Cowboy Under the Mistletoe (9 page)

“What was that about?”

Allison dipped the end of a half-eaten egg roll into plum sauce and stirred it around.

“Nothing important.”

“You were never a good liar. She was upset about me being here with you. Wasn’t she?”

Allison’s glance flicked to him and then to her eggroll. “We agreed not to discuss my family tonight. Remember?”

He remembered. But his appetite was gone.

Trying to avoid Buchanons didn’t work. They were everywhere.

* * *

The movie was a real snoozer and the theater all but empty thanks to the football game. Allison and Jake spent most of the ninety minutes imitating the bad dialogue and mocking the overly dramatic story line. The rest of the time, they fed each other popcorn they didn’t want and tried to pretend that sitting together in the dark theater wasn’t a bit romantic.

The trouble was, the only other couple in the theater sat down front and used their ninety minutes as a make-out session. Once Jake murmured, “Get a room, Romeo,” and set Allison off into a fit of muffled giggles. She laughed even harder when Jake put his hand over her mouth and in a stage whisper said, “Shh. Be quiet. Those people are trying to watch the movie.”

Later, when they left the theater, Jake looped an arm around her shoulders and said, “That’s the best show I’ve seen in a long time. Thanks for making me go.”

“Are you crazy? It was terrible.”

“I’m talking about the show down front, not the movie.” He bumped her with his side and grinned.

Her belly did a flip-flop. “I had fun.”

“Me, too.”

Allison was relieved to hear it. The brief and terse exchange with Charity could have ruined the evening. Afterward, Jake had gone quiet and moody for a while.

Thankfully, the awful movie and ridiculous public display of affection down front had changed the mood to light and easy.

They sauntered down the sidewalk in front of the theater past the darkened storefronts. Other than a couple of convenience stores off First Street, Gabriel’s Crossing closed up at night. A few cars puttered by including the local police car making rounds. Allison lifted her hand and waved. Jerry was a good friend of Dawson’s which made him a friend of every Buchanon. The officer waved back and gave a soft honk.

Allison stopped in front of the Texas Rose Boutique, a shop of girly things and flowers owned by one of her friends, but then everyone was a friend in Gabriel’s Crossing. Almost everyone.

In front of a snowy background, two flocked trees filled one corner of the show window. In the other, Angela had stacks of gaily-wrapped gifts, each with a product from the shop on top. Purses, perfume, scarves.

“The stores are already decorating for Christmas.”

“Too early. We haven’t had Thanksgiving yet.”

“It’s this way every year. Christmas crowding out Thanksgiving when we all have so much to be thankful for,” she said. “What are you and Miss Pat planning for Thanksgiving?”

They stood side by side, peering into the pretty display. With his arm still casually slung across her shoulder, she could feel his warmth through his jacket. “No plans yet.”

She wanted to invite him to the Buchanon feast. Instead, she said, “Maybe I could come over and help you cook.”

He chuffed. “Help me? You’d have to cook everything except mashed potatoes. I’ve got those down.”

She bumped his side. “Thanks to me. So what do you say? Thanksgiving night? I’ll come over.”

“What about your family dinner?”

“At noon. Mom’s a stickler. Stuff your faces before you watch the Cowboys and the Lions.”

Their breath made fog circles on the windowpane while Allison awaited his reply.

“I thought you’d jump at my offer.”

He turned his face toward hers. “Can I get back to you on that?”

A frisson of disappointment dampened her mood. “Sure. No big deal.”

The invitation, like Faith’s wedding, was a very big deal. She wanted to spend Thanksgiving with him. But the ball was in his court.

They started on down the darkened sidewalk, pausing often to peek inside a window or chuckle at some outrageous item on display.

As they turned the corner, heading toward the parked truck, a yellow-white streetlight washed the sidewalk in shiny shadows. Hers and Jake’s stretched out like dark clowns on stilts. In shadow was the only time she looked tall, a sight that never failed to amuse her.

