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

by Carolyn Brown

  Betsy opened up a biscuit and stuffed eight pieces of bacon inside it, added a tablespoon of grape jelly, and then poured a cup of coffee. She carried both to the table and sat down beside her father. “Maybe one of them will have a thing for redheads.”

  Willa pulled out a chair and joined them. “Your grandmother hates them almost as much as the Brennans. She blames them for the whole past year, so I’d steer clear of them if they do buy up some property in this area.”

  “Can’t date an O’Donnell. Stay away from the Brennans. Who’s on the list of those I can see?”

  “Preacher John comes to mind,” Henry said with a wide grin.

  “I’d rather stay single the rest of my life,” Betsy said. “Let’s go do chores and forget all about this. It’s enough to drive a woman plumb crazy.”

  * * *

  Declan bailed out of bed, got dressed, and met his father on the landing. “Looks like we’re in for another winter like last year,” he said.

  “Looks like it. The weatherman says it’s not going to melt over the weekend and schools are already looking at closing part of next week. They’re calling for another two inches of freezing rain throughout today.” Russell led the way down the stairs to the kitchen.

  “Good morning.” Mavis was as cheerful as a bird in springtime. “Can you believe this weather, and guess what I heard? That Betsy Gallagher is trying to seduce the preacher who’s here to preach for Kyle on Sunday. He’s a brother to her cousin’s wife, the one who just had a baby boy. Well, anyway, they were together in the church on Thursday night, and I bet they weren’t just talking.”

  “You’re getting slow in your old age, Mama,” Russell chuckled. “I heard that yesterday at the feed store in Gainesville.”

  “Well, did you hear that your son helped that hussy decorate the bar for Rosalie and that he talked Quaid and Honey into participating? Cavorting with the Gallaghers all evening like there wasn’t a feud and like they didn’t set fire to my baby Jesus.” Her voice got higher with each word.

  “I do believe that we stole Santa Claus in retaliation,” Declan reminded her seriously.

  “They deserved it,” Mavis said. “Eat your breakfast and go think about who you are as you help your dad with the feeding this morning.”

  “I’m a thirty-two-year-old man. That’s enough of who I am,” he said.

  “And it’s time you settled too.” Mavis glared at him.

  “Too? Who else in the family is planning a wedding?” Declan asked.

  “Honey is looking for a husband?” Mavis said. “Honey has been man hunting since she was sixteen but settling on one person to spend the rest of her life with isn’t easy.”

  Declan said. “Don’t push us.”

  Mavis scowled. “Don’t you sass me. I can replace you as quick as Naomi did Betsy.”

  “Oh, now this is a competition between you two about who will kick their grandchildren out, is it?” Russell asked. “This is Declan’s home. He was born here, and if you make him leave, I’ll be right behind him.”

  “You didn’t act like that when Leah moved out for that hippie cowboy she married,” Mavis said.

  “Leah moved out because she wanted to, and I support her in her decision. She wasn’t kicked out, even though you won’t let her come back. But I can take my cattle and my share of this place and move out tomorrow if you’re going to start issuing threats,” Russell said.

  “Who’s issuing threats?” Honey yawned as she headed toward the coffeepot.

  “Granny is,” Declan said.

  “Well, I hope it’s not concerning our preacher this week because I have a date with him tonight to go to a revival meeting. I hope this damned rotten weather doesn’t keep it from happening.”

  Declan’s chuckle grew into one of those guffaws that filled the room. Three people stared at him as if he was crazy but he didn’t care. He’d never felt so alive than he had since the bet had gone down in the Burnt Boot Bar and Grill.

  The laughter stopped as soon as it started, the quiet in the room becoming more awkward by the moment.

  The bet!

  In his excitement over Honey having a date with John, he’d forgotten about it.

