Holidays on the Ranch (Burnt Boot, Texas #1)(3)

Callie’s hand shook as she picked up the coffee cup and took a sip. When she set it down, he covered her hand with his, squeezing gently. “Take your time. There’s no hurry.”

“My sister was killed in a car wreck a couple of weeks before I got out of the service two years ago. I came home to a six-year-old nephew in foster care. I convinced the authorities to let me have him. Last week he witnessed a murder in the alley behind our apartment complex. They want to put us in the WITSEC program but I refused.”

“Go on,” Finn said.

“Even though he’s only eight, he got a good long look at the man who did the killing, and they are going to let him testify when it comes time,” Callie said.

“Are you willing to let this be a safe house for her?” Otis asked.

Finn turned to face Otis. “I owe this woman my life more times than I can count. If she wants to stay here, she damn sure can stay. We were more than partners and she was more than my spotter. She was my best friend, so does that answer your question?”

“Thank you, Finn,” she said.

He cocked his head to one side. “Callie, this is a ranch. If I remember right, you joined the army because you hated every damn thing there was about ranchin’. Are you sure you want to live here?”

“Guess I’ve found out there’s worse things in the world than the cows, hay haulin’, and calvin’ season,” she said. “I’m not askin’ for a handout here, Finn. I’m willing to work. I’ll work outside. I’ll work inside cleaning and cooking or both if you’ll give me and Martin room and board. And it doesn’t matter if I like it, Finn. I’ll do it until the trial is over, then we’ll be out of your hair.” She inhaled deeply. “I can ride a horse or a four-wheeler. I can pull a calf or drive anything that’s got wheels and fix most anything that’s got an engine. I’ll work cheap and, in exchange, Martin and I get to live here without fear until the trial is over, probably in early February.”

“That’s putting a lot of faith in one man,” Otis said.

“Not this man,” Agent Smith said seriously. “I’d trust him with my life. Hell, I’d trust him with the life of the president of the United States. I’ve tried to hire him to do just that but he turned us down, twice.”

Finn hated to unpack, do laundry, and most of all cook, and she’d offered to work inside or outside.

Finn O’Donnell, cats, dogs, and baby rabbits are one thing, but people are not strays. You don’t train them. You don’t get them well and turn them loose. Be careful, his inner voice warned.

“Have you gotten any better at frying a chicken? Is your gravy still lumpy and your biscuits tough?” Finn grinned.

“Chicken will melt in your mouth and my biscuits and gravy are fine, thank you,” she answered.

He hugged her close to his side, almost toppling her out of the chair. “Don’t you lie to me, Brewster. I remember your burnt fried chicken, and your biscuits could have been used as weapons of mass destruction.”

She pushed away from him. “Don’t you talk to me in that tone, O’Donnell. We were both drunk when we fried that chicken and we did it together and you were as much to blame for it as I was. I’ve learned to cook in the past two years. Raisin’ a kid means making dinner every night whether I want to or not.”

His heart kicked in an extra beat. He hadn’t felt so alive since he left Afghanistan and surely not since he’d heard what a fool he’d been when he fell for Lala. “Okay, we’ll try it until after the holidays. I wouldn’t want to spoil Christmas for Shotgun and it looks like he’s done took to that kid.”

Callie laughed until she snorted, held her hand out, and said, “Shake on it. I understand it’s all for your dog, not for me or my nephew. Your crazy sense of humor hasn’t changed a damn bit, Finn O’Donnell. Thank God for that.”





Chapter 2


“We were living in a furnished apartment.” Callie shrugged when she caught Finn looking at the bags the federal boys unloaded on the porch before they left.

“What’d you do for a paycheck?” he asked.

“I worked as a trainer in a gym and taught women’s self-defense classes,” she answered. “The army didn’t give me a lot of marketable skills for the outside world.”

The muscles in his arms flexed against the knit of his long-sleeved Western shirt when he picked up one of the duffel bags and threw it over his shoulder like a bag of cattle feed. Then he stooped, grabbed the other one, and hefted it up on the other shoulder.

“You want to get the door for me and call the kid into the house? I’ll show you where your rooms are,” he said.

“Hey, Martin, a little help here,” she yelled over her shoulder as she opened the door.

The boy came in a dead run with the dog right behind him. “Yes, ma’am. Wow, Callie! I bet Finn could pick you up.”

Callie could feel the heat coming up the back of her neck, but she couldn’t stop it. Soldiers didn’t blush. They were mean and tough and could take out snakes, spiders, and even enemy combatants. But a visual of her hanging over Finn’s back with her butt so close to his lips that he could kiss it—well, hell’s bells, that would make the devil himself blush.