Lone Star Christmas

by Delores Fossen

  Judd sounded as pleased about that as Callen would have been had he still been living there. He had no idea why someone would want to take that kind of step back into the past. It didn’t matter that Buck had been good to them. The only one who had been. It was that being there brought back all the stuff that’d happened before they’d made it to Buck.

  “Is Buck okay?” Callen asked.

  “Of course he is,” Judd snapped. Then he paused. “Why wouldn’t he be? Just gather the blasted eggs!” he added onto that after another whiny ewww. “Why wouldn’t Buck be okay?”

  Callen didn’t want to explain the punch-in-the-gut feeling he’d got with Rosy’s Please come. Buck needs to see you, and it turned out that he didn’t have to explain it.

  “Here’s Shelby, thank God,” Judd grumbled before Callen had to come up with anything. “She’ll answer any questions you have about the wedding. It’s Callen,” he said to Shelby. “Just leave my phone on the porch when you’re done.”

  “No!” Callen couldn’t say it fast enough. “That’s all right. I was just—”

  “Callen,” Shelby greeted him.

  Apparently, his unplanned hard-ons weren’t a thing of the past after all. Even though Shelby was definitely a woman now, she could still purr his name.

  He got a flash image of her face. Okay, of her body, too. All willowy and soft with that tumble of blond hair and clear green eyes. And her mouth. Oh man. That mouth had always had his number.

  “I didn’t expect you to be at Judd’s,” he said, not actually fishing for information. But he was. He was also trying to fight back what appeared to be jealousy. It was something he didn’t feel very often.

  “Oh, I’m not. I was over here at Dad’s, taking care of a few things while he’s at an appointment. He got some new foster kids in, and when I heard the discussion about eggs, I came outside. That’s when Judd handed me his phone and said I had to talk to you. You got the wedding invitation?” she asked.

  “I did.” He left it at that, hoping she’d fill in the blanks of the questions he wasn’t sure how to ask.

  “We couldn’t change Rosy’s mind about using that picture of Billy in the veil. Trust me, we tried.”

  Callen found himself smiling. A bad combination when mixed with arousal. Still, he could push it aside, and he did that by glancing around his office. He had every nonsexual thing he wanted here, and if he wanted sex, there were far less complicated ways than going after Shelby. Buck probably still owned at least one good castrating knife.

  “I called Rosy, but she didn’t answer,” Callen explained.

  “She’s in town but should be back soon. She doesn’t answer her phone if she’s driving.”

  Callen couldn’t decide if that was a good or bad thing on a personal level for him. If Rosy had answered, then he wouldn’t be talking to Shelby right now. He wouldn’t feel the need for a cold shower or an explanation.

  “Rosy should be back any minute now. You want me to have her call you?” Shelby asked.

  “No. I just wanted to tell them best wishes for the wedding. I’ll send a gift and a card.” And he’d write a personal note to Buck.

  “You’re not coming?” Shelby said.

  Best to do this fast and efficient. “No. I have plans. Business plans. A trip. I’ll be out of the state.” And he cursed himself for having to justify himself to a woman who could lead to castration.

  “Oh.”

  That was it. Two letters of the alphabet. One word. But it was practically drowning in emotion. Exactly what specific emotion, Callen didn’t know, but that gut-punch feeling went at him again hard and fast.

  “Shelby?” someone called out. It sounded like the whiny girl. “Never mind. Here comes Miss Rosy.”

  “I guess it’s an important business trip?” Shelby continued, her voice a whisper now.

  “Yes, longtime clients. I do this trip with them every year—”

  “Callen, you need to come,” Shelby interrupted. “Soon,” she added. “It’s bad news.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  SHELBY JABBED THE end-call button before Callen could repeat his no. Before he could insist that he wouldn’t be coming back for the wedding. Which she was certain he had been about to do.

  Callen had no trouble turning his back on everything in Coldwater, and he apparently still wanted to keep things as usual. Well, she wasn’t going to make it easy for him. Not the way it had been when the back turning had first happened.

