Holidays on the Ranch (Burnt Boot, Texas #1)(28)

She leaned back in the tub, letting the warm water work the kinks out of her body. She hadn’t had a workout like that since she’d been home. The gym seemed like a pansy cop-out after the paces Finn had just put her through, but he’d been right. It had damn sure taken her mind off Martin’s first day at a new school. She waited until the water went lukewarm before she crawled out and wrapped a towel around her body. She peeked out the door to be sure Finn wasn’t in sight and darted across the hallway to her room.

She’d barely gotten her jeans and shirt pulled on when she heard the crunch of tires out front. That put her into fast mode as she started to worry. Martin had gotten sick and they’d been away from the house phone, so Tamara had driven him home. Or, worse yet, that damn convict had connections on the outside and he’d sent someone to make sure Martin did not testify. She opened the top drawer in the dresser and pulled out a small locked safe. Two minutes later she was shoving a clip into a Glock Gen4 pistol and heading out toward the door.

The front door was wide open, and Finn was nowhere around. If someone was bringing Martin home, then the door wouldn’t be hanging open. She pressed the gun against her leg. Then the screaming began and she put on the speed.

“You damn bitch. You’ve ruined my pie.”

Holy shit! That was Betsy and she’d really brought Finn an apple pie. Where in the hell was he, anyway?

Callie threw open the storm door to see Finn, arms crossed over his chest, standing there like a statue in his thermal shirt, jeans, and boots while Honey and Betsy squared off for another match. Only this time it damn sure didn’t look like it was going to be words only.

Good, she thought. Maybe they’ll snatch each other bald-headed and scratch each other’s eyes plumb out.

“Well, look what you did to my cookies!” Honey yelled.

Shotgun was making short order of the pie, and Pistol was gobbling down the cookies. Joe had set up a howl in the dining room squawking, “Cat. Cat. Run. Run,” over and over.

Betsy threw the first punch, landing it square in Honey’s right eye, and the fight was on. They pulled hair, screamed obscenities, and slapped or punched wherever they could find a place to hit.

“You going to put a stop to this?” she asked Finn.

He shook his head. “I’m going in the house. They can roll around in the snow until they freeze for all I care. I didn’t know that Shotgun liked apple pie. Guess he does.”

Pistol picked up the final cookie and carried it in the house. Shotgun slurped up the last bit of pie and paraded past them to his warm spot in front of the fire. Now Joe was screaming that he wanted a cracker.

“I don’t want to deal with the undertaker or frozen dead bodies,” she said. She aimed the gun at the mesquite tree nearest to the women and fired off six shots, sending bark flying everywhere.

They both jumped up and covered their heads with their hands. “Why in the hell are you shooting at us?” Honey screamed.

“If I was shooting at you, you’d be graveyard dead, woman. Get your sorry asses off this ranch, and don’t come back or I might miss that ’squite tree next time and put a bullet in your boobs. I mean it, get out of here.” She brought the gun up to aim right at Honey’s big breasts.

“You going to let her talk like that to me?” Honey asked Finn.

“I’m not crossin’ her,” he answered.

“This ain’t over,” Betsy declared on her way to her truck.

Callie fired one more shot that landed two feet from the front tire of the truck. “You want to fight among yourselves, then get on with your sorry-assed feud, but when you step on Salt Draw, you leave your fightin’ behind.”

They spun out of the driveway and slipped and slid all the way out to the road in their hurry to get away. She jacked the magazine out of her gun and carried it to the kitchen table. Damned old bitches, anyway. Now she’d have to tear it down and clean it before she put it away.

“I’ve got to make a fast run to Gainesville for a load of feed. You want to go or stay here and calm down?” Finn asked.

“I’d best stay here. You’ll be back in time for dinner, right?”

“Joe wants a cracker,” the bird yelled.

Pistol picked up the cookie he’d brought inside and carried it to the newspaper under Joe’s makeshift tree house.

“I’ll be damned. That dog saved a cookie for his buddy. Guess I’d best help him get it up to the bird. I’ll run by Walmart for some parrot food. Anything you need?” Finn said.

Leave it to a man to act like nothing had just happened. She’d fired her gun seven times and taken care of the catfight over him. A thank-you would be nice; a hug would be even better.

“Not a damned thing.” She laid the gun down with the clip right beside it.

He spun her around, wrapped his arms around her, and hugged her tightly. “That was some fancy target practice out there, Brewster. But I got to admit, I was wonderin’ just where we were going to bury two bodies in this kind of weather and if the feud wouldn’t get worse when both sides thought the other one had killed one of their own.”

“Well, shit fire! If I’d thought of that, I wouldn’t have shot the tree, I’d have stopped them from sniffing around you for good. And I’d have gotten away with murder, Finn.” She laughed. “But I don’t reckon we’ll have any more problems with their damned old feud, not on Salt Draw.”