Cowboy Under the Mistletoe (7 page)

She had a jittery feeling that this had something to do with Jake, though it very well might not. Lately, she thought everything related to Jake. Maybe because she couldn’t get him out of her head.

“What’s going on?” she asked. “Has something happened?”

“Trouble on the McGowen house.” This from her Dad. At sixty-one, he still worked a full day, sometimes more and could build a house from the ground up single-handedly. At times, he was a hard man, and trouble on a job site infuriated him.

Allison’s anxiety level decreased. Trouble on the job happened. It had nothing to do with Jake.

“What kind of trouble? Can we get Charity to take care of it?” Vendors and subcontractors sometimes caused delays. Materials were late or subs got tied up on other jobs and put the schedule behind.

“Someone vandalized the property. Spray paint everywhere. Kicked in some walls the boys put up yesterday,” her dad said. Never mind that her brothers were grown men who towered over their father. To Dan Buchanon, his sons would always be “the boys.” “Made a mess of everything.”

“How bad?”

Brady growled like a dog. Dawg, who’d flopped at his master’s feet, raised his head. Sawyer tossed him a chunk of muffin, which was deftly caught and swallowed in one motion. “Bad enough to put us behind for a week.”

Allison grimaced. Like Dad, Brady ran a tight schedule, balancing more than one project at a time for optimal use of personnel. When the painters were in one house, the plumbers could be in another and the carpenters in yet another. At the moment, he juggled five different projects. A setback anywhere could disrupt the flow of work and seriously annoy her big brother.

Sawyer removed his cap and studied the Dallas Cowboys insignia. “We haven’t had vandalism on a site in a long time.”

“Years,” Quinn said.

“I’m gonna knock some heads over this.”

Her dad clapped a hand on Brady’s shoulder. “You have to find them first.”

“Oh, I’ll find them. In fact, I think I know exactly where he is.”

A warning buzz tingled up the back of Allison’s neck. “You think you know who did this?”

“Yeah.”

“Are you thinking who I’m thinking?” Quinn asked.

“I find it too much of a coincidence that Jake Hamilton is back in town and shortly after our unfriendly little talk, we have a project vandalized for the first time in years.”

“What unfriendly talk?” Allison asked. “What did you guys do?”

Brady ignored the question. “He did before.”

“Answer my question.”

“Leopards don’t change their spots.” Sawyer slapped his cap on. “Maybe we should take another trip to see rodeo boy and see what he has to say for himself.”

Allison’s pulse jumped. “Another trip? What did you do? What are you talking about?”

“Buchanons take care of their own. Hamilton isn’t wanted here. We warned you to stay away from him.”

So this was her fault?

“Dad, talk some sense into them. Beating people up is not the way to handle a problem. It’s also not the way Buchanon Construction does business.”

“No one said anything about beating him up.” Brady flashed his teeth in a shark’s grin. “We’ll only have a chat and find out where he was last night.”

“Allison’s right on this one,” her dad said. “You can’t go off half-cocked and get yourselves tossed in jail. Let the police chief do his job. You did call Leroy, didn’t you?”

Brady shook his head. “Not yet.”

Dad pursed his lips and gave his son a scathing look.

“I’ll call him, Dad.” Allison moved into the U-shaped desk and reached for the phone. Jake was innocent. He wouldn’t do anything as juvenile as vandalizing property. Would he?

While she reported the incident to the police, her brothers and dad murmured among themselves.

By the time she’d hung up, Jayla sailed through the door, carting her blender and a bag of groceries. She looked like a runway model with her sleek hair and well-dressed, superslim body. Allison’s jeans and sweater felt dowdy.

When Jayla learned of the vandalism, she ground her teeth. Like Brady, Jayla could be a control freak who expected business to run smoothly all the time.

“Leroy is out today with a stomach virus, but Jerry is on duty and said he’d take look at the site,” she told them.

“Good. We’ll meet him there.” Sawyer shoved the last bite of muffin in his mouth. Dawg watched with big, sad eyes.

Brady scored a muffin from Dawson’s white sack and juggled it in his massive palm. To Allison, he said, “Do me a favor, okay?”

“What is it?” If he told her to stay away from Jake, she was going to hit him.

