A Cowboy Christmas Miracle (Burnt Boot, Texas Book 4) (15 page)

Declan opened one eye and could see that it was still snowing. He pulled the covers over his head and wished he were in Florida or somewhere warm and sunny instead of north Texas, getting ready to feed cows in deep snow. The aroma of bacon, coffee, and maple syrup blended together to make his stomach growl, and suddenly, he remembered that he was not on River Bend but in a hotel room with Betsy.

“Good mornin’, sleepyhead.” Her hand started at his neck, skimmed its way down his back, and squeezed his butt cheek. “Wake up. I’ve been down to the dining room and brought breakfast up to share with you. Pancakes and bacon with an omelet on the side and lots of coffee.”

He reached behind his back and laced her fingers in his, rolled over, and brought them to his lips to kiss each one individually. “And you for dessert?”

She bent forward and kissed him on the forehead. “If you eat all your breakfast, you can have whatever dessert you want. After last night, you need strength.”

The jeans she must’ve worn down to the dining room had been thrown at the sofa and missed. His shirt from the night before was all she wore as she sat there beside him, cross-legged, with a food tray on the foot of the bed. With no makeup, sleep still in her gorgeous green eyes, and her body a row of pearl snaps away, she absolutely rendered him speechless.

“I can’t have dessert first?” he asked.

“Not after I got dressed and went out for breakfast. Sit up, cowboy, and let’s eat.” She untangled her hand from his, scooted back far enough to put the tray between them, and poured syrup on the warm pancakes.

He sat up, picked up her hand, dipped her fingertips in the syrup, and then proceeded to lick every drop from each one. Her eyes had gone all soft and dreamy by the time he finished the last fingertip. He leaned across the tray and kissed her, soft at first, then deepening into something lingering and more demanding.

“Mmmm!” she mumbled when he straightened up and picked up the plastic fork.

“The pancakes won’t taste nearly as good as your fingers,” he said.

She dipped her fingertip in syrup and applied it to his full mouth like lipstick, then began to lick it off one micro section at a time. His pulse quickened. His heart raced. He had to hold his hands tightly on top of the folded-back covers to keep from throwing her on the bed, kicking the breakfast onto the floor, and having wild, hot sex with her right there, right then.

“You are killing me,” he said.

“What’s good for the goose…as they say.” She smiled. “Let’s eat before it gets so cold we have to heat it in the microwave.”

He shoveled a forkful of omelet into his mouth and nodded. “Good,” he mumbled.

“Not as good as the ones I make, but it’ll give us energy. I can’t believe we slept this late. They were starting to put things away when I got to the dining room,” she said between bites.

He glanced at the clock on the nightstand. “Is that clock right? I haven’t slept this late in years. Is it really nine thirty?”

“It is. I woke at nine, jerked on the first clothes I found on the floor, and went down to get us some food so we didn’t have to go out. I wish they had room service here, but about all we can get delivered is pizza, and that’s if the pizza place is open on a day like this,” she said.

“How many times did you wish for enough snow to build a snowman when you were a kid?” he asked.

“Every single winter, but I only remember getting to do that one time. I was about ten,” she said.

“I was twelve, and the snowman wasn’t even as big as me. We got about two inches, and by the time Quaid, Leah, Honey, and I got our snowman finished, the yard was completely cleaned of every single flake.”

* * *

An instant visual of Declan at twelve popped into Betsy’s head. He had been all legs back then. Sandy-blond hair and big, blue eyes, skinny as a newborn colt, and it took a couple more years for him to grow into his long legs. It was strange to think of the Brennan kids over there on River Bend doing and feeling the same things that the Gallagher children did on Wild Horse.

“Have I told you this morning that you are gorgeous?” he asked.

“No, but I believe you covered that topic quite well last night. Iris was very impressed with you,” Betsy said.

He looked around the room. “Where is she this morning?”

“She had to go back to Dallas. They’ve got Interstate 35 cleared to the south. The bridge is closed to get across the Red River into Oklahoma because of the ice, but they’re hoping to have it scraped and ready for travel by noon. But the weatherman is still issuing a severe weather alert and telling folks to stay off the roads.”

