A Cowgirl's Christmas by C. J. Carmichael Page B

Justin had pulled her up to the dance floor.
    “You seeing anyone these days, Callan?” he asked as he pulled her in for a two-step.
    “Why would you ask that?”
    “I dunno. Just wondering.”
    “Well, don’t wonder, Justin. Why don’t we just dance?”
    He shrugged. “Sure, Callan. You call the shots, I’m good with that.”
    He shut his lips then, and focused on his moves, which were good. She’d forgotten how smooth Justin was on the dance floor. They stayed for the next song and the one after that. By the time they returned to their table, most of the nachos had been eaten.
    She grabbed a few, then Gerry, the guy who’d given her a lift the other night, challenged her to a game of pool.
    “You’re on.” She scarfed the nachos, grabbed a few more, then headed to the back where Gerry already had a beer waiting for her. “Rack ‘em up.”
    She had a nice beer buzz going and was enjoying the game and the bantering with Gerry when suddenly she noticed someone new come in the door. Immediately the funk she’d walked in with settled back on her shoulders.
    It was her barroom buddy, Dillon Sheenan.
    Only he wasn’t just her barroom buddy anymore. He was her frigging half-brother. How messed up was that? And what was she supposed to do about it? Tell him?
    No. She’d dealt with enough crap today. Maybe she’d just try to avoid him.
    But of course that didn’t work.
    “Hey, Callan.” He watched her make a shot. “You’re hot tonight, babe.”
    Ewww. “Don’t call me babe.”
    “What the hell? I always call you babe.”
    “Not any more you don’t.” She bent over the table to line up her next shot. Sensing his eyes on her, she stood. “And don’t check out my cleavage, either.”
    Dillon threw up his hands. “What’s gotten into you, tonight?”
    “I know. Right?” Justin was on the sidelines, watching, too, now. “She’s been touchy all night.”
    “Back off you guys,” Gerry said. “Haven’t you heard about her daddy’s will?”
    Callan stiffened. She hadn’t expected word to get out this quickly. Someone from the family must have talked. But who? She knew Ren Fletcher was much too professional to be the source of the gossip. Maybe Savannah had overheard Dawson and Sage discussing the terms then said something to her friends? “Shut up, Gerry.”
    But Gerry had an audience now, not just Dillon and Justin but about half-a-dozen other people who’d overheard and were now moving closer to get in on the rest.
    “Hawksley’s left the Circle C ranch to that guy from Minnesota, the one who came in the bar the other night and put the moves on Callan.”
    “No shit.” Dillon looked as affronted as if it were his own birthright that had been taken from him. “This isn’t true, is it Callan?”
    Everyone was staring at her, waiting for her answer. She tossed her cue stick down. “Yeah. It’s true.” Then she started for the door, ignoring the follow-up questions, shrugging off the hands that tried to grab hold of her arms.
    She stopped at her chair to retrieve her jacket, left some money for her tab, then made for the exit. She didn’t put her odds at a clean getaway very high, and she was right. Dillon followed right after her.
    It was dark outside, and cold. She buttoned up her jacket then checked to make sure her keys were still in her pocket.
    “What was that all about?” Dillon shoved his hands in his jean pockets and hunched his shoulders against the wind. He hadn’t stopped to put on a coat or anything. “It doesn’t make sense. Why wouldn’t Hawksley leave his ranch to you?”
    “It’s complicated, Dillon. And you might not like the answer.”
    “Me? What do I have to do with this?”
    “Last chance to go back into the bar and enjoy a fun, uncomplicated Saturday night.”
    “No way. I want you to level with me.”
    “Okay, well hang onto your boot straps. Because we found out that Hawksley wasn’t our biological father. That’s why he left the ranch to Court,