The Christmas Family

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.

Brady turned the lock on his front door and whistled his way out into the cool morning with Dawg at his heel.

As he drove into town and down First Street to the café, gray fog crawled along the ground in mysterious wisps and wiggles.

“Sit tight, pal, and I’ll bring you a sausage patty.” Brady gave Dawg a pat and rolled the window down enough for the animal to stick his nose out if the mood struck. Dawg, accustomed to waiting for his master, put his chin on his paws and went to sleep.

Breakfast smells hit Brady full in the olfactory glands the minute he entered the café. His stomach reacted with wild abandon.

As usual this early in the morning, the café was jammed and the clatter of conversations mixed with the clink of plates and the cook’s voice calling “order up!”

An old-time diner-style café that served up home cooking and comfort food, the Buttered Biscuit was the place to be for good eats and all the latest and greatest in Gabriel’s Crossing news.

Brady greeted friends and acquaintances as he made his way to a table still cluttered with someone else’s empty plates and took a seat.

Jan, the owner and baker of the fluffiest biscuits in Texas, whipped past. “Get that in a sec, Brady.”

“No rush.” Which wasn’t technically true. He was always in a rush these days.

Two other waitresses were on duty, all of them moving at Mach speed to fill cups and deliver plates. Abby Webster, pad in hand, took orders two tables away. She looked up, spotted Brady and hesitated as if she didn’t want to see him.

Too bad.

She had kept him up late trying to figure out why anyone would refuse a free home makeover from the best builders in the area. The least she could do was bring him a cup of coffee.

She whipped toward him and he noticed her as he never had before, though he ate at the diner fairly often. Probably because, as Dawson said, she was all business. The other waitresses smiled and bantered with the customers—he noticed them—but Abby simply worked. He wondered, randomly, if she did anything for fun.

“French toast and milk?” she asked. Her cheekbones were tipped in pink.

“Sure. And the strongest cup of coffee you have.” Coffee, like her eyes. Dark and shiny and able to deliver a jolt.

She didn’t offer a joke, as Jan would have, by asking him if he’d been out all night partying or some other sass-mouthed comment she was known for. Abby simply scribbled his order, grabbed a pile of plates and sailed away.

He watched her move through the customers, topping off coffee and delivering checks as she made her way to the kitchen with his order.

She was actually kind of pretty, a truth that surprised him this morning. Mink-colored hair that gleamed over one shoulder, huge dark eyes framed by thick, arching eyebrows and a wide, full mouth. On anyone else, the large features would be too much, but they looked good on her.

“What are you staring at, big brother?” Dawson pulled out the chair opposite him. Sawyer, the other twin, joined him on the right.

Brady ignored the question. “What are you two doing here?”

“Same as you. Too lazy to cook breakfast. Have you been able to locate a plumber for the Edwards job?”

Brady slapped the heel of one hand to his forehead. “Ah, man, I forgot.”

He’d been so keyed up after the strange meeting with Abby he’d not given the plumber another thought until this moment.

“Dad’s not going to be happy.”

“I’ll find someone.” But not before the already-passed deadline of six o’clock. “Any ideas.”

“A couple. You might call Richie Clonts up in Idabel.”

“Good idea.”

“Give Charity a call. She’ll know his number.”

Charity was their oldest sister, a powerhouse real estate agent with a steel-trap mind and a list of contacts a mile long.

He fished his cell phone from his hip pocket, got the number from his sister and called the plumber. Five minutes later, he hung up a happier man. “Richie can send someone tomorrow. Dad wanted someone today, but tomorrow is better than nothing.”

Abby appeared with his coffee in a thick white mug and took orders from the twins.

“You’re pretty busy,” Sawyer said, saying the obvious with a toothy smile. Brady’s younger brothers, especially Sawyer, were always scoping the field for ladies.

“Slammed, but it’s letting up.”

“Still have my phone number?” Brady asked.

Her gaze flicked his direction. She got pink again. “Haven’t you chosen someone else?”

“I’d rather give you time to think about the offer.”

“Why?”

The question caught Brady off guard, but he said, “I like your little girl and I can give her something she needs.”

A look, almost of panic, flamed in Abby’s eyes. Again, Brady wondered what her problem was.

“Lila and I are okay, but thanks. Anything else on these orders?”

The twins lifted their fingers off the table in an identical gesture. “We’re good.”

And Abby whirled away, leaving the Buchanon brothers staring after her.

“Stubborn,” Brady muttered as he reached for the steaming cup.

