The Christmas Keeper Read online

  Quino snorted. “Worst foreman ever.”

  “And how,” Ryder agreed. “I wonder what ever happened to that guy.” He put the bird down with a pat on its rump.

  Ryder and Quino had become fast friends while working construction over a decade ago in Texas, under the dubious supervision of Deadweight Dougie, so named because he was usually drunk, and when he passed out he had to be rolled because he was deadweight and too heavy to pick up and carry. Dougie spent more time sleeping it off in the bed of his pickup truck than he did supervising his crew.

  “No idea, but I’d bet dollars to donuts he’s snoring on someone’s couch today.” Quino glanced at the stone patio that was covered in a heavy tarp to catch all of the oil splatter. “So what are we counting down, the time until kickoff?”

  “Nope. The ticktock is for you,” Ryder said. “I’m calling you out. You said in July that Savannah would be your wife by Christmas, we are one month out, and unless I am misinformed, you haven’t even had a date with her.”

  Quino took a long pull on his beer. “Details.”

  “Yeah, kind of important details,” Ryder said. He squinted at his friend. “She may be the first woman who has not succumbed to the Joaquin Solis magic.”

  Quino lifted one eyebrow. He knew Ryder was teasing him, and he was cool with that, but his friend was also speaking the truth. Quino had never felt the sting of rejection from a woman before. Savannah was the first woman in memory who seemed indifferent to him. She was a challenge, which he had to admit made her sexy as hell.

  “That’s how I know she’s the one,” he said.

  “Or not the one,” Ryder countered. “You’ve been playing it pretty chill with her, keeping your distance, working the banter angle without being a pain in her ass.”

  “Is that what she said?” Quino asked.

  “No, that’s what Maisy said she said.”

  “I love having spies.” Quino grinned. “So, what’s the intel? Think she’s ready for me to go full-court press in the charm-and-disarm department?”

  “Not unless you want to be dropped by a sharp knee to your junk,” Ryder said. “Last I heard, Savannah was still planning to move back to Manhattan by the end of the year. She wants her old life back. She’s a city girl through and through, and living here in the Smoky Mountains is not her bag.”

  Ryder checked the temperature on the oil in the deep fryer. Then he hefted up the naked bird and gently lowered it into the boiling oil. Quino felt for the bird. Whenever the subject of Savannah moving back to New York came up, he felt exactly like that, a dead bird hanging by a metal handle from his innards while being dipped in boiling oil. He clearly needed to step up his game. He pondered his options while the bird sizzled and Ryder talked about Maisy, football, and more Maisy. He came up with a whole lot of nothing.

  “Why the face, bro?” Desiree asked as she stepped through the French doors and paused beside him. “You look like someone ate the last piece of pumpkin pie.”

  Quino glanced down at his sister. She was twenty-five but to him she would always be fifteen. That was the day he stepped up and became her guardian. It hadn’t just been legalese so he could take care of her. Quino felt the need to protect his sister, the only member of his family to survive a horrible car crash, all the way down to his soul. He’d lay down his life for her without hesitation.

  “Ryder’s going to burn the bird,” he said.

  “I am not,” Ryder protested. “You’re such a doubter.”

  “Oh,” Desi said. She tossed her long black hair over her shoulder and gave him the side-eye. “I thought you were frowning because Savannah is ignoring you.”

  “She is not ignoring me,” he protested.

  “Yes, she is,” Desi said. Then she grinned at him and hit him with a one-two punch of deep dimples and twinkling eyes.

  “Snot,” he said. He tapped her nose with his finger the same way he had when she was a toddler and dragging her pink blanket behind her as she tried to follow him on all of his twelve-year-old-boy adventures.

  Desi smacked his hand away. “Quit it. I’m a grown woman in case you haven’t noticed.”

  “Sorry, you’ll always be a kid to me,” he said.

  And she would. Not just because she’d been so stinking cute at that age but also because when it came to life skills and common sense that’s about where Desi would always be. Her insides didn’t match her outsides. The traumatic brain injury she had sustained in the accident that had killed their parents had left her with a diffuse axonal injury, the fallout of which had left her judgment impaired. She lived her life as trusting as a child, and Quino was on constant alert to keep her safe from people who would use that to take advantage of her.

