Read Online A Cowgirl's Christmas by C. J. Carmichael - Free Book Online Page B

smile on his face, less than an hour before his collapse.
    A heavy knock sounded at the front door and Callan actually jumped. Her first reaction was annoyance—who would be bothering her at a time like this? And then it occurred to her that someone must have forgotten a cell phone or something.
    She hurried to the door and flung it open.
    And there was Court McAllister.

CHAPTER FIVE
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    C ourt was wearing jeans and boots, a black coat and a black wool Resistol cowboy hat. His posture reminded her of Clint Eastwood in one of those old Westerns.
    “What are you doing here?”
    He glanced away, then back at her. “Might as well take care of those ashes. If you’re up to it.”
    “Of course I’m up to it. Why wouldn’t I be?”
    He shrugged. “Maybe a little too much bourbon last night?”
    “How would you know about that?” She hadn’t seen him set foot in Grey’s all night. Mind you, she’d spent the last hour all but passed out at her table, waiting for one of her pals to give her a lift home.
    “I’m sure you showered but I can smell it on you. Alcohol’s a poison, Callan. One of the ways the body gets rid of it is by excreting it from your pores.”
    God, but this man was annoying. “Give me a minute to get ready. I’ll meet you at the horse barn.”
    Callan went to her room to brush her teeth and re-apply her deodorant. Not because of what Court had said about her smelling like alcohol, but because she wanted to. Then she changed into work clothes, including a heavy sweater and a down vest, before adding her own boots and hat. She was almost out the door when she remembered one last thing.
    The ashes.
    She dashed back to the family room to get the bag, then headed outdoors toward the horse barn. None of the hired men were around. She assumed Red had given them jobs to prepare for rounding up the cattle in the next day or so. Court was at the fence, his back to her as he watched the horses grazing in the paddock. Callan let out a piercing whistle and this time it was Court who jumped.
    She smiled. It had been a petty move on her part. But so worth it.
    Montana Sapphire trotted happily toward her, and Callan felt immediately guilty for having neglected her horse these past few days. She offered up a carrot stick as atonement, and Sapphire nuzzled her in return. Callan’s throat thickened at the horse’s sweet forgiveness. Horses were social creatures and Callan knew poor Sapphire was going to miss the Circle C as much as she would when the time came to leave.
    “Which horse should I ride?” Court asked.
    If she really wanted to be mean, she could suggest Hawksley’s Zorro. The old horse had never tolerated anyone but his owner on his back. But that wouldn’t be fair to old Zorro. “Try that old, grey horse—Pinstripes is his name. He’s nice and steady.”
    Court’s gaze narrowed at the implied insult to his riding abilities, but he just nodded and then hopped the fence. At some point he must have gone into the tack room, because he had a halter in his hand. Less than a minute later he was leading the brindle quarter horse into the barn.
    In silence, they brushed then saddled up their horses. When Callan noticed Court eyeing the antique saddle that had belonged to her grandfather, she said. “Pretty, isn’t it? Worth more than a small car.”
    “I’m not surprised. It looks like an antique.”
    “Yeah. It belonged to—” She hesitated, choosing her words carefully, “—Hawksley’s father.”
    Court ran his hand over the tool work on the skirting. “What a unique design. I’ve never seen anything like this.”
    He spoke as if he’d seen a lot of saddles, which didn’t seem likely for an accountant. “Well, it’s yours now.”
    He removed his hand quickly, like it had been scorched. “No. It should be yours.”
    “Don’t see why. It belongs to the Circle C Ranch and the Circle C belongs to you.”
    He gave her a long look then said slowly, “I suppose. But