“Hell if I know, but I’m damn sure going to be there because I overheard a Gallagher sayin’ that if they set fire to their tree, then they’ll retaliate,” Polly said.
“I sure wish Verdie was here. She’ll miss all the fun. She always thought we ought to make the Brennans and Gallaghers put both their trees on the churchyard since it’s neutral territory.”
Polly laughed. “Verdie tries to be a peacemaker, and there ain’t been no peace in Burnt Boot for very long at a time.”
“You’re right. It’s been goin’ on too long now to ever expect an end. Wouldn’t surprise me if the Brennans don’t fire the first shot at this one after the way Betsy went after Finn this morning. Honey’s been sayin’ for two days that she was takin’ him home for Sunday dinner. Betsy had to know and she stepped over the line.”
That’s all Polly needed to know. The Brennans were planning to start the war in retaliation. Well, they’d started a new episode in the past for a lot less, and once she reported to Betsy, Polly still had time for a nap before the ceremonies that evening.
***
Red satin tablecloths covered two long refreshment tables right inside the General Store doors. Candles burned brightly in the centerpieces, and two women kept busy helping the folks with hot chocolate, coffee, and spiced cider from silver carafes and red punch from a crystal punch bowl. Every square inch of both tables were filled with finger foods of all descriptions.
“It is a big spread,” Callie said.
“It’s pretty, ain’t it?” Gladys said. “Try one of those decorated Christmas cookies. Leah Brennan makes them, and she don’t share her recipe.”
“This is the Brennan party, then?” Callie asked.
“Yes, they always put their tree in front of my store, and the Gallaghers set theirs up over at the bar. You’ll have to go to both, but don’t forget to have a cookie. I heard that Honey has asked her to make a couple dozen in the morning to bring over to Salt Draw,” Gladys whispered.
“They might have a bigger tree, but ours is prettier,” Finn whispered so close behind Callie that his breath warmed her neck and shot all kinds of delicious little shivers down her backbone.
With his hand on her upper arm, he led her to the window to get a better look at the tree in the parking lot. It was covered with huge Christmas bulbs and gold tinsel that the north wind kept in constant movement.
“I agree,” she said. “Where’s Martin?”
Finn nodded toward the end of the table where Martin was talking to a little girl about his age. “He’s fine.”
“I’m going to get a cup of something hot. Can I get you one?” She wiggled free of his embrace and started toward the end of the table with the hot cider.
“Coffee, please,” he said.
Honey passed her on the way. Callie caught the look in her eye and stopped in her tracks. Forget the coffee and cider; Finn might need her.
Honey looped her arm through his and pressed her body against his. She was dressed in a skintight red velvet dress that looked like it had been spray painted onto her skin. Callie took a couple of steps in that direction and heard her say, “Finn, I’m so glad to see you again. I’ve got a surprise for you tomorrow morning.”
“And what is that?” he asked.
She kissed him on the cheek and whispered something Callie couldn’t hear, but Finn’s expression said that it was downright sinful. With those long red fingernails, the woman reminded Callie of a giant hawk with its claws out to pick up a helpless kitten.
“Finn,” Callie yelled over the noise of a store full of people.
His eyes darted around until they found her. He walked away from Honey, his eyes never leaving Callie’s. “Yes?”
“It’s getting hot in here. Let’s go on outside,” she said.
“Oh, darlin’, it will get much hotter before the week is out. That’s a promise you can take to the bank.” Honey laughed.
Finn laced his fingers with Callie’s and motioned to Martin, who nodded. They were all three about to push the door open when suddenly the two lovely ladies serving refreshments started screaming, stomping, and carrying on like they were possessed or else going into seizures. They held their arms out to the sides and shivered from head to toe.
“Mouse,” one of them finally gasped.
And sure enough, a little brown furry creature ran out the loose-fitting arm of her flowing shirt and jumped straight into the punch bowl. The other woman shook her arms so hard that they were nothing but a blur, and another mouse dropped out on the table and ran across the cookies and cupcakes.
