Cowboy Under the Mistletoe. Linda Goodnight

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      She averted her gaze, watched a blue butterfly kiss a lavender aster.

      “Mama,” she said. “Jake’s back in town.”

      For a full minute, the only sound was the bee-buzz of hummingbirds and the faint football noise from inside the house. Down the street someone fired up a lawn mower.

      Allison could feel the blood surging in her veins—hot and anxious and so terribly sorry. Not for her family. For Jake. That was the problem, as the family, especially her brothers, saw it. Allison was a traitor to the Buchanon name. Back when the pain was rawest for everyone, she’d sided with Jake. They hadn’t understood her loyalty. And if she had shared her secret, that singular defining reason for remaining loyal to Jake Hamilton, she would have caused an explosion of a different sort.

      “Jake Hamilton?” her mother finally asked, voice tight.

      The tone made Allison ache. “I saw him yesterday at the Hamilton house on my way to Faith’s bridal shower.”

      “Why have you waited until now to tell me?”

      “I stayed late at Faith’s and then church this morning...” She lifted her palms, let them down again. In truth, she’d been a coward, putting off the inevitable unpleasant reaction and the feeling of betrayal that came along for the ride. “Faith said his grandma is coming home from the rehab center.”

      “Oh, Allison.” Mom’s tone was heavy-hearted. “The boys will be upset.”

      That was putting it mildly.

      The boys. On the subject of Jake Hamilton, her sensible, caring, adult brothers behaved like children on a playground, the reason no one, even Quinn, had mentioned Jake in a very long time.

      Mama pushed up from the swing and ran a hand over her mouth, a worry gesture Allison knew well. Karen Buchanon was the kindest heart in Gabriel’s Crossing. She drove shut-ins to doctors’ offices and sat up all night with the sick. She provided Christmas for needy families and fed stray dogs, but her children’s needs came first. Always.

      “That was so long ago. My brothers are grown men now. Isn’t it time to forgive and forget?”

      “Some things go too deep, honey. I wish we could put all of that behind us—” she clasped her hands together and gazed toward the back door as if she could see her children inside “—but wishing doesn’t change anything. Jake did what he did, and Quinn suffered for it. Still suffers and always will.”

      “I know, Mama, and I hate what happened to Quinn as much as anyone. But Jake was seventeen. A boy. Teenagers do stupid things.” She, of all people, understood how one stupid decision could be catastrophic.

      She went to her mother’s side, desperately wishing to tell everything about that one night at the river. But danger lurked in revelation and she didn’t. She and Jake had a made a pact, a decision to protect the innocent as well as the guilty. “I’m not asking them to be his best friend, but we’re supposed to be Christians. The holidays are coming up soon, the time for forgiveness and peace. Don’t you think the boys could find it in their hearts to forgive Jake and move on? Couldn’t we all?”

      But Mama was already shaking her head. “Don’t do this, honey. Stirring up the past will only cause hurt and trouble. Jake may be back in town—and I pray his visit is short—but for everyone’s sake please don’t get involved with him again.”

      Allison thought of the young Jake she’d known in grade school, though he’d been a whole year older and more mature, at least in her adoring eyes. Jake had been Quinn’s best friend, a nice boy with sad eyes and a needy heart. The first boy she’d ever kissed. The one who lingered in her heart and memory even now.

      Then she thought of Quinn. Her moody, broody brother. Her blood. Buchanon blood. And blood always won.

      So she gave Mama the only possible answer. “All right.”

      But with sorrow born of experience, Allison knew this was one promise she wouldn’t keep.

       Chapter Two

      He’d rather tangle with the meanest bull in the pasture than try to drive a wheelchair.

      Jake yanked the folded bunch of canvas and metal from the bed of the pickup and shook it.

      “How is this thing supposed to work anyway?” he said to exactly nobody.

      Metal rattled against metal but the chair didn’t open. He wished he’d paid more attention when the nurse—a puny little ninety-pound woman no bigger than Allison—folded the chair and tossed it into the back of his truck with ease. Getting the thing open and functioning couldn’t be that difficult.

      A hot summer sun roasted the back of his neck while Granny Pat waited patiently inside the cab with the AC running. She wasn’t happy because he’d driven the truck right up next to the porch. She had fussed and complained that he’d leave ruts with those massive tires and ruin her yard. As if that wasn’t enough, she’d been telling all this to Grandpa, a man who’d been dead for twenty years.

      Jake’s day had been lousy, and his head hurt. Last night, he’d barely slept after the meeting with Allison. He kept seeing her smile, her bounce, her determined kindness.

      He didn’t want to remember how much he’d missed her.

      Then today, he’d made the trip to the convalescent center, a place that would depress Mary Poppins. If that and Granny’s running conversations with Grandpa weren’t enough to make his head pound, he’d stopped at Gabriel’s Crossing Pharmacy to fill an endless number of prescriptions, and who should he see crossing the street? Brady Buchanon. Big, hot-tempered Brady.

      Seeing a Buchanon brother was inevitable, but he planned to put off the moment as long as possible. So like a shamefaced secret agent, he’d pulled his hat low and hustled inside the drugstore before Brady caught a glimpse of him.

      He hated feeling like an outcast, like the nasty fly in the pleasant soup of Gabriel’s Crossing, but he was here, at least through the holidays, and the Buchanons would have to deal with it. So would everyone else who remembered the golden opportunity Jake had stolen from Quinn Buchanon and this small town with big dreams.

      Then why did he feel like a criminal in his own hometown?

      Granny Pat popped open the truck door and leaned out, her white hair as poufy as cotton candy. “Grandpa wants to know if you need help?”

      Jake rolled his eyes heavenward. The sun nearly blinded him. “Be right there, Granny. Don’t fall out.”

      At under five feet and shrinking, Granny Pat didn’t have the strength to pull the heavy truck door closed and it edged further and further open. She was slowly being stretched from the cab.

      Jake dropped the wheelchair and sprinted to her side, catching her a second before she tumbled out onto the grass. “Easy there. That door is heavy.”

      “I know it!” Fragile or not, she was still spit-and-vinegar Pat and clearly aggravated at her weakness. “I’m useless. Makes me so mad.”

      “Let’s СКАЧАТЬ