The Christmas Family. Линда Гуднайт
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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