One of his sexy eyelids slid down in a slow wink. “Isn’t that too bad? Any idea when they might have the country road up to Burnt Boot open for traffic?”

“They’re saying tomorrow. I went ahead and booked this room for tonight. I’m so sorry we are missing church this beautiful Sunday morning.”

“It is a total shame. I’d looked forward to hearing John preach.”

A soft, little-girl giggle escaped from around a bite of pancakes. “You are telling lies right here on Sunday.”

“So are you. We’re both sinners. But on a different note, I doubt that they have church this morning. No one will be able to get out to services.”

“And that makes me wonder if Preacher John will be having dinner at Wild Horse with his sister or River Bend with Honey. Maybe I should call home and get the lowdown on what is happening with the love war.”

The words had barely left her mouth when her phone rang. She leaned over the bed, not caring that Declan got a flash of her naked butt, and grabbed it from the nightstand.

“Where are you?” her mother asked.

“Holed up in the Hampton Inn waiting for the spring thaw,” she teased.

“Well, don’t try to come home today. The roads are a mess and there’re road blocks up. We didn’t even have church. I can’t believe we’re getting hit like this two years in a row. Maybe Naomi is right. Those O’Donnell cousins brought bad luck to Burnt Boot.” Willa laughed. “Is Iris there with you?”

“She went back to Dallas. Roads south of here have been cleared for travel,” Betsy answered. “I heard that Preacher John had a date with Honey Brennan last night.” She looked across the bed to see Declan grinning like a possum eating grapes through a barbed-wire fence.

“Whole town is talking about it. They’re calling it the love war. Your grandmother threatened to throw him out in the snow when he went over to River Bend last night for supper. She’s livid because if Honey gets serious about him, then there would be a hairline connection between the two feuding families, what with him being kin to a Gallagher. Mavis is delighted that she’s getting under Naomi’s skin and possibly dragging a preacher back into the Brennan family. All over a preacher, mind you. And the love war? It doesn’t carry the pizzazz that the pig war and the shit war did, does it?”

Betsy gave Declan a thumbs-up and mouthed,
Love war, it is
.

He put up his palm, and they did a silent high five.

“Are you still there?” Willa asked.

“I’m here. So what’s your opinion of this whole love-war thing between Honey and Angela’s brother?”

“I figure Naomi will rethink Angela and Jody living in the big house if Angela’s brother gets mixed up with Honey Brennan—and that Mavis will put more than one feather in her hat if she can make trouble on Wild Horse. What are you doing all day?”

The question caught Betsy off guard so much that she stammered, “Ummm, well, it’s snowing, and I guess…I suppose I’ll watch some reruns on TV and maybe go outside and make a snowman.”

“Sounds like a boring day. Call if you want to pass the time.”

“Thanks, Mama. Maybe they’ll have things cleared off so”—she caught herself before she said
we
, cleared her throat, and went on—“so I can get home tomorrow.”

“I hope so, but drive safely. Talk to you later.”

Betsy pushed a button and the face of her phone went dark. “They’re calling it the love war already.”

One side of Declan’s mouth turned up in half a grin that was even sexier than a brilliant smile. “The love war. Granny is going to hate that as much as she did the pig war, but she’ll be rootin’ for Honey. She’s always wanted a preacher, and if it can make Naomi Gallagher mad, then she’ll be one happy old gal.” Declan held a piece of crisp bacon near her lips.

She bit off the end. “And Angela might find herself living back in the little house before long if Honey takes a shine to John. I think the ‘love war’ fits this feudin’ battle very well, but right now, I’m thinkin’ it’s time for dessert.”

Declan set the tray on the floor beside the bed. His hand was a blur as it grabbed the tail of the shirt she wore and every snap came undone with a popping noise. “I do like pearl snaps, and I really like what’s under them.”

She wrapped her arms around his neck and slid under the covers with him, both of them stretching out so she was pressed against his side, his arm around her, their noses just inches apart.

