Holidays on the Ranch (Burnt Boot, Texas #1)(22)

“Mouse,” one of them finally gasped.

And sure enough, a little brown furry creature ran out the loose-fitting arm of her flowing shirt and jumped straight into the punch bowl. The other woman shook her arms so hard that they were nothing but a blur, and another mouse dropped out on the table and ran across the cookies and cupcakes.

Like a flying squirrel, the critter bailed off the table, all four legs stretched to the sides and its tail straight as a ramrod. It landed about waist level on Honey’s pretty red velvet dress, scurried upward, and came to rest on her head. She did a combination break dance and a series of clumsy acrobatic moves as she tried to swat the thing off her head without touching it.

In all the commotion of women screaming and men running to help poor Honey, someone grabbed the edge of the table holding the punch bowl with the first mouse doing laps around it and yanked. Coffee, hot chocolate, and punch went every which way, and the people who’d been trying to help Honey retreated to the back of the store.

Callie seriously considered climbing on the checkout counter, but one of the mice took off in that direction, so she made an abrupt turn and headed for the door. A kid who she recognized as Keith Gallagher brushed past her and made his way outside with the scrambling crowd. She watched him flee into the shadows between two cars and squat down. If he was the culprit in turning those mice loose in Gladys’s store, he should be grounded for eternity plus three days. She shivered, not from the cold as much as from the fact that those damned mice were so close to her feet. She would have fainted dead if one of them had run up inside her clothing.

“What the hell just happened in here?” Gladys yelled. “I don’t have mice in my store. The Gallaghers put someone up to this shit.”

“I saw one of their brats running out of the store,” Honey screamed. “I’ll tar and feather the little bastard if I catch him.”

Declan Brennan, bless his heart, attempted to salvage the rest of the party. He turned on the microphone and said, “Looks like there was a little mishap with the refreshments inside, but it’s time to light the Brennan family tree. We’d like to welcome everyone. We’ve done this for a hundred years right here in Burnt Boot, and we’re glad you could join us.” He picked up the plug and the long extension cord running electricity from the store and made a big show of connecting the two.

Callie was busy watching the kid in the shadows rather than the tree. He stood up and hurled what looked like a rolled newspaper toward the big fancy tree. The flame on the end sent her adrenaline into overload for a split second until she figured out it wasn’t a stick of dynamite, but a whole package of firecrackers. She covered her ears when they went off, and everyone hit the ground or ran toward their cars.

“What the hell?” Finn pulled both Callie and Martin close to his sides. “Where’s the shooter?”

“It’s firecrackers,” Callie yelled, but it sounded so much like machine-gun fire that her blood ran cold.

Gladys laid a hand on Callie’s shoulder. “I was afraid something like this would happen. War has been declared.”

“I guess everyone will go home now and the Gallaghers’ party will be a bust,” Callie said breathlessly.

“Oh no! We’ll all go see what the Brennans can come up with on the spur of the moment. Paybacks are hell,” Gladys said. “I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”

“What about the mess in your store?”

“The Brennans will clean it up. Let’s go on over to the bar,” Gladys said.

“Lord, I thought we’d really gotten between the Hatfield and McCoy bunch there for a minute,” Callie said.

“I know,” Finn said. “It did sound like machine-gun fire when we were that close to it.”

“Would you look at that tree?” Callie quickly changed the subject. Too much talk about guns and Martin would have a nightmare for sure.

“Do you think they’ll have cookies, too?” Martin asked. “I never did get one, and I sure didn’t want one after that mouse ran all over them.”

Finn laid his hand over Callie’s on the console. “I imagine they’ll have something good to eat. They won’t let the Brennans outdo them.”

“He’ll remember the mice more than the firecrackers,” Finn said in a low voice as he gave Callie’s hand a gentle squeeze.

The tree out in front of the bar was a foot or so taller than the one in front of the store. It sported a star on top instead of an angel, and it had lots of garland that would probably be blown away by the north wind before a week was out. But right then it was as pretty as the Brennans’ tree.

The Gallaghers had set up a flatbed out in the middle of the pasture right beside the bar with upbeat holiday music coming through the big speakers. Several young folks were dancing to “Merry Christmas Baby,” performed as a duet by Elvis Presley and Gretchen Wilson.

“May I have this dance?” Finn asked when they were out of the truck. “Maybe if everyone sees us dancing, those two women will think we’re a couple.”

Callie looped her arms around his neck, and Finn executed some very fine two-stepping. “That’s not the way it works. They’ll just put me in their crosshairs to get rid of the competition.”

“Santa Claus,” Martin gasped.

“Where?” Callie turned quickly.