A raccoon half the size of Shotgun ambled across the porch, down the steps, and out into the night. She checked for other wild varmints before she eased down in the corner, drew her knees up to her chest, and tucked the blanket in tightly around her body. Those were real snowflakes falling from the sky, and the landscape said she was in Texas. This was Salt Draw for sure, and the vivid pictures in her mind had been a nightmare.
A cow bawled in the distance, and a coyote howled up to the north of the ranch. No cows and coyotes where she’d been stationed. She’d just sit there a little while longer to let her heart settle, and then hopefully when she went back to bed, she’d sleep peacefully until morning.
***
Shotgun cold-nosed Finn right on the cheek and his eyes snapped open. Slowly, his eyes adjusted to the darkness, and he could see the hackles on Shotgun’s back standing straight up. A low growl came from Pistol over beside the fireplace, and Angel’s eyes were trained on the window. A slight bump against the outside wall brought Finn to a sitting position.
He tiptoed across the room, peeked through the blinds, and saw a big raccoon making his way down the steps. “Just a coon, boy, and, no, I will not let you out to chase him.”
Then he saw Callie slide down into the corner and roll up in a ball. He jammed his legs into a pair of flannel lounging pants, his bare feet down into cold boots, and his arms into the work jacket hanging on the bedpost. When he reached Callie, he sat down, pulled her into his lap, and wrapped his arms tightly around her.
Heart pounded against heart. Snow whirled around in a kaleidoscope of patterns under the dim moonlight. Words weren’t necessary. Finn knew exactly why Callie was on the porch at three o’clock in the morning.
Shotgun made two passes through the yard, nose to the ground, before he gave up and came back to rest his head in Callie’s lap. She pulled one hand free of the blanket and scratched his ears.
“Must’ve been a bad one,” Finn finally said.
She nodded.
“Want to talk about it? Therapist says that talking helps. I’m a good listener.”
“Therapist is full of shit.”
“I’m still a good listener.”
“You know without me talking,” she said.
He hugged her closer. “I do, Callie, but if and when you want to talk, I’m here.”
“I know, Finn, and I don’t mean to be bitchy. What we did over there, just tell me it was for the greater good.”
He tipped her chin up and his lips felt oh, so warm when they touched her cold mouth. “It was definitely for the greater good. That’s the only way to think if we want to stay sane.”
“Okay, then let’s go inside where it’s warm. I’m convinced now that I’m not over there on a mission.” She pushed out of Finn’s lap and went into the house.
Shotgun raced inside ahead of Finn and dropped like a chunk of lead in front of the fireplace beside Callie. One side of her face was in shadow, the other side dimly lit by the glow of the dying embers. Finn had seen her like that lots of times on midnight missions, but never had she looked as beautiful as she did right then.
He went to his room, kicked off his boots, changed damp pajama bottoms for a pair of jeans, tossed his coat over the back of a rocking chair, and dug a thermal shirt from a drawer. He padded barefoot back to the kitchen, where he made two cups of strong, hot tea in the microwave and carried them to the living room.
He sat down beside her and put a cup in her hands.
“Thanks,” she mumbled.
“Drink it. It’ll warm you from the inside,” he said.
Finn scooted his feet toward the fireplace. “Remember when my cousin Sawyer sent me the whiskey in a mouthwash bottle?”
A smile played at the corners of her mouth and lifted his spirits. He knew how hard it was to shake off the nightmares.
“We saved it for just the right time,” he said.
She nodded. “And after that Christmas, we figured since we’d missed the turkey, we might as well drink the whiskey.”
“And you got drunk as a skunk. I swear you can’t hold your liquor worth a damn,” Finn said.
“That’s because you let me drink the whole damn thing except for two shots,” she said.
He moved closer so that his feet were against hers. “Well, you were the one bitching about not getting to eat the big turkey dinner, and I was being a gentleman, letting you have all you wanted so you’d be happy. I bet it was even frozen turkey and the gravy was that canned shit.”