“Embarrassed,” Dawson said. “Did you see how she blushed?” Intuitive and empathetic, Dawson was the brother who always noticed things like that.

“Nah,” Sawyer said, and laughed. “She was overwhelmed by my charm. Girls always turn pink in my studly presence.”

His brothers hooted.

“Dawg’s more charming than you.”

“Prettier, too.”

“Aw, thanks, guys.” Sawyer hung his head in mock offense.

“Kidding aside, do you think we embarrassed her?” Brady asked.

“What’s this we business? You’re the guilty party.”

The concept gave Brady pause. He’d never purposely embarrass someone, but maybe Dawson was right. Maybe Abby somehow mistook his intentions. Maybe she thought he was putting her down.

Man, he’d never considered such a thing.

“I think I should talk to her again, show her the possibilities.”

The twins exchanged looks. “Can’t take no for an answer, can you, Brady?”

Never had. Never would. Not when someone needed him, and he was convinced Abby and Lila needed his help.

Before he left, Brady slid a twenty-dollar bill under his plate.

* * *

He’d left her twenty dollars. Abby didn’t know whether to be pathetically grateful or even more humiliated than she’d been last night.

“Wow, girlfriend, you must have been on your game this morning. Twenty bucks,” Charla Patterson, one of the other waitresses and Abby’s friend said as she helped clear the Buchanon table. “Have you caught the eye of one of Gabriel’s Crossing’s most eligible bachelors?”

Abby shook her head at the ridiculous notion. “Like that would ever happen.”

“Hey, don’t sell yourself short. You have lots to offer.”

“Tell that to Warren.” She’d trusted her ex-boyfriend, a man who’d promised love and marriage but bolted when he learned the child Abby carried would be special-needs. Now, she only felt loathing for the man who had never once laid eyes on his beautiful daughter.

“Warren was a user. It’s time for you to stop beating yourself up over him and move on.”

“I’m not beating myself up. I’m glad he’s out of our lives.”

“And I’m thankful for that. I never liked the guy, even though I still think you should force him to pay child support. You could use the money.”

“No way. I don’t want him involved with Lila any more than he wants to be. He doesn’t deserve to be part of her life. Him or his lovely wife.” She sounded bitter and didn’t want to be. But his cruel rejection had stabbed deep and left her uncertain and bruised.

“There are good guys out there, hon. Guys like Brady Buchanon. His cute twin brothers, too.”

A funny little twitter went off in Abby’s belly. She clattered a fork onto a plate and ignored the feeling. “I have Lila. She’s all I need.”

“So why did Brady leave such a fat tip this morning?”

“Not because he’s after me, that’s for sure.” She forced a laugh, surprised to be bothered by that truth. “Remember how the Buchanons give away a home makeover every Christmas?”

“Sure. The makeover is a big deal. A really big deal.” Charla slapped a bleach rag against the tabletop as her eyes widened. “You don’t mean—”

“Brady offered it to me.”

“Abby! That’s amazing. Congratulations. No one deserves a new home more than you.”

“I turned him down.”

“What? Are you out of your mind?”

“I don’t need their help, Char. I can take care of my daughter and my house and my life without anyone.”

“Oh, Abby.” Charla looked at her with sympathy. Dishes rattled as they stacked them on the cart. “Sometimes you’re too independent for your own good. Warren really did a number on you.”

Warren wasn’t the only one though, admittedly, he’d been the latest in bad decisions that had come back to bite her. Abby was smart enough to know her background made her wary. Nobody did something for nothing. Stick your heart out there and it would get tromped. Every time. If trying to fit into a family and failing at age thirteen hadn’t proved that, Warren had.

Big, beautiful Brady Buchanon would have to find someone else to feel sorry for.

She stuck his twenty dollars into her pocket and debated on giving it back.

* * *

Lila’s play school telephoned an hour before Abby’s shift ended.

“For you, Abby,” Jan called, holding her hand over the mouthpiece. “Christina at the play school.”

The café was in the lull shortly before dinner hour and Abby was in the middle of filling and wiping down saltshakers. She recapped the latest one and went to the phone.

“Sorry,” she said to Jan. “I’m out of minutes for my phone.” But with Christmas coming, she was holding off on the purchase as long as possible.

“You know I don’t care when it’s important.” Her boss, a sturdy, energetic woman with close-cropped blond waves, winked. “Lila’s always important.”

“Thanks, Jan.” Her boss was good to her so Abby never wanted to take advantage. She took the phone and said, “Hello.”

A minute later she hung up. “Jan, Lila had a bathroom accident at school. I really have to go over there, but I’ll come back as soon as I take care of her.”

