Take a Mountain Man Home for Christmas: A Mountain Man Romance Christmas Collection

by Crowne, K. C.

  I followed Madison.

  I stepped into the parking lot, the sunshine beating down on my skin again. She hurried across the street, and I was right behind her. There was a small park there with a bench just out of sight from the street. She headed for it and sat down, not noticing me until I was next to her.

  “Jesus,” she said, jumping when I sat down beside her. “What are you doing here?” She wiped the tears away.

  “I saw what happened,” I said. “I tried to calm your mother down beforehand, but I guess it didn’t work.”

  “You know her…everything is about her,” Madison said, laughing dryly. “Nothing ever changes.”

  “Yeah, well, I was worried about you.”

  “Nothing to worry about. In a few days, I’ll be gone.” She stared off in the opposite direction.

  “I think that’s for the best,” I said, nodding. “All things considered with your family and all.”

  “Jack isn’t responsible for the break-ins,” Madison said after a moment. “He’s not like that anymore.”

  I cocked an eyebrow. “You’ve talked to your brother recently?”

  “No, but Jack didn’t steal unless it was for survival. We only stole to eat. You know that.”

  “I didn’t,” I said quietly, frowning. “Though I had a feeling that had something to do with it.”

  “Yeah, and Jack didn’t kill that man. He didn’t pull the trigger. He wouldn’t have,” she defended.

  “But he was there—”

  “He didn’t know that’s what would happen!” Madison said, her voice rising. “He worked with the cops, told you everything - and it was true. He went with his friends to hang out and get drunk at the quarry. They were the ones with other plans. Chris had the gun. He pulled the trigger. So why does my brother continually get shit on?”

  I put a hand on her shoulder to calm her. “Listen, this has nothing to do with your brother. I just want you to take care of yourself.”

  “I am, trust me,” she said dryly, crossing her arms in front of her chest. “I have a good life in Los Angeles.”

  “Good, I’m glad to hear it. You going to school?”

  “Yes, and working,” she said. “I have my own place. Well, with roommates, but the lease is in my name. I’m doing well for myself. Better than anyone in my family.”

  “I’m proud of you, Madison.”

  Her face softened, and her eyes sparkled as the sunlight shone off her face. She stared at me for a second, as if trying to determine if I was serious or patronizing her.

  “I mean it,” I pressed. “It’s not easy overcoming the type of childhood you had. It sounds like you’re doing really well for yourself.”

  “Thank you,” Madison said, averting her gaze. She stared down at her hands, picking at the nail polish on her thumbnail. After a moment or two, she looked up again. “Do you really think Jack is responsible for the break-ins?”

  But before I could answer, Hannah’s voice called, “Madison! There you are! I’ve been looking all over for you.”

  Her best friend rushed over to her side, kneeling to look at her. I stood up, offering her my seat, which she gladly took. She took Madison’s hands in hers. “Are you okay?”

  “Yes, I’m fine,” Madison said. She looked at me one last time, a small hint of a smile on her lips.

  “I’ll leave you two alone,” I muttered, waving as I walked back to the street.

  “Thank you, Teddy,” Madison said from behind me.

  I felt the corners of my lips pull back into a smile. I never thought Madison Wiley would ever thank me for anything. She was always hateful, claiming I was out to ruin her life when I was just trying to do my job. Not that I could blame her. She was just trying to survive without proper parental figures in her life.

  But her words meant a lot to me - more than I expected them to.

  Madison Wiley was a different woman today.

  And that woman would haunt my dreams.

  Madison

  I watched as Teddy walked away, my gaze on his ass. I thought about the fantasy I’d enjoyed the night before, and it instantly helped me to forget about all the drama.

  At least for the moment.

  “Do you wanna go home?” Hannah asked me.

  I shook my head, pulling my gaze back to my best friend, as hard it was. “No, I need to say goodbye to him. For better or worse, I need closure, and I don’t think I’ll believe he’s dead until I see it for myself.”