“You couldn’t see past Lala in those days, cowboy. I didn’t give a shit about the dinner itself. I just wanted to share it with you,” she said.
“Why didn’t you say something?” he asked.
“You were up in Lala’s brown eyes,” Callie said.
He set his half-empty cup on the coffee table and took hers from her hands and put it beside his. Then he laced his fingers in her hands and leaned in closer, gazing right into her eyes.
“Right now I only see Callie Brewster,” he whispered.
“Good. I never did like Lala. I knew something wasn’t right with that woman,” she whispered.
His lips were still cool when they landed on hers. His hands moved up under her shirt to massage the tight muscles in her back. She groaned.
He backed off. “Did I hurt you?”
“God, no! It felt wonderful,” she said. “Hold me, Finn. I don’t want to go to bed alone.”
He picked her up and carried her to the recliner, where he sat down with her in his lap and then pulled the lever. They faced each other, her body pressed against his, his face buried in her hair. “I’m right here, Callie. All night if you need me to be.”
Sleep didn’t come when he shut his eyes. Instead he got a picture of Callie lying beside him in the sand, camouflage covering everything but their eyes as they watched a truck approaching. Together they took out the target. Together they made it back to base in one piece. But it wasn’t until time and experiences brought them both to Salt Draw that they were really together.
He’d barely shut his eyes when all hell broke loose. Joe started squawking about police and coroners. Pistol added his high-pitched barking, and poor old Shotgun went crazy, running from the window to the door, howling like a rabid coyote at the full moon. Callie’s cussing over the top of it all came through loud and clear.
Finn jerked the lever and Callie was suddenly standing in the middle of the floor.
“What is going on out there? It sounds like Big Foot is on our porch,” Callie said.
Finn threw the door open. “It’s cattle and a lot of them. Looks like another stampede, only this time it stopped in our front yard.”
She flipped on the porch light. Shotgun pawed at the storm door, and Joe started yelling about crackers and cats, as if he couldn’t figure out what he wanted.
“There’s a big hindquarter pressed up against the door, and I can see a brand. Looks like these came from River Bend Ranch because there’s an RBR right there in plain sight. I guess we call them, right?”
“The Gallaghers are getting back at the Brennans for ruining Santa Claus and their tree. Dammit, Callie. I thought we were through with this feud. Call the sheriff and get him out here before you call anyone else,” Finn said. “Me and Shotgun will get them off the porch.”
“Looks like more than a hundred of them, but how did they wind up in our yard?” Callie asked.
“I expect that Betsy is sending you and Honey a message,” Finn said. “And to think I came to Burnt Boot for peace and quiet.”
She found the sheriff’s number in the old phone book on top of the refrigerator and poked the numbers into her cell phone.
“Sheriff Orville Newberry here,” he answered.
“Hello, this is Callie Brewster out at Salt Draw. We’ve got cattle all over the ranch with the River Bend brand. They’re even on our porch. I expect when we call the Brennans there’s going to be a problem because they’re going to blame the Gallaghers for turning
their cattle loose,” she said.
“Go on and call them. I’ll be there right soon. And, Callie, it’s nice to hear your voice again,” the sheriff said.
With modern-day technology lending a helping hand to the gossip grapevine, news traveled faster than the speed of light, even at midnight on a cloudy night. The Brennans, led by Honey and Declan, showed up at Salt Draw before Finn and Shotgun shooed the last cranky heifer off the porch.
They arrived on four-wheelers, with dogs that Shotgun did not like, to round up their cattle and take them back to River Bend Ranch. Honey was decked out in a cute little snug-fitting light blue jacket that matched her gloves and stocking hat, tight jeans, and cowboy boots.
“Does she go to bed with her hair done and makeup on?” Callie grumbled.
“Well, hello, Finn,” Honey said sweetly as she parked her four-wheeler right up next to the porch. “Looks like somebody done cut the fence to our pasture of prize breeders and turned them loose on Salt Draw. You reckon your bodyguard did that? We called the sheriff on our way over here to tell him. I reckon he’ll have a few questions for her. I suppose I would be willin’ to drop all charges, which I do plan to file, since I’m sure you probably got at least one high-dollar breedin’ from the best bull on River Bend Ranch while my herd was mingled up with yours.”
