A Cowgirl's Christmas (13 page)

She rolled her eyes and tried to focus on someone else’s conversation. Dawson was sitting to her right, across from him were Sage and Savannah. Savannah was full of questions about the day. How many cows had they found in the mountains? How did they make the cows walk back to the ranch? Didn’t the cows get tired?

They were smart questions, Callan thought, and Sage and Dawson did a good job of patiently answering them.

Then suddenly Savannah was asking a question of Callan.

“Why are you bleeding?”

Callan looked down at her left wrist. She’d noticed a deep scratch when she was washing up. She must have broken the scab. “Must have happened when I broke off those branches to scare away the—” Yikes. Should she say anything about the mountain lion to Savannah? What if the kid ended up having nightmares? Or developing a phobia or something?

“Here.” Court suddenly pressed a clean tissue against the cut.

She tried to pull her hand away, but he held tight.

“You need to apply pressure for a while to stop the bleeding,” he said.

He was applying pressure alright. The wrong kind. “Thanks. I can handle it.”

He held up his palms as if to say,
hey, I was just trying to help.

Meanwhile, Savannah was still waiting for her to finish her story.

“What did you scare away?”

Callan glanced at Dawson, who gave her a nod of permission. She turned to the little girl. “A mountain lion. It was going after one of the calves, trying to separate it from the mother cow. Court and I scared it away.”

“Wow. Was the baby calf okay?”

“Yup. We got there just in time.”

“Cool.” Savannah turned to her father. “Can I have one more piece of huck pie?
Please
?”

“Since you worked so hard helping in the kitchen today, yes, go ahead.”

“Thanks, Dad!” She jumped out of her seat and ran off to the kitchen.

Callan grinned at Dawson. “And here I was afraid I was going to traumatize her with that story.”

“She’s pretty tough, that daughter of mine.”

Savannah was Dawson’s child from his first, short, disastrous marriage. It had taken Dawson many years to untangle himself from that mess and come to Marietta to win back Sage’s heart. Sage almost hadn’t forgiven him—and for good reason. Dawson hadn’t mentioned he was separated but still married when they first hooked up.

It had worked out for them, eventually, and Callan was glad. Dawson obviously made Sage very happy. And Sage got along well with Savannah, too, which was lucky because Savannah’s mother wasn’t very reliable.

They made a great little family. But maybe one day Sage would want a child of her own? Callan had never thought to ask her. But once the idea was in her head, she noticed something else. Most of the adults at the table were drinking either wine or beer. Sage, however, was not.

Callan looked pointedly at Sage’s water glass, then raised her eyebrows.

To her delight, Sage started to blush.

So she was right! Sage was pregnant! She started to say something, but Sage pressed a finger to her lips.

Dawson had taken in the silent exchange. Now he leaned over to whisper in Callan’s ear. “You guessed right, but we want to save the news for a happier time. Maybe Christmas.”

Callan immediately sobered and nodded. It was strange how she could experience short periods of time when she forgot Hawksley had died and they’d lost the Circle C. It was always such a relief to forget, but then so painful when the reality crashed back in.

She excused herself from the table, scraped away her leftovers and put her plate in the dishwasher. When she was done, she noticed Court watching her again. Damn it, now he was going to bug her about not eating any roast beef.

But he surprised her by not saying a word about it. Instead, he contemplated the pies on display for dessert. They were both homemade and beautiful, one studded with candied pecans, the other sprinkled with cinnamon sugar.

“Pumpkin or huckleberry?” he asked. “This is a very tough question.”

She stepped ahead of him and helped herself to a slice of each. “Not really.”

This time when she went back to the table, he didn’t follow. It was a very odd thing. But she sort of missed him.

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A
fter the round-up, Court took a few days to go back to St. Paul. He spent time with his parents, packed up his place and settled his involvement with the accounting firm where he worked. They were sorry to see him leave, and promised he could have his job back when he got tired of being a Montana cowboy.

Court couldn’t see that happening. But it was good to keep options open.

When he returned to Marietta, he took a few days to get settled into the foreman’s old cabin. It was perfect for him, with a loft bedroom and a big stone fireplace on the main floor. The kitchen was small but serviceable, and best of all there was a wide west-facing deck, where he could sit and admire the view of the Gallatins. On a clear day he could make out the distant peak of Copper Mountain, to the north.

The intermittent snow from the day of the round-up had continued for several days and now all the peaks were heavy with snow. But at lower elevations it had melted. The reprieve, Court knew, wouldn’t last long. Now that October had faded into gray, cold November, a blizzard was only a question of time. He just hoped they’d be ready for it on the Circle C.

He laughed at himself. Even his inner thoughts were beginning to sound like those of a rancher. The transition to ranch life had been more natural than he’d expected. There wasn’t much of his old life he missed. It was easy to keep in touch with his friends on Facebook, and he’d made plans for a ski trip with some buddies for the week after Christmas. He did worry about his mother, who was making slow, painful progress with her rehab. She’d put up a brave face when he was home, and so had his father.

“We’re fine, son, don’t you worry. By next spring your mother will be almost as good as new. We’re so excited to see the Circle C when all the new calves are being born.”

Court was excited for that, too. But first he had winter to get through. His first order of business once he returned from St. Paul was to have several meetings with Red, and one with the entire staff. He practically begged Callan to attend as well, but she refused.

He didn’t know what she was doing with her time. Every morning she went to the barn to feed and groom Montana Sapphire and Cinnamon Girl, then she’d drive off somewhere in her old blue truck and wouldn’t return until almost dark.

A few times he’d attempted to “accidentally” run into her in the horse barn, but she seemed to be able to sense when he was around and varied her chore time accordingly.

