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

by Carolyn Brown

  She looked up through the icy limbs at the sky. Three stars peeked out boldly from behind a cloud. Which one should she follow? The one that pointed her down the sandbar, over the fence, and back to Wild Horse? The one over there that seemed to be sending her back to the Double L to fight for the place her heart wanted so badly? Or that one right smack above them that said to follow Declan wherever he led?

  After a while, Declan stood up and walked away. He didn’t look back or say a word, and his absence created a big empty hole in her heart. When she looked back up, a bright star was shining right above her head.

  * * *

  On Saturday morning, Lottie announced that she and Betsy would spend the day in the kitchen making cookies. “We’ll make a dozen different kinds to wrap up and take to the neighbors on Monday. I have to make them this year since it’s my last year here. And, Declan, the ranch books are right there. Today you get to go over them. I put a brand-new spiral notebook and a pencil there beside them so you can take notes. And there’s a calculator there too. I set up a card table over there in the corner of the living room for you to work on. One day next week, you get to look over the books, Betsy. This way you’ll know exactly how the ranch has produced for more than fifty years and know that I’m giving one of you a really good deal on this place.”

  “You don’t have it on a computer?” Declan asked.

  “Why would I? Whole world has gone crazy after all this technology, but not me. House catches on fire, I know to grab those books and the bag of money I got socked away that the bank or the IRS don’t know about. It’s my egg and butter money, and I figure I paid taxes on the chickens and cows once, so it’s fair and square. I’m not big enough to carry one of them big computers out of here,” Lottie said.

  “They make laptops,” Betsy told her.

  “What if it went boom, or what is it that you young folks call it when one of those idiot machines quits working?”

  “It crashes,” Declan said.

  “That’s it. Think about it. Crash is not a good word. No, thank you. I will keep my books on paper. Now if y’all want to put all them figures into a computer after I’m gone, then that’s your business, but until then, it’s paper and pencil. Not even pens because sometimes I have to erase.” She turned from him to Betsy. “We’ll start with gingerbread cookies. We make them in a bar pan and cut them into squares. Recipe makes a lot, but then we’ll be visiting quite a few houses on Monday, so that’s good. Get five pounds of flour from the pantry, Betsy.”

  “I may come to the little kids Sunday school class tomorrow if you’re bringing cookies,” Betsy said.

  “I always take cookies to Sunday school class.”

  “I remember,” Declan called out from the living room.

  By suppertime, Betsy was physically exhausted and Declan was in the same shape mentally. They sat down to a meal of homemade chicken noodle soup and thick chunks of toasted homemade bread with a side dish of cheese, pickled okra, and black olives and a huge platter of cookies for dessert.

  Neither Declan nor Betsy had said more than a handful of words to each other all day and that had been at the table when one of them asked for salt and the other one for butter. Lottie had prattled about everything, anything, and nothing, but Betsy had learned to pick out the thread of the conversation and let the rest float away.

  “I’m not one to meddle in other folks’ business but I’ve got something to say. Pass the soup down to Declan, Betsy. His bowl is empty and he’s trying to figure out a way to ask for it without using words. This cold business between y’all has to stop. I know you are both angry, and rightly so, but you ain’t never going to get this resolved by the silent treatment. At meals, you are going to talk to each other and to me, or you can pack up your bags and get off this ranch. I don’t like tension,” Lottie said.

  “Would you like some more soup, Declan?” Betsy said.

  “Yes, ma’am. I can pass my bowl but please don’t accidentally drop it in my lap,” he answered.

  “That’s better,” Lottie muttered and went back to eating.

  “Bread?” Declan asked.

  “Yes, please,” Betsy said.

  “The Sunday school class is going to miss you,” Declan said.

  Lottie’s old eyes lit up when she smiled. “I know, and I’ll miss them, but it’s time to move on. My bones get cold in winters like this, and I can’t get out and take care of the cows with snow and ice on the ground. Last year it was tough getting the hay in the barn.”