He reached in his pocket and pulled out a list. “I won’t have time to do this now and I promised. Will you take a run to the supercenter and get this stuff for me?”

She frowned down at the long list of groceries and household supplies. “What’s this for?”

He hitched a shoulder, his expression abashed. “Ah, you know.”

Oh. Okay. She got it. Brady’s heart was as big as the rest of him. He regularly bought groceries or gas or shoes or medicine for someone in need.

“Who’s this week’s recipient?”

“New family across the tracks. A woman and four kids.”

Allison knew there was more to the story but didn’t push. Brady, for all his temper and bluster, was a soft touch like Mom.

“Should I deliver?”

“I’ll take it by later. The mom’s kind of embarrassed.”

“Consider it done.”

He leaned down and kissed the top of her head. “Are you getting shorter?”

She bopped him on the arm. He rubbed the spot and grinned. “Mosquito bite.”

The men started for the door when Brady looked back at her. “One more thing.”

She reached for a pen. “Did you leave something off the list?”

Brady narrowed his eyes. “Don’t talk to loverboy about the vandalism until after the investigation.”

Allison’s heart sank. Just when she thought her brother was the best around, he kicked her in the gut. “Are you going to tell the police about your suspicions?”

Brady’s mouth shrugged. “If he asks, I’ll answer.” And then he was gone, swaggering across the parking lot with his big heart and hard head directly at odds.

* * *

Allison showed up on his doorstep at the strangest times.

Jake was in Granny Pat’s flower bed digging up something Florence called an apricot bearded iris. She wanted a start for her garden and he was the elected shovel man.

He leaned on the shovel handle and admired the little bit of woman tromping across the lawn, her dark, flyaway hair like wings.

“Are you lost?” He tipped back his hat. “It’s ten in the morning. Shouldn’t you be at work?”

“Perks of being family owned. What are you doing?” She paused outside the flower bed, a messy thing that had gone wild in Granny Pat’s absence.

“Digging. Want to help?” He was uncommonly happy to see her. Not that the Buchanons had scared him off. He wasn’t scared. But in the time he had left in Gabriel’s Crossing, he saw no point in making waves that might turn into a tsunami.

“Sure. What can I do?”

“When I dig, you get those little onion-looking things and put them in that bucket.” He hitched his chin toward an empty white paint bucket.

“This is my mother’s domain but I know my way around an iris.”

He stuck his boot on the shovel and pushed. The rain-soft earth gave, emitting the scents of dying plants and fertile ground. He wiggled the spade carefully before levering up a clump of dirt and plant. “Are all women born with the flower gene?”

She reached into the dirt, heedless of getting her hands dirty. He admired that. A woman who wasn’t afraid of dirt and work, two things he knew especially well.

“These are bulbs, not onions.” She tapped the onion thing with a finger. “Lower the shovel into the bucket, dirt and all. No need to separate anything.”

“You’re brilliant.”

“I am for a fact. Kind of late in the year to transplant irises. Who are these for?”

“Flo. She does things on her own timetable.”

Allison stood and wiped her hands down the legs of her jeans. He was midtransfer when she said, “Take me to a movie tonight.”

The clump of dirt hit the bucket with a sudden
thunk.
Where had that come from? Her brothers wanted to kill him and she wanted him to go to a movie?

He leaned the shovel against the side of the house. “Why?”

“Because I like you. We have fun together and I want to do something besides hang around your grandmother’s house.”

He didn’t want to like the sound of that. “Not to spite your brothers?”

Her eyes met his and held. “Maybe a little. They had no right to confront you.”

One of her strong suits was honesty. “I don’t want to get between you and your family, Allison.”

“Trust me, I know that. If you recall, I found that out the hard way a few years back. I don’t always like your weird code of honor, but I appreciate the sentiment.” She hoisted the bucket of iris bulbs, her focus on them. “I have to ask you something, Jake. Don’t get mad, okay?”

“Starting a conversation that way is never a positive sign.” He hunkered down beside the gaping hole in the ground and began to push dirt inside.

Allison set the bucket beside the porch and joined him, bringing along her honeysuckle scent. His heart began to misbehave.

“Someone vandalized a construction project last night.”

