Cowboy Boots for Christmas

by Carolyn Brown

  Copyright © 2014 by Carolyn Brown

  Cover and internal design © 2014 by Sourcebooks, Inc.

  Cover art by Blake Marrow

  Sourcebooks and the colophon are registered trademarks of Sourcebooks, Inc.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without permission in writing from its publisher, Sourcebooks, Inc.

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Published by Sourcebooks Casablanca, an imprint of Sourcebooks, Inc.

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  Contents

  Front Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Dear Reader

  About the Author

  Back Cover

  To Cathy Genna,

  with appreciation for all you do for romance authors!

  Chapter 1

  The third time is not always the charm.

  Twice now, Finn O’Donnell had told the government he wasn’t interested in anything that the FBI, CIA, or any of the other alphabet agencies dangled at him like a carrot on a long stick in front of a donkey. All Finn wanted to do was watch his cattle grow fat on Salt Draw Ranch and be left alone with his dog, Shotgun.

  So that black SUV coming down his lane could turn around and go on back to wherever the hell it came from. They didn’t have enough carrots in the world to make him leave his new home in Burnt Boot, Texas, and pick up his sniper rifle again. He leaned against the porch post, and with arms crossed over his broad chest, he waited.

  The yellow hair on Shotgun’s back stood up like a punk rocker’s, and a low growl rumbled out of his throat. The dog took a step forward and Finn stuck a boot out to touch his leg. That’s all it took for the dog to heel even when his body quivered in anticipation of attacking something, like the wheels of that fancy SUV.

  “Easy, boy. We can tell them to go to hell a third time easy as we did the first two.” He pushed mirrored sunglasses up a notch and tipped his black cowboy hat down to block the sun from his eyes.

  Dead grass and gravel crunched under the wheels of the black vehicle when it stopped in front of the low-slung, ranch-style house. Shotgun whined, but until Finn moved his boot, the dog wouldn’t bail off the porch and go after the intruders.

  “Not yet. We’ll hear them out and then you can take a bite from the ass of their Italian suits as they get back in their van,” Finn said softly.

  An identical vehicle turned down the lane and parked right behind the first one. This was something new. Maybe since he’d moved to Burnt Boot on his own ranch and wasn’t a part of his folks’ operation in central Texas, they thought they’d best send out a whole committee to persuade him. Finn looked out over the tops of the sunglasses but the SUV windows were tinted and he couldn’t see a damn thing.

  “Looks like they’ve brought an extra van just for you, Shotgun. You want to join the army, old boy? You’ll have to do boot camp and learn to sniff out bombs and herd camels instead of cows. And boot camp involves more than chasing rabbits when I’m doing my evening run.”

  He removed his black felt cowboy hat with stains around the leather band, raked his dark hair back from his forehead, and resettled the hat on his head at an angle to shade his eyes better. Were they waiting for Christmas? If so, they were a little early because that was four weeks away.

  He pulled his denim jacket tighter across his broad expanse of a chest and leaned on the porch post, his boot still touching Shotgun’s front leg. The entire O’Donnell family had chipped in the day after Thanksgiving to help him move from Comfort, Texas, to Burnt Boot. His herd woke up in holding pens and by nightfall they were grazing on the grass growing on Salt Draw three hundred miles away. His sister, two brothers, and a dozen cousins would put him in a straitjacket if he let the brass out there in those vans talk him back into the army after that move.

  Then the door of the van flew open and a woman stepped out. He thought he was seeing things. Surely that couldn’t be his Callie.

  ***

  Callie Brewster had listened to the man in the front seat of the SUV tell her all the reasons why she and her nephew should be in the Witness Protection Program. Now he was repeating himself and she didn’t want to hear any more, so she threw open the door the minute the vehicle stopped moving.

  He said something about not getting out of the SUV until they’d talked to Finn, but she’d made up her mind. She stomped the legs of her jeans down over her boots and started across the yard. She damn sure didn’t need anyone to talk for her or before her either.

  She didn’t need anyone to protect her. She could take the eyes out of a rattlesnake with any weapon the army slapped in her hands. She’d kept up her skills at the shooting range in Corpus Christi and kept in shape. But she did need someone to watch her back, and Finn O’Donnell had proven time and time again that he could damn sure do that.

  From a distance he still looked the same. Broad shoulders, sculpted abs, biceps that stretched the sleeves of any shirt on the market, thighs that testified he was used to hard work, and hands that could be either soft or tough depending on what was needed. Yes, that was her Finn: the man she’d had a crush on for three years, though she’d never said a word about it. They were partners, sniper and spotter, and were closer than a husband and wife in lots of ways. But partners didn’t act on crushes and they damn sure didn’t get involved with each other, not when they had to do the jobs that Finn and Callie were called upon to do.

