A Cowgirl's Christmas

by C. J. Carmichael

  Meanwhile, the weather was getting progressively colder. Ten days before Christmas they had their first real blizzard in Paradise Valley. Callan was out checking on the horses when she saw Court for the first time since they’d gone for coffee in Marietta.

  He stopped to ask her how she was doing but the wind was so loud she could hardly make out his words. She didn’t attempt a reply, just gave a nod to let him know everything was okay. She considered looking in on Zorro, but some hard, stubborn feeling inside her said no.

  On her way back to the house, she turned and noticed Court standing where she’d left him, watching her, apparently unbothered by the driving snow and wind. What was he doing? Waiting for her to invite him inside or something?

  Well, he’d be waiting a long time.

  She had to fight the wind to open the door to the mudroom and once she was inside, the stillness and warmth was a delicious relief. She thought about hot cocoa, making a fire and watching a movie. Or reading a book.

  Yet she felt too restless to settle down. There was a strange longing inside of her when she thought about Court. Why did just seeing the guy tie her up in knots like this? It had to be linked to her feelings about losing the Circle C. Yet try as she might, she couldn’t conjure the same anger toward him for that.

  A week before Christmas, Callan made a double batch of chili in anticipation of her family’s arrival. She’d never been much for holiday baking—usually Mattie and Sage took care of that. But it occurred to her that she might find it relaxing to bake some cookies.

  She pulled out her mother’s old recipe books and flipped the pages, feeling more confused with each new recipe she tried to read. Not only was her mother’s aging cursive script difficult to read, but Beverly had a system of abbreviations that were like a secret code to Callan. Maybe someone who did a lot of baking would understand. She didn’t.

  She decided to call Sage and see if she had an easy Christmas recipe to recommend.

  “You have to check out the Bramble House Christmas blog,” Sage said.

  “What’s that?” Callan hadn’t been impressed when her cousin Eliza moved to Marietta from Nashville and suddenly turned their great-aunt Mabel’s heritage home into a bed and breakfast. Before Nashville, Eliza had lived in numerous places in California. It seemed unlikely that she’d settle in Marietta for long. And once she left, what would Mabel do with the bed and breakfast? It would be too much for her to handle on her own.

  “Eliza’s done a spectacular job of decorating Bramble House this year. She has pictures up on the blog, as well as a bunch of the family’s traditional holiday recipes. Her blog got so many hits that she was invited to New York to tape a segment for the Jane & Ty show. I can’t believe you haven’t heard about this.”

  “Sounds like a lot of fuss over nothing.”

  “Not true, Callan. During the taping John Urban called in and said he wanted to book a suite at Bramble House for the holidays. Can you imagine that? John Urban coming to a small town like Marietta?”

  Callan was a huge fan of the country music star, but the story seemed too far-fetched. “Maybe it’s just a publicity stunt or something.”

  “Time will tell, I guess. But you should still check out the blog. Eliza has re-written the recipes so they’re easy for the modern cook to read and follow. No more pinches of this and a peck of that.”

  “I suppose she had access to all the old recipe books at Bramble House.”

  “Yes, and I recognize a lot of them. Mom must have copied them out when she got married. Remember Mom’s whipped shortbread? Eliza has included the recipe for that and it should be right up your alley. Only five ingredients. You can’t go wrong.”

  “Okay. I’ll try it.” After the call, Callan pulled out her laptop and searched on Google for the blog site. The song “Christmas Time Is Here,” began to play when she clicked on a button that said, “Enter Bramble House.”

  Callan found herself in a virtual foyer, with a beautiful fir tree taking center stage. It was decorated in ornaments that reflected Montana in one way or another, along with beautiful glistening snowflakes representing the winter weather.

  From the foyer, she had the choice of moving to the Library, the Sitting Room, the Breakfast Room, or the Kitchen. Charmed despite herself, she clicked on Kitchen.

  The music changed to “Chestnuts Roasting on an Open Fire,” and the screen displayed an old-fashioned kitchen. The tree in the corner seemed to be decorated with miniature cooking implements, china cups, copper kettles and teapots. On the counter was a Recipe Book. When she hovered the mouse over it, it opened to review a recipe index.

