“Of course. How about later this afternoon, about three?”
“And me?”
“Four?”
She nodded.
“Okay, then. Let’s go get some Sunday dinner and catch a nap before our chats. Remember, we don’t have services tonight because both of your families will be lighting up their trees down on Main Street.” Kyle stood up and reached for his jacket. “Next week, I’m leaving on Friday morning to go see my fiancée. We’ve got some wedding plans to work out. A friend of mine will be preaching. That’s the sixth of December, but I’ll be back by the thirteenth, and we’ll take stock of what you’ve got gathered up that Sunday afternoon. At that time, you’ll only have one more week to get it all done, so we can announce it on the Sunday before Christmas. How’s it coming so far?”
“Pretty good. I’ve got twenty items,” Declan answered.
“I’ve got fifteen,” Betsy said.
“It’s amazing what a little bit of work can accomplish.” Kyle ushered them out the door, following them, and locked it. “See you later. And I don’t need to know the location of the storage locker until it’s time to get the things and bring them to the church. You might want to leave separately, or the whole town will have you married by morning.”
“So what are you doing for Sunday dinner?” Declan asked Betsy.
“I’m meeting my friend Iris. You?”
“I don’t want to go home, so I’m going to grab a burger in Gainesville and hang out at the kiddy zoo until time to talk to Kyle.”
“I’ll meet you at the zoo,” she said.
“What about Iris?”
“She’ll understand. I want to talk about this thing between us before I talk to Kyle,” she said.
Declan reached out and ran his knuckles down her cheekbone. “Me too. I’ll wait for you at the entrance.”
* * *
Betsy ordered a double bacon burger with extra bacon, sweet potato fries, and a chocolate shake, then drove straight to the children’s zoo. She parked her truck in the nearly empty parking lot. Not a lot of people would brave the north wind and gray skies to take their kids to pet goats on a Sunday afternoon—especially not on the Sunday when ninety percent of the population was busy decorating their Christmas trees.
Declan parked across the lot from her and carried his paper bag of food over to her truck. She appreciated his self-confidence and courage. Most men wouldn’t be caught dead even touching her hot-pink truck, but he climbed right in and made himself at home in the passenger’s seat.
“What’d you get?” he asked.
She pulled the ticket from the bag and handed it to him.
“I’ll be damned. We ordered the same thing except I got a strawberry shake. I love sweet potato fries.” He took a thick burger from the sack, removed the paper wrapper, and took his first bite.
She did the same. “Pretty good Sunday dinner. I get tired of steaks or ham or big meals sometimes.”
“Me too,” he said. “Now, about that kiss.”
“It knocked my socks off. I liked it, but no more, Declan. We aren’t love struck teenagers with big ideas of changing the world. This thing in Burnt Boot hasn’t changed in a hundred years, and it won’t in another hundred.”
“I agree. Whew! Those fries are hot.”
“Blow on them,” she said.
“If I blow on the fire between us, you reckon that would put it out?” he asked.
When she looked up, his blue eyes went all soft and dreamy. “It’s the danger, the secret, and the fact that we are both forbidden fruit, like the preacher talked about. If we were normal people, as in not Gallaghers or Brennans, we probably wouldn’t even feel like this. It was one kiss, and it’s over now. We’ll get this business of Christmas finished and go our separate ways.”
“Who are you trying to convince—me or you?”
“Both of us. Now eat your sweet potatoes. They get soggy when they get cold, and it’ll happen fast in this weather. Look!”
* * *
Betsy pointed, and Declan jerked his head up, expecting to see either Mavis or Naomi or both coming at them with shotguns locked and loaded. But no one was there, not even a parking lot pigeon begging bread crumbs.
“It’s snowing, Declan.”
“Yes, it is. It’s early for the first snow, but that’s sure enough what it is. Turn on the radio and see if we can catch a weather report.”
