Читать книгу The Christmas Family - Линда Гуднайт, Линда Гуднайт - Страница 12
Оглавление“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?”
“Abby Webster. Have I caught you at a bad time?”
He almost laughed. She didn’t know the half of it. “Not at all. What can I do for you, Abby? Maybe a little remodel work?”
He couldn’t help it. He was born to be pushy when he wanted something. She’d probably turn him down again, but he had to try.
“Actually—” there was that hesitation again “—yes.”
The word hummed through the cyberspace connecting them. She’d said yes?
“You changed your mind? May I ask why?” A smile lit his insides, erasing some of the lousy, lousy events of the day. Teasing, he said, “Was it my charm, or my pretty brothers? Or maybe the double order of French toast?”
He didn’t—wouldn’t—mention the tip.
She sighed out a weary breath. “Blame it on my front porch. I fell through.”
Brady’s shoulders tensed. “Are you hurt?”
“No, but I had Lila in my arms. She wasn’t hurt either, but she could have been.” Her words faded in an anguished breath.
Brady got her meaning. She didn’t particularly want the makeover, but for Lila she’d take it. He didn’t care what her reasons were. In the end, she’d be delighted with the results, and Lila would be better off while he got to play Santa. A win-win in his book any day of the week.
Already feeling vastly better, he said, “Let’s get together tonight and talk this over. I’ll come by after work.”
“Well, I—guess that would be okay.”
“Do you and Lila like barbecue?”
“What? Yes, we love it, but you don’t need to bring food.”
Brady laughed. “Abby, I’m a big boy. I gotta have food, and so do you.” Even though he couldn’t recall a time when he’d brought food for a prospective client. That was his sister’s domain. “What time works best?”
After a few more useless protests against him doing anything nice for her, she named the time and they ended the call.
His mood much elevated, he slid his cell phone into his back pocket and gave a soft whistle. “Quitting time, Dawg.”
The canine, sprawled in a corner of the great room like an ornament befitting the massive fireplace, lifted his brindled body from the bare concrete floor and gave his fur a hardy shake.
“We’re going to Abby Webster’s, and I might let you say hello. What do ya think about that?”
Dawg trotted to the door and looked back expectantly.
The dog was weird that way. He seemed to know what Brady was talking about most of the time. “Hold on a minute. I have to tell the other guys.”
Feeling unusually chipper, considering the problems of the day, Brady cleaned up his mess and secured his tools before talking to the twins.
“Another break-in,” he said as he entered what would be the master bedroom. At the moment, sawdust covered the floor, along with a stack of clean-smelling lumber. Smack in the middle of the room stood a table saw and one of his brothers in plastic safety goggles. “Dad called.”
Sawyer pushed the goggles atop his black hair and tilted his chin toward the unfinished ceiling in a pained groan. “That must have been fun.”
“Loved it,” Brady answered wryly. “You boys about ready to call it a night?” He rubbed his hands together. “I’ve got places to go and things to do.”
Dawson, on his haunches fitting trim, pushed to a stand. “You seem in a seriously good mood for someone who’s been talking to Dad about vandalism. Don’t tell me you have a date.”
“Nah, nothing like that.” Although he was taking food and going to see a woman, the reason had nothing to do with a date. It was all about the project, not the woman. “Dad’s not the only caller. Get this. Abby Webster changed her mind. The makeover is on!” He pumped a fist.
A grin deepened the single dimple in Dawson’s cheek. “Yeah? That’s terrific. When do we start?”
“I’m headed over there later tonight to work out plans. This should be the best makeover ever.”
The twins exchanged looks.
Brady pointed two index fingers, one at each brother. “Don’t start that. Abby’s not the only single-mom makeover we’ve done.”
Dawson held up both palms. “Hey, I’m with you. I was over there, remember. Nobody in town needs this remodel more than Abby and her little girl.”
“Yeah, the little girl,” Brady said. “She’s the kicker.”
Sawyer spiked an eyebrow in his usual tease. “And the mom’s no slouch.”
No, Brady thought, surprising himself. No, she wasn’t.
* * *
Abby’s nerves jittered as she opened the door for Brady Buchanon. He came inside, bringing with him the scent of hot, spicy barbecue.
“I can tell what’s in that sack,” she said as he handed it over. “The smell is fabulous.”