  When Callen had left all those years ago, that morning of his eighteenth birthday, he had taken a battered suitcase with his things from the house. He’d said a goodbye to Buck, Rosy, his brothers and her.

  Just a goodbye, nothing else.

  No one, not even Shelby, had called Callen on that, had reminded him that the four years he’d lived there with them warranted more than a hasty farewell. They’d just let him go.

  Then Callen had climbed into an old, rust-scabbed truck that he’d bought with the money he’d saved from his summer jobs. He hadn’t even looked in the rearview mirror as he’d driven away. Callen had taken that Texas-sized chip on his shoulder with him.

  A chip Shelby suspected still sat on his broad shoulder.

  Hanging up on him hadn’t been a very mature reaction, but at the moment it was the best she could manage since she couldn’t think of an argument better than It’s bad news.

  Besides, she had other obstacles to face, what with Rosy driving up and the three teenagers eyeing her. One of those teens was peering down at her from the upstairs window. The hollow-faced, frightened Lucy Garcia. One from the barn—Lucy’s brother, Mateo. The other, Rayna Hooper, from the vicinity of the chicken coop.

  Of course, the one by the coop probably wasn’t eyeing her with the notion of sussing out what was wrong, but in her own way Rayna would need to be reassured. Along with giving her hand sanitizer to go with the egg-gathering chore that the girl obviously wanted to shirk.

  Shelby knew a little about duty shirking since she was about to take step two of that process. Just in case Callen hit Redial, she crossed the yard to Judd’s cabin and tossed the phone on the seat of the porch swing. It was best to regroup and then figure out the best way to deal with Callen.

  When Rosy got out of her truck, Shelby made sure the worry that she was feeling was tamped down enough, and she smiled. Rosy smiled, too, but then she usually did, no matter what the situation. Her name certainly suited her.

  “I got the second batch,” Rosy said, giving a squeal that would have been worthy of a schoolgirl rather than a woman on the back side of seventy. The box she was cradling under one arm was already open, and she waved the freshly printed wedding invitation at Shelby.

  Before Shelby even got to her, she could see that the second batch also included another Billy picture on the front of the card. This time, the armadillo was dressed like a groom, complete with a poinsettia boutonniere on the lapel of his photoshopped tuxedo.

  “Delia Cranshaw saw them when I opened the box at the post office, and she said it was morbid,” Rosy went on as they walked up the steps and into the house. She shrugged, kept on smiling. “But what does she know?”

  Well, since Delia was a mortician’s assistant, she probably knew a lot about that particular subject, but Shelby didn’t want to get into another discussion about morbidity or the invitations.

  “Miss Rosy?” Rayna called out. “I need to talk to you like ASAP.” The blond-haired girl was coming around the side of the house, making a beeline for them. She had a wicker basket in her hand, and hopefully from the way she was swinging it, it was empty. If not, eggs would soon be flying.

  “How’d Dad’s appointment go?” Shelby asked Rosy before Rayna could reach them.

  Just asking the question required more worry tamping, and Shelby cursed herself for letting Buck talk her into not going with him. Yes, someon
e needed to stay with the foster kids, but she should have found someone else to do that so she could be there with him.

  Rosy went with her usual rosy tone. “Fine, of course. The doctor’s going to do a teeny exam and do some routine lab work. Buck says it’s a lot of fuss about nothing, that he’s fit as a fiddle, and I agree.”

  Shelby held back from asking if fiddles were actually fit. Besides, she didn’t doubt that her father had told Rosy that—both about the fiddle and the teeny—but Shelby knew bone deep that it wasn’t true. She hadn’t lied to Callen when she said it was bad news.

  Bad with the potential to get a whole lot worse.

  Over the past couple of weeks, Shelby had seen her father’s face lose some of its ruddy color. Had seen the dark circles beneath his eyes, and he’d developed a cough. And just the day before when she’d come over for Thanksgiving dinner, she had walked in on him catching onto the stairs. She hadn’t missed the white-knuckle grip he’d had on the newel post, and when she’d asked him what was wrong, he’d given her a smile, a hug and a dose of BS.

