Lone Star Christmas

by Delores Fossen

  This sounded like small talk to him, and he hated it. Hated not being able to touch her. “I can lift hay bales all by myself,” he said, hoping it would make her smile.

  It did, but then she must have remembered there wasn’t a whole lot to smile about because it quickly faded. “Thanks,” she repeated.

  Since that was civil and because she was still standing there, Callen nudged the conversation out of small-talk zone. “You know I’m sorry, right?” he asked.

  Shelby nodded. Paused. Nodded again. Then she tipped her head in the direction of the cafeteria. “I’m going to grab some coffee while you visit with Dad. See you in a bit.”

  Well, along with the double nod she’d given him after his apology, that was better than “don’t let the door hit you in the ass,” and Callen would keep the picture of her smiling in his head for a while. Not a bad start to what would almost certainly be a bad visit.

  Or not.

  When he stepped into Buck’s room, he saw things he shouldn’t see. Not bad things, just unsuitable for his eyes. Rosy was on the bed, and Buck and she were making out. Callen truly hoped he could rid his memory of Buck’s hand up Rosy’s shirt. He turned to do an about-face so he could leave, then knock. Knock hard and loud so they’d have some warning.

  “Callen,” Rosy greeted him with a giggle and a flushed face. “Come in. We’ve been expecting you.”

  Obviously not, since he doubted they’d wanted him to witness what he had any more than he did. Except maybe it was a sort of good thing for him to see. Rosy and Buck clearly weren’t in a doom and gloom sinkhole of despair. Buck was blushing some, too, but it was the blush of a man who’d got as sexually lucky as he could get while in the hospital.

  “Buck and I were just working out some wedding details,” Rosy announced.

  No, they’d been making out, but Callen didn’t call them on that. “Oh?” he settled for saying.

  Rosy nodded, beamed. “We’ve decided we’ll go through with the wedding on the planned date. If Buck’s still in the hospital, then we’ll have it here.” Still beaming, she kissed Buck again and picked up her purse. “I’ll go find out if we could use the cafeteria and the chapel.”

  Callen didn’t get into questioning whether or not that was a good idea. He just smiled when Rosy gave him a hug and hurried out.

  He glanced around, not actually surprised that there was more stuff crammed into the room than there had been the day before. A stack of books and magazines. Flowers—everywhere, including one with a now-sagging Mylar balloon.

  And in the center of the flowers sat Billy the stuffed armadillo.

  Creepy as ever. Today, he was wearing green surgical scrubs and had a toy stethoscope draped around his neck. Someone—Rosy, no doubt—had put a tiny sign in his hands that said, “Get Well Soon, Buck.”

  “Is Rosy handling this as well as she seems to be?” Callen asked.

  Buck sighed. “Not really, but the new wedding plans will help and give her something to do. What would help even more is for me to be out of here by then and get married at the inn.”

  So, the wedding was on no matter what. And in a perfect scenario, it could happen. Buck’s surgery was a week before the wedding, and he could have recovered enough by then. If it wasn’t cancer, that was.

  “Anything on a possible family for Mateo and Lucy?” Buck asked.

  “I’m working on it.”

  “Good. Good,” he repeated, and he patted Callen’s hand when Callen sat in the chair next to the bed. “Because here’s how this could play out. With my bad health, CPS will remove them, and Rosy will claim she can handle them. She can’t. Not by herself.”

  Callen silently agreed. Rosy’s heart was in the right place, but her head often wasn’t. Plus, she would be sick with worry over Buck, and that would take her head out of it even more.

  “I could convince Rosy to back off on fostering the kids,” Buck went on, “but then Shelby would just step up to take them. She’s a good daughter, but that’s too much to put on her. It seems to me that it’s something she should want to do rather than something shoved on her.”

  Buck had obviously given this a lot of thought. So had Callen. “Shelby would do it. And I would help her.”

  “I know that, too, but Shelby and you aren’t a family. At best, you’re just trying to figure out if you even like each other.”

