When they were outside, Betsy shook her head involuntarily.
“Mosquito at this time of year?” Declan asked.
“No bugs. My brain is trying to get rid of so many words. I don’t think I’ve heard so much talking in my life. Even church ends in thirty minutes,” she said softly.
Declan had one foot on the ladder, but he came back down, checked the windows, and backed Betsy up against the house, his strong arms trapping her in a cage of masculinity.
“Poor Leland. The writin’ on his tombstone should read ‘Here lies Leland Miller. Poor old cowboy was talked to death.’” He brushed a soft kiss across her lips and climbed up the ladder. “We can do this without talking, darlin’.”
“Thank you,” she mumbled.
* * *
After supper, Declan declared that it was poker night and disappeared without a backward glance. Betsy said she was going to read a book and escaped to her room. Lottie grabbed the telephone and was busy telling Gladys all about how her house looked when Betsy shut herself into her bedroom, fell back on the bed, and put a pillow over her ears.
“I need a beer so bad,” she said. “Or better yet, a whole bottle of Jameson.”
Betsy was too restless to sit still after Declan had left that evening, and lying on the bed with a pillow muting the sound of Lottie’s chatter wasn’t helping. Finally, she threw the pillow on the floor, sat up, and made a decision. She had to get out of the house. Maybe sitting on a bar stool, sipping a single beer would help. She grabbed her purse and coat and waved at Lottie on the way out of the house.
“I’ll be back by bedtime,” she called out.
She heard Lottie telling Gladys that both her hired hands were gone for the evening so she would be over to her house in thirty minutes for a hand of canasta with Gladys and Polly.
Fearing that Lottie would try to flag her down for a ride into town, Betsy jogged to her truck, fired up the engine, and only slid once when she started too fast.
Shame on you! How are you going to feel if that poor, sweet soul has a wreck and hurts herself on the way to Gladys’s house? You should go back there and offer to take her to town.
“Hush! I’m not listening to anything you have to say and I’m really tired of anything that has to do with listening, period,” Betsy growled.
She shed her coat inside the front door of the bar, hung it on a rack right beside Declan’s, and almost gave thanks that there was a whole row of empty bar stools to choose from. She hopped up on the one at the very end and Rosalie held up the Jameson.
Betsy shook her head. “Just a good, cold beer tonight.”
“I’ve missed you, but I’ve also heard the gossip about the Double L,” Rosalie said when she pushed the beer across the bar on a coaster. “How’s that going?”
“Lottie talks—a lot!” Betsy said.
Rosalie chuckled. “You should’ve visited with Polly before you agreed to stay out there.”
“Didn’t have anywhere else to go.”
“You could come live in my spare room,” Rosalie said.
“I want that ranch and to get it I have to live there and beat Declan.”
“Feud again?” Polly set the beer in front of her.
“Not so much the feud as it is…” She paused and sipped the beer slowly. “I don’t know what it is, so I can’t tell you. He wants the ranch for the same reasons I do. We want out of the feud and we want a small place that is ours and not a part of the empire.”
“Maybe you ought to pool your resources and buy it together. That would shake the empire,” Rosalie suggested.
Before either of them could say anything else, Honey Brennan pushed her way into the bar and chose a bar stool. Her crystal-clear blue eyes started at Betsy’s boots and, inch by inch, traveled up to her red hair.
“Betsy.” She nodded.
Betsy held up her beer and nodded. “Honey.”
“I don’t like my cousin living out there on the ranch with you,” Honey said bluntly.
“That is your problem, not mine,” Betsy said.
“Why don’t you go back to Wild Horse and let him have that place? You can’t run it by yourself, and rumor has it that Naomi says she’ll shoot anyone who comes to help you. A beer, Rosalie,” Honey said.
“There’re always O’Donnells. I hear a cousin is coming to stay with Jill and Sawyer at Christmas. I bet I could get another one to live in my bunkhouse and help me out. You might want to wait and see who shows up before you get too serious about John,” Betsy said coldly.