His hand closed spasmodically on a gangly green stem. He tried not to let the implication sting. “You’re asking if I had anything to do with damaging your family’s work site?”

If he sounded incredulous, so be it.

“I don’t want to.”

He believed her. Those soft brown eyes were tormented as they held his with a plea.

“Will you believe me if I say no?”

“Yes.”

With one small word and those big brown eyes, she had the power to make him feel better. Let the others think what they wanted. As long as Allison believed in him, he was all right.

“I told you I’d never do anything to hurt you. Not if I could help it.” The little disclaimer was self-preservation. If they got involved again, if he followed his heart instead of his head, they’d both end up hurt no matter his good intentions. Hurt he could handle. Another Buchanon disaster would be his demise. “What happened nine years ago was the product of a scared, angry kid. I’m not that boy anymore.”

“Good. Then you can take me to a movie tonight like a grown man.”

He snorted. “Somehow your logic confuses me.”

“Do you know where my apartment is?”

She’d never told him where she lived, but he’d made it his business to find out. He was still rationalizing that one. “Sure. Why?”

“Pick me up at six forty-five, and we’ll make the first showing at seven.”

“What if I want to feed you dinner first?” Oh, man, he was wading into deep water.

Her face lit up. “Really?”

“I could use the break. Flo’s been here every day, driving me nuts, running roughshod over both of us. She’s even convinced Granny Pat to get out of the recliner and use the walker. And she slapped my hand for carrying Granny P. around like a baby.” He patted dirt around the filled hole. “Flo claims I’ve been coddling my dear grandmother when she is perfectly capable of carting her own bones around.”

Allison sat back on her heels and rubbed her forearm over her cheek. The action left a streak of dirt. “That’s fabulous news.”

“Yeah. I agree.” Extra good news because he had a rodeo coming up he desperately needed to enter and wanted Granny Pat up and around on her own before then. “Did you know Flo danced in Vegas?”

“Everybody knows that. The Daily Journal did an article on her.” She put her dirty hands above her head and wiggled her fingers. “She danced with those giant feathered headpiece things.”

“Exactly. Last night, she decided I should learn one of her routines. I was pathetic.” He put his hands on his thighs and pushed to a stand. “I don’t plan to repeat that performance tonight.”

Allison popped up from the ground like a jack-in-the-box. “You danced with her?”

“I wouldn’t call it dancing exactly. More like a trout caught in a fish net. Lots of flopping around.”

“You never danced with me. And you owe me, buddy boy.” She slapped an open palm on his chest. “I demand equal time.”

“I just happen to have on my dancing boots!”

He grabbed her hands and began to sashay around the yard in a silly two-step. Allison stumbled on the edge of the concrete driveway but he easily held her up and kept dancing, scooting his boots on the fading grass and dipping her back and forth. He smiled at her laughter, enjoying the comfortable pleasure of her company, the ease with which they’d fallen back into old patterns of friendship, and this new something else that filled his chest with hope and made him pray for the impossible.

The memory of the dance that never happened was a heartbeat away, a bit of spun sugar that melted in the heat of his shame.

Enough. He was letting her get under his skin again. Or maybe still.

He whirled her up onto the postage stamp porch and into the single lawn chair he’d put there himself for watching the sunsets.

“There you go. There’s your dance. Paid in full.”

Breathless, her cheeks flushed and pretty, her eyes sparkling, she shook her head. “Not good enough. I want music and a pretty dress and the whole banana. Come to Faith’s wedding. Dance with me there for real.”

The fun was spirited away on the heels of memory, a morning in November, a gunshot that should never have happened. He crouched on his toes in front of her. Taking her small hand in one of his rough ones, he said, “You’re special to me, Allison.”

“I know. And you’re special to me. So come to the wedding. Show my brothers the man you’ve become. Show them you have nothing to hide.”

“Are you still thinking about the vandalism?”

“Hiding out makes you look guilty.”

He dropped her hand. “I don’t hide.”

“You avoid.”

She had him there.

“Better than causing trouble.”

“You have to forgive yourself, Jake,” she said softly, her sweetness twisting him into a knot.

“I’m working on it.” He pushed to a stand and turned his profile toward her, focusing across the street where a pair of puppies cavorted. Looking at Allison clouded his thinking.