Lone Star Christmas

by Delores Fossen

  There. That was the grown-up, nonsexual thing to say.

  He nodded. No smile, though, and it was as if it took some effort for him to tear his gaze from hers. He turned and went behind his desk to sit. She doubted he’d missed the symbolism of putting some distance and a barrier between them, but she couldn’t figure out why.

  Unless he still thought of her as hands-off.

  She considered mentioning that she’d known about her father’s threat to de-ball any boy who touched her, but it was best if she steered away from the old sexual stuff and any mention of severed male anatomy.

  “So, what’s it like to be Callen Laramie these days?” she asked.

  “Good.” No hesitation. He jumped right into that answer, something he’d had a knack for even during his teenage years. Of course, maybe he was fast on the reply because it didn’t take much effort to give an answer that didn’t really say anything. “How about you?”

  “Good.” She frowned because she hadn’t intended to play his quick-fire verbal game. And besides, it wasn’t true. If she’d been “good,” she wouldn’t have driven here to see him.

  “Married? Engaged?” he went on.

  She shook her head and took a much-needed gulp of the water. Shelby nixed mentioning that she had been engaged as recently as three months ago. She didn’t want to deal with the sympathy she’d see in Callen’s eyes when he found out she’d been dumped.

  “How about you?” she said. “Married or engaged?”

  “No.” He didn’t offer any details, but considering her response had been a headshake, she supposed that made him the chatty one here.

  He didn’t continue the chat. Callen just kept those made-for-sin eyes on her. Waiting. And now that her nerves had quit jangling like a tambourine, Shelby geared up to do what she’d come here to do.

  “You mentioned on the phone that you’d gotten Buck and Rosy’s wedding invitation,” she said. “That’s why I’m here.”

  He made a sound that indicated he’d figured as much, but Callen couldn’t have known about why she’d actually come to see him.

  “Is something wrong with Buck?” he asked.

  Okay, so maybe Callen did know. She considered asking him why he thought that, but instead Shelby nodded and tried to put reins on all the emotions that she crowded together in her head, heart and body.

  “He won’t tell me specifically what’s wrong with him, or how serious it is,” she explained. “I asked. He gave me a thin reassurance that it was just something that showed up on an X-ray. Nothing to worry about, he said.”

  Callen stayed quiet a moment. “Maybe he’s telling the truth.”

  “I don’t think so.” Since reined-in emotions made her feel jittery, she got up and went to the window. Plus, this way she didn’t have to look at him while she talked. “I believe it’s serious, and I think that’s why he proposed to Rosy. And why the timing of this wedding has become so important to him.”

  “You’re considering that he wants to...what? Get married while he can? Spend some time with his fosters? Say goodbye?”

  Maybe all of the above. But Shelby prayed it wasn’t the last one. “The only thing I know for certain is that Buck wants you there. It could be for a goodbye. Or possibly because he’s always had a soft spot for you.” That was Rosy’s theory, anyway.

  She waited for him to snort or make some other sound that the soft spot wasn’t true, but he didn’t. “Buck’s not a liar, and he’s not one to play games. If this wedding is some kind of gathering because of a health scare, he’d come out and say it.”

  “You’d think,” she agreed. “But he’s pale these days. And he has this cough. I’m pretty sure he’s also having dizzy spells.” She turned back around to face him. “Could you just reschedule your business trip and come to the wedding? Or if you can’t reschedule, just come to Coldwater and see him?”

  There. The ball was in his court. His silent court. She could see his jaw muscles stirring around that fashionable stubble, but he wasn’t saying anything. Despite his lack of words, she guessed what was going on in his head.

  Going back to Coldwater wouldn’t be easy for him. In fact, it would probably sling him back to all those dark places inside him.

  Six years is too long for anyone to hang on to bah humbug, Havana had said, but it’d been a lot longer than that. Broken and beaten, Callen had come to them. However, Buck had been good to him. He’d been a wonderful father to Callen. Just as he had been to her.