“Danny makes the best barbecue in this part of Texas.”
She knew, though budget constraints had meant she hadn’t eaten any of it in a long time. Eating out was a luxury reserved for Lila’s clinic visits when they really had no choice.
“You didn’t have to bring dinner.”
Brady shrugged. “It’s just food.”
Lila, who was lying on her belly on the rug sorting through a bag of magnetic shapes, held one up.
“This is a wetangle,” she said.
“Rectangle,” Abby corrected, unsure if Brady would understand Lila’s developing speech.
“I see that.” The big man went to his haunches beside her daughter. “Do you know any of the others?”
“Yes.” And she named off the circle, square and heart, making her mama proud.
“I brought you something.” From inside his jacket he took a small, stuffed animal. “I hope you like dogs.”
“A puppy!” Lila’s eyes lit up as Abby’s suddenly filled with unexpected tears. “Mama, look. A puppy. I love him.”
Abby wanted to protest the unnecessary gift, but how could she when it had made Lila so happy?
“Brady,” she simply said, shaking her head. Why had he done that? They weren’t friends or relatives. They barely knew each other.
Brady ignored her protest. He was, she noticed again, good at that.
“I have a dog outside in my truck,” he said to her beaming daughter. “Want to see him?”
Lila’s eyes grew wide. “A real one?”
“As real as can be.”
“What’s his name?”
“Dawg.”
With an odd hitch beneath her ribs, Abby listened to the easy conversation between her child and the giant man. Lila, accustomed to doctors and technicians and physical therapists, rarely met a stranger, but it was the man who bothered Abby. He couldn’t be for real. She knew that for a fact. People were nice in the beginning but after a while, they’d disappoint you.
Someday Lila would learn those things the hard way, a truth that made Abby ache. But today Lila was an innocent, trusting child clearly fascinated by the idea of a real dog, something she’d never had.
“Does he like little girls?” Lila asked.
“Crazy for them.”
“Will he jump on me?”
“Not if I tell him to be good.”
“I want to pet him.” In total trust, Lila reached her arms up toward Brady. “Let’s go.”
“Do you mind?” he said, rather belatedly to Abby.
Abby scoffed softly. Even if she minded, he’d put her in an impossible situation. “You don’t have to do that.”
“I want to.”
She wanted to ask why he’d bother when he’d come to discuss the remodel, but instead she said, “Go ahead. She loves animals, especially dogs.”
Those mesmerizing blue eyes sparkled. “I gathered that by her reaction to the stuffed one.” To Lila, he said, “Come on, little one. Up you go.”
He dwarfed her child, this huge man with the handsome face and stunning eyes, but he was as gentle as a whisper as he lifted Lila into his arms.
A big, big man. Her tiny, precious girl.
Something tender moved inside Abby.
She whipped away to open the door, but Brady with his long stride beat her there and easily maneuvered both the door and the child.
“Watch that board,” she warned, suddenly scared that his superior size would send him plummeting with Lila as she had done.
“Got it.” He stepped over the opening.
Abby walked alongside, aware of Brady Buchanon in the most uncomfortable way. His kindness bewildered her. Not once since his arrival had he mentioned the makeover. Or the fact that she was the Buchanon charity case for the year.
The twenty-dollar bill was in her back pocket. She should return it, remind him that she didn’t want his pity or his charity and that she was only accepting the makeover for Lila’s sake. Even that stuck in her craw like a dry slice of toast. She wanted to provide for her daughter.
As they approached the blue pickup, a large brindle-colored dog with soulful golden eyes and a sweet expression stuck his head out the open driver’s-side window.
“He thinks he can drive,” Brady said, eliciting a giggle from Lila. “You can pet him. He’s a big sap. He’ll love it.”
Lila placed a tentative hand on the dog’s wide head. When he didn’t move, only looked at her with those sweet eyes, she ruffled his ears. “Can he come out and play?”
“Sure. Open the door for him, will you, Abby?” He said the words casually, and she could see he felt comfortable with people in a way she didn’t. But then, the Buchanons were a large family.
She opened the truck door, and the dog named Dawg leaped gracefully to the ground and stared up at his owner as if waiting for commands.
“Sit down, Dawg. This is Lila and Abby. Friends. Be good now.”