Jan glanced around the quiet café. “Charla and I can handle it for an hour until Mercy gets here. Get Lila and go on home. Tell her accidents happen to everyone.”

But they happened to Lila more than most. While her potty training had progressed to a good schedule considering the nerve damage below the waist, on occasion she had an accident.

Abby didn’t know whether to be grateful for her boss’s understanding or worried. She needed the hour on her paycheck, but Lila came first. “I’ll see you at five-thirty in the morning then?”

“Deal.” Jan waved her off.

The streets of Gabriel’s Crossing bustled with Christmas preparations. City workers in cherry pickers were draping strands of green lighted garland from one side of First Street to the other. In the center of each garland was a huge green wreath with artificial candles and a big red bow.

Just looking at the decorations going up everywhere filled her with excited dread. She loved seeing Lila’s excitement but wished she could give her more. Lila didn’t even have grandparents or other relatives to spoil her and buy her things.

But that was okay. They didn’t need anyone else. They had each other.

She swung by the house to pick up a change of clothes and reached Huckleberry Play School soon thereafter.

Greeted by Christina, the owner/operator of the day care where Lila had gone for the past year, Abby fretted. One of the rules of this facility was that children had to be potty trained. The staff accommodated Lila’s special needs in other ways, but this was a rule for all children, not just Lila.

“I’m really sorry about this, Christina. Lila’s been doing so well.”

“She has. Don’t worry about it this time, but if she regresses, we’ll need to talk again.”

“I understand.” Truly she did, but this was the only preschool in town that accommodated Abby’s long hours and odd work days. Plus, Lila loved it here. Abby wasn’t sure what she would do if she had to find another placement.

“Lila is waiting in my office,” Christina said. “She was very upset.”

Abby hurried to the office and found her red-eyed daughter sitting with her small legs dangling from an adult chair. Chin on her chest, mouth tilted down, Lila was the picture of dejection.

Abby’s heart broke at the sight. Her chest clutched as she gathered her child into her arms. “Hey, jelly fingers. Mom’s here, and I brought your favorite outfit to change into.”

“My jammies?” Lila asked hopefully.

Around a lump in her throat, Abby managed a chuckle. “We’ll get into those after a bath at home. Okay? For now, how about your pink princess set?”

Lila sniffed, long and shuddery, and nodded her head.

Abby gathered her child into her arms and carried her to the bathroom to change, and then they headed home.

The usually chatty Lila said little in the car, though Abby tried to start distracting conversations about Christmas.

“Lila,” Abby said, as they pulled into the blacktop drive and parked. “Accidents happen. Miss Jan said to remind you of that. You’re doing great, and I’m proud of you.”

“Will I ever be big like other kids?”

Unexpected tears jammed the back of Abby’s nose and throat. She’d been dealing with the effects of Lila’s mild spina bifida for years, but, instead of getting easier as Lila grew old enough to notice the world around her, the task became harder.

“You will always be the most awesome Lila in the world.”

For now, this was enough to bring the faintest glimmer of a smile to her daughter’s face. But how long before a nonanswer was not enough?

Heart heavy, Abby gathered her child into her arms and started to the house. As she stepped up on the porch, keys in one hand and Lila on her hip, the board she’d warned Brady Buchanon about gave way.

Her foot caught in the broken board and Abby struggled to maintain her balance. Struggled and failed. Instinctively trying to protect Lila, she twisted to the left and tumbled onto the porch in a heap. She lost her grip, and Lila hit the wooden porch and started to cry.

“Are you hurt? Oh, baby. You’re okay. You’re okay.” In a panic, Abby scrambled to her feet and pulled Lila into her arms, searching for blood or bruises. With her nerve impairment, Lila didn’t always know when she was injured.

Once she was certain no real emergency existed, Abby opened the door and carried Lila inside the living room. Both of them were shaking. She had never dropped her daughter. Never.

Lila curled up on the couch and sniveled. This hadn’t been her best day.

Abby scooted onto the couch beside her daughter and laid her head against Lila’s. “I’m sorry, baby. Do you hurt anyplace?”

“Uh-uh. Can I have a drink?” The usually sunny child sounded so small and pitiful Abby wanted to cry.

“Sure, you can.” Abby pushed off the couch and went into the kitchen, adrenaline still pumping from the scare. “Stupid board. Stupid old house. Stupid, stupid, stupid.”

As she railed against the accident, she opened the cabinet for a glass, and another chip of paint fell from the overpainted wood.

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?”