Lone Star Christmas

by Delores Fossen

  Great. Shelby had thought the worst would be just hearing and dealing with the diagnosis, but this was smearing bad news with grief.

  “Maybe you two could get married here in the hospital room,” Shelby heard herself say. Yep, it was her idea, all right, and this after she’d tried to talk her dad and Rosy into postponing. Apparently now, she was going to offer a solution that was the opposite of a postponement.

  All of them turned to Shelby, clearly waiting for more, and she saw something in her dad’s and Rosy’s faces. Hope. So she kept trying to dole out more.

  “We could bring in cameras,” Shelby explained, “and fix them so the wedding guests can watch the service from the inn. Sort of a virtual wedding.”

  Rosy slowly bobbed her head, and the bobbing got faster and more enthusiastic. “I could wear my dress and a pink mask so that I don’t get my germs on Buck.”

  Her father brightened a little, too. “And the reception could still go on at the inn. Maybe someone could rig a camera so we could watch from here.”

  “We could bring over cake and food from the reception,” Callen suggested.

  Rosy beamed now, and Shelby could tell her head was filling with adjustments and such. “Callen, you could throw my garter for Buck, and Shelby could throw the bouquet for me. That’d work better than Buck and me tossing them around to each other in a hospital room.”

  Callen didn’t look especially thrilled at garter throwing duties, but he probably would have agreed to anything at that point.

  Her father wasn’t going to die. This cancer wasn’t going to kill him.

  Yes, that was worth celebrating.

  Callen’s phone buzzed, and his forehead bunched up when he looked at the screen. “Excuse me for a second. I need to take this,” he said, and he stepped out into the hall.

  Rosy continued the plans without him. “The minister would have to wear a mask, too, and maybe I can sanitize Billy so he could be our little ring bearer.”

  Buck didn’t seem so jazzed about that, but he was still smiling. So was the doctor. “I’ll be back later to go over the treatments,” Dr. Breland told them, and he headed out just as Callen was coming back in.

  “I’ve got more good news,” Callen said, putting his phone away. The words were right, but there was something in his expression that let Shelby know that this was maybe going to be another round of good news with an asterisk. “CPS thinks they might have found a great home for Lucy and Mateo.”

  Rosy made a gasp of happiness, pressed her hands to her heart and then gave Callen a hug. “You did it,” Rosy said. “You did exactly what Buck asked you to do.”

  He had indeed. It would be wonderful for the kids. The start of what could be a normal, safe and happy future. There was no way Shelby could feel any sadness about that. Even if she did for the most selfish of reasons.

  Because this meant that once the wedding was over, there’d be no reason for Callen to stay.

  That was one heck of an asterisk.

  * * *

  THREE DAYS. THAT deadline kept repeating like a broken record in Callen’s head. In three days Buck and Rosy would be married, and in less than that, Lucy and Mateo could be in their permanent home.

  Could be, Callen silently emphasized.

  He had practically memorized the copy of the report that Lizbeth had sent him on the family who wanted Buck’s kids. Sarah and Dan Millhouse. They were in their late thirties and were financially stable with Dan being a lawyer and Sarah a music teacher. They had one other child, an eight-year-old girl, Katie, who they’d adopted when she was two.

  There wasn’t a single red flag in the report, and Callen had looked hard for one. So had CPS and Lizbeth, who had already vetted the couple. The only thing left was a meeting so that both the family and the kids could see if the fit on paper was the right fit in reality.

  Callen added the date and time of that meeting in bold letters on his agenda. Tomorrow at 1:00 pm. He wouldn’t miss it, and neither would Shelby, Nico or Rosy. No Buck, though, since he’d be starting his first treatment right about then. But they would stand in for him.

  If things went well with the first visit, there’d be a second meeting the following day at the Millhouse home in San Antonio. After that, Lucy and Mateo would move in for a trial period with the couple and their daughter. Callen suspected that could happen as soon as the wedding was over. Maybe even on Christmas Day. CPS was pushing for sooner rather than later because of Buck’s health problems. It would prevent them from moving the kids into a temporary home—which CPS would legally be required to do.

