A Cowgirl's Christmas by C. J. Carmichael

spent a lot of time riding horses. In the evening he and dad would look at pictures from their summer at the ranch and share the same stories over and over. They never got tired of them.”
    “Where did you ride horses?”
    “My folks own about a hundred acres outside of the city. Both Mom and Dad are avid riders. That’s how they met. They used to take lessons from the same trainer when they were in their teens.”
    Callan raised her eyebrows. “So that explains it.”
    “Why I didn’t take a tumble when you were racing to the barns? Yeah, I guess it does.”
    Again she smiled, a fraction wider this time. But almost immediately she sobered. “I wish Da—Hawksley had told us stories like that. He never talked about his past much, unless it was to explain how to do a job on the ranch.”
    “Since he and Dad were both single children, they grew up more like brothers than cousins. I know my Dad still wants to come to the Circle C and pay his respects, once Mom’s condition has stabilized.”
    “I did hear your Mom had a stroke. That’s awful. Is she going to be okay?”
    “We hope so. She has a lot of weakness in her left side. Trouble walking and speaking. But she’s getting therapy.”
    “Why didn’t your family ever visit the Circle C when Hawksley was alive?”
    “He never invited us. Dad told me he wanted to keep the two sides of his life separate.”
    “I can guess why.” Callan’s tone was bitter. “It’s clear Hawksley considered you and your parents his real family. Who knows what we were to him? Just an obligation, I guess. We weren’t his kids, but he’d promised our mother he’d raise us as his own.”
    That was pretty much the way Hawksley had described the situation to them, so Court couldn’t argue with her. He tried to remember a time when Hawksley had said something nice about his daughters, something he could recount to Callan as an offering, to make her feel better.
    But Hawksley had only rarely mentioned his wife and daughters during his visits.
    She jumped up from her seat. “Hell, I forgot all about the coffee. How do you take yours?”
    “Black.”
    Apparently she did, too, because she filled two mugs and brought them straight to the table. She pushed his across the island toward him. “How much longer are you planning to stay at the Graff Hotel?”
    “I’m hoping tonight will be the last time. Eventually I’d like to settle in the furnished cabin down the road. At some point I need to get back to St. Paul, pack up my things and settle business with my firm.”
    “The cabin is quite nice. The foreman before Red used to live there. Red has a wife and three kids and they prefer to live in Marietta. The cabin probably needs a good cleaning, but it’s comfortable. Red should have the key.”
    “I’ll ask him this evening. I’ve set up a meeting with him at the hotel at seven. Want to come?” He kept his tone casual, but couldn’t help feeling anxious about her reply.
    “Why would I do that?”
    “If we’re going to run this place together, don’t you think we both need to talk to Red?”
    “You’re assuming I plan to accept your offer.”
    Damn right he was. “Only a fool would walk away from the opportunity to own fifty percent of the Circle C.”
    “Then call me a fool. Cause I’m walking. If Hawksley didn’t consider me Carrigan enough for the Circle C, then I don’t want any part of it. I promised my sisters I’d stay here until after Christmas, but come January I’ll be moving out and putting this place up for sale.”
    ––––––––

    ––––––––
    T he woman was incorrigible, insufferable and unpredictable. Court had never met anyone like Callan. What sane woman would walk away from an offer—a very generous offer—like the one he’d just made?
    And she’d meant it, too. No sooner had he finished his coffee than he’d been shown the door.
    “That takes care of our business,” Callan had said briskly. “If you don’t mind,