The dog flopped on his rear, long tail bumping the ground with comical eagerness. Brady went down on the balls of his feet in front of the animal with Lila on one khaki-clad knee. Abby watched as Dawg behaved like a gentleman while Lila petted him.
“He likes me,” Lila said.
“He sure does. Hold your hand out like this.” Brady took Lila’s tiny hand and turned it palm up. “Now say, ‘Dawg, shake.’”
Lila did as Brady asked. When Dawg carefully plopped a furry paw into her palm, her giggle sent happy chills down Abby’s spine.
“He did it! Mommy, Dawg shaked my hand.”
“Is he always this well behaved?” Abby asked.
“Pretty much. I take him on the job with me.” Brady hitched a shoulder. “Basically take him everywhere. He has to behave or be stuck at home alone.”
“Do you let him inside the house?”
“Sure. He sleeps at the end of my bed.”
Okay, that was too much information. She didn’t want to imagine a sleep-rumpled Brady in baggy pajama pants. He was a builder, here to do a job.
“Mama, can he come inside? Dawg can sit by me. I’ll show him my shapes.”
Abby hesitated. To Brady, she said, “Should I let him?”
“Up to you, but he won’t be a problem. I can promise you that.”
Promises. She knew how those worked.
“I suppose it’s all right this once. What kind of dog is he?”
“Anyone’s guess. Some boxer, shepherd, Lab. Who knows? I got him from the shelter, but we don’t care, do we, pal? We’re all mutts in our way.” With one final pat on the dog’s head, Brady rose with Lila. The dog trotted along behind as they returned to the house.
Abby was keenly aware of the man who gently put her daughter on the floor mat, commanded the dog to behave and followed Abby into the kitchen.
Uncomfortable and uncertain, she asked, “Do you want to talk while we eat? Or after?”
This was not a social call. He’d surely want to do his business and move on. The Buchanons were busy people, involved in many segments of Gabriel’s Crossing life.
“Might as well eat while the barbecue and fries are hot. Talk can happen anytime.”
Though her kitchen-dining space was minuscule and made smaller by the invasion of a man the size of some mythological warrior, Brady made himself at home. He opened cabinets, found plates and knives, and generally embarrassed her.
“I can do this,” she said, grabbing the utensils from him.
“Many hands make light work.” He grinned. “That’s according to my Grandfather Buchanon who started the construction company. Having a bunch of grandsons made work easier for him.”
She quickly set out the dishes and food, going a little mushy to discover a foam container of macaroni in the bag.
He’d remembered Lila’s love of all things macaroni?
Who was this guy?
“I’ll get the little one,” he said, and ducked his head beneath the doorway as he went into the living room.
During their meal, Brady talked about everything but the makeover. He drew her out, asking questions about her work, Lila’s school, Christmas and all things Gabriel’s Crossing. He told her a funny story about his sisters and a skunk, and Abby found herself relating funny experiences from the café. Then they shared a laugh about the ongoing feud between Hoss Hanover, town mayor, and Flo Dubois, a former Vegas showgirl now in her seventies and still as sassy and ornery as ever.
Once or twice, she even forgot he was here on a charitable mission.
By the time the messy barbecue was demolished, the nervous butterflies in her stomach had subsided. Brady might be big but he wasn’t nearly as scary as she’d thought.
“Well,” he said, pushing his plate aside. “That was good. Now my brain can work. Let’s talk makeover.”
She held up a finger. “First, you have to know something. I’m only doing this because of Lila.”
He aimed those swimming-pool eyes at her. “Understood. Now, let’s get down to basics. I’ll do a walk-through and make notes of what needs done. Then, we’ll talk about it. I want your input, your ideas, what you want and need. I have people on my team who know all about special-needs construction. They’ll be in on the planning, too, but basically this project is my baby. Mine and yours.”
She was feeling a little overwhelmed. “I don’t even know what to say.”
“No need to say anything. I’ll bring by appliance catalogs, color charts, carpet samples and that kind of thing for you to look at.” He flashed a smile. “That’s where you come in.”
Carpet? Appliances? “I didn’t expect all that.”
In truth, she hadn’t expected anything, but this...this. She was starting to get excited. Not good. Not good at all. Excitement preceded disappointment.