  “I understand,” Hannah said, squeezing my hand. “We can go back inside whenever you’re ready.”

  I cleared my throat and straightened my shoulders, rising from the bench I’d dropped onto. “I’m ready.”

  Hannah and I returned to the funeral home in silence. The crowd outside had grown since I’d walked out. For a town the size of Liberty, it was a pretty large crowd. Everyone and their brother had come to watch the spectacle.

  As much as I despised them, my focus wasn’t on them. A black BMW pulled into the parking lot, piquing my interest. Few people in Liberty that had the kind of money that would buy a luxury car. And the ones who did weren’t likely to be at a funeral paying respects to my father.

  Except maybe one of them. My heart raced as I watched the familiar face get out of the car. He saw me and nodded. I looked away.

  “The nerve of Stan showing up…” Hannah muttered angrily.

  Stanley McBride was around my dad’s age, but he didn’t look as rough or worn down. He was overweight, having lived a life of abundance. Unlike my father, he didn’t use the drugs he dealt - said it was bad for business. What little hair he had left was mostly white now, and his eyes were dark, almost black.

  “Well, he was my dad’s closest friend,” I said sarcastically. “I mean if you consider that a friendship.”

  “I consider it a gang of criminals,” Hannah retorted quietly.

  Stan and my dad had had a falling out right before I’d left town, but it wasn’t the first time they’d fought. And I doubted it had been the last. Stan was essentially the leader of their ragtag gang of criminals, the one who benefited from everything my father and the other idiots did.

  We approached, and I heard Stan speaking to the person with him - a man I didn’t recognize. “Old Glen finally got what he deserved.” He intentionally spoke loud enough for me to hear.

  I ignored him and kept walking toward the entrance.

  “Think he’ll cause problems for your mom?” Hannah whispered.

  “I don’t know,” I said, speaking softly. “What have you heard?”

  Hannah looked down at her feet, stopping not too far from the photo of my father at the entrance. “You know, I’ve heard rumors, Madison. I try not to pay attention to the gossip because I thought it was disrespectful, but…”

  “But what, Hannah?”

  She frowned as she spoke, looking at me with sympathy in her eyes. “Some people don’t think it was suicide.”

  “Yeah, I don’t really buy it either. You knew my dad. Do you really think he’d take his own life?”

  Hannah shrugged. “I don’t know, Madison. I didn’t know him that well.”

  “So, what are the rumors?” I asked, pulling Hannah around the corner to the bathroom where we could have some privacy.

  “Like I said, I didn’t really pay much attention to them. It wasn’t any of my business,” she reminded me. “And I thought they were just rumors.” She shook her head. “I shouldn’t have brought it up. You know how this town talks.”

  She looked me in the eye, and I could tell she wasn’t certain. But if she didn’t have much to go off of, I couldn’t get the info out of her. I needed someone who could tell me more. I briefly thought about asking my mother, but I shuddered at the thought.

  There was a commotion outside the bathroom. Hannah and I shared a look as people began chattering loudly. I heard Jack’s name.

  My eyes widened, and I pushed the bathroom door open and hurried to the main corridor, where I froze. My brot
her walked into the viewing area, but I almost didn’t recognize him. When he’d gone to prison, he was a fairly scrawny guy. He was well over six feet tall, but we didn’t have much food, so he’d been a twig practically.

  Now he was all muscle.

  He wasn’t in a suit but wore black jeans and a black button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled up. His arms were covered in tattoos down to his wrists. Another tattoo peeked out from the back of his shirt on his neck. His hair was longer than I ever remembered it being, falling around his collar. He took after our father, so his hair was dark brown.

  I slipped behind a plant and watched him.

  “Well,” Hannah spoke up from behind me, causing me to jump out of my skin, “are you gonna talk to him?”

  “I—I don’t know what to say?”

  “Start with hello, maybe? I mean, he is your brother.”

  I scowled at her. “It’s been six years since I’ve talked to him, Hannah. And he looks so different. He doesn’t look like my brother at all.”