  “I’ll call Buck,” Callen said. “If there’s something he wants to tell me, then he’ll have a chance to do it.”

  Buck didn’t want to tell him. He wanted to see him.

  She went back to the chair, sat and faced him. “You might think it’s selfish of me to put his wishes above yours, but I can be selfish when it comes to my dad. Buck wants you there. You don’t want to go. I’m asking you to go.”

  And she waited.

  And waited.

  The seconds started crawling by. Silence had a special way of making her crazy. Usually she started babbling, trying to spur the other person to do their part in this two-way conversation. If Callen was going to say no, then she just wanted him to get it out there so she could start changing his mind.

  He was definitely going to say no.

  She could see it. Practically hear the words coming out of his perfect mouth. “Would a French kiss make you change your mind?” she threw out there.

  Callen blinked.

  Shelby shrugged. “My attempt at levity. Failed attempt,” she amended when he just stared at her.

  In her rehearsed argument, she’d said a lot of pleases, smiled at him a lot and reminded him of things like “it’s just one day” or “you wouldn’t have to stay long” or “do it for old times’ sake.” In her rehearsed argument, she’d been downright eloquent and persuasive. That made her French-kiss offer sound even more ridiculous.

  Maybe Havana and she wouldn’t become lifelong friends after all since Callen’s assistant had been the one who’d put that crazy suggestion in her head.

  Sighing, Shelby stood. “All right. Call Buck, then.” She turned, ready to leave, hoping she didn’t get another Santa mooning. Or cry. God, she hated crying. Hated failing even more.

  Callen didn’t say anything else until she’d made it all the way to his door. “I’ll be there Monday,” he said. Then paused. “You can give me the French kiss then.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  STUPID.

  That was the most common word repeating through Callen’s head as he took the turn off the interstate to Coldwater. Stupid to have made a trip that could be resolved by a phone call.

  Probably resolved, anyway.

  Stupid to have rearranged important business meetings to fly to San Antonio, and then rent a car to drive the half hour to a place he didn’t want to be. And since he was tallying up the “stupids,” Callen could top the list with that French-kiss remark to Shelby.

  Her visit hadn’t been a joking matter. Then again, maybe the offer of the kiss hadn’t been, either. In that incredible stupid moment, he’d just wanted to say something to get her to turn back around.

  Hell, who was he kidding? He’d actually wanted to kiss her. Still did. But first he needed to get to Coldwater, talk to Buck face-to-face, kiss Shelby and then get back to the airport to make his six o’clock flight.

  Head ’em up, move ’em out.

  Then he could go back home and hope that the nightmares didn’t follow him. Nope, no joking matter.

  Even though Callen knew the way, he still had on the GPS just in case some of the roads had changed or been closed. After all, Coldwater wasn’t exactly on anybody’s beaten path. It was a small ranching town, technically part of the scenic Texas Hill Country, but no one would consider it exactly scenic. Well, other than the acres and acres of pastures dotted with liv
estock.

  As a cattleman, Callen found that somewhat appealing, but with every mile he drove, he did battle with the memories of the first time he’d come here. He’d been fourteen. A cast on his arm and leg. Three broken ribs. He had been alone in the truck with Buck since his younger brother, Nico, was still in the hospital, and his two older brothers had been in a different home, waiting for the paperwork to clear so that Buck could foster all of them.

  And that was all he allowed himself to remember before he buried it and kept driving.

  The town sign was new. Red, white and blue, sporting not only the Texas flag and the town’s name and population—an even thousand, which he figured was padded—but there was also a slogan on the sign.

  “Welcome! If you’re here, you might be lost, but consider staying anyway,” complete with a smiley face.

  Callen figured there’d been long discussions and poor judgment when they came up with that particular slogan.

  Main Street wasn’t far from the welcome sign, but he’d have to drive all the way through town to reach Buck’s place. Not a long trip, only about a mile, but it would be at the poky thirty mph speed limit.