“I also love your kisses,” he said as his lips found hers and his tongue traced the outline of her lips. That gesture started the hormones to boiling immediately.

“I like your whole body and what it does to mine.” Her hand followed his hair from his chest all the way down to find that he was definitely ready for dessert.

He rolled her over onto her back and kissed her until they were both breathless. “Ready?”

“Been ready since I woke you up.” She wrapped her legs firmly around him and tangled her fingers in his thick hair.

With a firm thrust, he started a gentle motion that made her moan for more and more, which he gave her right up until she whispered his name hoarsely and together they satisfied the fire inside their bodies.

“If it keeps getting better every time, we’re going to burn ourselves into nothing but ashes,” he muttered between gasps.

“But what a way to go.” She wiggled out from under him.

He rolled to his back, and she settled in next to his side, sated and yet wanting more. She’d never felt like this before, but then she’d never spent the entire night with a man before, never had breakfast in bed with him, and for damn sure never looked forward to another bout of hot sex after having it three—no, four times since they started they night before. Usually once or twice and she was ready to go home and forget the guy, no matter how handsome he was. She had managed one six-month relationship back when she was twenty-one and still in college. And another one that lasted three months when she was about twenty-five.

And this one won’t last a day past Christmas, no matter how good you are in bed with him or how much chemistry there is between you.

“Shhh,” she said.

“I didn’t say anything,” Declan said.

“I know.”

“Voices in your head? I’m doing the same thing. They’re telling me that we’re going down a fool’s path and that this can never develop into a relationship. Is that what you’re hearing?”

She nodded and bit back the tears threatening to escape from behind her thick lashes.

“Are you going to listen to them?”

“Not today,” she said.

“Good. Let’s go take a shower, get dressed, and go outside in that big, empty parking lot behind the outlet mall and make a snowman. This may be the only opportunity we ever have to make one together.”

She rose up on an elbow, her breasts brushing against his side. “So you don’t think we have a chance at anything more than an occasional secret rendezvous?”

“No, I don’t think that we’ll ever see this much snow again in our area of the world. We’ll have to see if the other thing is strong enough to withstand the big rocks that will be thrown at it,” he said.

He crawled out of bed, scooped her up in his arms, and carried her to the bathroom. He sat her on the edge of the tub, went back into the room, and touched a few buttons on his phone.

Mark Chesnutt started singing “Ol’ Country,” and Declan came back and extended his hand. Together, they swayed to the music, doing a two-step around the bathroom floor wearing nothing but smiles.

The lyrics said that the city sun went down at night and the country boy was lookin’ at the moon. It talked about a city girl and a country boy, but she got the gist of the story. The girl and the boy in the story were as mismatched as she and Declan. When Mark sang about the fact that she’d never been loved at all until ol’ country came to town, Betsy leaned back and looked up into his blue eyes and read his mind.

“It’s our story,” he said.

“Yes, it is. You promise to have the hotel ready with ice and drinks and have everything perfect?”

“Anytime, darlin’. Anytime you can get away to have a night with ol’ country here and you’ll promise to kiss me and hold me tight,” he answered.

“Why does it have to be so complicated?”

“To make us enjoy it when ol’ country does come to town. Now for a shower and then snowman building, and by then, we’ll be hungry and this cowboy would like to take you to lunch at the Cracker Barrel. What do you say?”

She stood on tiptoe and pulled his lips to hers. “Yes, darlin’.”

Five inches of snow lay like a big, white, fluffy blanket on the enormous empty lot on the huge mall parking lot behind the hotel. Not a footprint or tire track anywhere in it—not even a few little rabbit tracks like Betsy would see in the country up around Burnt Boot.

She’d dressed warmly in long underwear under her jeans, which were tucked inside her cowboy boots, a flannel shirt, and her mustard-colored work coat over it all. She’d pulled a ski mask over her red hair and face, leaving only her eyes showing. Declan had dressed pretty much the same way except that he’d forgotten to pack long underwear, but he did have a pair of work coveralls in his truck. So he’d zipped them up over his clothing, tucked the legs down into his cowboy boots, and pulled a ski mask over his face.

