A Barker Family Christmas (5 page)

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“What are they anyway?”

“What are what?” Bobbi snapped, more sharply than she should of, but honestly, what the hell was Betty thinking?

“Canapés? What are they?”

“They’re pastries and they’re delicious.” Bobbi loved canapés.

“And she doesn’t like shrimp either.”

“Lovely.” If Betty were here with her in the kitchen, Bobbi would have shoved a truckload of shrimp down her sister’s throat.

“She cancelled the caterer. One day before her wedding.” A slow burn started beneath Bobbi’s skin. “The caterer that I hand picked. The caterer that is the most sought after caterer in this entire county. Do you know that I had to bribe Chef Jean with free hockey lessons for his kids to get him to do this on Christmas Eve? Hockey lessons that I haven’t told Billie about either.”

“I’m sure your sister won’t mind.”

“She’s full of shit by the way.”

“Who, Billie or Betty?”

“Betty! Honestly, Gramps. Aren’t you paying attention? She likes shrimp.” Doesn’t she?

Bobbi threw her hands up into the air. “What the hell does she expect everyone to eat? Fruit loops? There’s a sale on at the grocer. I could stock up. What do you think? Twenty-five boxes or so?”

“Betty said that Duke Everett was on it.”

Bobbi snorted. “Duke Everett? What’s he going to be able to scrounge together this late in the game? It’s not like he can order in anything special. It’s freaking two days until Christmas. Nothing will get here in time. So what’s on the menu, chicken wings and pizza?”

Herschel looked pained. “Something like that.”

“You know what?” She tossed a cloth into the kitchen sink. “Whatever. It’s her wedding, is there anything else I should know about?”

“She also said something about not getting married at the church. Thought it wasn’t cozy enough.”

Okay. Bobbi was going to lose it now. Sure she’d
volunteered
to oversee the details of her sister’s wedding, and she supposed that as Betty was the bride it was her sister’s prerogative to change all the things that Bobbi had painstakingly organized, but to do it
one
day before the event? Was her sister nuts?

“Oh god,” Bobbi groaned. Of course her sister was nuts.

“She said not to worry,” Herschel said quickly.

“Really,” Bobbi said. “And why is that exactly?”

“Well, she said that Shane agreed to host the wedding at his place.”

“That’s my place too, and I sure as hell don’t remember agreeing to that.”

“Betty said the one barn can be converted into something suitable.”

“Unbelievable,” Bobbi replied with a wince. Shit, was that the beginning of a headache? She rubbed her temple and headed for the cabinet in the bathroom. She grabbed some pain meds and after washing it down with a cold glass of water, she glanced at her grandfather.

“So who’s doing the converting?”

“Converting?” He scratched at his ball cap.

“Who’s doing all the work? Because I sure as hell have better things to do.”
Like finding those damn roses.

“Matt Hawkins from what I understand.”

Okay, Bobbi thought. That wasn’t so bad. The guy was handy.

“There is one more thing though,” Herschel said hesitantly.

Bobbi was afraid to ask. So she said nothing.

“She asked about the roses.”

Yep. That was definitely a headache coming on.

“What did you tell her?” Bobbi asked.

“That they looked beautiful.”

“Good answer,” she replied with a sigh. “I’m sure they do look beautiful.” She frowned at the slight smile on her grandfather’s face. “Wherever the hell they are.”

The back door flew open and Shane poked his head inside. Pia barked crazily and he scooped the little rascal into his arms, grinning at her. “You ready? “Ah,” Bobbi glanced at her grandfather before turning back to Shane. “I thought you’d be out there for hours shoveling snow.”

“Nah. I borrowed the neighbor’s snow blower, and the driveway is good to go. We need to get home.”

“But, I can’t leave Gramps alone.”

“Sure you can,” Herschel butted in. “Mrs. McKewan is on her way.”

“Who called Mrs. McKewan?”

