A Cowboy Christmas Miracle (Burnt Boot, Texas Book 4)

by Carolyn Brown

  Naomi threw up both palms. “Enough! This conversation is over. I’m not giving the church a penny, and any Gallagher who does will be in big trouble.”

  “Don’t you ever get tired of this feud?” Betsy pushed harder.

  “Hell no! It’s what I live for. I only hope Mavis Brennan dies before I do so I can spit on her grave,” Naomi answered. “They are so high-and-mighty and holier-than-thou because their ancestor was a preacher and ours made moonshine. I’m expecting you to pick up the reins and keep ahead of them, and if you can’t, then I’ll choose another granddaughter to be the queen of Wild Horse. I’m going to bed now and you’d best think about what I said.”

  “Yes, ma’am. Married in a year. Runnin’ Wild Horse and keepin’ up the feud like a good Gallagher. Slow down on my drinking. Can I have one beer a week and a shot of whiskey, or do I have to choose between them?” Betsy cocked her head to one side. “Did I forget anything?”

  “Don’t you get sassy with me. I won’t tolerate it. Good night, Betsy.”

  “’Night, Granny,” Betsy muttered.

  “And no pouting either,” Naomi said.

  “You ever known me to pout?” Betsy said loud and clear.

  “No, you’re like me. You go after what you want. You stand your ground, and you take out anyone who gets in your way however you have to. That’s why you will run this ranch and you will be settled before I turn over the job to you. That means a husband and hopefully a child or two. You aren’t getting any younger. If you got married in a year…”

  When Naomi inhaled, Betsy butted in, “And a baby the next year. Tell me, Granny, when will I have time to run a ranch with a husband and a bunch of kids?”

  “I managed it and did a good job after your grandfather died. Wild Horse needs a strong woman. You think about that, and don’t disappoint me.”

  Betsy crammed chips in her mouth to keep from saying another word. She was tired of the whole conversation, tired of the feud that had been going on over a hundred years, and, most of all, tired of listening to her grandmother issue orders.

  Married in a year? It wasn’t damn likely.

  Chapter 3

  Betsy tried to keep her eyes front and center, focused right on the pulpit where the new preacher, Kyle Jones, was sermonizing about things we should be thankful for. But she kept casting side-glances toward the Brennan side of the church.

  She’d dreamed about Declan the night before, but that was because of the conversation she’d had with her granny. In the dream, she and Declan had a new baby boy, and they were playing the roles of Mary and Joseph in the church program.

  As if that would ever come to pass. The apocalypse would happen first, or the world would implode from the inside out, sending us all flying off this chunk of dirt like rag dolls in a tornado.

  If she ever wanted to step into Naomi Gallagher’s boots, she should banish the visions in her mind that morning. It would take more than a miracle and magic of the holiday season for her to ever go out on a simple date with Declan, much less for them to play Mary and Joseph. It was all the talk of Christmas that brought on the dream and the insane thoughts. Reality was that no matter how well he filled out those creased jeans, he truly was forbidden fruit.

  She might be sick of the feud, but she did like living on Wild Horse, where she was welcome at the main house and had a room at her parents’ place as well. Right now, she could stay at any one of a dozen places over on Wild Horse, but the doors would be shut and locked at all of them if word got out she was sneaking around with Declan Brennan.

  It had to be simply business. No fantasies welcome. Lock the door on them and throw away the key. They would talk to the preacher, arrange things so there could be a Christmas program, and Angela would be happy. Betsy would shake hands with Declan when it was all done, and they’d go right on back to the feud, where she’d devise ways to torment his family and he’d figure out ways to get even.

  Tanner nudged her shoulder and whispered, “What are you thinkin’ about? You look like you just ate sour grapes.”

  “Not sour grapes, forbidden fruit,” she said softly.