  At first glance Callen didn’t see anything else new. Same old grocery store, bank and two churches. A bakery—that was new. Patty Cakes, and they were apparently having a sale on Root Beer Cupcakes. The police station that was right across from the Gray Mare Saloon, which he supposed deterred drinking and driving.

  He kept driving, past Rosy’s taxidermist shop—Much Ado About Stuffing. Callen slowed to try to get a glimpse of her, but there was a Be Back Soon sign in the window.

  Next up, he drove past the town’s jewelry store/gift shop simply called Ted’s. He wasn’t sure how it’d stayed in business because it seemed to have the same display as it had years ago. Callen was certain he recognized the gold necklace on a headless mannequin surrounded by even creepier Russian nesting dolls. The only new addition was a For Sale By Owner sign just behind the biggest of the dolls.

  “Good luck with that,” Callen grumbled.

  Next up, Callen passed the library, school and diner—before he ran into a roadblock of sorts. There was a longhorn bull in the middle of the road, and several people were trying to shoo it off to the side. The longhorn looked bored and totally uninterested in moving, and because the street was so narrow, it was impossible to get around him.

  The sports car right behind Callen got in on the horn honking. Finally, the driver got out. A woman wearing a bright red coat walked past Callen and the two other cars to the bull and tried her hand at shooing. The longhorn ignored her, and when the woman looked around, probably for help, her attention landed on Callen.

  Silla Sweeny.

  Callen had expected to run into people he especially didn’t want to see, and Silla was one of them. Former cheerleader, daughter of a well-to-do rancher and a snob. Callen had also had sex with her when they’d been seventeen. When the “romance” had run its course, Silla had turned batshit crazy on him, complete with stalking, spreading rumors and generally making herself his own personal pain in the ass.

  It was somewhat cowardly, but Callen eased down the brim of his black Stetson in the hope that Silla wouldn’t recognize him. That didn’t happen. She came toward him, squinting and peering until she reached his rented Jeep Wrangler.

  “Well, I’ll be. It’s Callen Laramie.” She didn’t add the other labels she’d given him after he’d ended things with her. Breaker of Hearts, Stone Cold SOB. And Dookie Head—the one he’d hated the most because it was just so dumb.

  “Silla,” he said as a way of greeting, and he wondered if he could physically pick up the longhorn and get it out of the way. Backing up was out because there were now two other trucks behind Silla and him.

  “Is the bull likely to be there for long?” he asked.

  She shrugged, causing her coat to dip off her shoulders, and she kept looking Callen over. “He belongs to Esther Benton, the librarian. He’s always breaking fence and getting out. I’ve already called your brother Kace, so he oughta be along soon to get it moving.”

  Callen didn’t want to imagine the duties that were normal for the sheriff of a small ranching town, but Kace was someone else he didn’t want to run into just yet. If at all. It was possible that Callen could get his business done with Buck and kiss Shelby if he couldn’t muster up enough willpower to stop himself. Then he could get out of town without getting a lecture from Kace or risking castration from Buck.

  “I heard you got all rich and stuff,” Silla went on. She leaned against the Jeep, and while she did smile, it was as if it had an oily film over it. Maybe she was plotting revenge.

  “And stuff,” he answered. She would either see it for the snark that it was or ignore his attempt at bad humor.

  She didn’t have a reaction either way. “So, you headed out to Buck’s?”

  He nodded and got out to see what he could do about the longhorn. Silla trotted along behind him, her very high-heeled boots clomping on the asphalt. “You’re here to help Shelby?” she added.

  That didn’t cause him to stop, but Callen did look at her from over his shoulder. “Shelby needs help?”

  Silla gave a hollow laugh as if the answer were obvious. “Well, yeah.” She stretched that out a few syllables. “Broken heart and stuff. My brother, Gavin—you remember Gavin, right?”

  Another nod. Gavin had taken it upon himself to try to beat the crap out of Callen for wronging his sister. Gavin had failed, but then most had. When you had two older brothers as Callen did, you had a lot of experience with adolescent fistfights.

  “What does Gavin have to do with Shelby?” he asked. And broken hearts?

