Cowboy Under the Mistletoe

He felt as trapped as a bull in a head gate, unable to go forward, and he sure couldn’t go back.

Inside the quiet IGA, Jake pushed a shopping cart down the produce aisle. He wasn’t much of a cook but Granny Pat needed nourishing foods to rebuild her strength. A woman who’d cooked from scratch her whole life wouldn’t stand for frozen dinners or pizza delivery either. He added a head of lettuce, some tomatoes and a bag of carrots to the cart. Salad. He could do salad. And steak. Big, juicy T-bones with loaded baked potatoes.

He tossed in a bag of potatoes and headed for the meat. The aisles were narrow, a throwback to earlier times, but he’d not been in the mood for the supercenter this morning. Too many people. Too many opportunities to run into someone he didn’t want to see.

He wasn’t afraid to climb into the chute with an eighteen-hundred-pound bull, but he was a coward in his hometown. The knowledge aggravated him so much Jake considered reshelving the groceries and driving out to the supercenter. If he hadn’t promised to meet the home health nurse in an hour, he would have.

As it was, he threw a few more items into the cart and headed for the checkout. A flaming redhead with a snake tattoo down one arm and a dragon from neck to chin rang up the purchases. Gabriel’s Crossing had certainly changed. But then, so had he.

The redhead gave him a friendly smile. “Coach Hammonds brought in the football schedules yesterday. Want one?”

She offered a small cardboard card similar to the wallet schedules he remembered.

“I’m good.” He would not be attending any football games.

“Oh, well. They’re free.” She tossed the schedule inside one of the grocery sacks. “You must be new in town. I don’t think I’ve seen you around.”

Jake was not about to make a fuss over a high school football schedule even though the red-and-white piece of card stock was a reminder he didn’t want.

“Visiting my grandma.”

“That’s nice.” The register beeped as she slid lettuce across the conveyer. “Are you a real cowboy?”

“Nah, I just found the hat.” He softened the joke with a smile.

Her hand paused on the T-bone package. She giggled. “You’re teasing me, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, I am. Sorry. I ride bulls.”

Her eyes widened. “No way. That is so scary.”

If he lived to be a hundred, he’d always enjoy that kind of reaction, as if he was something special because he wasn’t afraid to get on a bull. “Only if I don’t stay on.”

Which had happened way too often this season.

Another customer pulled into the lane behind Jake. Bolstered by the friendly cashier, he turned to acknowledge the woman, and his heart tumbled.

“Allison.”

“Jake, hi.” Her wide smile did crazy things to his head. “What are you doing?”

“He’s visiting his grandma,” Tattoo Girl said as the register beeped and plastic crinkled. “Isn’t that sweet?”

Allison’s eyes danced with merriment. “He’s a sweetie, all right. Are you shopping for Miss Pat?”

“I’m not much of a shopper, but yeah, sort of. I wasn’t sure what to buy.”

“She made a list. Didn’t you bring it?”

Ah, man. The note was sticking on the refrigerator. “Forgot about it.”

Allison backed her cart out of the checkout. “I remember. Go ahead and pay out and then we’ll go again.”

He should refuse, but he couldn’t. When it came to Allison Buchanon he didn’t have a lick of sense.

Jake glanced at Tattoo Girl who hiked one shoulder and said, “Why not?”

He could think of a lot of reasons.

By the time he paid out and found Allison, an easy task in the small family-run store, she was pondering the brands of laundry soaps.

“I can’t remember if she said Tide or Cheer.”

Jake studied the detergent as though they mattered. “Pick one. I don’t care. I’ll be doing the laundry.”

“Do you know how?”

“Allison.” He grabbed a box and sent it thudding into the basket. “Single guys learn to do laundry or go dirty. I prefer not to smell like the bulls I ride.”

“But you don’t cook.” So small she barely reached his shoulders, she gazed up at him through big brown eyes he’d never forgotten. Did she have any idea how pretty she was?

“How do you know I can’t cook?”

“I saw your shopping cart.” She made a cute face. “Steaks and salad are a guy’s go-to meal. And then you’re done.”

Jake let a smile creep up his cheeks. “Wise guy.” Though she was anything but a guy. Little Allison had grown up. “I don’t suppose you’d take pity on a man for eating out a lot.”

She tossed in a box of fabric softener sheets and pointed to the west. “Next aisle over. Come on. We’ll stock the cabinets.”

“Who’s going to cook?”

Her answer nearly stopped his heart. “Me.”

So much for avoiding Allison Buchanon.

* * *

Allison left the warehouse office at five-thirty, stopped at The Bakery to discuss Faith’s cake with Cindy, the best and only wedding cake decorator in Gabriel’s Crossing, and then headed toward Faith’s house.

Jake’s truck was noticeably absent as she drove past the Hamilton place, and if she was disappointed, she tried not to be. She’d see him tonight, though she questioned her sanity, as well as her family loyalty. At the same time, she wanted to be there for Miss Pat, a woman who’d taught all the Buchanon kids in first grade. And Allison loved to cook. Buchanon women were noted for their kitchen gifts.

Right. As if Jake had nothing to do with the buzz of energy racing through her system. A buzz that had begun the moment she’d seen him again and hadn’t let up.

She passed two little girls pedaling bikes and pulled to the curb outside the faded red brick where Faith had lived alone with her mother since her parents’ divorce twenty years ago.

“The topper is in,” she said without greeting when her BFF pushed open the smoked glass door. Tall and narrow, Faith was a bleached blonde with a long face and gray eyes who could play the fiddle and clog at the same time, a feat Allison found both charming and hilarious considering her towering height.

“Did you take a picture?”