Perhaps he should forget about her. Let her move on and make a new and different life for herself. But that approach didn’t sit well. Callan was a pebble in his boot, annoying and impossible to ignore. Yet, unlike the pebble, alluring as well.

Finished with the pork chop, onion and mushrooms he’d fried up for dinner, Courtmicrowaved coffee left over from the morning and went out to the deck. It was cold, but he was wearing a coat, and the view was worth it.

He settled into the gliding chair that had come with the place and rested his boots up on the deck railing. A yawn overtook him and he found himself craving sleep. The early mornings were catching up to him. But at least he was learning a lot from Red about how to operate the Circle C.

What he’d been putting off, maybe out of a sense of complacency, was the business end of things. According to Red, Hawksley had paid all the bills and kept all the records in his study. If Callan got home at a decent hour, maybe he’d see about fetching them tonight.

He took another sip of coffee and sighed. The quiet out here was intoxicating. Cradling the mug between his hands, he was just nodding off when the sound of an approaching vehicle cut into the silence. He opened his eyes in time to see Callan’s blue Ford turning down the lane to the Circle C. With one long gulp he finished off the coffee and left the mug on the railing.

The cabin was just a short walk from the ranch house, through a grove of cottonwoods that offered a shield of privacy to both places. More in the summer when the leaves were on the trees but even now that they were bare, there were enough of the slender, pale trunks to block the one home from the other.

He decided to try the back door first, and shortly after he knocked Callan opened it. She was wearing a basic outfit of jeans and a sweater with her hair pulled back in a severe ponytail, yet to him she was still gorgeous. She also smelled incredibly sweet and delicious.

Her first reaction was to frown at him.  “What are you doing here?”

The emphasis was on the “you,” making it clear she found the surprise visit unpleasant.

“I was hoping I could take a look through Hawksley’s accounts and records. Since you told me they’re all manual, I bought a computer yesterday and an accounting software package. I figured I should transfer over the balances and get everything set up.”

While the will was in probate, Ren Fletcher’s office was overlooking the cash transactions, making sure all the necessary bills were being paid. At some point he had to be prepared to take over all of that.

“Yeah. I figured you’d want that stuff eventually. I’ve got everything ready, in boxes. You might want to get your truck.”

“Mind if I see?”

She shrugged then stepped aside for him to enter. Once he’d pulled off his boots she led him down the hallway to the office at the front end of the house. Inside were about fifteen cardboard banker boxes.

He gaped.

“Hawksley wasn’t much for throwing things away. I tried to organize the papers by year. But—” Again, she shrugged.

He reconsidered her idea of getting the truck. But if he did that, he’d have no more excuses to drop by.  “Any idea which of these are most recent?”

“The dates are written on the sides of the boxes.”

“Okay. Thanks.” He waited, hoping she would offer him a drink. But no, this was Callan. Of course she wouldn’t do anything so normal and polite.

“Having second thoughts about getting the truck?”

“Nah, I’ll just take a few to get started.” He stacked 2013 on top of 2014, hen straightened. A closer look at Callan revealed a drop of something sticky and butterscotch-colored on the side of her neck. “What’s that?”

She reached for the spot he was looking at. “Oh. Must be caramel.” She licked the gooey dab from her finger.

“Let me guess. The newest perfume from Ralph Lauren?”

Her mouth twisted until she finally allowed a reluctant smile. “I’ve been helping Sage at her store. Stocking up on product for the holidays.”

“No wonder you smell so good.”

Her eyes widened. God, he loved when that happened.

“You should stop by the store sometime. I recommend the dark chocolate caramels with sea salt. But the ones with rosemary are pretty cool, too.”

“Great. I’ll take some to my folks for Thanksgiving.”

“So you’re going home for the holiday?”

Court hesitated. Strangely enough, the Circle C Ranch already felt like home to him. But he doubted Callan would appreciate that fact. “To St. Paul, yes. Just for a few days.”

“For Christmas, too?”

He shook his head. “I doubt it. Mom’s sister and her husband are coming for the entire month of December. They’ll have a full house.” And he wanted to be in his new home for Christmas and especially New Year’s Eve.“Anyway. I suppose I should get going.” He picked up the stacked boxes and carried them to the mudroom where he stopped to put on his boots. Callan opened the door for him but he paused when he saw how dark it had become.

“Do you have a flashlight?”

“No.” Even if he did, he had no free hand to hold it with.

“I can turn on the yard light, but it won’t get you all the way to the cabin. Hang on.” From the shelf that ran above a series of coat hooks on the wall, she grabbed an electric lantern. Then she slipped on her own jacket and boots.

Court hesitated, not liking the idea of a woman walking him home. “You don’t need to do this. I’ll be fine.”

“It’s cloudy out there. No moon or stars. Trust me, you need this.”

Without waiting for him to agree, she stepped outside and he followed. The lantern provided a wide swath of light, and Court was glad for it a few minutes later when he narrowly missed tripping over an exposed root from one of the cottonwood trees.

Overhead, he heard a flapping of wings. “Owl?” he guessed.

“Most likely.” Callan took a deep breath. “Smells like snow.”

He agreed. “I’ll bet this place looks beautiful after a fresh snowfall.”

“Yeah. But snow causes a lot of work. You have to put chains on the trucks, clear the snow from the yard and haul hay out to the cattle. They eat more when it’s cold. Then there’s making sure the water lines don’t freeze and...” Her words trailed off. “But Red will tell you all that.”

Once he reached the front door of the cabin, Callan stopped and began to turn around. Court dropped the boxes to the porch floor. “I almost forgot to tell you—Red says your father’s horse is off his feed.”