Like a flying squirrel, the critter bailed off the table, all four legs stretched to the sides and its tail straight as a ramrod. It landed about waist level on Honey’s pretty red velvet dress, scurried upward, and came to rest on her head. She did a combination break dance and a series of clumsy acrobatic moves as she tried to swat the thing off her head without touching it.
In all the commotion of women screaming and men running to help poor Honey, someone grabbed the edge of the table holding the punch bowl with the first mouse doing laps around it and yanked. Coffee, hot chocolate, and punch went every which way, and the people who’d been trying to help Honey retreated to the back of the store.
Callie seriously considered climbing on the checkout counter, but one of the mice took off in that direction, so she made an abrupt turn and headed for the door. A kid who she recognized as Keith Gallagher brushed past her and made his way outside with the scrambling crowd. She watched him flee into the shadows between two cars and squat down. If he was the culprit in turning those mice loose in Gladys’s store, he should be grounded for eternity plus three days. She shivered, not from the cold as much as from the fact that those damned mice were so close to her feet. She would have fainted dead if one of them had run up inside her clothing.
“What the hell just happened in here?” Gladys yelled. “I don’t have mice in my store. The Gallaghers put someone up to this shit.”
“I saw one of their brats running out of the store,” Honey screamed. “I’ll tar and feather the little bastard if I catch him.”
Declan Brennan, bless his heart, attempted to salvage the rest of the party. He turned on the microphone and said, “Looks like there was a little mishap with the refreshments inside, but it’s time to light the Brennan family tree. We’d like to welcome everyone. We’ve done this for a hundred years right here in Burnt Boot, and we’re glad you could join us.” He picked up the plug and the long extension cord running electricity from the store and made a big show of connecting the two.
Callie was busy watching the kid in the shadows rather than the tree. He stood up and hurled what looked like a rolled newspaper toward the big fancy tree. The flame on the end sent her adrenaline into overload for a split second until she figured out it wasn’t a stick of dynamite, but a whole package of firecrackers. She covered her ears when they went off, and everyone hit the ground or ran toward their cars.
“What the hell?” Finn pulled both Callie and Martin close to his sides. “Where’s the shooter?”
“It’s firecrackers,” Callie yelled, but it sounded so much like machine-gun fire that her blood ran cold.
Gladys laid a hand on Callie’s shoulder. “I was afraid something like this would happen. War has been declared.”
“I guess everyone will go home now and the Gallaghers’ party will be a bust,” Callie said breathlessly.
“Oh no! We’ll all go see what the Brennans can come up with on the spur of the moment. Paybacks are hell,” Gladys said. “I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”
“What about the mess in your store?”
“The Brennans will clean it up. Let’s go on over to the bar,” Gladys said.
“Lord, I thought we’d really gotten between the Hatfield and McCoy bunch there for a minute,” Callie said.
“I know,” Finn said. “It did sound like machine-gun fire when we were that close to it.”
“Would you look a
t that tree?” Callie quickly changed the subject. Too much talk about guns and Martin would have a nightmare for sure.
“Do you think they’ll have cookies, too?” Martin asked. “I never did get one, and I sure didn’t want one after that mouse ran all over them.”
Finn laid his hand over Callie’s on the console. “I imagine they’ll have something good to eat. They won’t let the Brennans outdo them.”
“He’ll remember the mice more than the firecrackers,” Finn said in a low voice as he gave Callie’s hand a gentle squeeze.
The tree out in front of the bar was a foot or so taller than the one in front of the store. It sported a star on top instead of an angel, and it had lots of garland that would probably be blown away by the north wind before a week was out. But right then it was as pretty as the Brennans’ tree.
The Gallaghers had set up a flatbed out in the middle of the pasture right beside the bar with upbeat holiday music coming through the big speakers. Several young folks were dancing to “Merry Christmas Baby,” performed as a duet by Elvis Presley and Gretchen Wilson.
“May I have this dance?” Finn asked when they were out of the truck. “Maybe if everyone sees us dancing, those two women will think we’re a couple.”