  * * *

  Betsy parked the four-wheeler at the edge of the Wild Horse property line, crawled over the barbed-wire fence, and made her way to the church, slipping and sliding on the frozen ground the whole way. She was almost giddy when John’s vehicle was not parked in the lot or beside the back door, but she got nervous when she pulled the can out from under the porch and found a note in it. It wasn’t Thursday and she had no legitimate business at the church, but someone had said they’d seen Declan’s truck parked there last night. Rumor had it that he was telling John to steer clear of his cousin Honey, but she wanted to be sure there wasn’t a note in the can. After this week, she and Declan had to figure out another way to communicate.

  If you get this note, please meet me in Gainesville in the parking lot in front of the Cracker Barrel. Eight o’clock?

  She tucked the note into her pocket and shoved the can back under the porch. She had taken two steps back toward the ranch when she heard a door slam behind her and John’s voice calling out.

  “Hey, Betsy, did you need something? I swear if I had been driving anything lighter weight than this big truck, I would have been in a ditch the way I slipped and slid all the way from Wild Horse to here this morning,” he said.

  “I was looking for one of my house cats. She ran out the door ahead of me this morning and I trailed her as far as the fence. Thought maybe she was hiding up under the porch. If you see a big, black cat with green eyes, just call Wild Horse, and they’ll patch you over to my house,” she lied.

  Did God take vengeance on a lie or kissing in the pastor’s study faster? She quickly glanced at the sky, but it was still gray and peppering down sleet that stung her face when it hit.

  “I’ll keep an eye out for her. Is she friendly?”

  “Oh, yes. She’ll come right in the church if you open the door,” Betsy said. “My friend Iris gave her to me a couple of years ago.”

  “What’s her name?”

  “Angel. Thanks, John. See you around. Hope this weather doesn’t keep you from your revival tonight,” she said.

  “So does Honey Brennan. I invited her to go with me,” John said.

  Betsy stopped in her tracks. “Does Granny know that?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “I wouldn’t be standing on the rooftops telling the world about it if I were you.”

  “Oh, yes. The ‘famous feud.’” He bookended the last word with air quotes. “That doesn’t affect me, Betsy. I don’t care about a feud that should have ended years ago.”

  “Talk to Angela about that when you get back to Wild Horse.”

  “I will, and if I see your Angel cat, I’ll call.”

  “Thanks.” She waved and made her way back to her four-wheeler, crawled on, and headed for home, making plans the whole way. She found a note on the kitchen table saying that her parents were at the barn babysitting a heifer that was having trouble delivering a calf.

  Betsy wrote on the bottom of the same paper telling them that Iris was in Gainesville at a meeting, stuck there for the weekend, and she was going down to join her. She threw a few things in an overnight bag and made plans to meet Declan at the Cracker Barrel, tell him what she had to say, and then check into the Hampton Inn right there in the same parking lot—alone. No way was she driving down there on slippery roads and back the same night. Besides, she and her imaginary friend had lots to talk about and neither of them wanted to be in church the next morning.

  What usually took twenty minutes, driving from Burnt Boot to Gainesville, took an hour and ten minutes. She’d planned on getting there early enough to eat a plate of dumplings before Declan arrived, but it didn’t happen. He w
as sitting in his big, black truck, waiting for her in a nearly empty parking lot.

  She pulled in next to him and rolled down the window. “Been waiting long?”

  “Just got here. Those roads are horrible. Wouldn’t surprise me a bit if the transportation department doesn’t shut them completely down. Your truck or mine?”

  “Mine,” she answered.

  “Then yours it is.” He only slipped once as he walked from his vehicle to hers. “I packed a suitcase in case they shut down the roads before I can get back to Burnt Boot. I hope the hotel over there isn’t booked solid.”

  “Doesn’t look like it,” she said. “I only see about six cars in the lot. Folks have hunkered down and aren’t getting out in this. Only crazy people who keep a feud alive for a hundred years drive in this kind of weather,” she said.

  “I could go in there”—he nodded toward the restaurant—“and get some food and then take it over to the hotel. It’d be warmer than a picnic on the river tonight.”

