The Christmas Family. Linda Goodnight
couch is Lila.”
Lila had been staring at the men with the wide-eyed curiosity of a preschooler.
“Pretty picture,” Brady said as he lowered his oversize frame onto the faded blue sofa next to Lila. Dawson took the only chair in the room, leaving Abby to perch on the other side of Lila. The couch was fuller than it had ever been.
“I’m making a kiss-mas twee. See? That’s an angel.”
Brady studied the crayon drawing earnestly. “Almost as pretty as you.”
“Want to color with me?”
If the man had a heart, those brown eyes would melt it.
“Maybe next time, okay? Do you mind if I talk to your mommy for a few minutes?”
Lila shrugged and scribbled a little harder on her kiss-mas tree. “Okay.”
Brady gazed over the top of Lila’s head at Abby. “I don’t know if you’re familiar with my family’s business, Buchanon Built Construction—”
“I am.” Was he joking? The Buchanons practically owned Gabriel’s Crossing. You couldn’t live in this town without seeing one of their white trucks with the big blue logo or passing a sign that announced a Buchanon Built home.
“Great. Every year our company offers a home makeover to someone in town.”
“I’ve heard about that. Last year, you remodeled Ted Bickford’s house and built an addition to make room for all their children.”
Ted and Teresa were kid magnets who had adopted six and fostered as many more on any given day. The people were saints.
Brady beamed as though she’d awarded him the jackpot prize. “That’s right. We did. Nice family.”
But what did that have to do with her? “Excuse me a sec, will you? I have macaroni on the stove.” And she hoped it hadn’t boiled to mush.
“I like macaroni,” Lila said, looking up. “With raisins.”
Abby laughed a little as she hurried the few steps to the kitchen to drain the pasta. The kitchen-dining area was small, a throwback to the days when microwaves and dishwashers were unheard-of. “Lila would eat rocks if I added macaroni.”
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.
“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