  * * *

  Tanner’s heart was a chunk of stone in his chest. Betsy was his favorite cousin, and everything in him said to fess up and be honest about what he’d done. He shivered thinking about what would happen if he did. The past had shown him that Betsy could carry a grudge longer than any of the cousins, and nobody wanted to find themselves on the top of her shit list. All he had to do was give Declan the money to call off the bet and maybe she’d never find out.

  It wouldn’t take anything but a word in passing to stop the whole business before it even got started. He’d have to take a lot of flak, but it would be the right thing to do. So after Sunday dinner, he’d tell her because the fallout would be worse if she heard it through the Burnt Boot gossip line. After church services, he’d catch Declan out on the church parking lot and end the whole thing.

  The preacher took an extra five minutes to wind down and be sure that everyone knew they’d best be thankful for their places in life. Then he called on Declan Brennan to give the benediction while he tiptoed to the back of the church. That way, he’d be in the doorway to greet everyone as they left.

  Declan made it a short prayer, which Tanner did appreciate. If Preacher Kyle had called upon Quaid, they would have been there an additional five minutes because Quaid did love to thank God for everything from the green grass to the cows that ate it.

  Everything fell perfectly into place as Tanner moved from his seat toward the doors and found himself in line right behind Declan. When Declan turned around and grinned at him, Tanner couldn’t do it. He simply could not let a Brennan win the battle, not even if it meant suffering the wrath of Betsy later on down the road.

  “Tanner?” Declan nodded.

  Tanner talked from the corner of his mouth. “I don’t like this. Betsy is going to go up in flames.”

  “Don’t worry. She’s not my type, so I’m not falling in love with her. That wasn’t one of Eli’s rules. But still, a bet is a bet, and for me to win this, she has to fall for me, right? She might hate me, but you are the one who is going to be in her shotgun sights when it’s all said and done.”

  Mavis looped her arm in Declan’s. “What are you talking about? Are you two fighting over the same woman? Who is she? You might as well step aside, Tanner. My grandson is a Brennan, and he gets what he wants.”

  “No, we were discussing Christmas,” Declan said.

  Mavis drew herself up to her full height. She was only an inch over five feet five inches, but when Mavis set her jaw like that, she appeared to be six feet tall and bulletproof. Ice-cold blue eyes set in a round face glared at Tanner. And then, she shook her finger at Declan. “I don’t want to hear another word about that.”

  Tanner slipped ahead of them and made a hasty retreat out the front door. Betsy waved at him from the window of her truck. He couldn’t undo what had happened, but Declan was right. Betsy was going to be one pissed off redhead at Christmas, whether Declan talked her into bed or not.

  * * *

  Declan had managed to tuck a note in Betsy’s hand after Tanner had breezed past him and Mavis. It only had two words on it: Sanctuary. 3:00.

  He’d caught the preacher coming out of a Sunday school room before church and told him that he needed a private meeting and asked for a time. Kyle had quickly agreed and hadn’t asked any questions.

  Now Declan was sitting at the dinner table with Mavis on one side of him and Quaid on the other, wishing that this only had to do with Christmas and not the bet. There was something exciting about the secrecy, but it was dangerous with the feud. Combined, they took away his appetite, and the Sunday dinner roast beef tasted like sawdust.

  “Thinkin’ about backin’ out?” Quaid whispered.

  “Yep,” Declan answered.

  �
��I told you not to do it, but you wouldn’t listen, so now you’ve got to go through with it. How in the world are you going to approach her?”

  Declan shrugged. “Sometimes destiny helps us Brennans out. The ball is already rolling and Tanner better run because it’s going to build up speed as it goes.”

  “Don’t joke,” Quaid said.

  “I’m not, but don’t worry. It’s all going to come around and bite him square on the ass before this is over.” He clapped a hand on Quaid’s shoulder. “What if you had to sweet-talk Betsy Gallagher?”

  “I’m not sure Jesus could sweet-talk that redhead.” Quaid chuckled under his breath.

  “I’m very sure Jesus wouldn’t want anything to do with her,” Declan chuckled.