She punched a button and “Let It Snow” blared loudly. She quickly adjusted the volume and said, “It’s an omen. We’re going to have a white Christmas, and Angela is going to have her nativity scene at the church. It’s all going to work out.”
“I always thought you were a spitfire, but there’s a soft heart hiding inside all that bluster,” he said softly. “Kind of like the wind out there, but the snowflakes are soft and delicate right in the midst of it.”
She laughed. “Why, Declan Brennan, you are a hopeless romantic, not a womanizer at all.”
“Shhh. Don’t tattle on me. I rather like the reputation I have. Don’t you?”
“Like your reputation or mine?”
“Either or both.”
“I won’t tell if you don’t.”
“So we’re agreed, then. This is business and that’s all?” he asked.
“Looks like that’s the best.”
“Shake on it?” He extended a hand.
She wiped hers on a napkin and was not one bit surprised at the reaction she had when his hand touched hers.
Declan pulled his hand free. “So we’ll light up our community tree first this year. What are the Gallaghers going to do to ruin it?”
“I have no idea. I’m sick to death of this feud so I’m steering clear of the whole thing. I have to go because I’m the elf who takes the kids’ pictures on Santa’s knee, but I’m not getting in the middle of the crap. What are the Brennans going to do to retaliate? You’ll have to do a lot to outdo last year, when your bull ruined our Santa Claus suit.”
“So will y’all,” Declan said. “I do remember a little red-haired kid from your side of the tracks who turned two mice loose on the table at our party.”
“Granny was wrong!”
“About mice?”
“No, about Christian being the next red-haired Gallagher after me. My cousin’s demon child has red hair. I could strangle that kid on a good day. We won’t talk about a bad day. He drives Granny crazy, so she probably doesn’t want to claim him either.”
“Hey, now, you are talking about a relative.” Declan grinned.
“I don’t claim him. I’d give him to the Brennans if they’d take him—or sell him to Wallace down in Salt Holler.”
Declan shivered. “Don’t say that about any kid. Granny used to threaten to give me to Wallace when I was a kid. Believe me, it straightened me up every time. I never did see that man when he didn’t have on that bloody apron.”
“Well, he does slaughter hogs for a living,” Betsy said.
“He might be scary, but there’s no feud in Salt Holler, so that’s a good thing, right?”
Betsy stole one of his fries, because hers were all gone. “I might be putting in my application to move there real soon.”
“I’ll believe that when I see the moving van hauling your stuff away from Wild Horse. That would be a reverse Cinderella story for sure.”
“What do you know about Cinderella?”
The door clicked and a few snowflakes landed on the seat as he crawled out of her truck. “I’ve got a sister, remember? Now that we’ve decided what we’re going to do in the future about the past, I’ve got an errand to run, and then it’ll be time for my visit with Kyle.”
Betsy couldn’t keep her eyes off him as he crossed the short distance from her truck to his. That cowboy swagger was so damned sexy, it sent shivers down her backbone, but then sh
e imagined he affected most women that way. With those dreamy eyes, plus those muscular arms and sandy-brown hair—she shook her head and made herself stop listing all the reasons why women were attracted to him. All it did was create more problems, and Betsy damn sure didn’t need any more trouble on her plate.
She wished that a genie would pop out of the trash. If that happened, she wouldn’t even have to think twice about what she’d ask for—it would be that Declan was not a Brennan.
Chapter 8
A snowflake to the acre rode the north wind down from gray skies while Declan hunched his shoulders against the cold and waited. He was about to give up and go home when the preacher rounded the corner of the church and held up a key.
“I’m so sorry. I thought I’d just take a little power nap and it turned into an hour-long siesta. That turkey pot pie set heavy on my stomach and put me into a sound sleep.”
Declan followed him into the church. “Very understandable. Leftover-turkey pie is one of my favorite dishes. I like it even better than the Thanksgiving turkey.”