  So much uncertainty.

  Along with some certainty, too. Nico had stepped up to the proverbial plate and was going to put the rodeo on hold so he could take care of the ranch until Buck got back on his feet. Judd would pitch in there, as well. And Kace. In fact, they’d worked out a schedule.

  One that hadn’t included Callen after Christmas Eve.

  Callen dragged in a deep breath at that thought and went back to tackle the mountain of paperwork on his desk. However, he didn’t get far before Havana appeared in the doorway. Her hair was red today with a scattering of green bows, and she was carrying what appeared to be a miniature Christmas tree under her arm.

  “Before you say no,” she greeted him, “just give it a chance. You really need some merriment in this office.”

  Havana’s idea of merriment wasn’t the same as his. She plopped the tree on his desk, waved her hands in front of it, and a pair of big mechanical eyes opened in the branches. A mechanical mouth opening followed, though it was actually just a horizonal slit on the lower part of the tree. It began to jiggle, sway and sing “We Wish You a Merry Christmas.”

  “It’s more traditional than the stuffed Santa you kicked,” Havana explained. “And it plays a variety of songs.”

  There was nothing traditional about a singing/dancing Christmas tree, but Callen had complained so much since they’d been here that he choked back the words that would cause Havana to call him Scrooge or Ebenezer again.

  However, he did have to add, “There’d better be a way to turn it off.”

  “Oh, there is. It’s motion-activated.” She waved her hand in front of it, and the music stopped. The slit mouth closed, and the eyeballs disappeared back into the branches. “So, you won’t kick this one?” she asked cautiously.

  “The jury’s still out on that, but it can stay for now.”

  She smiled, and then bobbled her eyes in a way that made him think of the tree. “If you’re this agreeable, you must be getting lucky with Shelby.”

  Lucky was a complex label for it. Yes, he was having sex with her, and it had indeed improved his mood. Callen was pretty sure it was doing the same for her, along with taking her mind off Buck’s treatments. So all was well.

  Except that it wasn’t.

  Three days went through his head again. It was entirely possible that everything he needed to do here would be done by then. He’d pack up, leaving the singing Christmas tree behind, and go back to Dallas. As planned.

  “As planned,” he repeated in a mumble under his breath.

  Havana gave him a questioning glance and was probably about to grill him on it, but he waved his hand in front of the tree to get it singing.

  “Sneaky,” she concluded, doing the hand wave to get it to stop. “But I was only going to mention that you haven’t done any Christmas shopping yet. It’s December 21.”

  He figured she’d said that to stir some urgency in him. It didn’t. “That means I have four more days.” Or rather three since he could be leaving on Christmas Day.

  “Less,” Havana corrected. “With the wedding on Christmas Eve, you’ll be too busy to shop that day. Plus, all the stores here will close early. Some won’t be open at all.”

  “Then I’ll shop at the ones that will be open.” And Callen went back to wo
rk. Or rather tried to do that.

  Havana, however, didn’t take his work cue. “You’ll need gifts for your brothers, for Lucy and Mateo. For Rosy and Buck. And Shelby, of course. If you wait much longer, the selection around here won’t be much of a selection at all. You might get stuck giving Pringles, Tic Tacs and beer from the Quik Mart.”

  True. But his brothers might appreciate Pringles and beer.

  “I can help if you want,” Havana offered. “I can use the sites I normally use to order gifts you give, and I can have them sent express mail.”

  Callen was somewhat embarrassed that he didn’t even know what gifts had been sent “from him” over the years. In Buck’s case, it had probably been something expensive.

  And impersonal.

  “I’ll take care of it,” he told her, though he wasn’t sure how. This might require one of those Christmas miracles. Or settling for Pringles, Tic Tacs and beer.

  “Wow. I might have to give you a different nickname. Of course, Scrooge changed, so I guess it still applies.” She headed for the door, then paused. “Your two o’clock appointment’s running late, but he should be here soon. I’ll send him up when he gets in.”