“I did,” Herschel replied sharply. “I might be in a wheelchair for the moment, but I’m still possessed of all my faculties.”

“Fine, Gramps.” Her eyes narrowed on Shane. “I’ve got a bone to pick with you anyway.”

“What the hell did I do?” Shane asked, that wicked grin she was going to kiss away, still very much intact.

“I hear Betty’s wedding is going to be at the farm?”

“Oh.” His smile dimmed a bit. “Yeah. There’s that.”

“I might have to make you pay for that one.”

The look in Shane’s eyes was enough to melt her panties. That’s if she were wearing them. Which she wasn’t. Nothing got her man hotter under the collar than knowing she was bare.

“I’m counting on it,” he said gruffly.

“Okay you two. Get a move on. An old man doesn’t need to hear that sort of stuff.”

The ride out to their place, White Haven, took a bit longer than normal but with some roads clear and others still treacherous, they took their time. The estate had been left to Shane by his grandfather and not only was it a working horse farm, Shane’s studio was located on the property.

Chrissy Hinde’s wonderful and subtle version of
Merry Little Christmas
, filled the truck as they pulled into the lane that led to their home. Massive snow drifts lined the entire driveway, and the sun was so bright, it hurt the eyes to look.

And there was a lot to look at. The estate was gorgeous. As always, Bobbi felt such pride in everything Shane had accomplished. His art hung in galleries across the country, notably in New York and LA, and when he wasn’t busy painting he was making custom furniture out in his woodshop.

Shane Gallagher had come into his own. He’d grown into the man she’d always known he would become. And damn, if he didn’t belong to her.

There was a truck parked in front of the house and as Bobbi slid from Shane’s vehicle, she spotted Matt Hawkins gathering some gear together. Matt nodded, pointing to the barn set back aways. “Setting up a sound system for the band.”

Shane slid his arms around Bobbi, cuddling her from behind. “I’ll be out in a bit to help.”

Matt nodded. “Leave it to Betty to throw a wrench into everything at the last minute.”

Bobbi chuckled. Matt was Betty’s best friend, so nothing her sister did would ever surprise him. There’d been a time when Bobbi hadn’t been a fan of Matt. Thought he was a bad influence on her sister. And even though she’d gotten over that—people change, they grow up—she didn’t quite get their relationship.

And if she was honest, she thought that maybe Matt Hawkins was the saddest person she’d ever met. There was something tragic in his eyes—a haunted look that he sometimes forgot to conceal. She supposed it was that very thing that glued him and Betty together.

Shane tugged on her hand, while Pia nipped at their feet, excited to be home.

“Thanks Matt,” she said with a wave.

“No problem.” He flashed a grin. “Did you find those roses yet?”

God. Did everyone know?

Shane was pulling her toward the house so she didn’t get a chance to answer, and by the time they reached the warmth of the foyer, she forgot all about the roses. Hell, she forgot about everything.

“What the…” Her voice trailed off as she gazed across the hall at the portrait resting against the wall.

Her throat tightened.

So did her chest.

So did her heart.

For several moments, there was only silence. Even Pia stopped barking as Bobbi gazed at an image of herself lying in bed, sheets a rumpled mess around her, hair all over the place, eyes half closed as she gazed outward. There was nothing scandalous about the scene. Nothing overtly sexual. The colors were subtle. The focus intentional.

The painting was about the expression on her face, the look in her eyes…

“Is that how you see me?” she whispered.

“Yes,” Shane said roughly, pulling her against him. “That’s exactly how I see you.”

“It’s…oh Shane, it’s beautiful,” she breathed. “It’s…I don’t even know what to say. Thank you.”

“Merry Christmas, babe,” Shane said softly, nipping at her nose, his hands sliding into her hair. “You don’t have to say anything.”

A heartbeat passed. Maybe two. And then a slow, wicked grin crossed Bobbi’s face. She moistened her lips and stood on her tiptoes so that she could reach Shane’s ear. There was one thing she wanted to say.