“After Christmas, my fiancée, Lindsey, will be joining me in the parsonage, and she’s a good cook. You’ll have to come to our place for dinner sometime. Come on in the office. It’s warmer than the church. I turn down the thermostat to save on electricity after services are over, but I keep the office warm with a little space heater.” Kyle talked as he made his way through the sanctuary.
Both cowboy and preacher removed heavy coats and hung them on a rack with four hooks. Declan’s black cowboy hat went on another hook, and Kyle tucked his stocking hat inside his coat pocket.
“Now have a seat and tell me all about this problem between you and Betsy. I’m sensing it goes even deeper than the feud.” Kyle pushed his glasses up his nose, ran a hand down one side of his round face, sat down, and got right to the heart of the matter.
Declan fidgeted in his chair, picked at a piece of sawdust that had stuck to his boots, and cleared his throat. Would it be a breach of his promise to tell what happened at the poker game?
“When you’re ready,” Kyle said.
“It happened like this,” Declan started, and the words spilled out as he described the game, the way the feelings were running strong, and the bet.
“Wow!” Kyle said when Declan finished.
“And that was only a week ago, and I like Betsy. I know I should tell her what happened and be honest, but if I do, the Christmas thing will be finished. She’ll either shoot me or rake me over hot coals, but she won’t work with me. I didn’t even care if there was a program at the church, but it means so much to her that I want her to have it. I’m rambling and not making a bit of sense.” Declan ran his fingers through his hair and bit his lower lip, two telltale signs that he was nervous. He quickly dropped his hand to his thigh and clamped his teeth tightly together.
“You’re making far more sense than you realize. Did you just want to talk, or do you want my advice?” Kyle asked.
“I’d like your opinion,” Declan answered slowly.
“First answer a question. Is this totally business?”
“She says it is.”
“Then let it ride itself out until the weekend before Christmas. I’ll borrow a flatbed and truck from Sawyer and go get all the stuff you both have collected on Saturday, and you can tell her then. That way, she’ll have her Christmas, and you need to be miserable for making a bet like that, so you’ll have your penance. This feud needs to stop,” Kyle said.
Declan nodded. “I’d like nothing better, but I sure don’t see it happening.”
Kyle glanced toward the clock. “Looks like it’s Betsy’s turn, and then we’ll go to the tree lighting. I’m glad you felt like you could talk to me, Declan. I’m here for more than preaching on Sunday morning.”
They heard the church doors squeaking. Declan pushed out of the chair, picked up his hat, draped his coat over his arm, and said, “Thank you, Kyle. Reckon I could book another session next Sunday.”
“I won’t be here then, remember? But I’ll make a note that you’re coming to see me on the thirteenth at three. I’ll even try not to oversleep.”
Kyle turned around at the door. “What day are you getting married?”
“The last day of the year. It’s a Friday, and we’re planning a short, little honeymoon on a warm island. I’ll be absent from church on the first Sunday in January, but we’ll be settled in the parsonage by the next weekend.”
“Why the last day of the year?” Kyle asked.
“We wanted to start the New Year out as a couple.” He smiled brightly.
Declan’s heart threw in an extra beat when he saw Betsy sitting in the front pew, waiting her turn. She’d pulled her hair back into its normal ponytail and wore an old mustard-colored work coat over her cute little denim skirt.
“Your turn,” he said.
“What did you tell him?”
He propped a hip on the corner of the pew. “What goes on behind closed doors is private.”
“Maybe that’s a good thing,” she said.
“I think it is. I’m finding a storage unit tomorrow. Remember to look for the address in the can.”
When she looked up at him with those green eyes, he came close to spitting out the truth right there and not waiting until they’d gotten the things gathered for the Christmas program.
“I’d rather you called me. I’m careful with my phone,” she said.
“And if by chance Naomi grabbed it before you could get to it and saw my name? You think you’d live to see your new little cousin in the role of baby Jesus?”
She inhaled deeply and let it all out in a whoosh. “It’s just so crazy, but then, so is what we are doing. I should be going. Kyle is waiting.”