  “Holy crap. This is incredible.” Callan clicked on “Cookies” and before long was looking at the Whipped Shortbread recipe.

  Sage was right. It did look easy. And bonus—she could use the food processor. All she had to do was beat together two cups of butter—wow, an entire pound. No wonder the cookies tasted so good—along with a cup of icing sugar, half a cup of corn starch, three cups of flour and a teaspoon of vanilla.

  Fortunately Callan found all the ingredients in the cupboards—many of them purchased by someone other than her. Within fifteen minutes, she had the mixture ready to drop by the teaspoon onto cookie sheets.

  Her Mom had placed squares of milk chocolate on top of the cookies before baking. That had seemed awesome when Callan was ten. But she opted to use toasted pecans this time.

  Ten minutes in a three-hundred and fifty degree oven and they were done.

  “Kind of awesome, if I do say so myself.”

  She brewed a cup of tea, intending to enjoy a couple of the cookies, but the tea was no sooner steeped than she lost her appetite. It was no fun eating Christmas cookies alone. And yet she didn’t think she would enjoy them once her family arrived, either.

  If she had her choice, she would skip the holiday entirely. How was she going to pretend to be happy and jolly when she felt anything but? She was such a Scrooge she hadn’t even bought any Christmas gifts yet. Picking up a bunch of boxes of Sage’s chocolates would be a cop out. But even that seemed like too much effort this year.

  On the night of the twenty-third, Dani and Eliot arrived, along with baby Bev and Mattie’s daughter Portia. They’d flown in from Seattle that afternoon then rented an SUV in Bozeman, arriving at the Circle C just after eight.

  Callan had fallen behind with her emails and wasn’t expecting them until the next morning when Mattie, Nat and Wren would be coming.

  She was sitting in the window seat of her father’s office in the dark. From here she could see a faint light coming from Court’s cabin. She was nursing a glass of bourbon, promising herself she wouldn’t have another one when it was gone.

  It was a promise she hadn’t kept the past few nights.

  Bourbon wasn’t the answer to her problems. But it was doing a good job of dulling her pain-filled evenings, of blurring the lines between night and dawn, when she could busy herself making chocolates and listening to Sage’s happy chatter about the new baby, coming next spring.

  When she first saw the headlights, she assumed they would drive on—though there wasn’t much else down this road other than Court’s cabin. But the lights turned at the Circle C drive and came right up to the house. As the occupants spilled out, she realized who they were.

  Callan roused herself from her perch and went to switch on the light over the porch, as well as the ones on the outdoor tree. Then she opened the door and stepped out onto the snow-dusted landing.

  Dani was the first up the stairs, sophisticated and svelte in a caramel wool coat, dark brown boots and a cranberry-colored scarf. Her hair looked freshly styled and her make-up could have been professionally applied. She set down the two bags she was carrying and gave Callan a hug. “Why were all the lights out? It’s only eight.”

  “I forgot to turn them on. I—kind of wasn’t expecting you until tomorrow.”

  Dani pulled back from the embrace, frowning. “You’ve been sitting alone in th
e dark and drinking? Honey, that isn’t good.”

  Callan felt a flash of anger. Easy for Dani with her devoted boyfriend, adorable daughter and successful career to judge. She gritted her teeth and forced a smile as Portia ran to her.

  “Auntie Callan! It’s so nice to be here. There’s no snow in Seattle. It doesn’t feel like Christmas at all.”

  Callan gave her niece a hug, careful not to let the young woman get a whiff of her bourbon-scented breath. “One thing you can count on in Montana is snow. Now come on in! Don’t worry about your boots.”

  Eliot came in next, toting the infant carrier with baby Bev strapped inside. He looked the perfect urban complement to Dani in his city-lawyer-dresses-country apparel. Perversely Callan wanted to fault him for trying too hard, but nothing about him struck a wrong or over-done note. He simply looked perfect—all set for the cover of a J. Crew catalogue cover.