“Callie didn’t do any of this. She’s been in the house all night,” Finn said gruffly.
Callie never wanted to slap the shit out of someone so bad in her entire life, and right here at Christmas when folks were supposed to be nice and have kindness and love in their hearts.
“I’ll drop the charges against her if you’ll go out with me on Friday night,” Honey said. “Little dinner at my place. Little movie afterward with some wine, and then we’d see where it leads.”
“For one thing, you twit,” Callie said, “you can file all the charges you want to, but there’s got to be some proof for them to stick. I was either in this house all evening or on the porch and have witnesses to prove it.”
“Guess that answers your question,” Finn said. “I’m surprised you haven’t gone gunnin’ for the Gallaghers.”
“That’s exactly why we called the sheriff. Damn Gallaghers have gone too far this time,” Declan said. “We’re going to nail their asses to the wall and laugh when they have to spend time in prison for this. Honey, get back on your machine and help us. We’ll be until daylight gettin’ them all back in our pasture. Don’t suppose you’d want to help us, Finn?”
“Ain’t my feud or my problem. I didn’t cut a fence, yours or mine. You get your herd back through and make sure ain’t none of them carryin’ my brand or the Salt Draw one, and I’ll fix my own fence.”
Sheriff Orville showed up at ten minutes past one while Honey and Declan were trying to herd one rangy old bull from behind the house toward the gap in the fence out near the road. He parked the car, sidestepped every cow pile between there and the house, and handed Callie a box of a dozen frosted doughnuts with sprinkles on the top.
“Most of the shops shut up in the middle of the afternoon, but Walmart stays open all night.” He smiled. “You can have them for breakfast. Might be a little warmer inside for me to take down your report of what’s happened here.”
Honey skidded to a stop beside the porch, hopped off, and popped both hands on her hips. “Orville, I’m pressing rustling charges against Callie Brewster and Betsy Gallagher both. Way I see it is that Betsy cut the fences and Callie intended to sell my cattle on the black market.”
“Way I see it is that y’all are back in the middle of your feud, and Miz Callie ain’t got a thing to do with it. You can press charges all night, but if you ain’t got evidence to bring to court, you might as well spend your time primpin’ and cussin’,” Orville said. “You can come on down to the office tomorrow afternoon and give me your statement.”
“You can come to the ranch,” Honey said.
Orville crossed his arms above his doughnut belly. “I could, but I ain’t. Last time I got in the middle of the feud, I got shot. I ain’t goin’ nowhere near them ranches unless it’s life or death. This ain’t. So you got something to say, you come to the office.”
“I’ll put these doughnuts inside. Thank you for them. It’s late, Sheriff. Maybe we could tell you our side of the story tomorrow, too,” Callie said.
“That’d be just fine, and it’s Orville, ma’am.” He tipped his hat and headed back to his car. In his haste, he stepped in a fresh pile of manure.
“Well, crap!” Callie said when he was in his vehicle.
Finn chuckled.
“What’s so damn funny?” Callie asked.
“You’re right. He is flirting. We can share the doughnuts with Martin tomorrow. You going to help me fix a fence?”
“Who says I’m sharing? And, yes, I’ll hold the flashlight,” she answered.
***
Martin was out the door and running toward the school bus before Callie realized he wasn’t wearing his good shoes again that morning, but then she’d only had two hours of sleep after helping Finn with the cut fence. Thank goodness for Shotgun, who kept Salt Draw cattle at bay so they could get the barbed wire tightened enough to keep their cattle in and anyone else’s out.
“Don’t go out there. Danger. Danger. Danger,” Joe fussed when Martin left.
“Why couldn’t your owner have liked country music instead of cop shows?” Callie made a mental note to check Martin’s shoes the next day. She’d paid good money for new shoes, and he’d picked them out himself, so be damned if they were going to sit in the closet until he outgrew them.