  “Wedding jitters,” he’d said.

  Considering that Rosy and he had been “dating” for years and were in love, Shelby didn’t have any trouble recognizing a dodged question. He’d dodged the next one, too, when she’d asked point-blank if he was sick. That was when he’d mentioned he had his annual checkup today with Dr. Breland. Shelby couldn’t cry BS on that because he did indeed have annual checkups, but she knew he’d scheduled the appointment because something was wrong.

  “Miss Rosy.” Rayna, again. She blew at a strand of her curly hair that had fallen onto her forehead. “I need a new chore. Eggs have chicken poop on them, and I touched one. Now I have poop smell on my hands.”

  “There’s a big bottle of sanitizer on the back porch,” Rosy said without missing a step. “Use it, and we’ll talk.”

  They stepped into the massive old house, and even though Shelby no longer lived here, it was still home. Always would be. And maybe it was the worry about her father that had her taking a long look at it. The scarred wood floors, the nothing-special furniture that was somehow special. The fireplace mantel loaded down with photos of some of the kids Buck had fostered—and saved—over the years.

  Callen was one of those saves.

  Maybe when he remembered that, he would finally come back. Maybe it would help. Her father must have thought it would because when he’d given Rosy the invite list, Callen’s name had been at the top.

  “You’ve gone all pale and pasty again,” Rosy said. Dropping the box of invitations on the entry table, she hauled Shelby into her arms for a python-tight hug. Rosy might only be a hundred pounds soaking wet, but she had some upper-body strength. “You’re down and mopey about Gavin again. I don’t know what got into that boy with him dumping you.”

  Shelby sighed, and then wiggled out of Rosy’s grip when oxygen and potential internal organ damage became an issue. “I’m okay about Gavin.”

  Of course, Rosy wouldn’t believe her. No one would, including Gavin Sweeny himself, who was her ex-fiancé. Everyone in town thought she was in a pity puddle now that Gavin had ended their five-year romance. But the pity puddle was reserved for her father.

  Shelby pulled off her coat and hung it on one of the wooden pegs by the door. Plenty of the pegs were empty now because they only had three fosters staying with them, but there were times when the pegs were jammed. She didn’t want to think that peg jamming might be a thing of the past.

  She spotted Lucy at the top of the stairs, and Shelby made it a point to give her a smile. Lucy didn’t smile back. Not a surprise. Lucy hadn’t realized yet that she was safe here. However, the girl almost certainly knew that something wasn’t on the up-and-up.

  Rosy shrugged out of her coat, too, hung it next to Shelby’s and picked up the box of invitations again as they made their way through to the kitchen. Rayna was already there, smelling of hand sanitizer while she looked at the chore chart fastened with magnets to the large double fridge.

  “I’d rather fold laundry,” Rayna said. “Or dust upstairs like Lucy. But I don’t want to clean out the barn with Mateo. There’s even more poop out there. I don’t like the way it smells.”

  “Honey, nobody likes the smell of poop.” Rosy took out a pair of plastic gloves from under the sink. “Use these. Get at least three of the eggs so I can bake that chocolate cake for dinner. And when Mr. Buck gets home, I’ll talk to him about moving the chores around.”

  Rayna eyed the gloves as if they were the dreaded poop, but with a huff and some muttering, she took them and headed back out the door. Good. Maybe it’d take her at least five minutes, giving Shelby time to talk to Rosy.

  “Callen called,” Shelby said at the same moment Rosy said, “I’ve decided on the pink one.”

  They stared at each other a moment. “The pink wedding dress?” Shelby questioned as Rosy said, “Callen’s coming for the wedding, right?”

  Shelby shook her head. “He’s got business to take care of. Not in Dallas, where he lives. He said this was a trip.”

  Some of that rosiness faded. “Oh, that’s too bad. Buck was really looking forward to seeing him. Top of the list,” Rosy added, tapping the invitations. She went to the dishwasher and started unloading it.

