A Barker Family Christmas

by Juliana Stone

  Copyright © 2014 Juliana Stone

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN-13: 978-0-9936808-2-3

  Cover art and design by Patricia Schmitt/Pickyme

  http://pickymeartist.com

  Copy editing by Jena O’Connor

  http://practicalproofing.com

  E-book Formatting: Jessica Lewis, Authors’ Life Saver

  http://authorslifesaver.com

  This book is a work of fiction. References to real people, events, establishments, organizations, or locations are intended only to provide a sense of authenticity, and are used fictitiously. All other characters, and all incidents and dialogue, are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in encouraging piracy of copyrighted materials in violation with the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  For permission to use any part of the material in this book, contact Juliana at, juliana@julianastone.com

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Author’s note

  Chapter One

  Three days until Christmas…

  Bobbi Jo Barker chewed off her last good fingernail and grimaced as she glanced down at her hands. Wow. Not good. And it was all Shane Gallagher’s fault. Her sister Betty was going to have a cow when she saw the state of Bobbi’s fingers. Not exactly the right look for a bridesmaid.

  Crap.

  Another wave of ice hit the windowpane, and her head shot up, brows furrowed. At least she had a few more days until she’d have to deal with her sister. The Hollywood starlet was coming to town for the Christmas holiday with her fiancé, Beau Simon. And with only two days to go until their not-so-secret wedding on Christmas Eve, her sister was cutting it close.

  But then, when had Betty Jo Barker ever done anything by the book? When had she ever gone for easy or proper or, you know, organized?

  Whatever, Bobbi thought. She wasn’t worrying about it now. She had other things on her mind.

  She leaned closer to the window and wiped her palms across the frosty panes. The storm was getting worse—swirling snow mixed with ice pellets—and in this part of Michigan, that was cause for concern. Made it hard to see. Made it hard to concentrate on anything besides the fact that Shane should have been back from the pharmacy nearly an hour ago.

  She squinted, nose pressed against the cold glass, but she could barely see past the front step of the porch.

  “Where the hell are you?” she muttered fiercely.

  Blowing out a hot breath, she swore once more and the windows fogged up.

  “He’s been gone a while. I told him I could wait until tomorrow for those damn pills.”

  Bobbi turned from the window, tucking a dark piece of hair behind her ear as she attempted a smile. But it fell flat and she gave up. What was the point? She was worried and pissed off and not in the mood to pretend that everything was okay. Besides, her gramps could see through bullshit. In fact, his bullshit meter was legendary.

  She crossed her arms, looking for a bit of comfort as a shiver rolled over her body.

  “Yes, he’s late,” she said softly, eyes on her grandfather. “And no, you need those meds now.”

  Gramps worn and dog-eared John Deere cap was askew, and his white button down shirt had suspicious red stains down the front of it. Bobbi was pretty sure her he’d gotten into the red wine after she cleared out of the kitchen. He’d been told to stay away from it on account of his medication, but she wasn’t going to call him out on it.

  His cheeks were rosy, his eyes soft, and her heart swelled at the sight of him. He’d been through so much lately—they all had—but it had been particularly hard on Gramps.

  Two months earlier, the family had been forced to put Bobbi’s father—Herschel’s son—into a long term care facility. Trent Barker’s Alzheimer’s had been getting worse. Days went by with no recognition of any one family member, which was bad enough, but when he’d started a fire in the kitchen for the second time in two weeks, there was no choice but to admit him. He’d become a hazard not only to himself but to Gramps. They knew it was for the best, but the best is sometimes a hard pill to swallow.

  And then, a few weeks back her gramps had fallen. He’d screwed up his hip, damaged an already weak knee and was now tooling around in a motorized wheelchair.

  A wheelchair he used as if he was racing in the Indy 500.

  She winced when the chair bumped into the doorframe and took out another chunk of wood before nearly toppling the oak bookcase propped up along the wall.

  “Damn thing,” Gramps muttered, glaring at the bookcase. “Wasn’t in that spot yesterday.” He scratched his head, glowering. “Mrs. McKewen’s been screwing with the furniture again.”

  Bobbi tried to hide a smile but figured by the look tossed her way she hadn’t been entirely successful.

  “Nice try, Gramps, but that bookcase has been in the same exact spot since I was ten. The only thing that’s different is the big old dent you just put into the doorframe.”

  He huffed. She tried not to smile and again failed miserably. “Honestly, Gramps, I don’t know if this house is going to survive that wheelchair.”

  “Bah,” Herschel said gruffly. “It’s just a little tricky around the corners is all.”

  “Uh huh,” she replied, eyes moving back to the window as another wave of ice slammed against it.

  “Have you tried calling Shane?” her grandfather asked carefully. By his tone, Bobbi could tell he’d picked up on the tension between the two of them.

  At least twenty times.

  She nodded. “I sent a few text messages as well, but his phone goes straight to voicemail. There’s either a problem with the service, or his phone is not on or dead or…”

  He doesn’t want to talk to me.