  Callen made a sound to indicate he’d heard her, and he closed Lizbeth’s report on his computer so he could get back to work reading the financials that his CFO had sent him. Normally, the numbers pleased him—because money meant security and comfort—but he put that aside and moved on to a contract for a land lease he needed for an especially large lot of cattle he’d arranged to buy.

  Head ’em up, move ’em out.

  He continued reading through the contract even after he heard the footsteps on the stairs. His two o’clock, Gus Hernandez, who obviously hadn’t run late as Havana had said. Callen looked up when the footsteps reached his doorway. And he did a double take.

  Not Gus.

  But someone else Callen instantly recognized. Someone he damn sure didn’t want to see.

  Avis Odell walked through the doorway of Callen’s office.

  “Sonofabitch,” Callen spit out, and because he suddenly found himself short of words, he grumbled it again.

  It’d been seventeen years since he’d seen this snake, but time dissolved. Not the memories, though. Not the pain. Those two things came back with a vengeance.

  Avis stood there, taking up most of the doorway with his wide shoulders and six-six height. The years had not been kind to Avis even though he was only about a decade older than Callen. Hard to believe Avis had only been in his early twenties when he’d nearly killed Nico, but the man had been a thug even then.

  He hadn’t thought it possible, but the slime coming off the man had gone up some notches. Greasy blond hair and wrinkled clothes straining over his beer gut and the huge bulky muscles that had gone partly to flab. The smile he flashed Callen let him know that Avis wasn’t fond of brushing and flossing.

  Callen tamped down the bile that churned in his stomach. And the flashbacks. He tried to tamp those down, too, but part of him—a part he hated—would always be that kid who Avis had stomped into the ground. Callen wanted to punch him, but he considered if he’d be able to stop at just one punch.

  No.

  With this rage eating away at him, he could end up doing to Avis what the man had nearly done to Nico and him.

  “What the fuck do you want?” Callen snarled as he got to his feet, and the snarl would have been much more effective if the movement hadn’t set off the singing tree. It launched into a jaunty rendition of “Jingle Bells.”

  Avis grinned as if amused. Entertained, even. But Callen put a stop to that. Even though he’d indicated to Havana that he wouldn’t punch this particular part of the Christmas decor, that was exactly what Callen did. The tree shut up.

  “I just wanted to pay you a friendly visit,” Avis said. “I read something in the newspaper about Buck McCall’s wedding. Some interview his bride-to-be had given, and she mentioned that you’d come back here to Podunk.”

  Avis would have taken the seat next to Callen’s desk, but Callen kicked it out of the way, too, and it crashed against the wall. “The next thing I go after is you,” Callen warned him. “Get out. There’ll be no friendly visits between us.”

  “Now, now. You might want to reconsider that. Might want to consider a lot of things—like why I came to you and not one of your brothers. If Judd sees me, he’ll likely take a swing at me and lose his badge. He never lived under my roof, but from what I’ve heard, he’s got a hot head. Kace might try to run me out of town and end up having to give up his badge, too. And Nico. Poor Nico. Think of all the bad memories he’ll have of our time together.”

  Hell. Sonofabitch. And shit.

  The rage came harder, hot and raw, and he wanted nothing more than to beat this snake to a pulp. He couldn’t, of course.

  Well, not unless Avis threw the first punch, that was.

  Then it wouldn’t put Kace and Judd in a legal bind of having to arrest their brother for taking care of the trash. Callen moved out from behind his desk to give Avis a shot at doing just that.

  Avis kept his hands in the pockets of his ratty jeans. “I want money,” he calmly announced. “Fifty grand should do it. That’s chump change for a guy like you. In exchange I won’t disrupt Buck’s wedding, your brothers’ lives or mess with any of your Christmas plans. I’ll be on my merry way.”

  It took a couple of seconds for Callen to get his jaw unclenched. “Blackmail?”

  Avis made a sound as if Callen had totally misinterpreted. “No. Payment for you and your brother living under my roof.”