“I’ll probably see you tonight. Wouldn’t it be something if everything went all smooth and folks forgot about the feud in the spirit of the holiday?”
“The sun would stand still in the sky or all the pigs from Salt Holler would sprout wings and fly if that happened.”
He chuckled and headed toward the door but stopped long enough for one backward glance at her. Did she even realize how much her sexy hip sway made a man’s mouth go as dry as if he’d eaten an alum sandwich?
* * *
Kyle motioned her into the office with a wave of his hand. “Take off your coat and hang it on the rack. Getting colder by the minute isn’t it?”
Betsy nodded. “It’s spitting snow out there, but that’s a nice touch to the Christmas tree lighting tonight. It’s always nice when it’s cold. There’s been some years when it was so warm that everyone showed up without jackets, and we had to turn on the air-conditioning to keep Santa from sweltering in that heavy suit.”
“Tell me about this Christmas tree thing. I’ve lived in towns where they put a tree in the center of town and put up all kinds and sort of decorations, but this is something new,” he said.
She removed her coat and hung it over the back of a chair before she sat down. “You’ve never lived in a feuding town, have you?”
He shook his head.
“The Gallaghers and the Brennans can’t agree on anything. Years before I was born, the folks wanted to put a tree right in the middle of town, like you just said, but the feuding families wouldn’t compromise about who got to put it up, who got to decorate it. They even argued about who got to plug in the lights.” She sighed.
She paused and took in the office. An old wooden desk that had probably seen better days back when the feud first started, a chair that had duct tape on the arms to cover the holes, and carpet so worn she could see the webbing holding it together in places. It should have had a decent desk, maybe even a credenza over against the wall behind her, to hold his wedding pictures. This place was a disgrace to the whole town of Burnt Boot.
Kyle wasn’t the first preacher she’d heard preach from the pulpi
t, but he might be the sweetest, with his baby face and thinning, light-brown hair. He had a way about him that made a person either want to bare their souls or take him home for dinner. Burnt Boot was lucky to get him and she hoped that he and his new wife would be happy in the parsonage for years and years.
“I’m sorry. I was woolgathering,” she said. “Back to the story. So the Brennans declared they’d put up their own personal tree and the Gallaghers did the same. The Brennans always have had the space in front of the store, and the Gallaghers put theirs up at the bar. Since the Brennans come from pious people who did not drink in those days, they have a whole array of finger foods, punch, coffee, hot chocolate, Christmas cookies, and other good things to eat at their party, which is set up inside the store.”
“And the Gallaghers?” he asked when she paused.
“We provide Santa Claus and pictures of the kids sitting on his knee. Plus, we give out bags of fruit and nuts and maybe a little toy of some kind. And Santa Claus plugs in the tree. We play Christmas carols from the back of a flatbed, and it’s not a bit unusual for folks to be dancing in the parking lot.”
“And the feud?”
“The bar and the store are neutral territory, so everyone is invited to both.”
“But there’re usually problems?”
She nodded. “I absolutely hate this feud. Something always happens at the Christmas tree party. I think folks come from miles away to see the feud show, rather than enjoying what Christmas means.”
Kyle slipped off his shoes and set them beside his desk. “Maybe the surprise will be that everything will go well this year.”
“I wouldn’t hold my breath if I were you.”
He propped his feet on the desk and leaned back. “Pardon my socks, but my shoes are new, and they aren’t broken in yet. You wanted to talk about something other than lighting up Christmas trees?”
Betsy didn’t know where to begin. She opened her mouth, but words didn’t come out, so she shut it and scanned the office again. It was a shame that their preacher had such a terrible place to work—especially when she compared it to the office that she sat in at Wild Horse. Maybe she and Declan should work on taking up donations for decent things for his office after they finished the Christmas project.
A Cowboy Christmas Miracle (Burnt Boot, Texas Book 4) Page 9