Jake’s hand slipped from her shoulder. Allison considered reaching for his hand beneath the cover of darkness, but she didn’t. Jake had to find his own way in this relationship, as she had.

The damp scent rising from the distant Red River mingled with the chill of autumn. A half-dozen blocks south, the high school marching band played the Tigers’ fight song, and Allison was almost certain she smelled grilled hot dogs.

She turned her head toward the music and the tall football lights visible from First Street.

Beside her, Jake was silent. The town’s mania for high school football had ostracized him as a teen. No wonder he avoided conversation about the sport he’d once played with as much passion as her brothers.

He stared in that direction, his profile serious.

Feeling tender and sorry, she slipped her hand into his, a touch of comfort. When he glanced at her, questioning, she squeezed his fingers. His skin was rough, his grip strong, as he squeezed back. No words were needed.

Her heels tapped quietly on the bricks as they crossed the street.

Once inside the truck, Allison clicked on the CD player. The mood had shifted in that short walk from movie to vehicle. She couldn’t quite put her finger on the emotion, but the feelings hovered in the warm cab and struck them both silent. Sadness, longing, regret, but something else, too.

With the heater at her feet and the CD filling in for conversation, they rode the few blocks to her apartment.

One hand on the door lever, Allison prepared to hop out with a cheery wave and a hearty thanks, but Jake killed the engine and got out, coming around to her door.

The step up into the cab was high for anyone but especially someone vertically challenged like Allison. Jake took her elbow and she jumped to the ground with a short laugh.

The corner streetlight cast pale light on her small front lawn, enough to maneuver to the doorway.

“I can walk to the door by myself.”

“I know.” But he walked her there anyway. His boots made soft padding sounds while her heels stabbed holes in the ground. Heels for a movie. What had she been thinking?

“Well,” she said, “thank you for the fantastic Chinese and a stellar film.”

She expected him to make some remark about being hungry again or about the awful movie, but he didn’t. Instead, he gazed down at her in the darkness, his face in shadowy relief, quiet again.

“What are you thinking about?” She didn’t know why she bothered to ask. No male she’d ever known wanted to answer that question.

“You’re something.”

“So I’ve been told, though not in quite that tone.”

His lips curved, and she was sure he moved a little closer though how he could get any closer on the small square slab of concrete porch seemed impossible.

“I wish—”

She touched his mouth with her fingertips. “No wishes. Reality is better.”

He captured her fingers and pulled them away from his warm mouth, holding them against his chest. He stared, head bent, sheltering her with the brim of his hat. He was close enough that she felt his warm breath against her face. Longing rose in her throat, trapped there by a past they couldn’t remedy.

His cowboy-rough fingertips stroked her cheek. His face moved closer. But then he kissed her on the forehead and stepped away.

“Night, Allison.”

Before Allison could regain her composure and kick him in the shin, he stepped off the porch and strode away, leaving her in the dark.

Chapter Eight

J
ake kicked himself all the way home and for the next couple of days, but no matter how much self-recrimination he heaped upon his Stetson, Allison was like a sweet perfume he couldn’t wash off his shirt. Regardless of what he was doing, he thought about her.

As if that wasn’t making him completely insane, every evening she popped in to see Granny Pat. And him. And every evening, he fought like a tiger to keep his distance. Still, she lingered, impressing him with her ability to make chicken dumplings that Granny Pat craved or convincing him to watch a sappy Hallmark movie that left him with a hot air balloon in his chest.

Matters got worse on Friday when he ducked into the drugstore for Granny Pat’s prescription refill only to run into Allison’s best friend. Faith, the long of it, was loaded down with sunscreen, lotions, cosmetics and a lot of other girly stuff.