She pressed a kiss into his warm flesh and whispered. “Commando.”

“Commando,” he repeated, eyes darkening as he yanked his head back.

“Yeah,” she replied. “Commando.”

He answered with a growl and it was no surprise that Matt Hawkins was on his own for most of the morning. Nope. No surprise at all.

Billie watched the group of hockey players as they did their dry land training, a critical eye moving over each and every one of them. The young men had been at it for over an hour and it was nearly time to call it quits. The last one, Thomas, was fooling around, and it struck her that he’d not finished his last lap around the facility. She yelled at him across the complex, earning a surprised look and an apology.

“Sorry, Billie.”

“Apologies don’t win games, Thomas. Talent alone doesn’t win games. Commitment. Focus. Heart. That’s what wins games.”

“Got it.”

“Good,” she replied. “Now give me twenty-five pushups and you can call it a day.” She motioned to the rest of the team. “You guys can hit the showers and good luck with your game Boxing Day. I can’t make it as I’ve got this family thing.”

“Hey, are we gonna get to meet Beau Simon or what?”

She folded her arms and shook her head. “Never mind about Beau Simon, Thomas. I said twenty-five pushups.”

Thomas muttered something under his breath, and it was probably a good thing that Billie couldn’t hear it. She nodded to the other guys. “Have a good Christmas and I’ll see you in the New Year.”

It was almost noon and she wanted nothing more than to lay her head down and catch some much needed sleep. Her son, Abel, was cutting a tooth—again—and he’d been a little bear these last few weeks. Subsequently, between helping out with her Gramps’ place, running her hockey training facility and dealing with a fussy baby, she’d hardly gotten any sleep.

As if that wasn’t enough to deal with, Logan’s shop was busy as ever. Sure, he pitched in with the regular stuff around the house as much as she did. Hell, probably more—Billie couldn’t remember the last time she’d cooked dinner. (Actually she was an awful cook so that might have more to do with it than anything else) But still, the last few days had been brutal and she was running on fumes.

She walked into her office and grabbed the last cup of coffee, twirling the ends of her hair as she took a moment to herself. A photo on her desk caught her attention and she set her cup down. Cradling the frame in her hand, she ran a finger over the image of the two guys who owned her heart.

Logan and Abel.

It was a candid shot taken when Abel had just started walking the previous summer. His small chubby hand was nestled in Logan’s large one, and the look on Logan’s face as he gazed down at his son brought tears to her eyes.

Oh the feelings, they were intense, and she set the photo back down, closing her eyes and picturing her father, Trent Barker. He’d been so frail when she’d visited him the week before—frail, and agitated, and more than a little confused.

He’d had no idea who she was and Billie wondered when last Trent Barker had looked at any one of his daughters and felt that invisible bond? That fierce intense connection that only a parent could feel for their child?

She exhaled and cleared her throat. “Enough of that shit, Billie,” she muttered. No use dwelling on something that wasn’t going to change.

She would see her father on Christmas Day, along with her sisters and Gramps. The chances of Trent remembering any of his daughters were slim, but they could at least be there with him. He was well looked after and that was all anyone could ask for.

In the meantime she had to get through her day. The boys’ dry land training was finished, but she still had two private lessons and then a power skating class to teach. After that? A soft smile played around her mouth as she glanced at the frame on her desk once more. Well, after that she had plans of her own and no baby with a sore mouth or a freaking winter storm was going to ruin it.

She picked up her phone. Her sister Bobbi’s cell rang five or six times and then went to voicemail. Billie frowned and tried it again. And again. And again.

She was just about to give up when Bobbi answered.

“What the hell, Billie?”

That her sister was obviously annoyed didn’t matter all that much to Billie. Not at the moment anyway.

“Why aren’t you answering your phone?” she asked, waving to Debra Bergens and her sons as they walked into the complex. She pointed to her watch and held up five fingers.