  “I’ve figured out that I like her.” Callen tried to keep it light. That didn’t make it less true. He liked her and he wanted her. Normally, a good combination.

  “Glad to hear that.” Buck’s smile returned, but it wasn’t one of those that Rosy could genuinely dole out. “But I know I didn’t help with that by creating this friction between you. Putting Mateo and Lucy in that mix is wrong. They need a family, a solid one that’s been together through thick and thin and will continue to stay together.”

  Callen couldn’t argue with that. Though Buck had done a decent enough job raising a horde of kids on his own, he might not be up to doing that again for a while. If ever. It was the “if ever” that was tightening Callen’s stomach.

  “I have a confession to make,” Buck went on. He coughed and waited a moment to regain his breath. “I asked you to come to the ranch to help me, but I also wanted you here for Shelby. I wanted you two to get together.”

  Callen’s shoulders stiffened.

  “Yes, I know,” Buck continued before Callen could speak. “It was wrong, but she’s been half in love with you for years. She moaned out your name.”

  Callen blinked and experienced nearly every other physical reaction a man could have from shock. “She what?”

  “Moaned,” Buck repeated. “Last night she slept here. In that.” He motioned toward a chair. “And she moaned out your name.”

  Well, hell. That couldn’t be good, not in front of her father, anyway. Callen definitely wasn’t going to ask Buck to elaborate since it had a whole sex vibe about it, but he wanted to suggest that the moan was possibly because she’d had to sleep right next to the creepy dead stuffed thing named Billy. But since that would be a dis to Rosy, he could darn sure dispel the other part of Buck’s comment.

  “Shelby’s not half in love with me,” Callen assured him. “She’s, uh...” He didn’t draw a blank. Just the opposite. Callen could come up with several possible ways to fill that in.

  She’s on the rebound. Which wasn’t as true as some thought it was.

  It’s lust. Which was absolutely true—and on both sides—but not something Callen would admit to Buck.

  It’s a leftover childhood crush.

  Callen went with the last one, but when he said it aloud, it only caused Buck to smile and pat his hand. “She moaned out your name,” Buck said as if that explained everything that needed explaining.

  Thankfully, the uncomfortable conversation came to a halt when Rosy rushed back in. “It’s a go,” she announced. “We can use both the chapel and the cafeteria. They even offered to supply the food.”

  She made that last part sound like a good thing rather than something she should definitely turn down. Callen had eaten in the cafeteria, and it wasn’t a wise choice for tasty celebration treats.

  “That’s great,” Callen assured her, and Buck echoed the same.

  “I hope Buck and you finished your chat,” Rosy quickly added. She took Callen by the arm and led him to the door. “Because you should go check on Shelby.”

  Instant alarm. “Why? What’s wrong?”

  “I’m not sure. I saw her talking on the phone to someone while she paced across the waiting room. She seemed upset.”

  Rosy had barely got out that last word when Callen said a quick goodbye and headed out to find her. By the time he’d got to the waiting room, he’d worked up all sorts of bad scenarios, including but not limited to Shelby having some kind of meltdown about her father. But he was several steps beyo
nd being merely confused when he finally saw her.

  She smiled at him and quickly halved the distance between them, only to motion for him to follow her toward the corner. Not exactly private, but they wouldn’t be standing in the middle of the room, either.

  “Did you beat up Gavin?” she asked once they were there. “Silla just called and said you had.”

  Silla—of course. The woman hadn’t wasted much time, but at least Shelby didn’t seem upset but rather amused. Or proud.

  “No, I can’t take credit for that,” Callen admitted. “Gavin sort of beat himself up. But I did call him a name.” And he hoped she wouldn’t ask exactly what name.

  “Yes, Silla mentioned he was drunk.” Her smile vanished, and she got an Oh God look in her eyes. “I’m sorry. That’s what I should have said right off the bat. I’m sorry that Gavin went to you and tried to start something.”

  “So, why did you smile?” he asked.

  Her chin came up, and she touched one of the buttons on his shirt. For a button touch, it seemed to be strangely intimate. And he was reasonably sure that it signaled something huge.