  He gave her a friendly smile and a one-armed hug before handing over the carrier. “Would you mind taking Bev out of this thing? I think she’s overheated. I need to grab some more bags from the SUV.”

  “Of course.” Callan’s heart softened a little as she released the clip holding in her newest little niece. Bev wasn’t crying but her face was red. When Callan unzipped her snowsuit she found the baby hot and sweaty.

  “Poor thing. I overdressed her for the ride. She’ll need a feeding and a diaper change, but I’m going to wait until Eliot sets up her portable crib. Are we in the same room as last time, Callan?

  “Yes.” Truth was, Callan hadn’t looked in any of the bedrooms since they’d all left after burying Hawksley’s ashes.

  “Sure is dark in here.” Dani turned on the lights to the Christmas tree in the foyer and immediately baby Bev was transfixed. “Isn’t that pretty?”

  “It sure is,” Portia agreed, following Dani to the kitchen and then the sitting room. “Wow, this tree is the best. Even bigger than last year, I think.”

  “Dawson and Sage did most of the work,” Callan admitted, following after them with the baby in her arms. Bev had gained a few pounds since the last visit, and had started smiling. She was the sweetest little thing. “How was school this semester, Portia?”

  Her pretty niece wrinkled her nose. “Not that great. Austin and I had a fight just after Thanksgiving. We officially broke up the week before finals. I could hardly concentrate on my exams.”

  “Sorry to hear that.” Callan could see that Dani looked worried, too. “Austin—he’s the one who likes to compete in rodeos, right?”

  “Yeah. It’s like his passion, though he says he eventually wants to be a doctor. He idolizes dad. I think that’s the only reason he wanted to date me.”

  “I’m sure that’s not true. But you’re both young. Maybe it’s good that you’ll be free now to date other people.”

  Dani’s take on the situation didn’t seem to make Portia any happier. Before anything further could be added to the discussion, Eliot came in with the rest of the bags and suddenly everyone was busy, taking bags upstairs and helping Dani settle the baby.

  An hour later Callan served tea, shortbread cookies and fruit, and then everyone was yawning.

  “It’s been a long day,” Dani said. “Travelling with a baby is not easy.”

  As Callan wished them all a good night, her sister gave her a hug. “We’ll talk tomorrow,” she said.

  Callan wasn’t so sure she wanted to.

  Sage, Dawson and Savannah were over early the next morning to make everyone breakfast.

  “You didn’t need to do this,” Callan told Sage as she watched her mix batter for pancakes. Dawson was outside grilling bacon and sausages on the barbecue while Savannah peeled mandarin oranges and arranged them on the fruit plate Sage had brought from home. “I could have handled breakfast.”

  “I know cooking isn’t your favorite thing. Plus, I was excited to see everyone. Can you believe how much Bev has grown from last time?”

  It seemed to Callan as if everyone was changing. Sage had moved past her nauseous stage and was now a blooming mother-to-be. The baby was growing, Dani was becoming a self-assured mother, Portia seemed more like a woman than a teenager.

  She should have used the past two months to change, too. Found herself a new home, a great new job. Heck, a hot new boyfriend, as well, why not?

  Someone turned the television on in the family room and Callan tensed. She hadn’t been able to watch either of the TVs in the house during the past two months. The sound still made her think of her father, so much so that she almost expected to see him sitting in his favorite chair.

  But he wasn’t, of course. Portia was curled up there instead, painting her toe nails.

  Callan wanted to scream at her to move. She wanted to turn off the TV and tell everyone to just be quiet.

  God help me, she realized in that moment. If I’m not careful I’m going to be the great-aunt Mabel of our family.

  But then Dani called out a question from kitchen. She’d just been upstairs changing her baby’s diaper. Now, with the baby in one hand, she was using the other to set the breakfast table.

  “Why is the vet making a call on Christmas Eve?”

  “The vet? Why do you ask that?”

  “I just saw a truck turn in. Looked like old Arch Landen’s.”

  Callan froze. This was about Zorro. It had to be. “Don’t wait breakfast for me,” she told Sage, before running to the mudroom for her boots and coat.