“John and I are just fine, thank you very much,” Honey said. “Granny is happy. Naomi is pissed. The world is good. Rosalie, would you please draw up a pitcher? I’m going to treat Declan and Quaid at the poker table.”
Betsy really wanted to slap Honey for her smugness but even more because she could take a pitcher of beer back to the table to Declan without a problem. Damn it to hell in a plastic beer pitcher, Betsy thought.
Her phone set up a buzz in her hip pocket, and she made sure that she looked at the ID before she answered it. She didn’t want Gladys to be calling to ask her to come and get Lottie because she’d killed Polly with her constant chatter. It was Angela, so Betsy answered it.
“Hello, hello, where are you? What is all that noise?” Angela asked.
“I’m at the bar,” Betsy said. “Hold on. I’ll take it to the ladies’ room.”
She slid off the stool, carried the phone to the restroom, and locked the door behind her. She put the seat down on the only potty in the room and sat down on it. “Now can you hear me, Angela?”
“Yes, that’s much better. Why do you go to that place when it’s so noisy?”
“Because I like it and because Lottie doesn’t even have beer in her house for medicinal purposes,” Betsy said. “Did you get moved back into your house all right?”
“Yes, thank God. That big place intimidated me. I guess you heard about the feud over my brother. Why couldn’t you have liked him? It would have made things so much easier, and I really don’t want a Brennan for a sister-in-law.”
“He’s not my type, and if you’re calling to get me to step in and break him and Honey up, the answer is no.”
Angela took a deep breath, audible even through the filtered noise from the jukebox and loud conversations. “Dear Lord no! John is smitten with Honey, and I wouldn’t stand in the way of love, but he liked you and wouldn’t have looked at her if you’d been nicer to him. I’m calling to tell you to be very careful out there on the Double L with that weasel Declan Brennan.”
“Other than being a Brennan, what makes him a weasel?”
“Well, I overheard Tanner and Eli talking just before the big blow up at the ranch, when John went to the parsonage. And I’ve prayed and prayed about it, whether I should tell you or not, but it’s a burden on my heart. Besides, you’re living on a ranch with him, and you need to know what happened,” Angela said.
“And that was?” Betsy asked.
“Well, it was the week before Thanksgiving, and they—that would be Tanner and Eli and Quaid and Declan—were in one of those unholy poker games that they play,” Angela said.
“That’s what they’re doing tonight,” Betsy said.
“But that night Tanner and Declan got into a big argument about all their past loves or women or whatever they would be called. And they made this bet that whichever one of them lost the hand had to… Oh, this is so hard to tell you because it’s going to make you mad and I’m afraid you’ll blame the messenger,” Angela said.
“Spit it out.” A tingle had started on the back of Betsy’s neck and already had her hair standing on end.
“Whichever one lost the hand had to make the next woman who walked in the bar fall in love with him. He had to take her to bed and she had to fall for him, or else the loser had to give the winner a thousand dollars
. Isn’t that horrible? Anyway, Declan lost, and you were the next woman to walk in the bar, and now I’m afraid he’ll try to seduce you out there on that ranch so he can win the money,” Angela said in a whoosh, as if she was afraid she would lose her courage.
“And why didn’t you call me before now?” Betsy’s heart landed somewhere down between the wooden floor and hell.
“I had to do some serious praying about it. I’m going to hang up now. Christian is crying, but I do feel better for getting that off my chest. You be careful.”
Betsy dropped the phone on the floor, leaned over, put her head between her knees, and made herself breathe. The whole room had done several spins, and she felt as if she might throw up any minute. She should have known from the beginning that Declan was just a Brennan after all.
And you are only a thousand-dollar bet.
Anger quickly replaced the pain shattering her heart, and she picked up her phone, stiffened her spine, and walked out of the bathroom. There all four of them sat, along with a couple of O’Donnells. It was a good thing she didn’t have a gun, or Tanner would have gotten a hole right below his left ear. Damn him for making a bet like that anyway, and double damn him for not calling it off when she had been the one who walked into the bar.
