Holidays on the Ranch (Burnt Boot, Texas #1)(14)

“Nothing comes to mind,” Finn said.

“You get the coffee ready, and I’ll be there in the middle of the morning with a pie right out of the oven. And if you change your mind about that kid coming to Wild Horse school, just call the ranch number and let Granny know,” Betsy said and moved away into a sea of people.

“Did that just happen?” Finn drew Callie closer to his side.

“Looks like that bit about protecting you might come into play pretty quick.” Callie laughed nervously. “Kind of feels like we’re back in the war between the feuding families over in Afghanistan, doesn’t it?”

“I could work with that scenario better than this one,” Finn said.

“Girl, you ain’t big enough to protect him if they go to war over him,” Gladys said.

“We’re not getting into this feud, Gladys,” Finn said sternly. “We’ll keep to ourselves over on Salt Draw, and they can do whatever the hell it is that feuding families do.”

“Good luck with that.” Gladys chuckled.

***

Finn had tried his damnedest to pay attention to the Christmas program, but it hadn’t been easy. The tension surrounding him felt like the stillness right before a tornado drops out of the sky and rips apart everything from outhouse to hog sheds. It partly came from sitting in church between two families who’d like to shoot each other if only the law would make homicide legal. But the other part came from within his heart. He couldn’t keep his hands off Callie, and he was a grown man, not a sophomore in high school. He knew her well enough to know that she wouldn’t take to smothering. She’d always needed her space, and yet, even now his hand was on the small of her back. This new chemistry between them was hotter than July in Texas, and he flat-out liked the way it felt.

He wove their way through the rest of the congregation, shook the preacher’s hand, and was eager to get back to the safety of Salt Draw when he noticed a crowd of kids in the churchyard. When he rolled up on his tiptoes, he could see that Martin and the drummer boy had squared off with a whole group of other kids around them. Fists were up and their shoulders hunched forward in a stance that reminded him of a couple of young fighting roosters.

“Shit!” he mumbled.

“What?” Callie asked.

“Trouble,” he spit out and took off for the middle of the parking lot with her right behind him.

“Martin Brewster,” she yelled.

Finn didn’t say a word until he was between the two boys with a hand on each of their heads. “This is Sunday. There’ll be no fighting on the Lord’s day. Why do you want to fight Martin anyway?”

“He’s going to school over at River Bend. I heard my aunt Honey talkin’ about invitin’ him to join up with them, and that makes him my enemy,” the blond-haired drummer boy said.

“Martin is going to public school,” Callie said.

Keith dropped his fists and frowned. “He ain’t got on boots, so he ain’t a rancher. A cowboy wears boots, not them sissified shoes like he’s wearin’.”

“Well, you was wearin’ a skirt awhile ago,” Martin countered.

“Okay, boys. This is over,” Finn said. “We’re going home to have some dinner.”

The Gallagher boy ran back to a group of his buddies, and Martin stomped all the way to the truck, where he fumed in the back seat. “Why’d you go and do that? I could have whipped his ass, Callie.”

Callie turned around in the seat. “If I hear dirty words from you again, you’ll be punished. And the first thing you learn in combat is to know your enemy. If he’s smart, you be smarter. If he’s strong, then you be stronger. And the last is that you are not fighting anyone on the churchyard.”

Martin looked up and nodded seriously. “The next time he’s a smart”—he paused but Callie knew it took a lot of willpower not to say a bad word—“aleck, I’ll just drag him off the churchyard and whip his”—another pause—“hind end there. I’m glad I don’t have to go to school with him.”

“This is no way to make friends,” Finn said as he crawled into the truck.

“I didn’t make a friend. I made an enemy, and I will whip him next time he calls me a sissy just because I don’t wear cowboy boots,” Martin said.

“I guess we’d best go buy Martin some boots,” Finn said.

Martin folded his arms across his chest. “Yes, sir, I need boots, but I can make it ’til Christmas. I plan on askin’ Santa Claus for boots.” He popped in his earbuds and stared out the window.

“His shoes are new and they’re fine. I’m not wasting money on boots,” Callie said.

“His shoes have neon green on them, and this is a country school where the boys wear cowboy boots,” Finn argued.

“And once he testifies and that man is in prison, we’ll move on to a city where those green shoes will fit right in, Finn. He doesn’t need to be a follower. He has to learn to be himself and not mimic all the other kids,” she said.

“Boots won’t make him a follower. They’ll just stop a lot of name-calling and fighting,” Finn argued.

“My answer is no.”

Finn started up the engine and drove out of the parking lot toward Salt Draw. He disagreed with her about the boots, so he’d have to find a way around her. One that made Callie think it was her idea all along.