  “No strings?”

  “None whatsoever,” he said.

  “I am starving,” she said. “And, Declan, I’ve already got a room booked. I called it in on the way down here.”

  His wide grin heated the whole truck even more. “I’m impressed. No way would I have tried to talk on a cell phone and drive in this at the same time. I kept both hands on the wheel.”

  “I used the speakerphone. I’ll have chicken and dumplings, steak fries, a baked potato, and hash brown casserole. Need to write that down?”

  Declan shook his head. “I got it. Wait for me in the lobby?”

  “I’ll be the one with the red hair and growling stomach.”

  His grin lit up the whole parking lot. “And the sexy, tight-fittin’ jeans and the gorgeous green eyes and a swing to the hips that makes men’s eyes pop right out of their heads.”

  Chapter 15

  Betsy fidgeted as she waited in the lobby, key card to a room on the third floor in her hand. It wasn’t too late to cut her losses and get back into her truck, drive another half a mile, and get a room at a different hotel. But they were grown adults, and she’d rented a suite that came with a sofa, a small dining area, and a microwave and fridge.

  She took a deep breath and stiffened her backbone as well as her resolve as she made plans. They would have supper in her room, not even look at that big, king-size bed, and talk about Christmas stuff. Then he would call down to the lobby and get his own room, probably on a different floor, and tomorrow they’d go home. And then she saw him carrying in two big sacks from the restaurant and a duffel bag, and her determination flew out the door when it slid open.

  He was sexy as hell with snowflakes shining on his black cowboy hat. A few had made their way up under the brim to stick to his sandy-brown hair that covered half his ears. His blue eyes caught hers staring at him, and he winked.

  That gesture plus his distinct swagger made her mouth go dry. Maybe, she decided right then, they should eat before she said anything. It would be a shame to get into an argument and spoil the dinner. He’d clearly spent a lot of money on those two bags of food, and she really was hungry.

  You are hiding from what you know is the right thing to do, her conscience fussed.

  I know, but I want one real dinner with him, and he’s gone to the trouble to bring it, and I’m not going to put myself in a position to even kiss him. It’s just dinner, for God’s sake. Go away and leave me alone, she argued.

  “Ready?” he asked.

  She held up the key card and pointed toward the hall leading to the elevators. “Third floor.”

  “Weatherman on the radio just now said that we’re in for a real blizzard tonight. I called Leah, and the roads are now officially closed into and out of Burnt Boot. Guess we’re here for the night. After we eat, I’ll call the desk and book a room.”

  The elevator opened immediately when she pushed the button. She carried her bag inside and held the door while he maneuvered the food and his duffel in, and then she hit the button for the third floor.

  “I don’t ever remember the roads being completely closed. Do you?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “Not even last year when the snow got so deep. I guess it’s got to do with that layer of ice under the snow.”

  “Poor Honey,” Declan chuckled. Lord help, but the man even had a southern drawl when he laughed.

  “Why poor Honey?”

  “She was going to a revival meeting tonight with the preacher that you kissed. Guess maybe he’ll have to be satisfied with coming to the house for dinner instead. Granny will be so proud to have a preacher there, and believe me, if Honey doesn’t get him branded, Granny will be disappointed. We haven’t had a preacher in the family since back when the feud started.”

  The elevator came to a stop and the doors slid open. “You go on first. Room 312. I’d like to be a fly on the wall at Wild Horse when John announces that he’s going to River Bend to have dinner with Honey. This may start a brand-new battle in the feuding wars. They may call it the love war.”

  When they got into the room, he set the food on the table and tossed his duffel bag toward the closet. “Sounds much better than the pig war and the shit war, doesn’t it?”

  She started unloading the sacks. “Good grief, Declan! Did you buy enough for a week?”

  He kicked off his boots and began arranging food on the coffee table. “We can sit on the floor, can’t we? Kind of like those fancy Asian places? But you got to take your boots off.”