  Court was making final arrangements with Arch when the barn door opened and Callan rushed in. Court stepped forward to stop her from going too far.

  He took a gentle hold of her shoulders. “Hang on, Callan. There’s no reason to rush.”

  She studied his face, while a quiet desperation tightened her features. “It’s Zorro, isn’t it?”

  “I’m sorry. We tried everything. I was with him all last night.”

  Callan looked past him, toward Zorro’s stall. Then the tension went out of her muscles and her shoulders sagged. “I should have been here with you.”

  “Nothing anyone could have done, Callan,” the vet said. “It was just his time. We’ll take care of things from here on in, don’t you worry.”

  Callan nodded and as tears began to fill her eyes she retreated to the other end of the barn. Court followed her into the tack room where she sat on one of the benches and let her head fall into her hands. The radio was playing softly in the background. He’d turned it on last night to keep himself company during the long dark hours.

  He’d set up a cot with a sleeping bag and pillow. Every couple of hours he got up to try and make Zorro as comfortable as possible. Then, just before dawn, the horse had died. And for the first time in his life, country music hadn’t seemed hokey to Court. The heartbreaking song Alan Jackson had been singing at the time had felt about right.

  He poured a glass of water and took it to Callan. “Want this?”

  She glanced up with reddened eyes, tears staining her cheeks. “N-no, thanks.”

  He hadn’t realized she was crying.

  Not just crying. Sobbing.

  He sat down beside her and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. Surprisingly she didn’t push him away. In fact she leaned into him and he held her tighter.

  “S-sorry,” she managed to say between the sobs.

  “It’s okay.” A lot of tears for a horse, he was thinking, and then he realized what a fool he was. Callan wasn’t crying for poor old Zorro. She was crying for the father that she had loved and looked up to more than anyone in the world. The father she’d wanted so desperately to love her back.

  She turned her tear-streaked face to him. “I c-can’t believe he’s gone.”

  “I know,” Court said, this time pulling her face close to his heart and wrapping both of his arms around her. It tore at his insides to see the pain she was in. He was desperate to help her, to say just the right thing. At the same time he appreciated that she needed this outlet. She’d been holding it all in for far too long.


  “I—miss him so much.”

  “Of course you do.” What a fierce, loving heart she had. The harder Hawksley had been on her, the more she’d tried to please him. She’d taken everything Hawksley dished out because she’d thought it proved that he loved her and wanted her to be strong.

  And maybe Hawksley had, and maybe those had been his intentions. Who was Court to judge?

  Only Hawksley knew his own heart. But now he was gone. And not only had he left Callan alone, he’d given her beloved Circle C Ranch to a distant relative. A virtual stranger.

  Then he’d cheated Callan of her very identity, by letting her and her sisters find those letters.

  If Hawksley had only found the courage to tell the truth in person, he could have cushioned the blow. He might have told his daughters he loved them, and that he couldn’t possibly have loved them more.

  But was that even the case? Again, Court had no way to know.

  “Oh, God, I’m sorry. I just—once I started, I couldn’t stop.” Callan was gaining back her control.

  He stroked her hair, and felt like he would hold her forever, if she’d let him.

  She swiped away her tears with the arm of her jacket, then sighed and leaned back into him.

  Suddenly he became aware of the lemon scent of her hair, the sweet curl of her ear, the white skin of her graceful neck. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. She glanced up, a question in her eyes, and then, in the same moment, they were moving together for a kiss, a real, genuine, heart-stopping kiss.

  Callan. She broke his heart and mended it all in that same instant.

  He hadn’t planned the kiss. And he didn’t plan what happened next, either. Callan sliding her hands under his jacket, running them up and down his back. Callan kissing him so passionately, he almost went crazy. Callan shrugging her jacket off her shoulders, then slipping his off, too.

  She had a plaid shirt under the jacket, which wasn’t buttoned. Under that, a tank top, no bra, just her beautiful, firm breasts pressing up into the lacy-trimmed cotton.

  This was fast.