  She threw back the hood of her jacket and put her sunglasses in her pocket. The moment he lowered his sunglasses and recognized her, he started her way, meeting her in the middle of the yard in a bear hug that brought her feet off the ground.

  “God, I’ve missed you so much,” he said.

  Heart pounding, pulse racing, she was slow to let go when he set her firmly back on the ground.

  “Lala?” she asked.

  His wife damn sure wouldn’t appreciate him showing so much affection to his old partner. Any minute now Callie expected her to come out of the house, maybe with a grenade in her hands.

  He held her by her shoulders. “Lala isn’t here, Callie. That’s a story for another day. I can’t bel
ieve you’re right here in front of me. I’ve thought of you every day since I came home. What in the hell are you doing in Burnt Boot, Texas?”

  Her aqua eyes locked with his crystal-clear blue ones and held for what seemed like an eternity. There was no Lala and he was glad to see her. She had known this was the right decision.

  “I need a place to stay.” Her voice was an octave too high but, hell on wheels, Finn O’Donnell had hugged her. She’d almost had a damn fangirl moment.

  He stepped back and looked toward the two vans. Three doors opened as if they’d been synchronized. A kid, who reminded Finn of a young colt that hadn’t quite grown into his spindly legs, jumped from the van. Shotgun ran out to the boy, put his paws on his shoulders, and the two of them fell to the ground for a wrestling game.

  “Remember me talking about my nephew, Martin?”

  “He need a place to stay, too?” Finn asked.

  She nodded and for the first time she had doubts about the whole thing.

  “You brought government men. I guess this is serious?”

  Another nod. “It is.”

  “Then I expect we’d best go in the house and talk about it.” He draped an arm around her shoulders. “Okay if Martin stays outside with Shotgun? Old dog has missed kids since we’ve been in Burnt Boot. You haven’t changed a bit in two years. You still as sassy as ever?”

  “Callie?” the boy called out.

  “You can stay outside if you stay in the yard.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Well? Are you still a pistol?” Finn asked as they took the three steps up to the porch.

  “Damn straight, O’Donnell,” she answered.

  Callie’s breath tightened in her chest. She could think it was fear of leaving Martin alone, but if she was totally honest with herself, it was the way Finn had hugged her and still kept an arm thrown loosely over her shoulders. Old feelings surfaced that she thought she’d buried long ago, and now there was no Lala in the picture. Sweet Jesus, could she trust herself to walk into a situation like this?

  ***

  Finn stood back to let Callie go inside first. “I’ve got a pot of coffee brewing and sweet tea in the refrigerator. Excuse the mess. I’m not even unpacked yet. I’d hoped that these men who brought you here wouldn’t be able to ever find me again, but I guess Big Brother has his ways. Might as well come on in the kitchen.”

  Three men filed ahead of him and stopped inside an enormous great room housing a living room with a huge stone fireplace on the east end, a big dining room, and a country kitchen. Finn led the way to the kitchen area and motioned toward a round table flanked by six chairs. He hated to take his arm away from Callie, for fear she would vanish into the cold winter air, and he had so much to tell her about what had happened since they’d said good-bye in Afghanistan two years ago. Lord, he’d fantasized about Callie right up until Lala came into his life, but he remembered how much he wanted to kiss her full lips and how his hands itched to brush her long, dark hair away from her face. He’d dreamed about waking up to those big aqua-colored eyes staring at him in the morning. And now she was right there in his kitchen.

  “Have a seat,” he said.

  “Need some help?” Callie asked.

  “I got it covered.” He opened three cabinet doors before he located the coffee cups and then glanced back over his shoulder. “Coffee for everyone?”

  Three men nodded.

  “Black just like always, Callie?”

  “I haven’t changed a bit,” she said.

  He carried cups to the table, then drew his chair close enough that his knee touched hers. “Okay, Callie, let’s hear that story.”

  Otis picked up his coffee and said, “She needs to go into Witness Protection. She and the boy both. I’m Otis, by the way, and these are Special Agents Jones and Smith.”

  Finn shot a look across the table. “I know Jones and Smith. Pleased to make your acquaintance, Otis, but I asked her to tell me, not you.”

  Callie’s hand shook as she picked up the coffee cup and took a sip. When she set it down, he covered her hand with his, squeezing gently. “Take your time. There’s no hurry.”

  “My sister was killed in a car wreck a couple of weeks before I got out of the service two years ago. I came home to a six-year-old nephew in foster care. I convinced the authorities to let me have him. Last week he witnessed a murder in the alley behind our apartment complex. They want to put us in the WITSEC program but I refused.”

  “Go on,” Finn said.

  “Even though he’s only eight, he got a good long look at the man who did the killing, and they are going to let him testify when it comes time,” Callie said.

  “Are you willing to let this be a safe house for her?” Otis asked.