  “It wasn’t your roof,” Callen snapped. “You were just fucking the woman who was supposed to be taking care of us. She didn’t. She allowed you to use your fists on us.”

  Avis readily nodded. “My old, wicked ways. But I did my time in jail and paid for what I did.”

  He could never pay enough. Never.

  Callen looked him straight in the eyes. “I’m not giving you a cent.”

  Avis shrugged, smiled. “You might want to rethink that. I’ll give you some time. A couple of days. See you Christmas Eve, Callen.”

  And with that, Avis walked out.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CALLEN STOOD THERE, trying to rein in the rage. All that old shit came flying at him until he knew there’d be no reining today. He headed for the door, triggering the soon-to-be-dead tree to start singing “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer.”

  “Cancel my two o’clock,” he called out to Havana, and it sent his assistant running to the doorway of her own office. “And get rid of the damn tree.”

  Along with some sounds of extreme disappointment—for the tree—she also added, “Are you, uh, okay?” That question was for the canceled appointment and his storming down the stairs.

  Callen didn’t answer her because, no, he wasn’t okay. He was too pissed off to see straight. But he seriously doubted that was going to affect the fist that he wanted to shove in Avis Odell’s face.

  He threw open the inn door, the cold air giving him a jolt while he braced himself to face Avis. But the man was nowhere in sight. Callen hurried to the inn parking lot. Not there. He shifted his gaze from one side of the street to the other. He saw plenty of people, most calling out some kind of holiday greeting, but no Avis.

  Shit.

  Callen stood there, trying to figure out where a snake would crawl. Maybe he’d just driven off. And was waiting to come back tomorrow. Callen would give him the same answer. No way in hell was he going to pay up. But in the meantime, Avis might make trouble.

  He took out his phone to call Kace but reconsidered that. His brother had a full plate right now between his job as sheriff, running his own small ranch and helping out Buck. Besides, Kace or Judd might indeed take a swing at the man, and if they did, they could lose their badges.

  That left Ni
co, and there was no way Callen would call him. Nico was the least likely of them to punch somebody, but Avis was right. Just the jolt of seeing him could be hell for Nico.

  Since he wasn’t ready to go back in, Callen walked up the street to see if Avis had stepped into one of the shops. And he practically ran into someone else he didn’t want to see today.

  Gavin.

  “Get the hell out of my way,” Callen snapped. And if Gavin didn’t listen, he would catch the brunt of Callen’s temper.

  “Sorry.” Gavin held up his hands. Strange hands. Or rather strange gloves. There were snowmen stitched on each of the fingertips. Girlie snowmen with puffy scarves and stuff. It took some of the fight out of Callen because he knew there was no way he could slug Gavin when he was wearing shit like that.

  “Oh. A gift from my grandmother,” Gavin said when he followed Callen’s gaze. He lowered his hands. “I was just coming by to see you. I want to apologize.”

  “Save it because I don’t want to hear it.” Callen might not have the option to slug Gavin, but that didn’t mean he had to be nice to him.

  Gavin stepped in front of him when Callen started to walk away, and it had Callen rethinking his notion about slugging him. There was a lot of dangerous energy bubbling up inside him, and bashing in Gavin’s face might help with that.

  “Accept the apology,” Gavin said. “Please.”

  Callen hadn’t wanted the please to play into this. And it wouldn’t have, had it not been for Gavin’s sincere look that went along with it.

  “I was wrong about a lot of things,” Gavin added. “I know what I say won’t have much weight with you right now, but it won’t happen again.” He held out his snowman hand for Callen to shake.

  Callen debated whether to shake his hand or break it. But the cold had drained some of the hot temper. Besides, he didn’t want to continue having a pissing contest with Gavin because it might come back on Shelby.

  And that was the reason Callen went for the shake, but he made it a hard one so that Gavin winced a little.

  “Say, I know it’s none of my business, but it’s cold out here,” Gavin said, pulling back his hand and giving it a little wiggle. No doubt to get rid of some of the numbness. “Shouldn’t you be wearing a coat?”