  “Gavin and Shelby were engaged, and he broke it off with her a few weeks ago. Poor girl, she’s just crushed. I’m not sure she’ll ever get over it.”

  Callen hadn’t seen anything in Shelby’s expression to indicate a broken heart. Worry, yes, for Buck. But she hadn’t mentioned a word about Gavin and an engagement. That was even more reason to skip the much-thought-about French kiss. Even if it was done for pure fun and pleasure, which he was sure it would be, it was best not to interfere with heart mending.

  Though it riled him that Shelby had planned to marry the likes of Gavin Sweeny.

  Callen approached the longhorn and gave it a swat on the butt with his Stetson. The longhorn tossed him a look of mild annoyance before it started to amble away. The handful of people who’d gathered for the bovine roadblock all cheered and got back in their vehicles.

  All except Silla.

  It was clear she intended to carry on a conversation that Callen hadn’t wanted to start in the first place. Callen wouldn’t say he panicked, not exactly, but he did get the engine started and quickly hit the accelerator. Thankfully, the vehicles ahead of him did the same, and while he wasn’t especially proud of it, if there’d been any dust on Main Street, he would have left Silla in it.

  All right, he was a little proud of it, and leaving her standing there, gawking, was some petty revenge for her spray painting Dookie Head on his locker.

  Callen was smiling as he sped away. But the smile pretty much ended when he heard the siren and he saw the police cruiser coming up fast behind him.

  Hell.

  He’d blown that thirty mph speed limit to smithereens and by doing so had drawn an audience. One that was even bigger than the one waiting for the longhorn to move.

  Cursing, Callen pulled to the side of the road, the cruiser coming to a quick stop behind him. And then Callen saw yet someone else he’d hoped to avoid seeing.

  Judd.

  “Welcome home,” Judd snarled as he approached Callen’s window.

  And his brother proceeded to write him a speeding ticket.

  * * *

  WITH JUDD’S SIGNATURE still wet on the speeding ticket, Callen pulled into the driveway of Buck
’s ranch. His head ’em up, move ’em out plan hadn’t got off to a smooth start, but maybe now he could get back on track.

  The pint-size blonde on the porch had him slightly concerned about that, though.

  The girl was about twelve or so and had her arms folded over her chest. She wasn’t actually tapping her foot, but Callen was pretty sure that was impatience he saw on her face. Maybe with a dash of annoyance.

  “Did you really beat up a cow?” the blonde demanded the moment Callen was out of the Jeep.

  “Uh, no.” He approached her with caution, the way he would a crazy person.

  “Well, Jenny said you did. I don’t know her that well. I just met her yesterday, so she’s not like a bestie, but I don’t think she’d lie. Her mom owns the diner in town, so she was there, watching, and Jenny said you hit Miss Benton’s cow-thingy.”

  Oh, that. And Callen seriously hoped that cow-thingy didn’t refer to balls or such. He didn’t want talk about that getting around. “The longhorn. I swatted it on the butt with my hat so it’d get out of the road.”

  The girl’s mouth opened in outrage and sputtered out a few garbled sounds before she actually formed words. “First, all the poop. Then the bedsheets. Now this. What kind of place is this?”

  Apparently, she didn’t expect him to provide an answer to that since she threw her hands up in the air, turned on her heels and stormed inside.

  Callen didn’t follow her. Instead, he stood there and posed the same question to himself. What kind of place was this? Well, it was a big-assed trip into that time machine, that was what it was.

  Like Main Street, there’d been few changes here. A fresh coat of yellow paint on the large two-story house. When he’d lived here, it’d been white. Other than that and the addition of a second barn, the place looked the same. Ditto for the small cabin just a stone’s throw away. Callen scowled at it because he knew his ticket-writing brother lived there.

  There were some horses milling around the white-fenced pasture. That was also the same. Buck always liked having horses around to give the foster kids the responsibility of taking care of them. Riding them, too. That made the chore of mucking out the stalls in the barn more tolerable.