As usual, Brady paid her no mind. He took a notepad from his jacket hanging on the back of a chair. “If it’s all right, I’ll inspect the structure first, get a basic idea of what we’ll need to do, and we’ll go from there.”
“Sure. I’ll just... Can I follow you around?”
He chuckled. “It’s your house.”
Leaving Lila to watch a Veggie Tales with Dawg sprawled adoringly at her side, Abby joined the builder. As they did the walk-through, she saw the house in a new light, from a stranger’s viewpoint, and shame trickled into her stomach.
He must think she was a sorry excuse for a mother, raising her special-needs daughter in a run-down house with nothing more than a safety bar beside the bathtub.
“I installed that myself,” she said, half in self-defense. She didn’t want him judging her. She tried. And for now, she could carry Lila. “I was planning to add more as she grows.”
“You did great.” But he jotted all kinds of notes on that pad of his as he inspected plumbing under the sinks and thumped his big fist against walls. She cringed at the last, concerned he’d go right through.
“We could create a bathroom here specifically for her. Put a walk-in shower there,” he said. “Big enough to accommodate her walker or a wheelchair. Add some bench seating, lower the sink and commode so she can access them herself.”
The ideas made Abby’s heart soar and her eyes water. “That would be wonderful. I don’t know how to thank you.”
“No thanks needed. Gotta make things right for the little princess.” He winked. “Dawg said so.”
She smiled, grateful to him for making light of a humiliating situation. For her, anyway.
They moved through the house and her brain spun as he discussed removing walls, widening halls and rearranging the interior of the house for more space and flow.
Hope, that sneaky weed, sprouted up inside her chest. His ideas were wonderful, beautiful, a dream come true. He was amazing, kind and funny, and Abby found herself looking forward to the days and hours he’d spend in her house making it better.
Though the decision had come slowly, like Cinderella preparing for the ball, she now wanted this makeover badly. For Lila’s sake. Brady really could give her child what she needed.
When they entered her bedroom, Abby was thankful she’d made the bed and tidied up before his arrival. She lingered in the doorway, a little disconcerted to have him in her private space. But she’d have to get used to that, she supposed. He was a builder; he didn’t think anything about it.
Brady pointed to the ceiling and exterior wall. “Some leakage in here.”
“Only when it rains.” She tried to sound chipper, but Brady frowned and her stomach dipped. “Will that be a problem?”
“Depends.” He walked across to the window and the wooden floor groaned. He paused, bounced a little and frowned again. “Where’s your crawl space? Lots of weak spots in the flooring. I’d better have a look at the joists before we get too far into this.”
She didn’t know a joist from a joust, but she knew where the crawl space was, though she couldn’t imagine a man his size crawling under her house. “You’ll get dirty.”
Humor brightened his face. “I’m in construction. We get a little dirty.”
“Yes, but you’re the owner.”
“A hands-on owner. Dad insisted we know the business from the ground up. Literally.” He rotated his wide shoulders and looked down at his large body. “Though nowadays I usually send someone smaller under the houses.”
“I fixed a broken pipe last winter. I could go under there and tell you what I see.”
“Don’t worry. I got it. Be right back.”
“You’ll need a flashlight.”
“In my truck.”
He headed outside while she checked on Lila and Dawg, and then started on kitchen cleanup. She heard him clang on a pipe with something metal, so she knew he’d somehow squeezed into the small space.
He was gone for quite a while and when he came inside, he didn’t look happy.
Putting away the last dish, she dried her hands, worry niggling.
“You have spiderwebs—”
His chin dipped toward his shoulder. “Where?”
“Your hair. Bend down.” Without thinking anything of it, she dusted the cobwebs from his russet hair and the back of his shirt. The action felt intimate somehow, and she finished quickly.
“Sorry. I thought I knocked them off outside.”
A little dust on the floor was the least of her concerns. “What’s the verdict?”
“Not what I’d hoped. Or expected.”
“What does that mean?”
“Sit down. Let’s talk a minute.” He motioned to the table.
They’d been talking for two hours, but she pulled out a chair and sat. He did the same. A knot formed in her belly. Something was wrong.
“I have bad news, Abby.” Brady pinched the top of his lip, drew in a deep breath and blew it out in a hearty gust. “Your house is not salvageable. I can’t do the remodel.”