  “Do you not want to talk to him?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “It’s up to you,” Hannah said softly.

  I moved from my spot behind the plant and watched Jack approach our father’s casket. He stood there, alone, for several minutes. I thought about joining him, not wanting him to be alone at a time like this. But before I could convince my feet to move, he turned, and I jumped behind the plant again.

  He rushed toward the door, his fists balled at his sides. His brow was furrowed, and his jaw seemed to be clenched tightly. He was full of rage, and from the looks of it, on the verge of exploding.

  He reminded me of our father when he was angry, and that kept me behind the plant. The memories of our dad screaming at us in a drunken rage over something like the TV being up too loud or for not finishing our dinner flashed in front of me. I was trembling, and Hannah grabbed my hand.

  Maybe they were right. Maybe Jack was just like our dad.

  Someone nearby said, “The gall of him showing up. I can’t believe it.”

  I turned toward the voices, curious what they were talking about.

  “You know he did,” another woman said. “He killed his old man. But I can’t say that I blame him. Not after what he’d been through.”

  Jack? They thought Jack killed our dad?

  “He’s already a killer. I wouldn’t put it past him,” the other woman said.

  My heart seemed to stop beating. It was like ice water flowed through my veins. I couldn’t believe I was hearing this. My brother was many things, but he was not a murderer.

  Or was he? I hadn’t seen him or spoken to him in six years. How could I even know?

  That look on his face was just like our dad’s. And dad was dangerous when he was that angry. He was volatile. Was Jack just like him?

  Did all those years of abuse finally push my brother over the edge?

  Teddy

  “The folks are talking,” Mike said as I returned to my car.

  “About Jack Wiley?” I guessed.

  “How’d you know?” Mike said sarcastically.

  I’d witnessed Jack Wiley going into the funeral home, and I saw the people chattering on the sidewalk. “Easy guess when one of Liberty’s most infamous makes an appearance since being released from prison,” I said. I glanced at him. “So, what are they saying?”

  “They seem to think Jack killed his old man.”

  “Huh.” I sipped my cold coffee, grimacing at the taste and the information.

  I wasn’t convinced Glen Wiley had killed himself, but we had no other leads. The suicide note didn’t sound like him, and it had been typed rather than handwritten. There was an old computer in the house, but no printer. Which meant he would have had to go somewhere else to print up his suicide note. It seemed fishy to me, and I wasn’t done looking into all the options yet.

  But Jack Wiley? Sure, the idea had crossed my mind briefly, but even though he had been part of a robbery where someone had died, Madison was right - he hadn’t pulled the trigger, and I had my doubts that he could take a life. At the time, he was just a dumb kid caught up in the wrong crowd. But prison can change a person.

  Without more proof, there wasn’t much I could do besides talk to him. Couldn’t imagine him being all that cooperative, though.

  Jack hurried out of the funeral home doors only moments after entering. I pushed myself away from the patrol car and headed toward him. I had to admit, he no longer looked like the scared kid who’d been so eager to work with us all those years ago. He was a man now, and an angry one from the looks of it.

  “Hey, Jack,” I called, approaching from the side.

  He stopped, turning toward me with a scowl. “Great. I can’t even come to my dad’s funeral without being harassed.”

  “I’m not harassing you, Jack.” I chuckled. “It’s funny; your sister said the same thing.”

  His entire face changed. Something shifted in his dark eyes as he scanned the area around us. “My sister’s back in town?”

  I cringed inwardly, wondering if she didn’t want him to know. “Yeah, I thought you would have seen her. She’s inside.”

  Jack glanced back at the funeral home, and for a second, I thought he might head back that way. There was now a softness in his face. The two had always been close, and he would have done anything for Madison growing up. And from the look on his face, it was clear not much had changed.

  But then he balled up his fists again and turned away from me and the funeral home. “She’s better off staying away from me.” He marched toward the street.

  “I just wanted to say I’m sorry for your loss.”