  Desi blew out a breath and it stirred the bangs that were cut in a blunt line across her forehead. She looked like their mother. The same round eyes with thick curly lashes, the same button for a nose, and a full mouth that was usually curved into a smile as if Desi found the world to be a happy, friendly place of which she was pleased to be a part. He never wanted that to change.

  “One of these days, big brother,” Desi said. She looked at him in exasperation as if she was about to put up more of a fuss, but then the door to the kitchen opened and Maisy popped her head out.

  “How’s the bird coming, honey?”

  “He has a name now. We’re calling him Deadweight Dougie, or Dougie for short,” Ryder said.

  “Um . . . okay, but why?” she asked. “Is naming the bird a Copeland family tradition or something?”

  “Nah, he just reminds me and Quino of our first boss,” he said. “He even looks like him in a bald and paunchy way.”

  “I’m not calling my turkey Dougie,” Maisy said. “Perry, back me up here.”

  Ryder’s teen daughter popped her head out beside Maisy’s. “Yeah, naming the turkey is weird, and I say this as a teenager well versed in all things strange.”

  “She’s got us there,” Quino said. “How about we call him Dougie Fresh?”

  “No.” Savannah appeared beside the other two. “Focus, people. We’re critical on timing if we want everything served hot. Corn bread and green beans are cooking while the sweet potato casserole and mashed potatoes are warming up. Get cracking!”

  “Time for wine!” Maisy said. She disappeared into the house and Savannah followed with Perry and Desi right behind them.

  Quino wistfully watched the redhead who’d been making him crazy for months vanish from sight. When the door closed with a decisive bang, he turned back around to find Ryder watching him.

  “You got it bad, my friend.”

  Quino looked at him and said, “To quote your teenage daughter, ‘Duh.’”

  Ryder laughed and then turned away to tend his bird. Quino moved into position to help him hoist Dougie out of the fryer and onto a fresh platter on the table. When they pulled the bird from the oil, letting it drip for a bit, he had to acknowledge that his friend had done an amazing job. Dougie looked perfectly seared on the outside while the juices from inside ran clear when Ryder stabbed him with a fork. Quino had a feeling this was exactly how his poor heart was going to look if Savannah left Fairdale without giving the two of them a shot.

  It was in that moment of turkey clarity that Quino decided he did not want to look or feel like Dougie. It was time to work his magic. The question was how. How did a guy get a gal—who seemed to be attracted to him but was doing her level best to keep it on lockdown—to take a chance?

  Flowers? Nah, too cliché. Candy? Same. Plus, he needed to approach her in a way that made her want to spend time with him. She was a publicist. She had come to Fairdale to help Maisy open up her romance bookstore. He happened to know that she was trying to make Maisy’s bookstore a massive success not only to help her friend but also to show the publisher from which she’d been let go that she still had game. That, in fact, hers was
the best game in town.

  Once she succeeded and a job offer came from the Big Apple, she’d be gone, baby, gone. There was no help for it—Quino was going to have to make his move, and soon.

  Chapter Two

  SAVANNAH took one more bite of turkey slathered in cranberry sauce before she was forced to put her fork down in surrender. She was wearing jeans and a soft heather-green cable-knit sweater and the urge to pop the top button on her pants was almost more than she could stand. She glanced around the table and noted everyone looked exactly as she felt. Stuffed. The table was sagging in the middle it was still so full of food, and this was after all six of them had already done their damage to the feast. Even King George, a gray tabby that technically belonged to the bookstore but was mostly Perry’s, was sacked out on an empty chair. Probably because Perry had been sneaking him bites of turkey all evening. Did tryptophan work on cats? Looking at George’s closed eyes, Savy figured it must.

  The doorbell rang but no one moved. The post-turkey lethargy was that strong. The doorbell rang again.

  “Are we expecting anyone?” Ryder asked.

  “No.” Maisy glanced at Savannah. “Rule of closeness.”

  “What?” Savannah protested. “How is that fair?”