Betsy was glad that the mask didn’t cover those pretty blue eyes because she loved seeing the laughter and excitement in them. Right now, he was looking at the snow like he was that little, long-legged twelve-year-old boy again. She couldn’t help but wonder if the same happiness showed in her own eyes.

Declan took her gloved hand in his “Well, darlin’, I do believe we have enough here to build a snowman or maybe two. The only question is where do we want him to stand when we get done?”

“Over there by that lonesome tree. We might even borrow a few twigs from it to make his arms,” she said.

“Then we’ll begin rolling right here.” He dropped her hand and made a snowball about the size of a baseball.

She did the same. “I’ll make the middle while you do the bottom.”

“How big do we want him?” Declan asked.

“Tall as you,” she answered.

“And how do we plan to pick up his fat, little middle section? We don’t have a crane,” Declan said.

“I’ll make it about half the size it should be, and we’ll put it on the first part and then pack snow around it until it’s big enough. This is wet snow. It’s going to pack really well,” she said.

“Go on and start rolling then,” he said.

“Why?”

“Because I want to be behind you, so I can see that cute little butt of yours.” His eyes said he was grinning even though she couldn’t see his mouth.

“Maybe I had the same idea about your tight, little cowboy butt,” she said, smarting off right back at him.

“Oh, so you think I’ve got a cute rear end?” he asked.

“No, I think you’ve got a sexy ass, Declan Br—”

He shook his finger. “No last names. We’re out here playing in the snow like a couple of kids who only know each other’s first names.”

“Okay, then let’s make this snowman one that will still be standing here in this parking lot when Christmas morning comes around,” she said.

“Yes, ma’am, and on that day, we’ll come back here and take pictures of him or what’s left of him, okay?” Declan asked.

“It’s a date.”

Two hours later, they stood back to look at their creation. They were tired, covered in wet snow, and half-frozen, but a six-foot snowman stood before them. Declan had taken several pictures of it with his camera to prove that they had indeed built the huge thing and hadn’t even begun to use up all the snow on the parking lot. But alas, although he had stick arms, he didn’t have a carrot for a nose or any other facial features.

“We could use rocks, but they’re all covered up,” she said.

“We could go into the Cracker Barrel and buy a carrot and some black candies for his eyes and mouth and maybe even get him a hat,” Declan said.

“Yes, yes, yes!” She clapped her gloved hands together and snow flew everywhere.

It only took a few minutes to talk the salesclerk out of a carrot from the kitchen and to find a bag of big licorice gumdrops. Betsy found an old straw hat that was on sale for half price and bought their snowman a bright-green-and-red-plaid scarf to tie around his neck. But by the time they paid for their purchases, the snow that had accumulated on their boots and clothing had begun to melt, and they left a puddle of water in front of the cash register.

“I’m so sorry about this mess,” Betsy said.

“Go on and finish your job,” the saleslady said. “We’ll clean this up. What a honeymoon you’re having. Be sure to take pictures of all this.”

“Honeymoon!” Betsy said when they were out of the store and trudging back to their poor faceless snowman. “Why would she think that?”

Declan laughed. “Only stupid kids, silly teenagers, or crazy newlyweds would be out in this weather making a snowman.”

“Well, since we are past the kid and the teenager stage, that only leaves one category, and she chose it,” Betsy agreed.

“So now we have to be Mr. and Mrs. Wiseman the rest of this trip because only married people go on honeymoons,” he said.

They rounded the north end of the mall and saw that tire tracks had plowed through the snow all the way from the hotel to the snowman. A woman was standing outside a bright-red Jeep, taking pictures of every angle of the snowman. When she saw them, she waved and motioned them forward.

“I believe it’s time to pull our ski masks down, Mrs. Wiseman,” Declan said.

“Why? Are you getting cold?”

