Linda Goodnight - Cowboy Under the Mistletoe

Jake was unfinished business.

Her twin brothers, Dawson and Sawyer, ambled in from the warehouse, smelling of sweat and doughnuts. “Mirror” twins, her brothers were lady magnets with black hair, blue eyes and bodies honed by years in the hands-on construction business.

Dawson’s dimple was on display because both men wore possum grins as if they knew a secret. Allison was relieved to see them smiling this morning. If they’d heard about Jake’s return, they wouldn’t be smiling.

“You can’t hide those from me. I have a nose for fresh-baked anything.” Allison held out a hand. “Gimme.”

“Greedy, isn’t she, Dawson?” Sawyer pulled a doughnut box from behind his back and held the white container above his head. At nearly a foot taller than Allison’s five-one, he had a distinct advantage.

“You want me to hop and jump and try to reach them while you laugh at me, don’t you?”

“Torment is our game. Hop, little sister.”

When she propped a hand on one hip and glared, he wiggled the box and said in a cajoling voice, “Come on. Hop. You know you want a hot, fresh doughnut from The Bakery.”

“Well, okay, if I must...” But instead of playing her brother’s ornery game, she poked a finger in his relaxed belly. His six-pack abs tightened, and when he curled inward with a “Hey!” Allison laughed and snatched the still-warm doughnut box.

“Greedy and sneaky,” she said as she popped open the box. “Yum. Maple with coconut. Did you bring milk?”

“Quinn’s supposed to be making fresh coffee in the back.”

“He’s so domestic.” She bit into the sweet dough and sighed, her mouth happy with the warm maple goodness.

“Don’t let him hear you say that.”

“Those things will give you a heart attack.” This from Jayla who held a palm over the telephone receiver. “I’m on hold about the Langley license.”

None of her three siblings paid Jayla any mind.

“Hey, Quinn,” Sawyer yelled toward the back of the warehouse. “What’s the holdup on that java?”

Quinn’s head appeared around the door leading into the warehouse. Golden haired and pretty, Allison thought he resembled a younger, bigger Brad Pitt.

“Some people work for a living.” He gave them all a scowling once over and disappeared again.

“I guess I’ll make the coffee.” Dawson headed into the warehouse, returning a short time later with a full carafe and a stack of disposable foam cups. “He’s in a happy mood today.”

“Which means he’s not,” Jayla said. “The Bartowskis asked for changes to the plans he finished over the weekend. Major changes.”

Sawyer snarled. “I hate when that happens.”

“He threatened to let Dawg bite them.”

“He is in a bad mood. Dawg wouldn’t bite a hot doughnut. Well, maybe he would, but you get the point.” Dawson leaned around the opened doorway. “Hey, Quinn, want a doughnut? Guaranteed to sweeten you up.”

A muffled reply about exactly what Dawson could do with his doughnuts had the siblings stifling snorts that would not be appreciated. They were loud enough, however, that Quinn stalked into the room, hazel eyes shooting sparks. “Something funny?”

Dawg low-crawled from behind Quinn and collapsed at Allison’s feet. “You’re scaring Brady’s dog. Where is Brady anyway?” She tossed the mutt a hunk of sweet roll. He snapped it in midair and tail-thumped in expectation of more.

“Open your mouth, Quinn,” she said, “and I’ll toss you a chunk.”

Quinn fisted a hand on his hip and allowed a grudging lip twitch. “You’d miss.”

“Can’t miss something that big.”

“Old joke, sis.” But with his better hand, he took a chocolate-covered pastry from the box. “Pour me a cup?”

Dawson obliged, handing the steaming brew to his brother. Quinn shifted the doughnut to his weaker right side to accept the coffee.

“Stinks about the plans.” Dawson lifted his ball cap and scratched at his unruly black waves.

“Part of the job.” As architect of Buchanon Construction, Quinn developed all their housing concepts, a recent turn of events, considering the slide into depression that had taken him away from home for too long. Even now, he wasn’t the most social Buchanon. “Those plans were exactly what they asked for. Now they want changes. I have a feeling this project may not be our favorite.”

“We could subcontract the entire project if the Bartowskis become a problem,” Dawson said.

“That would only make things worse. If a sub messes up, we’re responsible.”

“Put Charity on them.” Sawyer studied the Bavarian cream inside his doughnut. “This stuff is good.”

The oldest of the siblings at thirty-three, Charity was the real estate whiz, slick as a used car salesman, a trait Allison found out of sync with the sweet-faced wife of a deployed navy pilot and the mother of a six-and an eleven-year-old.

“Nah, I’ll make the changes. Once.” Quinn ripped off a piece of his chocolate doughnut and tossed it to Dawg. Pathetically grateful, dog sat at his feet, begging for more. “Where are we on the Willow Creek project? Any news on the permits?”

Jayla’s long hair swayed as she thumped the telephone receiver into its cradle and swung around to face them. “That was Brady. Permits are ready. He’s at the courthouse now, and says he will meet you two—” she pointed at Sawyer and Dawson “—at the job site. Bring Dawg.”

Quinn crossed the small space and kissed the top of her head. “You’re amazing.” He ripped off another piece of doughnut and held it in front of her nose. “Eat this.”

She made a horrified face and squeezed her eyes closed. “Death in a doughnut. I’ll pass.”

He laughed and popped the bite into his mouth. “Don’t know what you’re missing, baby sister.”

They were hassling Jayla about her rigid eating habits when the front door slammed open, and Brady strode inside.

“Weren’t you going to the job site?” Jayla’s question fell into the sizzling air and withered away, unanswered.

If a man could spit nails, Allison thought this might be the time to duck and run. With his warrior size, Brady was as dangerous as a rattler when stirred up. And something had definitely stirred him up this morning.

Allison was afraid she knew the cause.

The other siblings exchanged looks. The twins shrugged in unison. No one else had a clue to Brady’s fury.

With a dread heavier than a forklift, Allison put her half eaten doughnut on a skinny strip of napkin and waited for the ax to fall.

Voice tight and low, steam all but pumping from his ears, Brady asked, “You haven’t heard, have you?”

Quinn set his mug down. “Heard what?”

Blood rushed against Allison’s temples. Oh, yeah, here came trouble.

“Jake Hamilton is in town.”

Sawyer’s jaw hardened. “What?”

“You heard me right. Jake’s back.”

“Where did you hear that?” Quinn’s voice was quiet. Too quiet.

“Courthouse.” Brady fisted huge hands on his hips. “I saw the lowlife with my own eyes. Miss Pat’s out of the nursing home and Jake’s moved in, supposedly to take care of her.”

All eyes swung toward Quinn. Like the rest of them—except Allison—he looked stunned. A long beat passed while they absorbed the news. Then, without a word, Quinn spun on his steel-toed boots and left the room.

Chaos erupted.

As if the russet-haired Brady had announced an eminent asteroid collision with downtown Gabriel’s Crossing, everyone talked at once. The general consensus was outrage. Outrage that Jake Hamilton would strut into town years after the fact and behave as if nothing had happened. As if he hadn’t ruined a man’s life.