  “What’s the rule of closeness?” Desi asked.

  “The closest person to the door answers the door,” Maisy said. “Rule of closeness.”

  “But this isn’t even my house,” Savannah protested.

  Maisy shrugged.

  “Fine.” Savannah struggled to her feet and dropped her napkin onto her seat. “But someone else clears the table.” She looked around the table at Quino, Desi, and Perry. They didn’t look super motivated but that was not her problem. She left the dining room and cut through the front parlor to reach the front door.

  She wondered if it was a salesperson but that would be crazy on Thanksgiving. Still, just to be safe, she glanced out the side window to see who was on the porch. She blinked. A man, a cowboy, stood on the front porch with a big autumn bouquet in one arm and a pink bakery box in the other. What?!

  Savannah yanked the door open and said, “Hi.”

  “Hi there,” the man drawled.

  He looked uncertain when his gaze met hers. But it was his bright-blue eyes that immediately clued Savannah in to who he was. There were two pairs of eyes in the house that matched his exactly—Ryder’s and Perry’s. She had heard that Ryder had a younger brother. This had to be him.

  “You must be a Copeland,” she said. He was tall and dark haired, with broad shoulders and suntanned skin, just like Ryder.

  “Yes, ma’am. I’m Sawyer,” he said. His smile was wide and warm. “And you are?”

  “Savannah Wilson, a friend of the family,” she said. “Come on in.”

  She stepped back and he entered the house. Savannah led him back through the parlor to the dining room. Everyone was up and clearing the table, so she called over the noise, “Hey, look who’s here!”

  Ryder glanced up and then his jaw dropped as his eyes went wide. Perry, who had a stack of plates in hand, set them back on the table with a thump.

  “Uncle Sawyer!” she cried.

  She shot around the table at a run. Savannah just had time to grab the bakery box out of Sawyer’s hand before Perry tackled her uncle in a hug.

  “Hey, kiddo,” Sawyer said as he hugged her tight and kissed the top of her head. “Wait. Where are the pigtails and tutu you always wear and how the heck did you get so tall?”

  Perry leaned back and laughed at him. “Uncle Sawyer, I’m a teenager now.”

  “No.” He shook his head. “You’re five, like, forever.”

  Perry laughed. “So, I shouldn’t tell you I have a boyfriend?”

  “That’s a hard no, young lady,” Sawyer said. He glanced up with laughing eyes and met his brother’s gaze. “Hi, Ryder.”

  “Hey, Sawyer.” Ryder looked dumbfounded, but Maisy was beside him and she took his hand in hers and dragged him around the table so that the two men were standing in front of each other.

  “Hi, I’m Maisy,” she said.

  “Of course you are,” Sawyer said. He held out the enormous bouquet of flowers to her. “I apologize for showing up without warning. I didn’t really plan to be in North Carolina for the holiday, but the wind sort of blew me in this direction.”

  “Our house is your house,” Maisy said. She stepped forward and gave him a hug. “You never need to warn us. Right, Ryder?”

  Ryder stood staring at his brother as if he couldn’t quite wrap his head around the fact that Sawyer was here. Maisy gave him a hard nudge to the side and Ryder snapped out of it.

  “Absolutely,” Ryder said. He opened his arms. “Come here, you dope.”

  The two brothers hugged, and Savannah didn’t think she was imagining that Ryder seemed to hang on to his brother for an extra beat or two as if to prove to himself that Sawyer was real.

  “Sawyer, these are our friends, Joaquin Solis and his sister, Desi Solis,” Ryder introduced them and they said hello and shook hands. Then he turned to Savannah and said, “And this is Savannah Wilson.”

  Savannah moved the bakery box to her left hand and shook the hand he offered. His fingers were cold from being outside but his grip was solid, his hands calloused. She got the feeling that Sawyer was definitely a man’s man. She also had a feeling he and Joaquin were going to get along like a house on fire.

  “Are you hungry?” Maisy asked. “Can I fix you a plate? We’ve already eaten but there is plenty left.”

  “That’d be real nice,” Sawyer said. “Thanks.”

  “I’ll do it,” Savannah said.

