Linda Goodnight - The Christmas Family

She turned to reenter the living room only to discover that Brady had followed and now blocked the narrow doorway, as large and intimidating and every bit as beautiful as some mythological warrior. Her pulse did a double step.

Whoa, what was that all about?

“My niece and nephew are the same way.” He stepped aside, letting her pass, a movement that brought them in very close contact. Her shoulder brushed his arm. He smelled good, like new wood and Eternity cologne. “Mom cooks T-bone steaks and the kids want macaroni.”

Disconcerted by the highly unusual skitter of pulse and the hum of blood in her veins, Abby hurried back to the couch. Brady followed, but not before he’d casually leaned in to the kitchen and had a look around.

What was he doing? If she didn’t know him by reputation, she’d think he was casing the place for robbery. Or worse.

“Macaroni rocks the world, right, Lila?” said Dawson, whom she’d dubbed the thoughtful one long ago at the café.

“Uh-huh.” Lila went right back to coloring. This time the angel was yellow.

“Now, as I was saying,” Brady said, retaking his place at the end of the couch. He leaned forward, startling blue eyes holding hers and his big hands clasped in front of him. “We offer a home makeover every Christmas. This year, we’d like to remodel your house. Merry Christmas, Abby.”

His big white smile was dazzling, and she understood he expected her to be thrilled.

She wasn’t. She was embarrassed. Mortified. Humiliation heated her cheeks to chili-pepper status.

She had flashbacks to pitying teachers dragging used shoes and coats from school closets.

Her back stiffened. “That’s very nice of you, but no. I couldn’t accept.”

Brady’s smile disappeared. “No?”

“No. But thank you for the offer.” She stood, expecting him to leave.

The brothers exchanged looks. They were good at that. Must be some kind of sibling symbiosis, although she wouldn’t know. Being a street kid who had never even known her mother, Abby had grown up alone, mostly in group homes. Not that she minded so much now that she was an independent adult. What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. She was happy on her own. Truly, she was. She had Lila and a job and this house. She most definitely was not a charity case.

And the fact that she’d all but swooned over the handsome Buchanon brothers humiliated her even more. Men like them didn’t look twice at a girl like her.

Even her ears were burning now. She wanted to dissolve right into the floor of her run-down, makeover-worthy old house.

“If you’re worried we would interfere with your everyday living, we won’t. We’ll work out a schedule that fits yours.”

Abby swallowed, her pride throbbing like an ingrown toenail. The house needed repairs but she’d get to them eventually without becoming the object of someone’s pity. “Lila and I are doing fine the way we are.”

“If you’re worried about the money, this is a gift. No charge.”

Which made it even worse. “I pay my own way, Mr. Buchanon.”

Brady stared at her as if her brain was as loose as the boards on her porch. Finally, he nodded and slowly rose.

“Sorry to have bothered you.” He looked so disappointed she almost caved and said yes. In fact, if her pride wasn’t so insulted, she would agree anyway, just to see him smile again.

“No bother. I’m sure there are others far needier than Lila and I.”

The brothers did that glancing thing again. Brady took a business card from his pocket and handed it to her. “In case you change your mind, my number is on here. Call me anytime.”

“Thanks.” Her smile was brittle. “See you at the Buttered Biscuit.”

“Mister,” Lila said, though it sounded more like “misser.”

“I drawed this for you.” She offered the yellow angel to him. “Hang it on your window.”

His face softened. “It’s beautiful. Thank you, Lila.”

Lila beamed at him, pleased with herself and proud of her scrawling, four-year-old jumble of lines, circles and color.

Some of the starch went out of Abby’s spine at the exchange between her small child and the giant man who accepted the drawing as if it was as valuable as a van Gogh.

Brady Buchanon was a nice guy. A guy who could easily get to her.

All the more reason to refuse his offer.

Chapter Two

“That was different,” Dawson said as the brothers joined Dawg back inside the pickup.

Different didn’t even come close to explaining the past ten minutes.

Stunned to numbness, Brady leaned over the steering wheel and stared at Abby Webster’s house. The paint was peeling, the porch sagged—at least to his expert eye—and a dozen or more shingles were missing from the roof. The inside was as retro as any he’d seen in a while. A child like Lila would never be able to maneuver a wheelchair or a walker through those narrow doors and hallways.

“No one’s ever turned us down before.”

“Kind of painful, wasn’t it?” Dawson gave an exaggerated shudder.

“Why? I don’t get it?” Brady flopped back against the seat cushion. “The house is in sad repair and she needs us. She needs us.”

“Getting a little overwrought, aren’t you, brother? Wounded pride, maybe?”

“Yeah!” Brady cranked the engine, listened to the rumble and put the shifter in gear. “She’s supposed to be thrilled.”

“Wonder why she refused. Do you think she actually doesn’t see the problems?”

“Nah, it’s not that. She was upset, not oblivious. The problem is, I don’t know what button we pushed to fix it, but she was offended.”

“The little girl was cute, huh?”

“Adorable.” The truck bumped across the railroad tracks. The sun was in midset, shooting orange fingers through a purple sky. “Did you notice her artwork all over the walls?”

“Couldn’t miss it. The mom’s not too bad, either.”

Brady gave him a hard look. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“They need this remodel. Maybe you could turn on the Buchanon charm.”

Brady snorted. “No.”

“You haven’t dated anyone since Kiley and that was months ago.”

“Not interested. I’m a builder, not a Romeo.” Never mind the strange sensation that had tingled up his arms when Abby brushed past him in the kitchen. Or the weird, weird heat in his chest when Lila gave him her angel drawing. “You’re the man about town. You ask her out.”

“The Christmas makeover is your project.” Dawson’s wide shoulders lifted in a shrug. “We can always find another recipient. That side of town has plenty of candidates.”

“Yeah, I suppose you’re right. Plan B.” But Abby and her little girl needed the remodel more than anyone else he’d considered. Lila, especially, according to his sources at the day care, suffered from the lack of special-needs accessories in her home. He wanted to do that makeover.

* * *

The next morning Brady awakened hungry. Nothing unusual about that, but this morning he decided to eat breakfast at the Buttered Biscuit. Call him stubborn or perverse, but he wasn’t ready to give up on Miss Abby Webster. If a little of his presence reminded her of how much she needed him and what a good guy he was, all the better.

The drive to the café took a few minutes. He’d built his house, or rather half of it, on the edge of town not far from the river in a copse of bald cypress and red oak. As he liked to say, his home was a work in progress. The lower floor was finished and the rest evolved in squeezed-out hours and minutes. All of the Buchanon kids except Quinn had, over time, acquired a Buchanon Built home.

Older brother Quinn was, himself, a work in progress, still trying to pull his act together after a life-altering accident, though most of the family thought ten years was enough time for anyone. Forgiving Jake Hamilton, the cause of the accident, had made a difference, but Quinn had a ways to go.