Cowboy Under the Mistletoe

“Stinks about the plans.” Dawson lifted his ball cap and scratched at his unruly black waves.

“Part of the job.” As architect of Buchanon Construction, Quinn developed all their housing concepts, a recent turn of events, considering the slide into depression that had taken him away from home for too long. Even now, he wasn’t the most social Buchanon. “Those plans were exactly what they asked for. Now they want changes. I have a feeling this project may not be our favorite.”

“We could subcontract the entire project if the Bartowskis become a problem,” Dawson said.

“That would only make things worse. If a sub messes up, we’re responsible.”

“Put Charity on them.” Sawyer studied the Bavarian cream inside his doughnut. “This stuff is good.”

The oldest of the siblings at thirty-three, Charity was the real estate whiz, slick as a used car salesman, a trait Allison found out of sync with the sweet-faced wife of a deployed navy pilot and the mother of a six-and an eleven-year-old.

“Nah, I’ll make the changes. Once.” Quinn ripped off a piece of his chocolate doughnut and tossed it to Dawg. Pathetically grateful, dog sat at his feet, begging for more. “Where are we on the Willow Creek project? Any news on the permits?”

Jayla’s long hair swayed as she thumped the telephone receiver into its cradle and swung around to face them. “That was Brady. Permits are ready. He’s at the courthouse now, and says he will meet you two—” she pointed at Sawyer and Dawson “—at the job site. Bring Dawg.”

Quinn crossed the small space and kissed the top of her head. “You’re amazing.” He ripped off another piece of doughnut and held it in front of her nose. “Eat this.”

She made a horrified face and squeezed her eyes closed. “Death in a doughnut. I’ll pass.”

He laughed and popped the bite into his mouth. “Don’t know what you’re missing, baby sister.”

They were hassling Jayla about her rigid eating habits when the front door slammed open, and Brady strode inside.

“Weren’t you going to the job site?” Jayla’s question fell into the sizzling air and withered away, unanswered.

If a man could spit nails, Allison thought this might be the time to duck and run. With his warrior size, Brady was as dangerous as a rattler when stirred up. And something had definitely stirred him up this morning.

Allison was afraid she knew the cause.

The other siblings exchanged looks. The twins shrugged in unison. No one else had a clue to Brady’s fury.

With a dread heavier than a forklift, Allison put her half eaten doughnut on a skinny strip of napkin and waited for the ax to fall.

Voice tight and low, steam all but pumping from his ears, Brady asked, “You haven’t heard, have you?”

Quinn set his mug down. “Heard what?”

Blood rushed against Allison’s temples. Oh, yeah, here came trouble.

“Jake Hamilton is in town.”

Sawyer’s jaw hardened. “What?”

“You heard me right. Jake’s back.”

“Where did you hear that?” Quinn’s voice was quiet. Too quiet.

“Courthouse.” Brady fisted huge hands on his hips. “I saw the lowlife with my own eyes. Miss Pat’s out of the nursing home and Jake’s moved in, supposedly to take care of her.”

All eyes swung toward Quinn. Like the rest of them—except Allison—he looked stunned. A long beat passed while they absorbed the news. Then, without a word, Quinn spun on his steel-toed boots and left the room.

Chaos erupted.

As if the russet-haired Brady had announced an eminent asteroid collision with downtown Gabriel’s Crossing, everyone talked at once. The general consensus was outrage. Outrage that Jake Hamilton would strut into town years after the fact and behave as if nothing had happened. As if he hadn’t ruined a man’s life.

“Don’t you think you’re overreacting?” As soon as the words were out, Allison clapped a hand over her mouth. Why had she said that?

Silence descended in a dark, pulsating curtain. Three pairs of eyes aimed at her like hot, blue lasers.

She swallowed. Let reason prevail. Please Lord. “Jake’s been gone a long time. His grandma needs him now. We’ve moved on. Quinn’s...okay. We don’t even talk about the accident anymore. Can’t we let the hard feelings end here and now?”

“You were always on his side.” Sawyer’s accusation hurt.

“That’s not fair. We were all heartbroken for Quinn, even Jake. Quinn was his best friend! He’s not some kind of evil monster.”

Dawson slapped his cap against his thigh. “Tell that to Quinn.”

Sawyer nodded in agreement. “I think the brotherhood needs to pay the hotshot bull rider a little visit.”

Brady crouched to pat his dog. The shaggy mutt rolled onto his back, feet in the air. “I’m in.”

Allison exhaled a nervous, worried breath. Her doughnut lay like a rock in her belly. “Just because a man you don’t like comes to town to care for his grandmother is no reason for the four of you to go ninja grudge match.”

Brady rubbed Dawg’s belly, his eyes on Allison. “When that one man destroys my brother’s future, I’m not likely to ever forget.”

That was the problem. She came from a long line of grudge holders. Granddad Buchanon and his brother didn’t speak for the last fifteen years of their lives. All because of a dispute over a used tractor. They were supposed to be Christians, but a Buchanon could sustain anger for a very long time.

Allison saw no point in arguing with her brothers. They were as immovable as a concrete slab.

“You should let sleeping dogs lie. That’s all I have to say.” She turned and headed around the counter to her computer. “We have work to do.”

Brady followed her around the desk, Dawg at his side. His voice had calmed, but his tone held reinforced steel. “We’ll handle Jake Hamilton this time, Allison. You stay away from him.”

Allison gave him a mutinous glare. She was getting real tired of hearing that.

Chapter Four (#ulink_f98cd2f7-2c7e-56d5-ba1e-996caa0d1ecd)

The next morning Jake made the rounds in town. First, to the post office to redirect Granny Pat’s mail where a friendly postal clerk he remembered slightly inquired about his grandmother. Then to the bank and finally to the grocery store.

Gabriel’s Crossing was a lazy stir of business this early, sunlit morning. Townspeople wandered in and out of stores. Doors slammed. Cars and pickups puttered down a five-block main street still paved with the same bumpy red bricks put there eighty-five years ago.

A truck with a Buchanon Construction sign on the door rolled past. Jake watched it, curious and wary, though the morning sun blasted him in the eyes, so he couldn’t clearly see the man at the wheel.

Allison had been at the house again last night. Her visits stirred him up and interfered with his sleep. Her and the musty smell of sheets he should have washed before bringing Granny Pat home. A man didn’t always think of those things, especially a man who was accustomed to sleeping in his truck or cheap motels along the rodeo circuit.

He both dreaded and longed for evening when Allison would return. She’d promised Granny. Why had she done that? And why couldn’t he find the initiative to be somewhere else when she arrived?

Heaviness weighed on his shoulders like a wet saddle blanket. That’s what Gabriel’s Crossing did to him. When he was on the road or in his trailer in Stephenville, he seldom dwelled on the tragedy. He’d learned to let it go or go crazy. But here, in Gabriel’s Crossing, where memories lingered around every corner and Allison popped in unexpectedly, he thought of little else.