  “Yes,” Shelby said. She went closer to help Rosy. “Why? Why is it so important that Dad see Callen?” she clarified when Rosy glanced at her.

  “I’m not exactly sure. But he really wants Callen to come. He said so a couple of times. You know he’s always had a soft spot for Callen and his brothers.”

  That was true, but Shelby suspected—no, she feared—that it was more than that. Her father was still in contact with all but a handful of the kids he’d fostered over the past thirty years, but this felt like more than that.

  It felt like he was trying to say goodbye.

  “I don’t suppose you’d be willing to call Callen back?” Rosy pressed. “Or maybe go up to Dallas to see him?”

  Shelby remembered him not looking in his rearview mirror. “I’ll call him, but I’m not going to Dallas.”

  Rosy shrugged. “I just thought it would be good for you to see an old friend. I mean, since you’re trying to get over Gavin and all.”

  “I’m not going to Dallas,” Shelby repeated, and she shifted the conversation. “Did you stay with Dad during the appointment?”

  Rosy nodded. “Well, I stayed in the waiting room.”

  Shelby tried not to huff. “You said you’d go in with him.”

  “I was about to, but then Buck pointed out that he might have to strip down to his birthday suit for the checkup. That wouldn’t be fitting for me to see that until after we’re married.”

  No, but it would have been informative.

  “I stayed until Buck came out of the appointment,” Rosy went on, “and when he came out, he told me that he needed to get the routine lab work done, and then he was going to do some errands. He wanted me to come back here in case you had to get home. He said he wouldn’t be long.” She paused. “I have seen Buck in his birthday suit, you know.”

  Shelby was certain she didn’t want to hear this, but she refrained from slapping her hands over her ears. “Well, you’ve known each other a long time.” It was such a puny thing to say, but she was lucky she got out actual words.

  Rosy glanced at her when she reached up to put a plate in the cabinet. “Buck and I have had sex.”

  Now Shelby did put her hands on her ears, and she turned away or rather she tried, but Rosy took hold of her arm. The woman had anaconda hands, too.

  “I know this is hard for you to hear because you loved your mother, and you don’t want to think about your dad having sex with anyone but her.”

  “I don’t want to think about it at all,” Shelby insisted. Not with her mother. Not with Rosy. Heck, she didn’t want to think about her father
or Rosy thinking about it.

  But Rosy only nodded and kept going. “It happened three years ago. I’m not sure why, but he kissed me when he was helping me change the covers on one of the upstairs beds, and it just happened. We didn’t even use a condom,” she added in a whisper.

  No words.

  None.

  Shelby just stared at her.

  “After that, we’d bump into each other once a week,” Rosy went on. “You know, like when the kids were at school or if there weren’t kids here at all. Our favorite day was Tuesday.”

  “Uh,” Shelby managed. “So, you decided on the pink wedding dress?”

  The beaming smile was back. “Yes. Didn’t you just love it?”

  Not really. The wads of shiny pink fabric looked like blobs of bubble gum still wet with spit, but that wasn’t what Shelby said. “You’ll look perfect in it.”

  More beaming. Then the smile faded. “Buck hasn’t touched me in a month,” Rosy whispered. Her voice shook a little. “I mean no sex.” She mouthed the last two words. “Do you think that means he wants to switch to a different day? Or maybe he’s getting tired of me?”

  “No. Of course not.” Now it was Shelby’s turn to dole out a hug, and she did that even though she was holding a cup and Rosy had a plate. The dishes clanged together between them. “I’m sure it’s just wedding jitters. Or maybe he wants to hold off until your wedding night so that it can be special.”

  Shelby wanted a shovel to dig a hole deep enough that she could climb into it. But it worked. It got Rosy beaming again.

  “You think so?” Rosy asked.

  “Of course,” Shelby lied. And while she hated the notion of even considering parental sex, it only confirmed that whatever was going on with her father, it was bad.

  “Thanks for listening to me chatter on.” Rosy went back to putting away the dishes. Shelby held on to the cup in case her hands were trembling. She was pretty sure there could be trembling involved.