  Jack didn’t even acknowledge my words. He didn’t look back or even seem affected by them. Not that I’d blame him. I was surprised he even showed up at all.

  My police radio blurted a racket, indicating a call. “Suspected robbery in progress off Howard Road,” the dispatcher said. “Security alarms have sounded, no response from the Howards.”

  I didn’t have a chance to check on Madison. I had to go. I waved to Mike as I climbed in my car. “Keep an eye on things, will ya?”

  “Of course, boss,” he said, waving me off.

  Another robbery. The third one that week. And this time, we got advanced warning. Maybe we’ll catch them this time, I thought. It would take at least fifteen minutes to get to Howard Road - the Howards lived out of town a ways on a private road named after them. They had lived in Liberty for as long as anyone could remember and were one of the wealthiest families in town.

  But sometimes, living so far out came with drawbacks - like when you needed emergency services. God willing, I thought to myself, let’s hope I make it in time to catch these assholes.

  Ooo000ooo

  “Dammit,” I muttered, staring at the ruins of Nathanial Howard’s living room. No sign of the intruders, as I’d feared. They’d been in and out fast, likely anticipating the alarm and how long it would take us to get here.

  The large floor-to-ceiling window was smashed, and shards of glass covered the oriental carpet and the couch. Furniture was knocked over, books were thrown all over the place. I wouldn’t know what was stolen, but Nathanial was walking with another deputy to get some idea. So far, it sounded like they’d invaded his wife’s jewelry collection, stealing family heirlooms that were both valuable and irreplaceable.

  Martha Howard was seated in a leather chair nearby, sobbing over the loss and the state of her house. We’d failed her family, and she made sure we knew about it.

  “Why haven’t you arrested him yet, Sheriff?” she asked through the tears.

  “Who?” I asked, confused.

  “Jack Wiley, of course,” she spat.

  “Do you have any reason to believe he’s behind this?”

  “He’s the obvious choice, isn’t he?”

  One of my newer deputies walked over to me, pulling me to the side. “Maybe we should bring Jack in and question him.”

  “Jack was
at the funeral while the robbery was taking place,” I informed him, speaking loudly enough that Mrs. Howard could hear. “I saw him with my own eyes.”

  “Yeah, but he’s a Wiley,” the deputy pressed. “He could have set it up to have an alibi while others were—”

  “That’s some wild speculation, Deputy Scott,” I said sternly. “You need something more concrete than just theories and prejudices before bringing people in for questioning. Just because his father was a shit doesn’t mean the kids followed in his footsteps. That’s something this town needs to remember.”

  Deputy Scott opened his mouth to argue, but I shut it down. “We’ll bring Jack in once we have a reason to suspect he’s behind it. He’s never been involved with home invasions before, no reason to think he is now.”

  I turned and headed for the door, tossing over my shoulder a last parting remark. “Jack Wiley paid his dues and deserves a chance to live a life in peace.”

  Madison

  I stared at my father in the casket. It was real. He was gone.

  I had mixed emotions as I looked at his embalmed body, devoid of all life. He hadn’t been a good dad. He had been terrible when we were teens. But there was a time when I was a little girl, before he fell into the drugs, that he’d seemed to actually love me.

  Memories rushed back to me as I tried to remember what he’d looked like alive. The time he took me fishing, just the two of us. And how excited he was when I got my first fish. I was maybe five, and that was one of the few times my father had seemed to be proud of me. He’d been clean back then, or at least not on the hard stuff. I remembered him walking me into school on the first day of kindergarten, and how I was so afraid to let go of his hand. I’d held onto him as tightly as I could as teachers did their best to pry me away.

  I couldn’t recall another time where I’d been that attached to him. As I grew up, I tried to avoid him. He’d been a mean drunk, and my brother and I often had to hide in our rooms when he came home from work. We didn’t dare cross him. And when he fought with my mother, the screams would send me into Jack’s bedroom, where I’d crawl into bed with him and cry.