  Her voice trailed off as headlights cut through the dark and shot through the window. Twin beams illuminated the unlit Christmas tree in the far corner of the room, and shadows crept up the wall behind it.

  Bobbi wiped at the window once more, heart beating way too fast, and squinted in order to see properly. The snow gusted and then fell away. When she spied the truck and Shane’s long legs unfolding from inside it, she bit her lip to stop the tears that threatened to poke at her eyes.

  Not now, she thought. No way was Bobbi going to cry in front of Shane.

  First off, she was an ugly crier at the best of times and this so wasn’t the best of times. Because secondly, she was feeling a whole lot fragile and more than a little unsure. She was also scared as hell. Bobbi was pretty darn sure that any kind of crying that came from those places wasn’t going to be good.

  There was ugly crying. And then there was ugly crying. Gramps didn’t deserve to catch sight of that.

  Bobbi slowly peeled her hands away from the plaid sofa she’d been using to keep herself steady. She exhaled and counted to ten before shaking out her fingers.

  Maybe Shane had a good excuse for being late. Maybe he had a fabulous reason for not checking his phone or sending her a message to let her know what that fabulous reason was. Maybe his cell was dead and so was every single phone in New Waterford.

  Or maybe, Marie Devilde, the pharmacist, had to go
into her secret lab and cook up whatever the hell crap was in the pills that Gramps needed.

  So many variables. So many maybes.

  Maybe. Maybe. Maybe.

  Bobbi Jo was strung so tight that pain shot across her shoulders and she winced. She heard the front door open. Heard boots scuff over the welcome mat. Bobbi listened as Shane murmured something low, his voice hitting that timbre that did funny things to her insides. She had no idea whom he was talking to, or what he was saying and even though things were bad between them, there was still that part of her that reacted to him. She supposed that there would always be a part of her that belonged to Shane Gallagher.

  God how she wished that nothing mattered. Not their arguments. The lack of communication these past weeks. Not Shane’s stubbornness or Bobbi’s either. Most of all, she wished that she could just get past this thing between them. That they both could get past it because if they didn’t…

  The sound of his voice had her wanting to run into the hallway and throw herself into Shane’s arms.

  She wanted to feel his strength. Hear his heartbeat. Hold onto his warmth. She wanted him to tell her that everything was going to be okay. That together they’d weather this storm. A storm neither one had seen coming.

  Bobbi Jo wanted to tell him so many things, but instead she found herself hovering in the front room. Waiting. Waiting for something to happen.

  And it did.

  A bundle of fur flew into the room, barking crazily as it wove around the furniture and then nipped at Bobbi’s feet. Pia.

  She bent over and scooped up the little fur ball, hugging the dog close, eyes drawn to the man standing a few inches behind Gramps.

  Shane Gallagher.

  He looked way too dangerous. Way too intense. Her stomach rolled and the fear she’d been feeling tripled at the look in his eyes. But as always, Bobbi was helpless to look away.

  He held her gaze for several long moments and then slowly looked down.

  Snow glistened against his dark hair, the ends damp as they waved around the collar of his leather jacket. His generous mouth was curved into a half smile as he watched the little dog struggle to lick every inch of Bobbi’s face. And those eyes, well, they glittered in the dim light, making her stomach tumble yet again.

  He leaned against the doorframe, his long legs crossed, his arms loose at his sides, though one hand clutched a small bag.

  “That had to be the longest trip to the pharmacy, ever,” Bobbi said before she could stop herself, hating that she sounded like the person she swore she’d never become. A whiner. A shrew.

  Shane’s eyes narrowed slightly, and he straightened up, handing the bag over to Herschel.

  “Sorry about that,” Shane replied. “I swung by the house to grab Pia because I didn’t want her there alone overnight.”

  “Oh,” Bobbi murmured, hands dug into the little dog’s body so tightly, Pia yelped. Bobbi loosened her grip and exhaled.

  She’d been staying with her gramps in the evenings ever since their father had gone to the Rest Acres Long Term Care Facility. No way was she chancing anything happening to her grandfather, and with Billie busy with her baby it made sense for Bobbi to stay with Gramps. That she’d been using it as an excuse to avoid Shane wasn’t something she was proud of, but there you have it.

  “You’re staying here then? With us?” she asked softly, stomach dipping again.

  Shane studied her for a few moments. He rubbed his hands along the stubble on his chin and nodded “The storm is going to get worse overnight. They’re calling for a couple more feet of snow and with that ice, I don’t want you two alone in case anything happens.”

  “Shane, I can look after myself.”

  He didn’t answer, though his mouth tightened. Instead he tossed his leather jacket onto the sofa and rolled up the sleeves of his blue plaid shirt.

  “Can I get you a beer, son?” Gramps asked, hands going for the controls of his wheelchair.

  “Nah, I’m good, Herschel.”

  “Bobbi can you throw some of that there, Uncle Ben’s in the microwave?” her gramps said, as he maneuvered his chair toward the sofa.

  What?

  Bobbi turned to her grandfather and frowned. “Rice? You want rice?”

