Cowboy Under the Mistletoe. Linda Goodnight

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      With an ease that made him sad, Jake lifted his grandmother from the seat and carried her inside the house.

      “Where to, madame?” he teased, though his heart ached. Granny Pat had been his mama, his daddy and his home all rolled into one strong, vital woman. She’d endured his wild teenage years and the scandal he’d caused that rocked Gabriel’s Crossing. For her body to fail all because of one broken bone was unfair.

      But when had life ever been fair?

      “Put me in the recliner.” She pointed toward one of two recliners in the living room—the blue one with a yellow-and-orange afghan tossed across the back.

      He did as she asked.

      Granny Pat tilted her head against the plush corduroy and gazed around the room with pleasure. “It’s good to finally be home. I’ll get my strength back here.”

      Her pleasure erased the sorrow of seeing Brady Buchanon and the nagging worry over finances. Granny Pat needed this, needed him, and he’d find a way to deal with the Buchanons and his empty pockets.

      “You want some water or anything before I unload the truck?”

      “Nothing but fresh air. Open some windows, Jacob. This house stinks. I don’t know how you slept here in this must and dust.”

      As he threw open windows, Jake noticed the dirt and dead insects piled on the windowsills. “Maybe I can find a housekeeper?” His wallet would scream, but he’d figure out a way.

      “I don’t want some stranger in my house poking around.”

      “Nobody’s a stranger in Gabriel’s Crossing, Granny.”

      “Grandpa says something will turn up. Don’t worry.”

      A bit of breeze drifted through the window, stirring dust in the sunlight.

      “Granny Pat, you know Grandpa—”

      “Yes, Jacob, I know.” Her tone was patient as if he was the one with the mental lapses. “Now go on and bring in my belongings. I want my Sudoku book.”

      Jake jogged out to the truck, eyeing the pain-in-the-neck wheelchair he’d left against the back bumper. Granny Pat needed wheels to be mobile, and as much as he wanted to haul the chair to the nearest landfill, he was a man and he was determined to make the thing work.

      He was wrestling the wheels apart when a Camaro rumbled to the stop sign on the corner. Precisely what he did not need. Allison Buchanon. He refused to look in her direction, hoping she’d roll on down the street. She didn’t.

      Allison, tenacious as a terrier, rolled down her window. “Having trouble?”

      He looked up and his stomach tumbled down into his boots. The soft brown eyes he’d never forgotten snagged his. A sizzle of connection raised the hairs on his arms. “No.”

       Go away.

      As if he wasn’t the least interested in the wheelchair, he leaned the contraption against the truck and reached inside the bed for one of Granny Pat’s suitcases.

      The Camaro engine still rumbled next to the curb. Why didn’t she mosey on down the road?

      “You can’t fool me,” she hollered. “I remember.”

      And that was nearly his undoing. He could never fool Allison. No matter what he said or how hard he tried to pretend not to care that he was the town pariah, Allison saw through him. She’d even called him her hero.

      “Go home, Allison.” He didn’t want her to remember any more than he wanted her feeling sorry for him.

      She gunned the engine but instead of leaving, she pulled into the driveway and hopped out.

      Hands deep in her back jeans pockets, she wore a sweater the color of a pumpkin that set off her dark hair. He didn’t want to notice the changes in her, from the sweet-faced teenager to a beautiful woman, but he’d have to be dead not to.

      Her fluffy, flyaway hair bounced as she approached the truck, took hold of the wheelchair and attempted to open it. When the chair didn’t budge, she scowled. “What’s wrong with this?”

      Determined not to be friendly, Jake hefted a suitcase in each hand and started toward the house. He was here in Gabriel’s Crossing because of Granny Pat. No other reason. Allison Buchanon didn’t affect him in the least.

      And bulls could fly.

      Something pinged him in the back. A pebble thudded to the grass at his feet. He spun around. “Hey! Did you just hit me with a rock?”

      She gave him a grin that was anything but friendly. “I figured out what’s wrong with the chair.”

      He dropped the suitcases. “You did?”

      “Come here and see for yourself. Unless you’re scared of a girl.”

      He was scared of her all right. Allison Buchanon had the power to hurt him—or cause him to hurt himself. But intrigued by her claim, he went back to the chair.

      A car chugged by the intersection going in the opposite direction. Across the street a dog barked, and down the block, some guy mowed his lawn, shooting the grassy smell all over the neighborhood. Normal activities in Gabriel’s Crossing, though there was nothing normal about him standing in Granny Pat’s yard with a Buchanon.

      Man, his death wish must be worse than most.

      He crossed his arms over his chest, careful not to get close enough to touch her. He didn’t need reminders of her soft skin and flowery scent. “What?”

      She went into a crouch, one hand holding up the chair. Her shoes were open toed and someone had painted her toenails orange and green like tiny pumpkins.

      “That piece is bent and caught on the gear. See?”

      He had no choice but to crouch beside her. There it was. Her sweet scent. Honeysuckle, he thought. Exactly the same as she’d worn in high school. Sweet and clean and pure.

      Jake cleared his throat and gripped the chair. He needed to get a grip, all right.

      “I got it,” he said, thinking she’d leave now. She didn’t.

      He reached in and straightened the metal piece with his fingers, using more effort than he’d expected. A deep rut whitened along his index finger.

      “Pliers would have been easier,” she said. Then she grabbed the oversize wheels and popped open the stubborn wheelchair. “There. Ready to roll.”

      Jake stepped around to take the handles. Allison climbed up on the truck bumper and started unloading Granny Pat’s belongings.

      “I can get those.”

      “I came to see Miss Pat.” She handed him a plastic sack of clothes. Granny had collected a dozen shopping bags filled with clothes СКАЧАТЬ