A Cowgirl's Christmas (17 page)

But Savannah was so excited. “We get to go on a wagon ride and pick out the trees ourselves! And Sage brought hot cocoa and peppermint shortbread. And Dad’s going to make a fire.”

Callan couldn’t figure out a way to tell the little kid she didn’t want to participate. So she went. Dawson hitched the wagon to his truck and headed down back roads to a wooded area where they selected an eight-foot fir for the foyer and a much taller white pine for the living area.

True to his word, Dawson made a nice fire for them to sit around while they enjoyed cocoa from the big thermos Sage had brought, as well as several sweet and buttery cookies each.

Savannah prattled happily, but Callan tuned her out. She remembered times when her mother had been alive and their family had gone together to chop down Christmas trees. There had always been the two. One for the foyer and one for the living room.

After her mother’s death, those outings had stopped. Hawksley still cut down the trees but he did the job on his own, hauling them into the house and putting them into the stands with the help of one of his hired men.

He left the task of decorating to Callan and her sisters while he watched television alone in his study.

No, the family traditions had not been the same after their mother died. But Dani—Mattie was already married with twins of her own—had done her best to make the process fun for Sage and Callan. They’d made popcorn and listened to Christmas music. They’d done their best.

Two years later, Dani moved to Seattle to go to college. And four years after that Sage was gone, too, competing on the barrel-racing circuit. It had been left to Callan to decorate the trees, alone, after Hawksley put them up. She hadn’t bothered with popcorn or Christmas carols, performing the job instead to the muffled sounds of a hockey game playing on the television in Hawksley’s study.

“You’re awfully quiet.” Sage put her arm over Callan’s shoulders.

“Just thinking.”

“About Christmases past?”

Callan smiled ruefully. “How did you guess?”

“It’s only natural, since this will be the first Christmas without Dad.”

Callan stiffened. “How can you still call him that?”

Sage’s eyes softened with sympathy. “You mean because of what we found out in Mom’s letters? It was all a big shock, I admit. But what does it really change? Legally Hawksley was our father. And he’s also the man who raised us.”

But what about emotionally? Callan wanted to ask. Had he ever thought of them as his daughters? Had he ever...loved them? But this wasn’t the time for those questions. Savannah was getting restless, throwing snow on the fire so they could hurry up and take the trees back to be decorated.

They were lucky that the weather had been hovering above zero the past few weeks, so the trees weren’t frozen solid. It made it easier to bring them in the house and set them up in their respective tree stands. For additional safety, Dawson used fishing line to secure the top of the twelve-footer to the exposed rafters in the living room.

Earlier Callan had brought up from the basement the boxes of lights and decorations. For the smaller tree in the foyer they would use the western-themed ornaments Sage had purchased last year, while golden lights and handmade ornaments from their childhood would go on the bigger, more traditional tree.

“Are you going to invite Court for Christmas?” Sage asked when the work was done and they were admiring the result.

Savannah had gone outside with her father to supervise stringing lights up on the Douglas fir in the front yard.

“Why would I? He’s not family.”

“Callan. You know that isn’t true.”

“He’s gone out of his way to make it clear we are in no way blood-related.”

Sage gave her a considering look. “Interesting that he did that. But that’s being very technical. Under your rules, Savannah wouldn’t be family, either.”

“Of course she is. You’re married to her father, which makes you her step-mother.”

“But we don’t share a drop of blood in common.”

Callan waved a hand in annoyance. “Stop trying to outsmart me. Maybe you’re right and we should invite Court. But I don’t want to. Does that count for anything?”

“Yes. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be pushy.”

Savannah ran in from outside. “Come, look! The tree is working!”

Dutifully Callan joined Sage on the porch and oohed and aahed over the pretty tree. Callan couldn’t help thinking about all the years Hawksley had strung those lights. Would Court continue the tradition next year? He still hadn’t committed to buying the house from her, but it was the only thing that made sense.

“I’m hungry!” Savannah said, suddenly bored with the lights.

They all went inside to eat the chili Callan had thrown together in the crock pot that morning. When Dawson finally said it was time for them to go home, Callan was relieved. She felt like a Grinch and knew her sour mood had taken some of the fun out of the day for the others.

But it had been such a strain to pretend to be happy when she was far from it.

Before driving away, Sage brought in a box from the truck. “Mom’s diaries. I’ve read them and they were wonderful. Like a nice, long visit with Mom. But take your time with them. You don’t need to read them until you’re ready.”

Once they’d gone, Callan turned off all the lights in the house and went to Hawksley’s study. Stripped of all his papers and files, it felt like a different room. She settled on the window seat and looked out at the Douglas Fir glowing majestically in the night.

It was such a beautiful tree.

And all she wanted to do was cry.

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O
n Wednesday of that week, Callan awakened with a sore throat and congested sinuses. She called Sage, who urged her to stay home for the rest of the week and get better. Callan didn’t want to stay home or rest, she preferred to keep busy. But she didn’t want to risk passing the virus on to Sage or her customers, so she took the advice.

The cool, cloudy grey day didn’t tempt Callan further than the living room couch. She spent the morning drinking tea with ginger and lemon and reading back issues of
Western Horseman
and other favorite publications. For lunch she made herself a package of chicken noodle soup and crackers.