  “You hauled hay?” Betsy exclaimed.

  “I’m a rancher,” Lottie huffed. “Hired me a boy to throw it on the truck after I got it baled, but I helped him stack it when we got to the barn. When it was all gone this winter, I knew it was time to sell the cows and the ranch. I can’t do that another summer.”

  “How long has it been since the bunkhouse was used?” Declan asked.

  “Before you moved in, maybe ten years. Me and Leland, we sized down but we took care of the place ourselves with help from one or two hired boys in the summertime.”

  “And before that?” Betsy asked.

  “We had four hired hands all the time. Leland never would make none of them the foreman, but whichever one was the oldest got the bedroom with a door. The others had to make do with the bunk beds.”

  Betsy kept a close eye on Declan’s soup bowl. Words, hard as they were to say, weren’t going to keep her from having this ranch. And evidently, he’d found some very nice figures in those books for him to talk to her.

  When supper was finished, dishes done, and Declan off to the bunkhouse, Betsy took a long, soaking bath. The bathroom was small and gave testimony to its age. The wall-hung, pea-green sink had a floral curtain hanging around it, hiding the plunger, various cleaners, and a brush to clean the potty, which was the same color as the sink. The tub though—now that was pure luxury, even if Lottie had painted the outside to match the rest of the fixtures. The inside of the deep claw-foot tub was shiny porcelain, and the water came up to Betsy’s chin when she laid back.

  When the water went lukewarm, she got out and wrapped a big towel around her body, padded softly across the hall to her bedroom even though a SWAT team storming the house wouldn’t have awakened Lottie. She’d worn herself out with all the baking and cooking that day and had gone to bed right after eight o’clock.

  Betsy dressed in flannel pajama pants and a thermal knit shirt before picking up her latest novel, a thick romance titled The Traitor by a favorite author, Grace Burrowes. It seemed fitting after the ordeal with both Tanner and Declan.

  She opened the book, but before she read the first sentence, a bit of bright neon-orange caught her eye on the nightstand.

  “A sticky note?” She frowned.

  It hadn’t been there earlier before she’d gone to take a bath. Where had it come from and who put it there? She stared at it a full minute before she reached across the bed to pick it up.

  Stuck to an individually wrapped Twinkie, she brought both up at the same time and peeled the note off. She stared at it for several seconds before reading the familiar handwriting:

  You were in the fifth grade. I was in the seventh. Miz Lottie’s Sunday school room about Christmastime. She had to be gone that Sunday, and the substitute brought a basket of individually wrapped treats. There was one Twinkie in the basket and you grabbed it first and said it was your favorite snack in the whole world. Enjoy this one tonight.

  It was signed with Declan’s initials inside a heart.

  She carefully removed the wrapper from the snack, eased the cake out without leaving a sticky mess, and ate the whole thing before she put the note and the wrapper in a shoebox where she stored all her Declan memories. Someday, she might burn them, or when she was past eighty and making cookies in the kitchen of this very farmhouse, she might remember that Christmas when she and Declan fought over who would
own the ranch.

  Chapter 24

  Kyle was back on Sunday morning, but he still turned the preaching over to John that day. For the first time in his life, Declan sat in the middle section with those folks who were neither Gallaghers nor Brennans. Lottie sat between him and Betsy, and the chill in the room had nothing to do with the freezing temperatures outside.

  His attention was more focused on the emerald-green ribbon and note in his shirt pocket than it was on whatever John was preaching about that morning. He only had a few items in the secret boot box, but if they could help Betsy understand the past, maybe she would forgive him and move on toward the future. His dad had asked him if he was in love with Betsy and he’d thought about it a lot over the past two days.

  He wasn’t sure about love, but he did know that he didn’t want to lose her. His life had never been more complete than it was right at that moment. Even though she was angry at him, he still wanted her by his side. That could easily lead to love if she was willing.

