Linda Goodnight - Cowboy Under the Mistletoe

“You’ve grown up.” Stupid thing to say, but better than yanking her into his arms—an errant, radical thought worthy of a beating from the Buchanon brothers.

She tilted her head, smile quizzical. “Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

For him? Very bad. But instead of admitting the truth, he tweaked her flyaway hair and pushed to a stand, distancing himself from the cute temptation of Quinn Buchanon’s sister. “I’ll drag in more of Granny Pat’s stuff while you put this away. Okay?”

As if he wasn’t already struggling not to touch her, Allison reached out a hand. What could he do except take hold and help her up?

A mistake, of course.

Her skin was a thousand times softer than he remembered and smooth as silk. His rough cowboy hand engulfed her small one. He was nowhere near as tall as her brothers, but he towered above Allison. What man wouldn’t understand this protective ferocity that roared in his veins?

Allison had definitely grown up.

And Jake Hamilton was in major trouble.

Chapter Three

Monday morning, Jake drove the dusty graveled road past rows and rows of fence line leading to the Double M Ranch two miles and a world away from Gabriel’s Crossing. Multicolored Brahma brood cows grazed peacefully in this section of Manny Morales’s pasture land. Not one of them looked up as Jake roared by and pulled beneath the Double M crossbars.

In the near distance, a sprawling ranch house sat like a brick monument to the success of a Mexican immigrant whose work ethic and cattle smarts had created a well-respected bucking bull program. Jake knew. He’d worked for Manny before the Buchanons and the rodeo had given him reason to leave Gabriel’s Crossing.

Dust swirled around the truck tires as he parked and got out. Manny, short and stout and leathery, stood in the barn entrance, white Resistol shading his eyes.

“Manny!” Jake broke into a long stride, eager to see his friend and mentor.

“Is that you, Jake boy?” The older man propped a shovel against the barn and came to meet him.

With back slaps and handshakes, they greeted one another. “Manny, it’s good to see you.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you was coming?”

“Why? Would you have cooked for me?”

Manny laughed. He could wrangle a cow, ride a horse and haul a dozen bulls all around the region, but he couldn’t boil water. “Paulina will be crazy happy. She’ll want to cook cabrito and have a fiesta!”

Jake laughed for the first time since his arrival three days ago in Gabriel’s Crossing. “No need to kill the fatted goat. I’ll be satisfied with some frijoles and her homemade tortillas.”

“Sure. Sure.” Manny clapped him on the shoulder again. “But first you got to see your bulls.”

“How are they doing?”

Manny’s black eyes crinkled at the corners. “You see for yourself. They’re good.”

Together they made their way inside the enormous silver barn where Manny’s dark green Polaris ATV was parked. In minutes, they’d bumped across grassy yellowing fields to a pasture where a dozen bull calves grazed.

“I moved the big boys to the west pasture, closer to the house so I can keep an eye on them,” Manny said as he climbed out of the Polaris. “Mountain Man is cranky sometimes so he has his own lot. You saw him buck in San Antonio.”

Jake nodded. Chance meetings at rodeos were one of the perks of having a friend in the stock business. “He’s a good bull. Some of the cowboys are afraid of him.”

“Ah, he’s not so bad.”

Jake differed in opinion. Mountain Man, a white monster of a bull, was big and bad with the horns to end any discussion. He was also an athlete, hard to ride and keeping his owner in tamales. Manny hauled him to rodeos every week during the season.

“There are your sons,” Manny said as he propped a boot on an iron gate and pointed toward the herd.

His sons. Likely the only ones he’d have for a long time. Not that he wouldn’t love a family. A stray like him had dreams. A big ranch and plenty of money. Then a woman to love and a few kids. Maybe a lot of kids. If Allison Buchanon intruded on those dreams at times, he’d learned to shut her out and focus on the first part. A ranch. His bulls.

Over the past several years he’d searched out and bought the best young calves he could afford and partnered with Manny to finish and train them.

Their expense, along with the cost of the brood cows, meant a tight budget most of the time but eventually, he’d reap the benefits of his sacrifice. He’d start a ranch of his own and hopefully be able to retire from the circuit. The past couple of seasons had taken a toll on his body and his bank account. At twenty-seven, he was still fit, but a bull rider never knew how long before the constant pounding ended his career. Even now, his shoulder predicted rain before the meteorologists.

“How’s the training going?” he asked. “Is Big Country about ready for the circuit?”

Though Jake had borrowed heavily to buy him, Big Country was the animal Jake counted on to make his name in the stock contracting business.

“You’ll have to stick around Gabriel’s Crossing for a while and find out for yourself, my friend.”

“Can’t stay long, Manny.” He tried to keep the worry from his voice. “But I’m here until Granny Pat is better.” Even if it meant dealing with the Buchanons and dwindling cash flow.

“Maybe you stay for good this time. Gabriel’s Crossing is your home.”

Jake looked out over the cattle—his cattle—and thought of how often he’d longed to go back in time before he’d ruined everything. Before regret and rodeo were his daily companions. Back when he’d been a part of this town and the big Buchanon clan.

“Water under the bridge, Manny. The rodeo can’t get along without me.” Which wasn’t exactly true. Most seasons, he made a living, and arena dust got in a man’s blood. But he was sick and tired of the travel and the loneliness.

Manny’s dark gaze pierced him. “Still the bad blood?”

No point hiding from Manny. “Buchanons practically own this town. Coming back, even for a while, isn’t easy.”

Manny sighed and folded his brown, leathery hands on the iron railing. “The Buchanons are good people. By now, they will forgive you. Huh? You talk to them. Find out. Maybe you carry a burden for nothing.”

“I don’t think so, Manny. I talked to Allison.”

“You still sweet for that Buchanon girl?”

Jake felt a lot of things for Allison Buchanon that he couldn’t put a name to. Things he couldn’t allow into the conversation. Now or ever. “That was a long time ago. Before I ruined everything.”

If time healed wounds—and he prayed every night the Buchanons would heal—they didn’t need reminders of him to rip open the scab.

He swallowed the taste of regret. He didn’t like thinking about the accident, the worst day of his life, but the burden rode his back like a two-ton elephant. He could never forget it. Ever.

The accident or the girl.

* * *

Buchanon Construction was nothing more than a metal warehouse full of equipment with an office tacked on to one end. Inside that office at a U-shaped desk, Allison entered data for the Willow Creek project into her computer while blonde Jayla fielded phone calls and met with vendors selling ceramic tile or the latest eco-friendly appliances. The place was messy, practical and, other than the desk, bore little resemblance to a business office.

Not that she was thinking about business today with Jake Hamilton lurking in every thought.

Jake. The time at Miss Pat’s had been fun and eye-opening. She liked the handsome cowboy as much as ever. His gentle concern for his grandmother tugged at her, but more than that, being with him reminded her of what they’d had, of what might have been.