As she sat at the table looking out at the western view, the sun broke out of the clouds. Suddenly the world sparkled. Convincing herself she felt a lot better, Callan changed into her work clothes and went to the horse barn. Maybe she’d take Sapphire for a little ride. As she led her black quarter horse into the barn to tack her up, she deliberately avoided looking in the direction of Zorro’s stall.

She tied Sapphire up in the prep area, then gave her a good brushing. She murmured to the horse as she groomed her. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it? Don’t worry, once I find us a nice new home I’ll be able to ride you more regularly.”

She placed the saddle cloth on Sapphire’s back first, then as she was lifting the saddle a wave of dizziness struck and she had to drop it back on the rack. Damn, maybe this hadn’t been such a good idea. But she hated to ditch her plans now that she had Sapphire all primed for a ride.

Maybe if she just sat down for a minute, she could give that saddle a second try.

Callan sank onto the bench against the side wall and closed her eyes. Sapphire gave an impatient snort, then was quiet. Suddenly Callan heard the sound of male voices. They were distant but moving in this direction.

Damn, she didn’t want to see anyone, especially not Court. She went to the window on the opposite wall and glanced outside. Red, Jim, Derek, Tyler and Court were heading toward the cattle barn. She could see them all clearly and it struck her how Court stood out from the others. Strange that he’d once struck her as weak and citified.

Because he looked one-hundred percent rancher right now. Tall, strong, dark-haired and confident. The men were grinning, at ease with one another, but it was clear that the other men considered Court the boss.

He said something and the others laughed. Red clapped Court on the back.

Her father had been dead only two months—and already Court had a rapport with these men. How had he managed it so quickly?

After less than a minute, the men were out of sight.

Callan leaned back against the wall. She was suddenly cold, shivering. Probably she was coming down with a fever. Apologetically she removed Sapphire’s saddle blanket and bridle. “Sorry, girl. I’m going to have to give you a rain check.”

In the house she ran herself a bath, which helped make her toasty warm, but by then she’d developed an awful headache. She gave herself a quick towel-off before crawling into bed.

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I
t was dark in her room when Callan awoke to the sound of pounding at the front door. Groggily, she pulled on sweat pants and a hoodie. “Coming!”

Yelling made her throat hurt so she didn’t do it again, just carefully negotiated the stairs, trying to ignore the pounding in her head and the spots flashing in her eyes. At the foyer she turned on the lights before opening the door.

Oh, great. Court. Just the person she wanted to see when she was at her worst. She put a hand to her hair and felt a tangle of knots. “Um...not a good time.”

“Your sister called. Said you were home sick but not answering your phone. She was worried and I can see why.”

“I was sleeping. And it’s just a cold.”

“You look like you’re running a fever. Probably doesn’t help letting in all this freezing air. May I come in?”

He didn’t wait for an answer but stepped inside and closed the door. “Have you taken anything?”

“We have pain relievers somewhere, but I couldn’t find the bottle.”

“I’m not surprised. Looks like you can hardly open your eyes. Want me to check your medicine cabinet for you?”

“Don’t have one.”

“What?”

“Dad never got sick. Neither do I.”

He looked her up and down. “Obviously.”

She sighed. “Well, this is the first time in years. But I’m sure I’ll be better after a good night’s sleep.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure.” He held up a packet. “I bought some of this, in case. Hot lemon tea with good stuff to combat cold and flu symptoms. I’ll put on the kettle.”

She held out her hand. “Just leave it with me.”

“You can hardly stand. Go flop down on the sofa. This will only take a few minutes.”

Callan knew she ought to argue more forcefully but she didn’t have the energy. Her entire body thanked her when she curled up as instructed on the long end of the sectional sofa. It was no longer just her head that was aching but every muscle and every bone. She felt a little cool but couldn’t summon the will to grab the blanket at the other end of the sofa so she curled her legs up to her chest and shivered.

“Good God,” Court said, when he came back with the hot lemon drink.

Callan had no idea how much time had passed. Could have been five minutes. Could have been an hour.

“You’re freezing,” Court continued, setting down the drink then arranging the blanket over her. “Hang on, I’ll get your pillow and duvet from your bedroom so you can be properly warm and comfortable.”

“Don’t,” she managed to whisper through a throat that felt dry and painful. The lemon tea smelled wonderful. But the mug was so far away. She closed her eyes and dozed off again.

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C
allan’s room was a mess, with clothing on the floor and stacks of paper on the bedside table and dresser. Real estate listings, Court noticed, which made him feel a complicated mixture of guilt, disappointment and...resignation. Callan had been upfront about her plans from the beginning. Obviously she was taking steps to act on them soon.

Court grabbed the pillow and duvet and made a quick exit. Downstairs, he found Callan sleeping or passed out, hard to tell which. He eased the pillow under her head so she wouldn’t wake with a kink in her neck, then replaced the skimpy blanket with the duvet.

She sighed but didn’t awaken. She looked very soft and feminine lying there, absent the usual defiant set to her chin.

These past few weeks Court had been spending most of his time with Red and the other hired men, especially Derek, who had been working at the Circle C for about fifteen years. From things they’d said, he’d gained a better understanding of the factors that had shaped Callan and made her who she was.