  “Are you sure?” Maisy asked.

  “Rule of closeness.” Savannah hooked her thumb at the kitchen behind her and then winked.

  Maisy laughed and joined Ryder and Sawyer when they sat back down at the table with Desi and Perry. Quino didn’t sit but instead cleared the dishes that had already been stacked up, taking the plates to the kitchen.

  Savannah heaped a large portion of everything onto a plate and heated it up, delivering it to the dining room. Sawyer beamed at her as he tucked in and she lingered to hear that he was in between jobs at the moment and figured it would be a good time to visit. Judging by the looks of joy on Ryder’s and Perry’s faces, they were certainly glad to have him here.

  Savannah felt a pang in her chest. Grabbing two empty serving bowls, she decided to finish clearing the table, not wanting to dwell on family or the fact that her family hadn’t given two hoots whether she came home for Thanksgiving or not.

  Maisy had abandoned her chair and was sitting in Ryder’s lap at the head of the table. A petite thing, she was small but mighty, as Ryder had discovered when she hired the handsome architect to help her renovate the Victorian house she’d inherited into the romance bookstore of her dreams. They were sickeningly in love, which made them Savannah’s favorite couple in the whole wide world.

  “Oh, Savy, Quino, you don’t have to do that,” Maisy protested. “You’re our guests. I’ll do it later.”

  “No, you visit,” Savannah said. “Clearly, you all have some catching up to do. Besides, it’s the least I can do since I didn’t bring anything for dinner.”

  “But you brought pumpkin pie from the Pie in the Sky bakery,” Ryder said. He tore his gaze away from his brother, who was eating like he hadn’t had a home-cooked meal, well, ever. “Which, second to Dougie, is the most important contribution to the meal.”

  “Not my mashed potatoes?” Joaquin asked with mock offense from the kitchen door.

  “You cannot compare a potato to a pumpkin,” Ryder said.

  “Well, when you put it like that.” Joaquin pushed off the doorjamb and approached the table. He glanced at Savy with an easy smile. “Here, we can do this together.”

  “No, really,” she s
aid. “I’ve got this.”

  He ignored her and continued gathering the remaining dishes until he had a huge stack that he carted to the kitchen without even a bobble. Savy followed in his wake, feeling as if she’d just been outmaneuvered but she wasn’t sure how. It was dish duty. No one wanted dish duty, right?

  Savy put all of the extra food into plastic containers while Joaquin filled the sink. She watched him covertly to see if he knew what he was doing or if he was bluffing just to try and impress her. He put the pots and pans aside to hand-wash. Okay. He put the glasses in the top of the dishwasher and the plates in the bottom. He understood to leave a little space between the dishes so that they actually got clean. So, not a faker.

  After Savy put the lid on the Jell-O salad and tucked it into the fridge, she grabbed a dish towel and took her place beside Quino at the sink. He had filled the basin with hot soapy water and was scrubbing baked-on sweet potato. She would have told him just to let it soak, but he’d taken off his striped dress shirt and she was distracted by the way his biceps bunched beneath the sleeves of his white T-shirt.

  Savannah was an athlete. She enjoyed running and working out. She liked keeping her body strong. Partly, it was because she lived in the city and wanted to give herself a fighting chance if ever she was caught off guard by a mugger, but also because she liked the way exercise made her feel. It cleared her head and gave her an outlet for her frustration and anxiety.

  Staring at Joaquin’s bulging arms, however, made the celibate life she’d been living since arriving in Fairdale seem like an error in judgment. At first, she hadn’t had the time or inclination to get involved with anyone, but looking at him standing just mere inches away from her, she could feel the attraction make her brain go fuzzy, and she had the sudden urge to lick his neck or bite his shoulder.

  She resisted the impulse to poke his triceps with her pointer finger just to see if they were as hard as they looked. Barely. She forced her gaze to move over his shoulders, pecs, and abs. Even in the T-shirt, she could tell he was sporting a six-pack. Lord-a-mercy, as Maisy, a real Southern gal, was fond of saying. A woman had only so much willpower, and Joaquin Solis could tempt even the most virtuous of women, which she was not.