  The solution came to Declan in a flash. He’d work with her on the Christmas project, but that’s all he would do. Tanner could sweat it out for the whole month, wondering what was happening and just how much trouble he was going to be in when the news got out. Declan would put his thousand dollars in an envelope and hand it to Tanner on Christmas Day and Declan himself would tell Betsy what her cousin had done.

  That would pay his debt. Then Betsy could take care of Tanner. Suddenly, his dinner tasted a hell of a lot better. Yes, sir, the Brennans might have to cough up some money, but the Gallaghers would be holding the short straw when it was all said and done.

  * * *

  The church doors always squeaked when they were opened. Betsy had asked Tanner a long time ago why he or some of the other men in the church didn’t at least put some oil on the hinges, and he’d told her that the preacher wanted them to squeak.

  “It’s like this,” he had explained. “Folks all know that they’re going to squawk like a dying bird, so they get here on time. If they’re late, there’s no sneaking in and sitting on the back pew. The noise makes everyone turn around and the gossip flies around all week devisin’ tales about why they were late to church. Were they fighting or making out with their girlfriend in the hayloft? Will there be a baby in nine months?”

  When she heard the familiar noise that afternoon at a few minutes until three, she laid her romance book to one side and turned to see if it was Preacher Kyle or Declan.

  Declan carefully closed the door and started up the aisle. Betsy watched his swagger and thought again of his reputation. A frown drew her eyebrows down into a solid line and he raised one of his slightly.

  “What? Are you backing out?” His drawl echoed off the empty church’s walls.

  It should be a sin for a cowboy that sexy to be born into the Brennan family, and it definitely should be one for him to have a tight little strut that she couldn’t keep her eyes from. There was something about the way he stood with shoulders back, broad chest tapering to a vee all the way below that bull rider’s belt buckle that any woman on the face of the great green earth would take a second look at.

  “I’m not backing out of anything,” she answered. “Are you?”

  He removed his hat and brushed his hair back, nodded to Betsy, and sat down on the other end of the pew. Crossing his long legs at the ankle, he laid his hat on the gold velvet pew cushion and said, “I am not. I’m in this for the long haul, Betsy Gallagher. Looks like we are on time. Wonder where Preacher Kyle is.”

  “I saw his truck out front so he’s probably in his office praying before he comes in here,” she said. “It’s not often he’ll be talking to a Brennan and a Gallagher in the same room, now is it?”

  “He doesn’t know why we’re here. I just asked for a private meeting. And we are sitting on neutral territory here in the middle pews. Have you ever sat in this section before?”

  Betsy shook her head seriously. “I have always sat on the Gallagher side of the church, just like you’ve sat on the Brennan side.”

  Kyle crossed the room from the other side of the church where his office was located. “Good afternoon. Oh, I didn’t know you were bringing a girlfriend or, better yet, that it would be Betsy.”

  “Not a girlfriend. Not even a friend,” Declan said quickly.

  “But yet, here you are.” Kyle sat down on the altar, facing them. “And this problem you want to discuss—does it involve both of you?”

  “It involves Christmas and neither of us,” Betsy blurted out.

  “Okay.” Kyle dragged the two-syllable word out into four.

  “We want to have a Christmas program. My cousin Angela is having a baby boy any day, and she’s got her heart set on him being baby Jesus. She and her husband will be Mary and Joseph. I realize we can’t have the four weekly programs that we usually do, but we think we’ve come up with a plan to have at least one,” Betsy said.

  Declan picked up explaining when she paused for a breath. “Christmas is on Friday. You could announce it on the previous Sunday, and we could have the program on Wednesday night. That’s a Bible study night anyway, but it would work out real good that way, having it right before the holiday. And everyone knows what to do at the program. The nativity scene and the story of the birth of Christ are pretty much the same every year, so three days will be plenty of time for folks to get it ready.”

  “Does this mean the Gallaghers and the Brennans are going to work together on this project of making this happen? You know we need costumes, props, a Christmas tree, decorations, and all that does not come cheap,” Kyle said.

