Cowboy Under the Mistletoe. Linda Goodnight

winkled face saddened. “All the time, baby boy. For a long time I thought, once she’d grieved your daddy, she’d come back for you.”

      But she never had. And he’d grown up with a big, gaping hole inside, waiting for his mama to come home and fill it with love.

      “I’m not complaining. You took good care of me.”

      She’d done her best. In between work and her grief over the loss of a son, his grandmother had done all she knew to deal with a sad little boy and later, a wild teenager. Still, he wondered what might have been.

      Outside a car door slammed. Jake shook off the uncomfortable nostalgia and jerked to his feet. “Allison’s here.”

      “Ralph thinks you’re still sweet on her.”

      He tried to laugh her off. “You want to get me killed?”

      “You’ve been trying to do that yourself for years.”

      A man with nothing to lose made a good bull rider.

      At the knock, he ignored his grandmother’s keen insight to let Allison in. “Hey.”

      “Hey, yourself.” She shoved a bag at him. “Put this in the kitchen while I bring in the casserole.”

      “Casserole?”

      “Mama’s chicken spaghetti.”

      Granny Pat’s voice sailed across the room. “I love that stuff.”

      “I thought we were cooking.” Jake looked over one shoulder. “I already put the steaks in the oven.”

      “For tomorrow,” Allison said. “You know how Mom is. She still cooks for an army in case one or two of us kids drops in. She had an extra and I ‘borrowed it.’”

      Karen Buchanon had fed him for years when he’d tagged along with the four Buchanon boys. Now, he was as grateful as he’d been back then, and the throb of longing was every bit as raw.

      He set the bag of what appeared to be cleaning supplies on a table beside the door and followed Allison to the Camaro. Wearing a tan skirt and crisp white shirt with a collar, her flyaway hair bounced as she walked. He liked her hair, itched to touch the silk of it and wanted to kick his own tail for even thinking about her that way.

      He had to stop this. Had to stop it now.

      His longer stride caught up to her quickly. “Did your mother know you were coming over here?”

      “She was going to bring the casserole herself. I volunteered.”

      “She must not know I’m home.”

      Allison shrugged. “She wasn’t wild about me seeing you, but I make my own choices and she knows that. Besides, she and Miss Pat go way back.” She handed him the still-warm container. “Mom takes care of her friends.”

      Right. Karen Buchanon would visit Granny Pat even if her grandson was Ted Bundy.

      “Neither of you mentioned this little errand of mercy to your brothers, did you?”

      “You’re cranky today.”

      “Did you?”

      “No. They might do something stupid. They’ve been threatening—” She stopped halfway to the house and slapped her hands on her hips. “I want this to stop. You got me to admit my brothers still hold a grudge, and I didn’t want to go there. Does that make you happy?”

      With her face tilted toward his and her brown eyes snapping, she was cute as a kitten. Adorable and off-limits.

      “Happy? Hardly.” But exactly what he’d expected. Not what he’d hoped for or even dreamed of, but exactly what he deserved.

      She hadn’t intended to discuss her brothers. He could see that and understood. Now, she was furious, both at herself and him, for opening up the sore topic.

      Unlike Brady Buchanon whose temper was renown, Allison’s fury wouldn’t last long. She was too good, too generous, too kind. And she was tearing him apart.

      Resigned to spend the evening fighting memories, he led the way into the kitchen where the smell of broiling steak overpowered the small space.

      “Better check this,” he said and peaked inside the oven. “Looking good.”