“Hey, I have to go into Gainesville for a load of feed. We can go right after our workout,” Finn said.
“I thought we had a workout last night,” she moaned.
“That was a mission. We still have PT.” He grinned.
“Anyone tell you we’re not in the military anymore?”
“Couple of times, but it didn’t keep me from staying fit. I’m not forcing you to work out, Callie. You were up all night. Go on back to bed and catch a few hours of rest,” he said.
“Hell if I will. I ate three of those doughnuts, one last night and two for breakfast. I’ll be ready when you are,” she said. “Will we have time to stop by a Western-wear store or a tractor supply where they sell work coats?”
“Sure. Does Martin need a new coat?”
“His will do until Christmas. It’s a little short in the arms, but it will last a few more weeks.”
Chapter 10
The quick shower hadn’t done nearly as much as a soak in a tub of hot water to help her tight muscles from the workout that morning, but if she got into the tub, she would fall asleep and not wake up until evening.
So she trudged into her bedroom, pulled a vinyl bank bag from under a stack of underwear, and removed a hundred dollars. She filed it neatly in her wallet and put her jacket on before she slung her purse over her shoulder.
“That didn’t take long,” he said.
“The mission takes top priority.”
“And that is?”
“Buying a coat so I don’t freeze my ass off when we’re feeding cows or fixing fence in the middle of the night because two women are fighting over you.” She bent against the wind and took off in a jog toward the truck. She was halfway across the yard when her feet went out from under her, and strong arms caught her as she grasped for anything other than snowflakes to break her fall.
“Whoa, darlin’,” Finn drawled.
One second she was about to land on the ice, the next he had pulled her up to a standing position and held her to his chest. She could feel his heart beating beneath all those tight chest muscles and hoped that he attributed the extra thump in hers to almost falling.
He traced her jawline with the back side of his fist, opening up his hand when he reached her lips to outline them with his calloused forefinger. She hung in limbo for his next move, wanting him to kiss her so bad that she moistened her lips with the ti
p of her tongue.
His blue eyes bored into hers, unblinking, going all dreamy and soft as thick dark lashes fluttered shut and rested on his high cheekbones. Then his lips met hers in a long, lingering, passionate kiss that made her knees go weaker than ever before. His big hand held her head firmly as he deepened the kiss.
Forget the damn coat. All he had to do was kiss her about every two hours and she could run through the snow naked as a newborn baby and not even feel the cold.
“Guess we’d best get going,” he said hoarsely.
“Guess so,” she whispered.
He kept a firm grip on her arm as he got her settled into the truck.
“You need some boots, too. Those sneakers ain’t worth a damn in this kind of weather. At least let me buy you some rubber boots,” he said.
“I have money, Finn. I can buy what I need, and right now these shoes work just fine,” she told him. Dammit! She wanted to talk about that kiss, not boots and coats.
When he started the engine, the DJ’s voice filled the truck. “It’s only twenty-three days until Christmas, folks. Have you started your shopping? The weatherman is agreeing with my grandpa’s almanac that this is going to be a tough winter, so drag out the horse-pulled carriage because some of the back roads could get too slick for cars and trucks. And now five of your favorite Christmas songs performed by your favorite country artists. At the end of the five for five, the fifth caller who can tell me all five singers in order will receive a ten-dollar gift certificate to Buster’s Western Wear in Gainesville, Texas.”
“Is that where we’re going?” she asked.
“I have no idea. Only been to Gainesville a couple of times, and that was traveling through—not going into—town. I know where the feed store is, but we’re on our own for shopping,” he answered.
“Suzy Bogguss,” she said.
“She’s got a Western-wear store here?” Finn asked.
Callie pointed at the radio. “No, that’s Suzy singing ‘Two-Step ’Round the Christmas Tree.’ I like this song, and we’d probably get a better deal at the tractor supply or a feed store. Most of them carry work coats.”
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