Callie looped her arms around his neck, and Finn executed some very fine two-stepping. “That’s not the way it works. They’ll just put me in their crosshairs to get rid of the competition.”
“Santa Claus,” Martin gasped.
“Where?” Callie turned quickly.
Martin pointed toward the bar. Two little boys ran out with paper sacks in their hands and there was a flash of a red suit before the door slammed shut. “Can we go inside now, Callie? I really need to talk to him.”
“Of course we can,” Finn answered. “Are you going to sit on Santa’s lap, Callie?”
“Only if he’s wearing cowboy boots and has blue eyes,” she flirted.
Santa Claus was set up at the end of the bar. Elves led folks of all ages through the candy cane–lined lane to sit on his knee and have their picture taken with him. Then, while other elves took them out another way to get a brown paper bag filled with fruit, nuts, and candy, a Gallagher with lots of computer savvy printed the picture and passed it off to an elf who took it to the guests.
Martin thought he was far too old to sit on Santa’s knee, but he stood beside him and whispered in his ear, had his picture taken, and carried it close to his heart for the next half hour as they waited for the next tree to light up.
Finn looked at the picture and asked, “What did you tell Santa you wanted this year?”
“Can’t tell. That’s between me and Santa.” Martin grinned.
Finn leaned down until his mouth was against Callie’s ear and asked, “Are you going to get your picture taken with him?”
“He’s not wearing cowboy boots, and his eyes are green,” Callie said.
“And what would you ask for if you could sit on his knee?” Finn asked.
“That would be between me and Santa,” she answered.
“Want to know what I asked for?” Betsy bumped Callie out of the way with a well-slung hip shot and looped her arms around Finn’s neck.
He didn’t have time to shake his head, nod, or even blink before she rolled up on her toes and kissed him right smack on the lips. When he pulled away and took a step backward, she laughed.
“Now I believe that Santa delivers,” she said with a grin. “I sat on his lap and asked him to bring me a hot cowboy with a cute little ass and promised if he would I’d mark him with a kiss. Oh, hello, Cathy.”
“That’s Callie,” she said coldly.
“Cathy. Callie. It doesn’t matter. You’re just the housekeeper.” Betsy grinned and walked away.
“Where’s a mouse when you need one?” Callie grumbled.
“Sorry about that,” Finn said.
“Did it taste like apple pie?” Callie asked.
The scowl on his face answered her before he said, “Yes, and I don’t like apple pie.”
The flash of the camera kept lighting up the bar until Betsy announced that the lighting of the tree would be taking place in five minutes. “Santa will do the honors this year, but he’ll be back in here for more pictures and to listen to more Christmas wishes right after the tree is lit. Let’s go watch the most beautiful tree in Burnt Boot light up, folks.”
Santa Claus adjusted his fake fat and stuffed belly before he waddled out the door with a whole crew behind him. Callie heard whispers of disappointment that the Brennans hadn’t planned anything in retaliation for the earlier fiasco. After that little scene with Betsy, she was ready to join the Brennans’ side. Then she remembered the way Honey had acted and decided she’d rather shoot the whole bunch of them—Gallaghers and Brennans both. What kind of people ruined Christmas, anyway?
Santa Claus crawled up on the flatbed trailer and raised his arms. The star on top of the tree weaved back and forth as the north wind picked up. The roar of a nearby train added its noise to the mixture.
“I didn’t realize there was a train track anywhere near here,” Callie said.
“First time I’ve heard one,” Finn said.
“Train track?” Polly said behind them. “That’s not a train. It’s an airplane. There must be something big in the works here, like elves parachuting out of the sky.”
Her comment went through the crowd faster than the speed of light, and everyone was looking up when Santa tapped on the microphone and said, “Ho, ho, ho! Time to light up the tree so here we go!”
He snapped the two cords together, and someone yelled from the back of the crowd, “Holy shit! That’s not a plane or a train. It’s a damn stampede.”