“No, but if you will read what’s written on the side of that Jeep, you’ll see that woman is from the Gainesville newspaper. This big snow is front-page news, and several folks in Burnt Boot get the newspaper.”

“Oh no! What are we going to do?” she asked.

“Well, the one thing we are not going to do is let her see our faces.” He quickly pulled his mask back on.

She followed his lead and jerked her ski mask from her coat pocket and made sure every bright-red strand of hair was tucked up under it.

“Check me out,” she said.

“I have many times, and I’ve liked every angle. There’s a bit still showing in the back. Here, I’ll put it under your collar and adjust the back of the mask so it covers it. There we go,” he said.

“Hey, are you the newlywed couple who built this big, old boy?” the lady yelled when they got closer.

“We are,” Declan said.

“Come stand beside it and let me take your pictures. It’s the best one I’ve found and I’ve been out scouting the town all afternoon. What’re your names?” She snapped dozens of pictures as they gave the snowman a face, wrapped the scarf around his neck, and settled the straw hat on his head.

“We are the Wisemans. Maria and Joe,” Declan said.

“Well, Maria and Joe, will you please remove your ski masks for the camera? I want to put you on the front page of tomorrow’s paper with your snowman.”

“Can’t do that,” Declan said. “And we’d appreciate it if you didn’t use our names. We kind of eloped, and our families don’t know. They think we’re on business trips, so we’d better not let our faces show.”

“Why don’t you take a picture of us from behind, putting on his hat?” Betsy asked.

“Would you mind if I put it in the cutline that you are newlyweds who have to tell your folks before your names can be released and then maybe tell everyone you’re Maria and Joe Wiseman in a later edition? And maybe you could take my card and send me a picture of you together to put in that edition?”

“Sure thing,” Declan said.

“Okay, pretend you are putting on his hat, and let me get a picture of that. He’s a gorgeous snowman. Looks like he should be on a Christmas music album,” she said. “Oh, by the way, I’m Lacy, and here’s my card.”

Declan took it and shoved it into his pocket.

“Don’t forget to send me the picture,” she said.

“We won’t,” he said and then picked Betsy up by the waist and held her high enough so she could pretend to put the hat on the snowman.

“That’s fantastic.” Lacy snapped at least a dozen shots in the thirty seconds Declan had Betsy in his arms. “Let’s go have a cup of coffee. I’ll treat since you’ve been such good sports.”

Declan set Betsy on the ground but kept her hand in his. “We’ve got plans and…” He had to think fast and fake a sneeze before he said
Betsy
. “Maria is getting really cold, so I think we’ll go on in for a while. We’ll look for the picture in the paper tomorrow. Remember, darlin’, we’ll have to cut it out and put it in our wedding album.”

“Yes, we will,” Betsy said. “Thanks for the offer of coffee, Lacy.”

She managed to keep the laughter inside the ski mask until she reached the elevator in the hotel. The mask was a blur as it came off her head, red hair with static electricity sticking up like she’d stuck her finger in an electrical socket, and laughter echoing off the walls of the elevator.

Declan removed his mask, grabbed her around the waist, twirled her around a couple of times, and kissed her so hard and passionately that she went limp in his arms. “That was more fun than anything I’ve done in years.”

“What?” she asked breathlessly when he finally set her down. “The lies or the snowman?”

“All of it,” he said. “I’m hungry. How about you?”

“Starving. That aroma of cooking food in the Cracker Barrel almost made me stay there, rather than going back to finish up Mr. Snowman.”

The elevator doors opened, and they were just closing the door to their room when they heard a voice calling out, “Joe and Maria. Hey, Joe! You lost something.”

“Dammit!” Betsy swore even though she’d been doing so good at not cussing. “She caught that other elevator. Put your mask on or do something. I’m hiding out in the bathroom.”

“Hell’s bells!” Declan muttered. He opened the door just enough to stick out a hand. “What did I drop?” he asked.

“My business card.” She smiled and snapped a picture of one eye, his hand, and the door. “Here it is.” She put it in his hand and turned back toward the elevator.

