Cowboy Under the Mistletoe

He had to stop this. Had to stop it now.

His longer stride caught up to her quickly. “Did your mother know you were coming over here?”

“She was going to bring the casserole herself. I volunteered.”

“She must not know I’m home.”

Allison shrugged. “She wasn’t wild about me seeing you, but I make my own choices and she knows that. Besides, she and Miss Pat go way back.” She handed him the still-warm container. “Mom takes care of her friends.”

Right. Karen Buchanon would visit Granny Pat even if her grandson was Ted Bundy.

“Neither of you mentioned this little errand of mercy to your brothers, did you?”

“You’re cranky today.”

“Did you?”

“No. They might do something stupid. They’ve been threatening—” She stopped halfway to the house and slapped her hands on her hips. “I want this to stop. You got me to admit my brothers still hold a grudge, and I didn’t want to go there. Does that make you happy?”

With her face tilted toward his and her brown eyes snapping, she was cute as a kitten. Adorable and off-limits.

“Happy? Hardly.” But exactly what he’d expected. Not what he’d hoped for or even dreamed of, but exactly what he deserved.

She hadn’t intended to discuss her brothers. He could see that and understood. Now, she was furious, both at herself and him, for opening up the sore topic.

Unlike Brady Buchanon whose temper was renown, Allison’s fury wouldn’t last long. She was too good, too generous, too kind. And she was tearing him apart.

Resigned to spend the evening fighting memories, he led the way into the kitchen where the smell of broiling steak overpowered the small space.

“Better check this,” he said and peaked inside the oven. “Looking good.”