just stomped all over the ranch looking for a tree when all I had to do was come out here and tote this one in the house?”

  The next one was marked tree stand and skirt. And the third one, Christmas stuff.

  He pulled the last two off the shelf, checked to make sure there were no mouse holes, and headed back toward the house. With a real stand, they could keep the tree watered, and it wouldn’t shrivel up and die within a week.

  He’d barely cleared the door of the barn and started back to the house when he heard a noise behind him. He turned slowly, boxes still in his hand, to see a black-and-tan Chihuahua following him. When he stopped, the dog did; when he took a step, the dog did the same.

  “Well shit fire!”

  Good grief! Did the dog talk?

  “Shut up, dog.”

  Finn raised his eyes slowly and saw a brightly colored parrot right above his head in the branches of an old scrub oak tree. It fluffed its wings and pranced up and down the mesquite limb. “Shut up, dog,” it said again in a gruff voice.

  The Chihuahua barked at it that time.

  “Hot damn!” the bird squawked.

  The Chihuahua wagged its tail.

  “You two traveling together?” Finn asked.

  He set the boxes down right there on the ice-covered grass and whistled softly. The dog wagged his tail, ducked its head shyly, and sniffed Finn’s outstretched hand.