  That Shelby had at least partly forgiven him.

  “Because I thought you were defending my honor or something,” she explained. “It’s stupid and childish.”

  Yeah, it was, but Callen didn’t say anything. He just stood there and let her fondle his button. Maybe this was like a gateway maneuver that would soon lead to her touching him.

  “I knew you weren’t hurt,” she went on. “I mean, I could see that when you came in, so I just figured you’d managed to defend my honor without breaking a sweat.”

  “No sweat broken,” he assured her, and because he couldn’t stop himself, he moved a strand of hair off her cheek. Much better than button touching. But he needed to add a disclaimer here that had nothing to do with the subtle foreplay going on between them. “I don’t want Gavin or Silla to cause you any trouble.”

  “They won’t. When he sobers up, Gavin will be embarrassed enough by this to back off for good. The same for Silla. They’ll avoid me like we all steer clear of Gopher when he’s wearing a raincoat.”

  Now Callen smiled, and maybe it was that easy smile that lulled him into blurting something he probably shouldn’t have blurted. “Did you really moan out my name last night?”

  Shelby’s eyes widened. “Why? Did Havana say something about that?”

  “Havana?” What the hell would she have to do with this? He shook his head. “No, Buck mentioned it.”

  “Oh.” Her forehead bunched up. “Did he say if I moaned out anything else?”

  “No, that was it, but I think he knows the context of a moan.”

  She nodded, shrugged. Looked up at him. Her fondling finger slid off the button and bingo—onto his chest. “Want to hear me moan your name in person?”

  “Yeah.” But it took him several flustered seconds to get out that simple answer.

  She brushed a quick kiss on his mouth, goosing him with a punch of lust. “Good. My place, tonight, around six.” The goosing turned to an avalanche when she added, “This time, bring a box of condoms.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  SEX PLANNING TOOK, well, planning. And energy.

  Because of the fatigue, stress and worry over her dad, Shelby hadn’t actually considered that. She’d gone all loosey-goosey, making herself believe that she could just go home after lunch and have the afternoon to get ready for what would almost certainly be great sex with Callen.

  Stress-relieving, distracting, pleasurable, great sex.

  After the past couple of days, she was certain they could both use it. What she hadn’t considered in her loosey-goosey-ness was that she’d be this exhausted. All for a good cause, though.

  Dr. Breland had finally released her dad from the hospital so he could go home and wait until his surgery. Wonderful news that had included not only getting her dad and Rosy back to the ranch but also moving the gazillion things that had accumulated in his hospital room. Bridal magazines, books, a whole florist shop of flowers and, yes, Billy. Shelby had transported the icky armadillo, too.

  It had been for a worthy cause, Shelby reminded herself. With her taking care of the moving duties—which had involved multiple trips—Rosy had got to spend some time alone with Buck. She’d managed to get it all done, but now she was paying the price. She was bone tired and feeling the effects of functioning on only a handful of hours of sleep for the past couple of nights.

  Shelby checked the time when she got home. She still had an hour before Callen got there, so she could grab a shower and dress. It wouldn’t be that slow pace where the anticipation of the evening could build, but Callen could do better things than anticipation anyway.

  Thankfully, she’d already tended the horses. She’d done that early in the morning after coming back from the hospital. Having that chore out of the way gave her a little extra time, so she called for a pizza to be delivered in an hour. Then she dropped down on the sofa just to put up her feet for a minute or two.

  A minute came and went. Then two, and Shelby forced her eyes open. Something was wrong. She didn’t need any extra minutes to figure that out. She was no longer sitting but rather lying on the sofa, and she had a blanket over her. Moonlight streamed through the windows.

  No. Wait.

  Not moonlight. Sunlight.

  She jackknifed to a sitting position, her startled gaze trying to figure out what the heck was going on. The pizza was there on the coffee table, the box open, and Elvira was licking the cheese. Two pieces were missing, so either the cat had got very hungry, or...

  It was the or.

