Cowboy Under the Mistletoe

“Got it. I hear Mom in the garage.”

While Allison opened, sorted and listed RSVP cards, a nervous pulse ticked in her temple.

The unresolved heartache of a first love that had crashed and burned pushed to the surface like a dead body in water. She had loved him as much as any teenager could. He’d seen her at her worst, her most humiliated, and had never judged her. On the other hand, he’d stood her up at the graduation dance.

Did she really want to revisit either of those places again?

She stared down at the vellum cards and thought of all the weddings she’d attended, of the tiny unacknowledged ache to find her own true love.

Faith was right. She needed to explore this thing with Jake and put the issue to rest once and for all.

“Hello, Allison.”

Deep in thought, Allison jumped when Faith’s mom, Ellen, trudged into the room wearing blue scrubs, a testament to her nursing job. She wiggled her fingers and padded on silent white shoes down the hall and out of sight.

“Your mom looks tired,” she said as Faith returned, bearing a white invitation.

“Eight twelve-hour shifts in a row take a toll.”

“Ugh. Poor woman.”

“No kidding. I’m glad I went into teaching.” With the teacher shortage in Oklahoma, Faith had easily found a new job in Oklahoma City for the spring semester. “I’m filling out this invitation right now, and I want you to hand-deliver it.”

Allison returned Faith’s grin, though hers was filled with trepidation. “That’s easy. I’m going over there when I leave here.”

“Cleaning Miss Pat’s house is a great excuse to see Jake.” Faith pumped her eyebrows.

“Helping an elderly neighbor is not an excuse to see Jake. Stop it!” Allison bit her bottom lip. “I would help Miss Pat even if Jake wasn’t there.”

“Yes, but you wouldn’t enjoy your little trips nearly as much.”

True. Painfully true.

She watched Faith write Jake’s name in her beautiful script. “Do you think he’ll accept?”

Faith slid the card into the envelope and held it out like an Oscar win. “Only one way to find out.”

* * *

He shouldn’t be here. He should get in his pickup and drive out to Manny’s.

Jake looked at the spread of vegetables on the kitchen counter and considered sticking everything back in the fridge. Then he could shut off the stove and walk out. Allison would be here any minute.

“Jacob?” Granny Pat’s voice wafted in from the living room. “Honey, did you buy cheese for the baked potatoes? Bring me a slice. I haven’t had anything but prison food in so long, I’m hungry as a starved wolf.”

At the request, Jake resigned himself to letting Allison help him cook dinner. Granny needed this, no matter how hard it was on him.

He took a chunk of cheddar to the recliner where Granny Pat had pretty much lived since coming home. Earlier, the home nurse had gotten her up and walked her to the bath, a trip that had worn her out and torn a strip from Jake’s heart.

“Here you go.” He went to his knee beside her chair. “Anything else?”

“No, baby.” She patted his hand. “You’re such a good boy.”

The comment made him snort. “Is your memory failing you?”

“I remember everything I want to.” She grinned her impertinent grin. “You were always a good boy with a big soft heart. That’s why you acted up after your mama left. And you had a right. She broke your little heart in half.”

Jake’s muscles tightened. He didn’t think about his mother much anymore. “I always wondered why she left.”

“I know you did, son. Leaving you was wrong of her.”

That was the only explanation he’d ever received. His dad was barely cold in the ground before his mother packed her bags and drove away in an old Buick. “Do you ever wonder where she is?”

Granny Pat’s winkled face saddened. “All the time, baby boy. For a long time I thought, once she’d grieved your daddy, she’d come back for you.”

But she never had. And he’d grown up with a big, gaping hole inside, waiting for his mama to come home and fill it with love.

“I’m not complaining. You took good care of me.”

She’d done her best. In between work and her grief over the loss of a son, his grandmother had done all she knew to deal with a sad little boy and later, a wild teenager. Still, he wondered what might have been.

Outside a car door slammed. Jake shook off the uncomfortable nostalgia and jerked to his feet. “Allison’s here.”

“Ralph thinks you’re still sweet on her.”

He tried to laugh her off. “You want to get me killed?”

“You’ve been trying to do that yourself for years.”

A man with nothing to lose made a good bull rider.

At the knock, he ignored his grandmother’s keen insight to let Allison in. “Hey.”

“Hey, yourself.” She shoved a bag at him. “Put this in the kitchen while I bring in the casserole.”

“Casserole?”

“Mama’s chicken spaghetti.”

Granny Pat’s voice sailed across the room. “I love that stuff.”

“I thought we were cooking.” Jake looked over one shoulder. “I already put the steaks in the oven.”

“For tomorrow,” Allison said. “You know how Mom is. She still cooks for an army in case one or two of us kids drops in. She had an extra and I ‘borrowed it.’”

Karen Buchanon had fed him for years when he’d tagged along with the four Buchanon boys. Now, he was as grateful as he’d been back then, and the throb of longing was every bit as raw.

He set the bag of what appeared to be cleaning supplies on a table beside the door and followed Allison to the Camaro. Wearing a tan skirt and crisp white shirt with a collar, her flyaway hair bounced as she walked. He liked her hair, itched to touch the silk of it and wanted to kick his own tail for even thinking about her that way.