“For Saint Thomas,” she’d told Jake with a happy smile, a statement that led directly to the wedding and an effort to extract a promise that Jake would be there. He’d stuttered around and left the store without a commitment but the date and time were imprinted behind his eyeballs like a scene from a movie—a cross between Cinderella and a horror flick. Allison would be the beautiful princess. Her brothers would inflict the horror. And Jake Hamilton would be the bad guy who ruined the entire affair for everyone.

Better to skip the ordeal.

But when the Saturday of the wedding rolled around, he was restless as a red ant.

“What is wrong with you, Jacob?” Granny Pat sat in her chair knitting like a mad woman. The
click-clack
of needles was driving him crazy.

“Nothing.”

Granny Pat made a huffing noise. “Who was that on the phone? Your woman in Wyoming?”

He scowled. “Bill Brown in Denton. We travel together some.”

“Guess he wants to know when you’re getting back in the game?”

“I’m not worried about it.” No use worrying at this point. The die was cast. He was basically broke. “The fall rodeos are winding down.”

“What
are
you worried about? Allison Buchanon and her big, burly brothers?”

He gave her a cool look. “Some things are better left alone, Granny P.”

“Umm-hmm. Tell that to Allison.”
Click-clack. Click-clack. Click-clack.
The needle speed increased. If she could move the rest of her as fast as she moved those needles, she’d be in the Olympics. Suddenly, the click-clacking stopped. She rested the wad of knitting in her lap. “Your grandpa wants you to know something, son.”

Grandpa again.

“Sometimes a man has to step up to the plate and be a man even when he isn’t sure.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

She picked up the knitting again. “Beats me. Ask Ralph. He said it.”

Jake barked a short laugh. “I need to go somewhere.” Anywhere.

“That’s what Ralph said. Tell the boy to go on. Things can’t get much worse and sometimes they get better.”

Was she talking about the wedding? Ralph or not, she was right. Things couldn’t get much worse with the Buchanons. So what if he showed up at the wedding long enough to give Allison a dance he’d owed her since high school and to offer his congratulations to the happy couple? What’s the worst thing that could happen?

At that point, he got stuck. The worst thing would be ruining Faith’s wedding.

But the Buchanons wouldn’t do that. Would they? They loved Faith, and they loved their sister. Allison had thrown her heart and passion into planning a perfect day for her best friend. The brothers might seethe but they wouldn’t cause a scene.

He bent to kiss his grandmother on the papery cheek. “Is Flo coming over?”

“I don’t need a babysitter, Jacob. As much as I don’t like toddling around on this walker like an old lady, I can if I have to. Go to the wedding. Take that gift on my dresser.”

“You bought a gift?”

“Faith sent me an invitation so I asked Maggie Thompson to bring something over from her shop.” Granny’s face went nostalgic. “I remember when Faith used to ride her bike up here and I’d give her homemade cookies and let her talk about her daddy. That was after the divorce when she was hurting bad. Her mama was, too, but she was so busy trying to make a living for the two of them and hang on to her house. I know a little about that kind of worry. Bless her heart.”

“I never knew we were in danger of losing our property.”

“We’ve had some bumps in the road, but Ralph thinks something will turn up.”

Jake was playing mental gymnastics. “Are we talking about then or now?”

Her needles paused. “Both. But don’t worry. I’ll handle Ned Butterman and his bank.”

With a sick feeling, Jake asked, “You mortgaged the house?”

She waved a hand. “A while back. Before that silly fall. I needed a little cash. You were riding in Vegas and I wanted to be there.”

“Vegas was four years ago. And I paid your way. I bought the tickets.”

Granny Pat gave him the look of idiocy. “Jacob, I was in Vegas. I had to try my luck.”

Jake’s head fell back. He stared up at the hand-plastered ceiling. A thin crack ran from one corner to the light fixture. “You mortgaged the house for gambling money? Why didn’t you tell me? This house means everything to you. That’s the reason I brought you home!”

And the reason he’d been willing to deal with the Buchanons as long as necessary to see her well again.

“That’s why I wanted to come home. I wanted to be here as long as I can. Before—” she sniffed “—well, you know.”