“Give me a pitcher of beer, Rosalie?”
“Bad news? You are as pale as a ghost.”
“Worse than I wanted to hear tonight,” Betsy said. She blinked back the tears and held on to the anger. “I just need a good full pitcher of beer.”
“Sure you don’t want a shot of Jameson?”
“Hell no! That’s too expensive.”
Rosalie drew the beer and set it in front of her. Betsy paid her for it and the beer she’d had earlier. “Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer” was playing on the jukebox as she carried it ever so gently to the poker table.
“Hey, Betsy, did you bring us a pitcher?” Tanner asked. “These Brennans won’t share what Honey gave them.”
She caught Declan’s sneaky, little wink and wanted to string him up by the toes to the ceiling fan until all the blood in his body dripped out his nose and ears.
“Well?” Tanner asked.
“Yes, I did bring the person who used to be my favorite cousin a pitcher of beer,” she said coldly.
“Who pissed in your whiskey? You look like you could eat nails,” Eli said.
“You sons of bitches did.” She raised the pitcher and dumped it on Tanner’s and Eli’s heads. “The next time you fools decide to make a bet with a Brennan, you damn sure better call it off if it has anything to do with me.”
Declan’s face went blank as Tanner and Eli jumped up and brushed the wet beer from their heads and shirts. She looked right at him and pointed. “I will deal with you later, and it will not be as pleasant as a beer bath.”
She grabbed her coat on the way out, got into her truck, and drove back to the Double L. Thankful that Lottie was still gone, she went straight to her room, curled up on the bed, and sobbed until there were no more tears. Her heart hurt so bad she thought she’d die from the pain and she sure didn’t want to hear any excuses from Declan. Not tonight. Maybe not ever. So she turned off her phone and found another gallon of tears hiding in her soul. They made their way to her eyes and flowed down her cheeks, wetting the pillow, and they didn’t stop until finally, from exhaustion, she fell into a restless, dream-ridden asleep.
Chapter 22
Betsy had never dreaded anything as much as she did walking into the kitchen where Declan and Lottie were already making breakfast that Friday morning. She dressed slowly and started to apply makeup but decided against it. Her eyeballs were bloodshot and eye shadow and mascara wouldn’t do a damn thing to make them look better.
“Good morning,” Lottie said cheerfully.
“Good morning to you,” Betsy muttered without even a sideways glance toward Declan.
“We’re having waffles and sausage for breakfast this morning, and I made a pan of cranberry orange muffins for dessert. I like to dip my muffins in the leftover maple syrup to give them a little extra kick,” Lottie said.
I wouldn’t mind having a saucer full of Jameson to dip mine in for a little extra kick this morning, Betsy thought.
“What are we doing today?” Betsy asked.
“Declan is going to walk the fence line and fix whatever needs fixin’. You are taking me into Gainesville in that pink truck of yours so I can do some shoppin’. After all, I’m flying out of here on Christmas Eve. I’ve already sent a lot of my stuff down to my sister’s place in Florida. I need some clothes to wear in a warm climate, and believe me, I’m going to be glad to get away from this cold snow and hard winters. Take them waffles out of the iron and put another batch in. Declan is going to need all the warmth he can get this morning out there in the cold weather.”
That familiar antsy feeling that Betsy got when someone was staring at her made her look up, and Declan’s blue eyes bored into hers as if he was trying to explain, to tell her something. But that was just a player’s charm and she’d never trust him or any Brennan again. If she didn’t get the Double L, she might just go back to Wild Horse and mount the biggest feud the century had ever seen.
Tanner and Eli? the voice in her head asked.
They are kin, so I can’t kill them, but they’ll be sorry the rest of their lives for not calling that bet off when I walked into the bar.
“We need to talk,” Declan whispered.
She shook her head. “Not today, cowboy.”