  “Hell no!” Betsy slapped a hand over her mouth. “Forgive me for cussin’ in church, but the families are not working together, and they’d skin us alive if they knew we were. It absolutely has to be a secret.”

  “Go on,” Kyle said.

  “We figure if we collect an item here and one there among all the families in Burnt Boot that, pretty soon, we’ll have plenty of stuff for the program,” Declan explained. “We just need you to give us permission to leave what we gather up here at the church and be our go-between on this mission. We’ll be telling everyone that it’s a secret but that they’re going to love what happens and that they can’t let anyone know who or what they donated. Everyone loves a secret like that.”

  Kyle chuckled. “With the way gossip flies around this town, do you really think you can keep something like that a secret?”

  “Oh, they’ll talk, but they’ll be very careful not to let either one of the grandmothers know anything because no one wants to suffer their wrath,” Declan answered.

  * * *

  Kyle had never doubted that God would answer his prayers if he was earnest when he petitioned his heavenly Father. When he took the job at the Burnt Boot church, he’d had second thoughts, but something kept pulling him to the little north Texas town. It came to him in a dream one evening that it was the feud and his mission was to end the thing once and for all, to bring peace to Burnt Boot. And right here was proof that he’d done the right thing.

  He nodded and said, “I will be glad to help in any way I can. It will be wonderful to have a program. Truth is, I was hoping someone would come forward with a plan, but I sure didn’t expect it to be a member from each of the feuding families.”

  “It really, really has to be a well-kept secret,” Betsy said seriously. “My granny would scalp me. Don’t look at me like that, Kyle. I’m thirty, but she still holds the whip over at Wild Horse.”

  “And so would mine, and you know very well how big my granny’s whip is,” Declan said.

  “Then it will be. Until and if you two want the credit, my lips are sealed,” Kyle said. “What can I do?”

  “We need a key to the back door of the church to unload our things once a week. Thursday would be good because that’s the evening you make your visits to the sick and the folks who can’t get out for church services. That way, you can truly say that the stuff just appeared in the church, and you don’t really know where it came from,” Betsy said.

  Kyle nodded. “And what else? I suppose you have already thought of the fact that usin
g your phones might be dangerous. Anyone could pick them up and, with a few keystrokes, know that you were talking to each other. So why don’t I put a tin can under the back porch steps and you can put notes in it if you want to talk to each other. Oh, and the church bulletins usually arrive on Thursday. The UPS man leaves them on the back porch, so could you bring those in for me?”

  “We’d be glad to take care of it,” Declan said.

  “I hadn’t thought of the phone business. Notes are a smart idea,” Betsy said.

  “Sometimes the old ways are best.” Kyle smiled.

  * * *

  Burnt Boot was a small town—grocery store, bar, church, and school that made up the core of several ranches. If anyone wanted anything more than what they could find in town, they went to Gainesville or Denton.

  But like all little Texas towns, the gossip vines were busy twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week with no time off for holidays, not even Christmas. Lord help if anyone saw Betsy’s and Declan’s trucks both parked at the back of the church on Thursday nights.

  Fear was something that had never been in Betsy’s vocabulary, but it was that Sunday afternoon. A thousand what-ifs played through her mind. As if Declan could read her thoughts, he said, “We’ll only bring my truck on Thursday nights. Your pink one would stand out like a neon light above a…café.”

  She held back the giggle. From the blush, it was pretty evident that he’d quickly substituted café for something else, and she’d bet dollars to cow patties that it was whorehouse. Betsy had no idea a cowboy as broad shouldered and hot as Declan Brennan could blush, and it gave her satisfaction to know that she wasn’t the only one who’d had impure thoughts in church.

  “I only have one spare key to the back door. Which one of you wants to be responsible for it?” Kyle asked.

  “Give it to Betsy. She wanted this program more than me anyway.” Declan glanced down the pew at Betsy. “You be responsible for the key. I’ll get us here on Thursday night to bring in the stuff.”