“This is not happening.” He rammed a hand across the top of his head. “I will not let you lose this house.”

“You’re a dear, good boy, but money doesn’t grow on trees.”

True. His money grew on grass. He swallowed thickly. His one asset was his bulls.

“How bad is it?” he asked grimly.

“I told you not to fret.”

“How bad, Granny Pat?”

At his harsh tone, she looked him in the eye. “I have until after the first of the year to come up with the money. Ned doesn’t foreclose during the holidays, which I think is mighty nice of him.”

Foreclosure. Lord, help them both. “Exactly how do you think you can come up with that kind of money?”

“I buy lottery tickets every week.”

Jake groaned. “Granny Pat!”

She rolled her eyes. “I’m joking. I learned my lesson on gambling. The truth is I don’t know where I’ll find the money.” Her bottom lip trembled. “I don’t want to go to the nursing home.”

His grandmother’s frightened, vulnerable expression jabbed at him. Jake took up her hairbrush and ran the bristles gently through her cloud of white hair. “You’re not going to a nursing home.” No matter what he had to do. “If worse comes to worse, you’ll live with me.”

“Darling boy, think on that. You’re on the road most of the time. Besides, I don’t want to leave Gabriel’s Crossing. We’re the last of the Hamiltons. We started this town, and this is where I plan to end.”

The feathery wisps of white hair sifted through his fingers.
Aw, Granny.
Why hadn’t she told him?

More than ever, he needed to work, but ranching and rodeo was all he knew. Manny would hire him in a heartbeat but that would lock him into Gabriel’s Crossing.

All he had left were his bulls.

Not his bulls. Anything but that.

Granny Pat reached up and placed a white, spotted hand on his, stopping the motion of the brush. “You go on to Faith’s wedding. Standing there worrying won’t fix a thing.”

“I’m not going.” He put the brush on the end table.

“Yes, you are. Faith Evans is our friend, sweet as syrup, and never once turned her back or judged you when Quinn got hurt. The least you can do is put on your Sunday best and honor her wedding day.”

Her words struck Jake like a cold rain in the face. He was as self-focused as a mule. This wedding wasn’t about him. It wasn’t even about Allison, though she played a big part in the day. Today was for Faith and her friends and family. “Tell you what. I’ll go to the wedding if you’ll go with me.”

She put a hand to her cheek, her eyes wide. “Oh, Jacob, I don’t know. Look at me.”

“No excuses. You want to, and we owe it to Faith.”

Granny tossed her skein of yarn into a basket at her side. “Well, I’m sick and tired of this house, I tell you for sure. I’d like nothing better today than to see Faith married to her Prince Charming.”

“Then you’re going.” And so was he. Faith was a friend and a longtime neighbor, and the Hamiltons didn’t ignore something as important as a friend’s wedding. Even if Ned Butterman and all the Buchanons in Texas showed up.

* * *

Allison was halfway down the aisle of Jesus Our Savior Church when she saw him. Pachelbel’s “Canon in D”
faded though she managed to keep moving, past the swags of white tulle and kissing pomanders festooning the aisles in Thanksgiving colors.

Jake had come. She kept her eyes forward on the groom and his attendants, the flower girls and ring bearers, but her whole being wanted to do a happy dance down the aisle.

Nothing like making a fool of yourself at your best friend’s wedding.

Her chiffon formal stirred around her heels in a swishing sound. She suddenly felt like a princess.

After taking her place across from the best man, Allison watched the bridesmaids file in exactly the way she’d rehearsed them. Then the organist launched into Wagner’s “Here Comes the Bride,” and the guests rose. Cameras flashed and the guests’ collective sigh filled Allison’s heart with pride and her eyes with tears. An elegantly beautiful Faith floated down the aisle of her childhood church on the arm of her grandfather, the only man in her life until now. Until Derrick.