  Herschel scratched under his ball cap. “Rice? Who said anything about rice? There’s a Criminal Minds marathon on and we should settle in before we lose power. I’d like some of that there popcorn.”

  Popcorn. Right.

  She let Pia down and kissed her gramps, a small smile on her face. “Anything else you need?”

  Herschel raised an eyebrow. “Some of my homemade red wine would be good.”

  “No.”

  “Maybe the last bit of that scotch, neat?”

  “No.”

  “Whiskey?”

  “Water is the only thing on the menu tonight,” Bobbi said, shaking her head. “Or maybe some hot cocoa?”

  “Can we add a dash of rum to that?”

  “You’re impossible,” she replied. Bobbi glanced up at Shane, mouth dry at the look in his eyes. Something in their depths touched that scared place inside her and for one moment, Bobbi wished she were anywhere other than trapped here with the man that she loved.

  How screwed up was that?

  She cleared her throat and moved toward the hallway, breath catching when Shane leaned close to her as she passed by him.

  “I’m done waiting, Bobbi. Done with you pushing me away. Done with you avoiding the one thing we can’t avoid. The one thing we need to figure out if we’re going to have half a chance. The way I figure it, this storm is our chance to get all this bullshit sorted out once and for all. There’s no place to hide anymore. I’m not letting you hide.”

  She froze.

  “And even if you did find somewhere to disappear,” Shane continued, his voice dangerous, his warmth scorching the skin beneath her ear. “It wouldn’t matter, because I’d find you.”

  Her heart stopped.

  “I’d find you,” he repeated softly.

  Bobbi swallowed the biggest lump ever and squeaked out a response. It wasn’t eloquent or well thought out, but it was all she had.

  “Okay.”

  Okay, she thought, moving past him and heading toward the kitchen. This is good. We’ll get everything out. We’ll fix this.

  Thing will get back to the way they were.

  So why did she feel so damn scared?

  Chapter Two

  Shane Gallagher was pissed that things had gone so wrong between him and Bobbi. Especially after they’d fought so hard to get to a place of balance. A place of calm. A place where all the crap they’d done to each other in the past didn’t matter.

  He thought that they’d made it through. Why would he think otherwise? Things had been good. Hell, things had been better than good. But then something had changed. Something had shifted.

  They were good until they weren’t.

  Until the ring he’d put on Bobbi’s finger had begun to weigh on her. Until that ring had her remembering and thinking about things that she should just let be. Things that were going to come between the two of them unless they could fix this.

  He clenched his hands together, frowning darkly. They were going to fix this because there sure as hell wasn’t any other option. Shane Gallagher wasn’t going to lose Bobbi again.

  Slowly his fingers relaxed. and he glanced across the room at the only woman who had ever managed to take his breath away. Damn, but she was beautiful. All that dark hair, ivory skin, and eyes that he could drown in. She was curled up in the loveseat, her grandfather’s wheelchair parked beside her, the television throwing shadows across her face. Shane, on the other hand, was stretched out on the sofa, pretending to watch an episode about a serial killer dressed as a clown.

  Not his thing.

  He didn’t like clowns and he sure as hell didn’t like the fact that his woman was five feet from him instead of nestled against his chest.

  Bobbi glanced up as
if she knew his eyes were on her. and he held her gaze until she looked away. Saw her bottom lip tremble. Watched her fingers worry the worn fabric of one of the throw pillows, over and over again.

  Screw this, he thought. I’m done waiting.

  Pia whined in disapproval as Shane slowly unfurled from the sofa and climbed to his feet. He rolled his shoulders, eyes nailed to Bobbi who was now looking his way once more. There was heat. Always the heat. But there was also fear. Anxiety. Uncertainty.

  Anger rolled over him in a fresh wave that left his skin hot and tight—as if stretched way too thin. He’d never been the guy to let things be or avoid a fight. So why the hell had he let this go on for so long?

  “It’s getting late,” he said, his meaning real clear. “Might be a good time to go to bed.” It wasn’t a question.

  The shadows that hid half of Bobbi’s face flickered as another wall of snow slammed against the window. She was scared. He got that. He also knew that he didn’t care to ever see that look in her eyes again, and he was willing to do whatever it took to chase it away.

  Bobbi exhaled and nodded, sliding her palms across the tops of her thighs, before turning to her grandfather. “All right. Gramps you ready for bed?” Her voice was overly bright.

  Herschel cleared his throat and reached for the remote control that sat in his lap, nodding as he did so.

  “I’ve seen this episode more than once,” the old man said, gaze sliding to Shane. “Want to help an old guy out?”

  “No,” Bobbi replied quickly. “It’s okay. I’ve got you.”

  Herschel grimaced and patted his granddaughter’s hand. “I love you darlin’, you know that, and I appreciate everything you’re doing here which is why I don’t want you to take this the wrong way.”

  “But Gramps—“

  “No, Bobbi.” The old man’s tone brooked no argument. “Trust me when I say that there’re things I don’t particularly care for you to see. A man shouldn’t have his granddaughter help him to bed, and he sure as hell doesn’t need her helping him to the bathroom.”