“So much for going to the restaurant for something to eat. We’d better order some pizza,” she said.

“Pizza sounds good. I’ll order while you get out of those wet clothes. Hang them over the shower rod and they might be dry by morning,” he said.

“And to look on the bright side”—she rose on tiptoe to kiss him—“if we order pizza, we can get a six-pack of beer with it and some pasta and breadsticks, and we can always hit the vending machine for snacks, so we’ll be good for the whole day.”

He ran a forefinger from her temple to her lips. “I like cold kisses.”

“I like hot dessert,” she grinned.

“It’ll take at least forty-five minutes for them to get our order ready and drive all the way out here on these roads. How about we combine the kisses and the dessert while we wait?” he asked.

She started stripping out of her clothes while he picked up the menu card beside the phone and dialed the number.

“You need what?” she heard him say and then put his hand over the receiver. “He has to have a name and a room number to call back to the hotel and verify that this is legitimate. What if that nosy newspaper lady is in the lobby?”

“Give me that phone.” She held out her hand.

“This is Betsy Gallagher. I’m in room 312, and you can call this number”—she rattled off the number on the phone—“to verify it. But there’s a stalker in the lobby. A woman with a big camera, and if she asks you any questions, you are to say that you are delivering the order to Maria Wiseman. Write that down because it will mean a twenty-dollar tip if you do what I tell you. If you don’t, I’ll make you wish you had. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, ma’am. I do this kind of business all the time.” The young man laughed. “Maria Wiseman, what would you like to order?”

“A meat lover’s pizza with hand-tossed crust.” She looked up at Declan to see him holding up two fingers and said, “Make that two large ones of the same. A tray of chicken Alfredo and one of spaghetti and meatballs, a medium order of breadsticks with sauce, and two large bottles of Pepsi. And a six-pack of beer, preferably Coors.”

“That’s sixty-nine dollars and seventy-five cents total with tax,” he said. “We take cash, credit cards, or checks if they are local.”

“It will be cash,” she said.

“I’ll be there in forty-five minutes or I’ll cut the bill in half.”

“Thank you.” Betsy ended the call and laid her phone on the desk.

“You’re pretty good at that. This isn’t your first rodeo, is it?” Declan asked.

She smiled. “Not really. I’m pretty open with everything I do, but I do have a few secrets.”

“Me either,” he said. “Always been right out in the open.”

“No secrets about anything?” she asked.

“Well, I don’t kiss and tell.” He grinned.

She unbuttoned her flannel shirt and carried it to the bathroom. When she turned around, Declan was right behind her. He put the lid down on the toilet and sat down, reached out, and drew her to him, burying his face in her midsection.

“I wish we could go public, but if we did, it would turn Burnt Boot upside down, and we’d never get the stuff we need for the Christmas program,” he said.

She kissed the top of his head. “We’re like the song. Even though I’m not a city girl, it’s the same thing. We come from two different worlds that are really just alike but they can’t be mixed. So we’ll enjoy what we have a day at a time, Declan, and when it’s over, we’ll have our memories.”

He pulled her tighter into his embrace. “What if that’s not enough?”

“Then we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it. Forty minutes now until the pizza gets here, so let’s go curl up under the covers and get warm,” she teased.

He tugged her long underwear down to the floor and slung it up over the shower rod with her other wet clothes and then stripped out of his own, leaving all of it in a pile on the bathroom floor.

“Nice outfit there,” she said.

“I like yours much better.” He picked her up and carried her out of the bathroom, flipped back the covers on the bed with one hand, and tossed her into the middle. She squealed when she bounced, but he landed beside her and his lips found hers in a searing kiss that erased every sane thought from her mind.

When the pizza guy arrived thirty-nine minutes later, Declan met him at the door, handed him a fistful of bills, and brought the food to the bed. “The woman is still in the lobby, and she took a picture of him delivering pizza to the newlyweds. She offered him ten bucks to take a picture of either or both of us with the camera on his phone.”

“That hussy! Why would she do that?” Betsy fumed.