Allison glanced toward the groom. Though he nervously swallowed, his eyes blazed with love for his bride. He smiled and Faith’s answering radiance was all the pay Allison would ever want for coordinating this perfect day for them.

Someday she wanted a wedding like this with a groom who looked at her with the future in his eyes. A man and woman so in love that they saw only each other in this crowd of well-wishers.

Love was a beautiful gift that bathed the small church in an aura of light and hope. She wanted that with all her heart.

Teary and joyful, Allison glanced toward Jake again. She hadn’t meant to, but her heart squeezed at the endearing sight of the cowboy in jeans and brown sport coat standing behind his grandmother’s wheelchair. He’d brought Miss Pat.

Expression serious, his focus remained on the bride and groom. As hers should be.

He’d come. She couldn’t get that thought out of her head. In spite of everything, he’d come.

She looked toward the pew filled with Buchanons. Mom and Jayla dabbed at their eyes while Charity whispered something to a restless Amber. The Buchanon men filled the rest of the pew like the front line of the Dallas Cowboys. Gorgeous, powerful, wonderful men with heads as hard as bricks.

They had better behave themselves.

* * *

Jake remembered why he didn’t like weddings. They made him feel things he didn’t want to think about. Bulls he understood. Rodeos, too. But weddings and relationships baffled him, filled his chest with a strange heat, like heartburn to the max.

He’d known Allison would look pretty, but he hadn’t expected all the air to rush out of him like a deflated balloon. In a long dress the color of mint ice cream with her dark hair swept up on the side and held by a golden-orange flower, she’d knocked his eyes out. But then, the old guilt had returned with a sledgehammer to the brain, reminding him of the party he’d missed, of the promised dance he’d failed to deliver.

Failures. So many, and now he’d failed Granny Pat by not realizing sooner that the once strong independent woman needed his help in more ways than one. He didn’t know what he was going to do about the mortgage. The worry rolled round and round in his brain and had no answer. For today he shelved the mortgage along with the many other problems and failures. Gabriel’s Crossing made him feel like the worst failure on earth. No wonder he had stayed away.

When the emotional ceremony ended and guests moved like one body into the reception hall, he found a quiet corner to park Granny Pat’s chair and make himself scarce. If the Buchanons had noticed him, none had reacted. So far. Might as well not press his luck since he was batting zero lately.

The reception hall was decked out like a New England foliage tour. Rusts and golds, oranges and yellows mingled with the mint green. In another rush of color, the attendants and the bride and groom came through the double doors to cheers and applause.

“Isn’t she the prettiest thing?” Granny Pat said when Faith and her groom stepped behind a table to cut the three-tiered cake.

“Can’t argue with that,” Jake said, but he turned his gaze toward Allison as she crossed the room to hug her best friend. She looked as happy as the bride, a thought that generated mental pictures of Allison in a white gown standing beneath a lighted arch with candles flickering. She was the marrying kind of girl, and he questioned the manhood of every male in Gabriel’s Crossing for not snatching her up. If she was married, he could stop thinking about her. He’d have to.

Cameras clicked and flashed, and a videographer panned the room before focusing on the fancy-looking cake table. Once the cake was cut, the newlyweds moved out onto the dance floor for the first dance. A romantic “Can’t Help Falling in Love” swept them around the room, their eyes locked on each other in a way that kept the rest of the world out. Jake got that hot air balloon feeling in his chest again.

Granny Pat tapped his hand. “Get us some punch, Jacob. And some of those appetizers.”

Relieved to have something to do, he left his grandmother talking to the postmistress and made his way toward the nearest table.

“Punch or mulled cider?” a smiling young lady asked, indicating a tiny glass cup that couldn’t contain more than a swallow of liquid.

“One of each,” he said to the woman who, like all the others manning the cake and drinks and appetizers, wore autumn colors. Jake gestured toward the corner. “One for my grandmother.”

“Oh, that is so thoughtful. You brought your grandma.”