  Finn turned to face Otis. “I owe this woman my life more times than I can count. If she wants to stay here, she damn sure can stay. We were more than partners and she was more than my spotter. She was my best friend, so does that answer your question?”

  “Thank you, Finn,” she said.

  He cocked his head to one side. “Callie, this is a ranch. If I remember right, you joined the army because you hated every damn thing there was about ranchin’. Are you sure you want to live here?”

  “Guess I’ve found out there’s worse things in the world than the cows, hay haulin’, and calvin’ season,” she said. “I’m not askin’ for a handout here, Finn. I’m willing to work. I’ll work outside. I’ll work inside cleaning and cooking or both if you’ll give me and Martin room and board. And it doesn’t matter if I like it, Finn. I’ll do it until the trial is over, then we’ll be out of your hair.” She inhaled deeply. “I can ride a horse or a four-wheeler. I can pull a calf or drive anything that’s got wheels and fix most anything that’s got an engine. I’ll work cheap and, in exchange, Martin and I get to live here without fear until the trial is over, probably in early February.”

  “That’s putting a lot of faith in one man,” Otis said.

  “Not this man,” Agent Smith said seriously. “I’d trust him with my life. Hell, I’d trust him with the life of the president of the United States. I’ve tried to hire him to do just that but he turned us down, twice.”

  Finn hated to unpack, do laundry, and most of all cook, and she’d offered to work inside or outside.

  Finn O’Donnell, cats, dogs, and baby rabbits are one thing, but people are not strays. You don’t train them. You don’t get them well and turn them loose. Be careful, his inner voice warned.

  “Have you gotten any better at frying a chicken? Is your gravy still lumpy and your biscuits tough?” Finn grinned.

  “Chicken will melt in your mouth and my biscuits and gravy are fine, thank you,” she answered.

  He hugged her close to his side, almost toppling her out of the chair. “Don’t you lie to me, Brewster. I remember your burnt fried chicken, and your biscuits could have been used as weapons of mass destruction.”

  She pushed away from him. “Don’t you talk to me in that tone, O’Donnell. We were both drunk when we fried that chicken and we did it together and you were as much to blame for it as I was. I’ve learned to cook in the past two years. Raisin’ a kid means making dinner every night whether I want to or not.”

  His heart kicked in an extra beat. He hadn’t felt so alive since he left Afghanistan and surely not since he’d heard what a fool he’d been when he fell for Lala. “Okay, we’ll try it until after the holidays. I wouldn’t want to spoil Christmas for Shotgun and it looks like he’s done took to that kid.”

  Callie laughed until she snorted, held her hand out, and said, “Shake on it. I understand it’s all for your dog, not for me or my nephew. Your crazy sense of humor hasn’t changed a damn bit, Finn O’Donnell. Thank God for that.”

  Chapter 2

  “We were living in a furnished apartment.” Callie shrugged when she caught Finn looking at the bags the federal boys unloaded on the porch before they left.

  “What’d you do for a paych
eck?” he asked.

  “I worked as a trainer in a gym and taught women’s self-defense classes,” she answered. “The army didn’t give me a lot of marketable skills for the outside world.”

  The muscles in his arms flexed against the knit of his long-sleeved Western shirt when he picked up one of the duffel bags and threw it over his shoulder like a bag of cattle feed. Then he stooped, grabbed the other one, and hefted it up on the other shoulder.

  “You want to get the door for me and call the kid into the house? I’ll show you where your rooms are,” he said.

  “Hey, Martin, a little help here,” she yelled over her shoulder as she opened the door.

  The boy came in a dead run with the dog right behind him. “Yes, ma’am. Wow, Callie! I bet Finn could pick you up.”

  Callie could feel the heat coming up the back of her neck, but she couldn’t stop it. Soldiers didn’t blush. They were mean and tough and could take out snakes, spiders, and even enemy combatants. But a visual of her hanging over Finn’s back with her butt so close to his lips that he could kiss it—well, hell’s bells, that would make the devil himself blush.

  “I don’t imagine she weighs as much as this bag,” Finn said. “What’d you pack in here, Martin? Rocks?”

  The boy picked up one of the smaller zippered bags and managed to hoist it up on his shoulder like Finn, but it came close to bowing his legs. “No, sir, but Callie put books in that one. This one is heavy, too.”

  “I bet it is, son. Just keep a tight hold on it and follow me. I’ll show you where to unload it,” Finn said.

  The cold wind whipped around and came at them from the north, cooling Callie’s scarlet cheeks considerably. “That wind feels like it’s comin’ off snow or ice. Martin and I can share a room. Couldn’t afford a two-bedroom place. Mostly I just slept on the sofa and let him have the bedroom anyway.”

  The dog shot into the house before the door shut behind her and flopped down on the rug in front of the cold fireplace, put a paw over his nose, and promptly went to sleep.