  “Now we’ll ask Declan Brennan to deliver the benediction,” John said.

  Hearing his name jerked him back to reality and he stood up, bowed his head, and barely said a long enough prayer for John and Kyle to get down the aisle to the door. The whole time he was asking the Lord to bless the people of their community what he really wanted to ask Him to do was make Betsy forgive him.

  “I’m having Sunday dinner with Gladys and Polly. There’re leftovers from last night in the fridge at home if y’all want that. If not, you are on your own,” Lottie said the minute the last amen was said.

  “We’ve got some things to deliver to our cause,” Betsy whispered.

  “Well, take that box right behind the door in my bedroom with you. It’s the only one in there, so you can’t miss it. And after services tonight, we are going to watch a movie and have popcorn and hot chocolate. Yes, you are required to be at church and at the movie, and yes, it will be points taken off if you fail to show. You might as well take one truck down to Gainesville. Whole town has seen you sittin’ together during church,” Lottie said.

  “We were sitting with you, not together,” Betsy stammered.

  “Don’t think the Gallaghers or the Brennans saw it that way. And you were in the same pew so sorry, kids, in God’s eyes you were sitting together. I was just the chaperone.” Lottie laughed. “Give me your keys, Betsy. I’ll take your truck to Gladys’s place, and we’ll meet at home at four thirty. I’ve got just the movie picked out for us to watch after church services.”

  “Which is?” Declan could foresee some old black-and-white western with Roy Rogers or maybe even Gene Autry in it. He’d be yawning halfway through the thing and lose points for sure.

  Betsy held out her keys, but her expression said she sure didn’t want to give them to Lottie. Finally the old gal snatched them from her and said, “Wipe that horrible expression off your face, girl. I can drive anything that’s got four wheels on it, from a covered wagon to a hay baler. I won’t put a single scratch on your pretty pink truck. But just between me and you, it looks like it’s been sprayed down with Pepto-Bismol. What in the great green earth possessed you to buy the thing? I hope it was on sale.”

  “Right now I wish I’d bought any other color in the world.”

  “Well, darlin’, get the thing painted or trade it in. A ranchin’ woman don’t drive a pimp wagon,” Lottie said.

  Declan could feel his eyes almost popping out of his head, and Betsy’s blank expression said that she was as shocked as he was.

  “Lottie Miller!” Betsy said.

  “I did not cuss, and it does. There’s Gladys. I’ll see y’all at four thirty.” She left them totally speechless, standing side by side.

  “Well?” Declan said.

  “I guess we’re going to the storage unit in your truck. I’m in shock that Lottie said that.”

  “I’m going to pretend that she didn’t. I can’t imagine my old Sunday school teacher even knowing what a pimp is. Want a burger for lunch?”

  “I’d rather have dumplings from Cracker Barrel.”

  The corners of his mouth tilted upward but only slightly. “You think we’re safe that close to the hotel?”

  “Probably not. So we’ll make a quick stop by the house. Do you have anything at the bunkhouse?” she asked.

  “No, we’ll get your donation and get something to eat before we go to the storage unit,” he answered.

  “I’ll be ahead of you if you haven’t gotten a donation this week,” she said.

  “I got something, but the furniture stores have to deliver it.”

  “Stores as in two?” she asked.

  “Stores as in four,” he said. “They will be there at two thirty.”

  * * *

  He opened the door for her, and she crawled into his truck right out there for the whole town to see for the very first time. Her grandmother frowned and glared at her with enough fire that Betsy could practically feel the heat. Mavis Brennan shook her finger at the truck as Declan drove away.

  “Guess we’re in bigger trouble than we could ever imagine.” He smiled.

  “Looks like it,” she said.