The way his jaw worked and his mouth clamped shut in a firm line said that he didn’t like her answer. Right then, she didn’t care what he liked. The only thing she wanted to know was if the whole thing between them was a seduction or if any of it was real, and that question didn’t have to be answered until she was over her mad spell.
Immediately after Lottie said grace, she picked up the platter of waffles, put two on her plate, and said, “Now let’s eat. Christmas is two weeks from this day, and we’ve got a lot to do. My plane ticket is bought and my sister is ready for me to get there. Did I tell you that I’m buying a little house right on the beach next to hers? Cute little place with two bedrooms but not quite as big as this one. Got a deck that overlooks the ocean, and it’s painted pink.”
“Lottie, am I going to lose points today by shopping rather than ranchin’?” Betsy took one waffle and one sausage from the platter. Swallowing would be a problem, but there was no way she’d let Declan know that she was hurting, and he’d never see her cry a single tear. She was a Gallagher and they produced strong women.
“No, you won’t, and Declan won’t gain any extra points by fixing the fence. Both need doing and I really don’t care who does which. I figured you might be a better judge of what kind of clothes I should buy than Declan. But if he wants to shop with me, then you can stay behind and fix fence,” Lottie said. “Me and Leland, we always stuck to the old goose-and-gander law. I wasn’t too delicate to go outside and work, and he wasn’t too masculine to help me clean house on Saturday or help with the dinner dishes.”
Thank God for Lottie’s constant prattle—I never thought for a single second I’d live to see the day I’d be grateful for that.
“I’ll gladly do the fencing. I’m not much good at shopping.” Declan pushed back his chair. “I’ll refill coffee cups while I’m doing mine.”
“Thank you, Declan,” Lottie said.
He took care of Lottie’s cup first, then laid his hand on Betsy’s shoulder as he reached over her to pour. Her body responded with a shiver up her backbone, jitters in her stomach, and a picture of him sleeping next to her in that big hotel bed. She was mad at him—she should not have a desire to fall into bed with him.
He squeezed ever so gently when he backed away and filled his own cup to the brim. It was cold outside and still spitting snow, so she didn’t blame him one bit for puttin
g off going out there for the day to walk a fence line.
“Come on back to the house at noon, Declan,” Lottie was saying when she started paying attention again. “There’s ham and cheese in the fridge and potato salad and chocolate pie for dessert. And we promise to bring you some take-out food for supper.”
“I’m going to have a burger at the bar tonight,” he said. “Quaid and I are meeting there for a visit.”
“Then that settles that. You going out tonight too?” Lottie looked over at Betsy.
A slight shrug was the answer.
“Yes? No?” Lottie asked.
“I have no idea. It depends on when we get back from the shopping trip,” she answered. “Hey, while I’m thinking about it, Lottie, I’m working on something for the church. It’s a surprise, so I can’t give you details, but would you consider donating your Christmas collection of figurines?”
“I wondered if you’d ever ask me about those. Verdie let the cat out of the bag about you taking up donations, and I wanted to give them to a good cause. That’s why I put the box in my bedroom when y’all brought the stuff from the bunkhouse. I don’t think I could hardly bear to look at them this year and then leave them behind. It’s a fancy little nativity scene that would look real good on the altar at the church. My Leland gave me a piece every year for Christmas, and there’re more’n fifty of them in the collection. Yes, you can have them, long as you promise me they’ll stay in our church. Shame what y’all did to each other’s school buildings, burning down all the props and such for the church plays. I swear, this feud has got to end.”
“She started it,” Declan said.
“I didn’t do jack”—she bit back the cuss word—“a thing. My family did, but I didn’t. Just like your family did, but you said you didn’t; however, who knows? You Brennans, for all your pious backgrounds, do lie and cheat to get your way or a thousand dollars, don’t you?”
“Hey now, this is neutral as the church or the store. No fightin’ here, kids,” Lottie said. “I reckon we’ve lollygagged over breakfast long enough. Time to get about our day’s work.”
A Cowboy Christmas Miracle (Burnt Boot, Texas Book 4) Page 23