  She removed hers and tossed them over next to his and helped him put take-out containers down the center of the coffee table. Dumplings, three kinds of potatoes, pinto beans, greens, corn bread muffins, biscuits, and two big chicken fried steaks.

  He brought out two paper plates, plastic cutlery, and paper napkins. “I thought we’d share. If it hadn’t turned out so cold, we’d be having potato salad and ribs and brisket by the river with a blazing fire going up under that willow tree. This isn’t as romantic, but it’s hot, and we don’t even have to worry about anyone catching us. They’re all stuck in Burnt Boot. We can’t get in, and they can’t get out. Pretty nice, isn’t it?”

  She dipped into the dumplings and then put a chicken fried steak on her plate. “So who are we tonight?”

  He set two cups of sweet tea on the table and sat down beside her, instead of across the table. “I think we should be the Wisemans, don’t you?”

  “Did you bring the duct tape?”

  He popped his palm against his head. “Forgot it. How about you are Betsy, and I’m Declan.”

  “I’d like that,” she said.

  * * *

  Declan had never been so nervous in his life. He was a player, and he could seduce a woman in two hours tops, but he wanted more than sex that night. Betsy deserved to be treated like a lady, like the person he’d come to know and appreciate the past couple of weeks. She was worthy of so much more than a quick romp in the sheets over a damned bet.

  He wanted to tell her about the poker game. It was on the tip of his tongue to come clean about it, but he couldn’t. He could not hurt her, not today, and for damn sure not when they were in a small hotel room where she could throw him out the window. When it was all said and done at Christmas, he intended to tell Tanner that Tanner had won the bet. Declan would shell out the money, and no one would ever know how the Christmas program or the lovely new office and parsonage furniture came about.

  “What are you thinking about? You look like you’re fighting with yourself,” she asked.

  “Do you ever do that? Fight with yourself?”

  “Daily.” She smiled.

  “About this thing with us?”

  “Hourly,” she admitted.

  He glanced toward her and their eyes locked, sparks flittering about the room like the snowflakes swirling around outside the window. His fing
ertips grazed her cheekbone and pushed a strand of red hair behind her ear. The skin on her neck was soft as satin sheets and her hair as fine as silk. He could sit there for hours merely touching her face and hair. She raised her head, and her eyes fluttered shut, but he wasn’t ready to kiss her lips. The desire to taste the hollow of her neck and work his way from there to her lips was too strong to be denied.

  She moaned when his mouth caressed that sensitive part and slowly went from there to underneath her chin and from there to claim her lips in a fiery kiss that sent him into instant arousal. His hand left her neck and unfastened the top button of her shirt, showing the top half of her breasts, sitting so sweetly there in a bra that only covered three-fourths of them.

  A shiver down her spine let him know what effect he had on her. He put enough distance between them that he could look deeply into her eyes while he unbuttoned the rest of her shirt and pushed it over her shoulders.

  “You, Miz Betsy, are beautiful,” he said hoarsely.

  She reached out and, with one flip of the hand, opened every snap on his western shirt. “You, Declan, are sexy as hell.”

  He leaned in and kissed the top of her breasts. “And how sexy is that?”

  “Think of the heat down there in hell. You are seven times hotter than that.”

  “Wow!”

  Her lips parted when he kissed her again, this time allowing his tongue entrance, and together they teased, flirted, and made wild, passionate love with nothing but steamy, hot kisses.

  * * *

  That little voice inside her head screamed, ranted, raved, and tried to talk sense to her, but she mentally hit the mute button and ignored it altogether.

  Her insides were quickly turning into a melting pot of oozing hormones, begging for release. Every kiss fueled the fire beneath the pot, and every touch of his hands made it bubble even more.

  Rough palms gently moving from shoulder to wrist and then his fingers lacing with hers were as sensual as the kisses. When he removed her bra and peeled her jeans and socks off, she changed positions so she was sitting astride his lap, naked breasts against the soft hair on his chest.