Holidays on the Ranch (Burnt Boot, Texas #1)(84)

“Is that what I think it is?” She squeezed Finn’s thigh under the table, more in fear than in flirtation.

“Sounds like it. Maybe it’s a medical chopper headed to Dallas, but it’s definitely a helicopter,” he said.

“It’s hovering right outside the house,” Callie whispered and noticed two of the waiters quietly slip through the big double doors and run outside.

One second it was warm and everyone was bragging on steaks. The next, the big glass window was gone. It didn’t shatter to the inside or the out. Callie watched it rise up into the sky and fly off into the darkness. The room felt like the eye of a tornado and then the north wind shot through the open space, bringing cold, sleet, and snow with it.

“There’s going to be dead Brennans floating in the Red River come morning,” Naomi screamed above the din of people leaving food on the tables and trying to get out of the room.

Panic didn’t set in until the cattle arrived. An old bull led the stampede into the room, crushing the head table and knocking Ilene into Orville, both of them landing on the floor at the same time. Then he plowed his way into the room like he was hunting for a big green pasture right there in the middle of winter.

There were about twenty cows behind him, and the whole crowd started running when they jumped over the short wall that had held the glass window and plowed right into the ballroom. Callie figured the best she could do was get out of the way, especially when the old bull came at her with what looked like a medium rare steak hooked in his left horn. She backed up into a corner, and the bull ran past her. His eyes were wild as he threw back his head and bawled at the big crystal chandelier, pawed a couple of times, and charged the Christmas tree in the center of the room.

Trying to help the people would be like herding feral cats. Betsy, bless her heart, was doing her damnedest to get them all gathered up and out of the room right up until she slipped in a nice warm pile of bullshit right there on the carpet and fell backward. The table she hit on her way down dumped green beans and corn into her pretty red hair, and a heifer raised her tail high and pissed in her lap.

Callie couldn’t move from the corner. It all happened so fast and yet in slow motion at the same time. Betsy was screaming. Cows’ eyes were rolling in their heads like billiard balls on a pool table. Naomi’s cussing would have put blushes on sailors’ faces. Gladys finally grabbed Callie by the hand and pulled her out of the corner.

“Time to get out of here before things get really bad. Looks like the steaks on the hoof have ruined steaks on the fine china plates.” She slapped a cow on the flank to make room for them to escape through the doors.

“Where is Finn?” Callie yelled.

“I’m right here behind you, Callie. A cow got between us, but I was on the way to rescue you.” His big hand closed over hers.

“I should have strapped my gun to my leg under this dress. There would be a bunch of dead cattle if I’d had it with me,” she said.

“I knew I was right about not sitting up there at the front of the room,” Gladys yelled. “See y’all later.”

Polly passed Finn and Callie on the way to the pasture to get their truck. “Y’all might as well come on down to the bar. I reckon that’s where most folks will go now.”

“So?” Finn asked.

“I’ll be more comfortable there than here. Hell, they’ll probably blame us first because we’ve been in the military. I wonder how they did that,” Callie said.

Polly yelled over her shoulder. “Don’t know how, but it was slick. The Brennans had better watch their backs now. To leave Santa with shit on him is one thing, but Naomi will be out for blood now.”

“Want to stop by her bar for a couple of plain old Coors beers on the way home?” Finn asked Callie.

“Will you dance with just me? We won’t be at a to-do, so we don’t have to share each other. And please tell me we don’t have to go to these parties every year, Finn.”

“I hope to hell not,” he said.

“I’m going to make a deal with Verdie. We’ll take turns. She has to go every other year. She should have to get dressed up at least every two years,” Callie said.

He drove back to the main road and turned north. In a few minutes he nosed the truck into one of the few remaining parking places in front of an old weathered building that looked as if it had never seen a coat of paint. A hand-painted sign swinging from chains on the porch had once said Burnt Boot Bar, but the letters in the last word were faded.

“We had a hamburger here that one time, but I never noticed the sign. I thought this was Polly’s Place,” she said.

“That’s what everyone in town calls it. Her husband built it and ran it. She worked in Gainesville for the state department until he died, and then she retired and kept the bar. That’s what Verdie told me,” Finn said.

They’d just claimed two stools and ordered a couple of beers in Polly’s bar when Amanda, the caseworker for the kids, touched Callie on the shoulder. “We have a family who is willing to take all three of the O’Malley kids, but they won’t be able to take them until January tenth. This is a married couple over in Amarillo.”

Callie’s heart dropped to her knees. “Are they going to adopt the kids?”

“No, just foster them. If someone wanted to adopt them, then that would take precedence. Of course, it would have to be a couple. We seldom ever adopt kids out to single parents. And there’s no one willing to take on three kids their age. Just thought I’d give you the heads-up so you’d be aware of what’s going to happen.” Amanda turned and started back to the table where her friends waited.