  The ride wasn’t awkward but more like a comfortable silence with an old friend. She started to mention the note and treat from the night before, but she couldn’t find the right words. Betsy Gallagher had always been the I-don’t-give-a-damn girl made of gunpowder and lead, the person who didn’t take shit off anybody and went after what she wanted with no holds barred. So being tongue-tied was a whole new experience for her, and one that she wasn’t sure she liked.

  Declan parked in the front yard and said, “I’ll get that box for you.”

  “Thanks,” she mumbled.

  So he had four people donating, and she had one for the week but she’d exhausted her supply of contacts. That meant he would win and she’d owe him a thousand dollars, which meant he’d get the money back that he’d given Tanner. She crossed her arms over her chest.

  A smile spread across her face and she talked out loud to herself. “Tanner, I have decided on your punishment. You are going to give me the money you made on that bet, and I’m giving it to Declan. It seems only fair, and if you don’t give it to me, I will never forgive you,” she whispered.

  Declan slung the door open and set the box on the backseat. “It is heavy, but I bet them figurines will look real nice on the altar during the program and for church services until after New Year’s.”

  “Maybe so.” She smiled.

  “Aha! She smiles,” he said.

  “Don’t get all feisty and misread it,” she said quickly. “I was thinking about something other than our problem.”

  “I don’t care if you were thinking of murder. It’s nice to see you smile.”

  A few flakes fell on them when they left Burnt Boot. The snow got increasingly heavy with every single mile until the windshield wipers couldn’t begin to keep up when they finally slid into a parking spot at the restaurant.

  “Do you think we cause all this snow when we come to Gainesville?” he asked.

  “It’s a possibility. You sure your donors will bring stuff out on a day like this?”

  “They’ve got enclosed trucks, and we’ve got a big, roll-up door they can back right into. We probably need to tell Kyle to bring lots of help and an enclosed cattle trailer. I bet my dad would let him borrow one from River Bend,” Declan said. “You ready to brave this, or you want to change your mind and go to Sonic so we can eat in the truck?”

  “A big, greasy burger does sound good,” she said.

  “Then Sonic it is.”

  He backed the truck up slowly, but the wheels had trouble getting traction. Finally, they had managed to get out on the highway, which wasn’t quite as slippery as the parking lot, and had pulled under the awning at the Sonic when Betsy’s phone rang.

 
; “Hello, Kyle,” she said.

  “Hey, do you have a couple of minutes for me to shoot an idea past you?”

  “Sure, if you’ll hold five seconds. I want whatever number is a bacon cheeseburger, a large order of tater tots, and a cup of coffee,” she said. “Now, my order for dinner is done. What’s on your mind?”

  “How close are you to having all your donations done?”

  “Hold on just a minute?” She turned to Declan. “Do you have any more folks to talk to after today about donations? Kyle wants to know.”

  “This is it. When my stuff gets delivered today, then that’s all of it,” he said.

  “Is that Declan?” Kyle asked. “If it is, put it on speaker and I’ll talk to both of you at the same time.”

  She poked a button and laid the phone on the console between them. “You are on speaker and Declan is right here beside me.”

  “Good. I thought I’d have to call him next. Here’s my plan, and by the way, it was good to see you two sitting in the center pew this morning. After services tonight, I’m going to announce that I’m making a special announcement on Wednesday night, but I’m going to refuse to say what it is. Everyone will think I’m resigning and giving John my endorsement for a replacement, so they’ll show up. Some will want him to stay and some won’t—you know how the feud works—but everyone in town will be here for the announcement.”

  “Are you resigning?” Declan asked.

  “No, I like it here in Burnt Boot. Is making this Christmas program going to be doable?” Kyle asked.

  “With a lot of work and a couple of trailers, I think it just might be. But remember we can’t beg, buy, or borrow a trailer from either feuding family,” Betsy said.

  “I’ve got that covered. The Gallaghers can have the nativity scene, but the Brennans are going to have the choir and lead the singing and do the Bible readings for it.”

  “That ought to go over like a cow patty in the punch bowl—or maybe a mouse,” Betsy said.