The crowd started to panic for the second time that night, running toward their vehicles for safety when two big black trucks roared down the street right toward the cattle. The herd turned in front of the trucks and came hell-bent right into the parking lot. The big tree went down in a blur. It didn’t even slow them down, and the flatbed was smack in the middle of their path.
Santa dropped to his knees and covered his head. For the most part the cattle split in two directions, but one rangy old bull tucked his front legs and landed on the flatbed with Santa, raised his tail, and dropped a load of fresh bullshit right there. Tired from the whole stampede, long silver icicles stuck to his winter coat and tail, he stopped beside Santa, hooked his horn in the white beard, and shook his big black head a couple of times. The beard fell over one eye like a punk rocker’s long hair and frightened the old boy so badly that he stomped his way off the truck, leaving two ruined speakers behind.
“They’ve got Gallagher brands, but I bet that was two Brennan trucks that turned them,” Gladys said. “Now the Gallaghers have to gather up their own cattle that ruined their part of Christmas. The Brennans didn’t do too bad for a spur-of-the-minute stunt.”
“Anybody hurt?” Polly yelled.
“No, but I’m layin’ low the next few weeks. Looks like Burnt Boot is in for a war,” a voice said at the back of the parking lot.
“Let’s go home and get out of their fightin’. I came here thinkin’ a little town like this would be peaceful, but this is the last time I want to see any of their feuding shit,” Finn said.
“Now you know why that woman who sold Salt Draw wanted out of here,” Callie said.
Chapter 7
Finn was in that state between dozing and sleep when he heard whining. When he opened his eyes, Shotgun was standing beside the bed, and he figured that the dog needed to make a trip outside. So he pulled on a pair of flannel pajama bottoms and a thermal shirt, shoved his feet down into his boots, and opened the door.
Shotgun didn’t race out into the hall but did a semi-low crawl.
Joe made noises like gunfire from his perch, where he alternately preened his tail feathers and pranced from one end to the other, shooting imaginary police. Weren’t birds supposed to sleep at night? Chickens tucked their heads under their wings and
went to roost. Why didn’t that damn bird do the same?
“Take cover, Finn. They’re low. Don’t move,” Callie said in clipped words.
She was stretched out flat on her stomach with her hands over her head. “Maybe the ghillie suit will keep them from seeing us. Be still, Finn. Breathe easy. Don’t look up.”
Finn sat down beside her on the floor and gently touched her shoulder. He recognized the position. She was back in Afghanistan, and they were on a mission. She was wearing a camouflage ghillie suit, and they were covered in camo-netting. The enemy was flying low above them, and she was afraid they’d use thermal imaging to locate them.
She grabbed the place where he’d touched her and groaned. “I’m hit, Finn. Don’t know how bad, but it hurts like a son of a bitch.”
“Callie, wake up. It’s Joe doin’ the shootin’. I swear his owner must have watched cop shows nonstop.” He shook her shoulder.
“Don’t touch it,” she gasped.
“Callie, it’s a nightmare,” he whispered.
Her eyes flew open and scanned the area. She touched her head and then her arms.
“Shhh,” she said.
“You’re on my ranch in Salt Draw.” He pulled her up to a sitting position and shifted her into his lap. She was sweating bullets and shivering at the same time. He knew exactly what she’d been dreaming because he’d had the same nightmare too many times to count.
“Finn, I’m not going to die, am I?” she whispered.
“You are not hit. It was a bad dream.”
“It was so real,” she said.
He kissed her on the forehead and held her tighter. “I know. It was probably brought on by all the noise of the evening with the firecrackers and the stampede. I didn’t want to go to sleep either.”
She opened her eyes wider and scanned the room. “I haven’t had one in almost a month. I thought they were done with.”
She shivered again, and he grabbed the quilt and wrapped them both in it. “I’m not sure they’ll ever be gone. We saw a hell of a lot of bad stuff, Callie. It’s burned into our subconscious. Did you do the psych eval before they turned you loose?”
Cowboy Boots for Christmas Page 7
