Linda Goodnight - The Christmas Family

She needed a new house. A place that wasn’t a danger to Lila.

Abby leaned her forehead against the cabinet and fought off the surge of pride. Brady Buchanon’s voice played in her memory. He could give Lila something she needed.

As hard as it would be for Abby to accept charity again, this wasn’t about her. This was about doing the right thing for Lila.

She dug in her pocket and pulled out the card with the blue Buchanon Built logo and Brady’s number, and resigned herself to a little more humiliation.

Chapter Three

“You have to be kidding me?” Grimly, Brady leaned a shoulder against one unfinished wall of gypsum board, his cell phone pressed against his ear. He gripped the device as if he wanted to strangle someone. Which he did. “When did this happen?”

He listened as his father railed against yet another act of vandalism against one of the company’s building sites. No one could figure out why Buchanon Built was being targeted, but someone seemed to know when a home-in-progress would be devoid of workers.

“I’ll sleep here if I have to, but this project is not going to be damaged.” Brady shuddered at the thought. They’d chunked thousands into this showplace along Crystal Ridge. A break-in could set them back for months and cost them more than the insurance could cover.

His father ranted, growing louder by the minute, as if the situation was entirely Brady’s fault.

“Right. I hear you, Dad. Call Leroy at the police station. He knows about the others.”

When he tapped the End key a few minutes later, his blood boiled and his finger trembled. What a lousy day. The trenchers had hit an electric cable and downed all the power in the Huckleberry Creek addition. A frame carpenter had been taken to the ER with appendicitis. Dad was furious over the lack of a plumber on the Edwards house. And now this. Another Buchanon Built home damaged by thugs.

He ran a hand over the top of his head and debated on a trip to the damaged site or staying with this project for the remainder of the day. Not much he could do over there until the police had made another useless investigation. Dad was already there and mad enough to spit nails faster and harder than an air gun.

Here was preferable at the moment.

From the back room, a table saw revved up in a high-pitched wail. The twins were on it, trimming out the bedrooms in a unique routered design created specifically for this house by the Buchanon brain trust.

His phone vibrated again. Brady groaned. Loudly. Please. Not more trouble.

“Hello,” he growled into the mouthpiece, daring the caller to give him one more bit of bad news.

No one said anything for a couple of seconds, and then a very hesitant female voice asked, “Is this Brady Buchanon?”

A pleasant voice, sweet and warm and womanly.

Nice. But who?

His brain played mental gymnastics as he softened his reply, “Yes, this is Brady. May I ask who’s calling?”

“Abby Webster. Have I caught you at a bad time?”

He almost laughed. She didn’t know the half of it. “Not at all. What can I do for you, Abby? Maybe a little remodel work?”

He couldn’t help it. He was born to be pushy when he wanted something. She’d probably turn him down again, but he had to try.

“Actually—” there was that hesitation again “—yes.”

The word hummed through the cyberspace connecting them. She’d said yes?

“You changed your mind? May I ask why?” A smile lit his insides, erasing some of the lousy, lousy events of the day. Teasing, he said, “Was it my charm, or my pretty brothers? Or maybe the double order of French toast?”

He didn’t—wouldn’t—mention the tip.

She sighed out a weary breath. “Blame it on my front porch. I fell through.”

Brady’s shoulders tensed. “Are you hurt?”

“No, but I had Lila in my arms. She wasn’t hurt either, but she could have been.” Her words faded in an anguished breath.

Brady got her meaning. She didn’t particularly want the makeover, but for Lila she’d take it. He didn’t care what her reasons were. In the end, she’d be delighted with the results, and Lila would be better off while he got to play Santa. A win-win in his book any day of the week.

Already feeling vastly better, he said, “Let’s get together tonight and talk this over. I’ll come by after work.”

“Well, I—guess that would be okay.”

“Do you and Lila like barbecue?”

“What? Yes, we love it, but you don’t need to bring food.”

Brady laughed. “Abby, I’m a big boy. I gotta have food, and so do you.” Even though he couldn’t recall a time when he’d brought food for a prospective client. That was his sister’s domain. “What time works best?”

After a few more useless protests against him doing anything nice for her, she named the time and they ended the call.

His mood much elevated, he slid his cell phone into his back pocket and gave a soft whistle. “Quitting time, Dawg.”

The canine, sprawled in a corner of the great room like an ornament befitting the massive fireplace, lifted his brindled body from the bare concrete floor and gave his fur a hardy shake.

“We’re going to Abby Webster’s, and I might let you say hello. What do ya think about that?”

Dawg trotted to the door and looked back expectantly.

The dog was weird that way. He seemed to know what Brady was talking about most of the time. “Hold on a minute. I have to tell the other guys.”

Feeling unusually chipper, considering the problems of the day, Brady cleaned up his mess and secured his tools before talking to the twins.

“Another break-in,” he said as he entered what would be the master bedroom. At the moment, sawdust covered the floor, along with a stack of clean-smelling lumber. Smack in the middle of the room stood a table saw and one of his brothers in plastic safety goggles. “Dad called.”

Sawyer pushed the goggles atop his black hair and tilted his chin toward the unfinished ceiling in a pained groan. “That must have been fun.”

“Loved it,” Brady answered wryly. “You boys about ready to call it a night?” He rubbed his hands together. “I’ve got places to go and things to do.”

Dawson, on his haunches fitting trim, pushed to a stand. “You seem in a seriously good mood for someone who’s been talking to Dad about vandalism. Don’t tell me you have a date.”

“Nah, nothing like that.” Although he was taking food and going to see a woman, the reason had nothing to do with a date. It was all about the project, not the woman. “Dad’s not the only caller. Get this. Abby Webster changed her mind. The makeover is on!” He pumped a fist.

A grin deepened the single dimple in Dawson’s cheek. “Yeah? That’s terrific. When do we start?”

“I’m headed over there later tonight to work out plans. This should be the best makeover ever.”

The twins exchanged looks.

Brady pointed two index fingers, one at each brother. “Don’t start that. Abby’s not the only single-mom makeover we’ve done.”

Dawson held up both palms. “Hey, I’m with you. I was over there, remember. Nobody in town needs this remodel more than Abby and her little girl.”

“Yeah, the little girl,” Brady said. “She’s the kicker.”

Sawyer spiked an eyebrow in his usual tease. “And the mom’s no slouch.”

No, Brady thought, surprising himself. No, she wasn’t.

* * *

Abby’s nerves jittered as she opened the door for Brady Buchanon. He came inside, bringing with him the scent of hot, spicy barbecue.

“I can tell what’s in that sack,” she said as he handed it over. “The smell is fabulous.”

“Danny makes the best barbecue in this part of Texas.”