  Callen was there. He was standing by the sofa, and he was sipping some coffee. “I was about to leave you a note,” he said. “I have a meeting this morning. An important one that I can’t reschedule, and it starts in about ten minutes. Sorry.”

  Morning. That was why there was sunlight. And it forced all of her loosey-goosey/“put her feet up for a minute” memories to come crashing into her.

  “I didn’t get to have sex with you,” she said.

  He nodded, and the groaning rumble in his chest let her know that he wasn’t any happier about that than she was. The kiss he gave her was the same as that rumble. It had so much need in it, and it stirred the sleep away. It could work miracles.

  But apparently what it couldn’t do was get Callen out of this meeting.

  “Gotta go,” he said, landing another kiss on her now-disappointed mouth. “Oh, by the way, it’s true. You do moan out my name when you’re asleep.”

  Heck, that wasn’t an especially grand accomplishment, and to prove it, she moaned out his name just fine as he headed out the door.

  * * *

  CALLEN WAS PRETTY sure that time had crawled to a near stop. He was also certain that Shelby and he had paced ruts in the old linoleum floor. Kace was putting in some miles on it, too, but he sat occasionally to give Mateo or Judd a crack at what was turning out to be a premium pacing surface.

  The nonpacers—Rosy, Nico, Havana and Lucy—had claimed a cluster of seats together near the back wall. Rosy had the dead stuffed armadillo on her lap, declaring it was her good-luck charm. Heck, maybe it was, but it was creeping out everyone who trickled in and out of the waiting room to check on Buck.

  “Maybe I should switch from white roses to violets,” Rosy blurted out. “A violet bouquet would look so pretty against my pink dress.”

  There were some sounds of agreement. Mild agreement. The mild wasn’t because people weren’t interested; it was just that it had been Rosy’s umpteenth wedding suggestion made during the two hours Buck had been in surgery. Callen knew it was a way for the woman to keep her mind off Buck, but it was a reminder for the rest of them that the wedding might not even take place.

  A week was a long time to make a quick enough recovery from major su
rgery, and then say I do.

  But if anyone could pull it off, it’d be Rosy and Buck.

  Judd grumbled something under his breath, and there’d been enough grumbles that Callen had decided that was Judd’s preferred coping method. Havana had her method, as well. She was working on her laptop, her long tangerine-colored nails making pecking sounds on the keyboard. Then there was Lucy. She was chewing on her lip while she pretended to read a book. Nico was stretched out, his Stetson covering his face.

  Callen supposed a nap could be considered a coping method.

  Shelby and he had their own ways, as well. Their pacing pattern would intersect every couple of minutes or so, and they’d make eye contact. Things passed between them. Not sexual things or missed opportunities for sex. But the worry and the uncertainty. It was all there in that brief glimpse in her eyes, and Callen suspected she was seeing the same thing in his.

  “Or maybe I should go with sunflowers,” Rosy piped up. “They’re so cheerful. I could even make a mini bouquet of them for Billy to hold.”

  There were a couple of hmmms and a grumble from Judd.

  “I killed him, you know,” Rosy said.

  No mild reactions that time. They all stopped their coping and turned to look at Rosy. Even Nico. He lifted his hat so he could peer out.

  “Are you talking about Buck?” Shelby asked. “Because if so, you didn’t delay his surgery—”

  “No. Not Buck. Someone else. I didn’t mean for it to happen. It just did, and I was so sorry afterward,” Rosy added. She brushed at tears, which had Shelby, Callen and Kace moving toward her.

  “Who did you kill?” Kace asked, and thankfully he didn’t sound like the sheriff questioning a suspect.

  Rosy sniffed some more. “Billy. I accidentally hit him with my truck.”

  Even though Callen was aware that was what she’d named the armadillo, it still took him a moment to shift from a murder confession to, well, roadkill.

  “I just didn’t see him,” Rosy went on. “I’d spilled my Dr Pepper and was trying to wipe it up, and I took my eyes off the road for just a second. That’s all it took, one short second, and I smacked right into him.”