Christmas on 4th Street (Fool's Gold #12.5)

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The Boylan family could trace their service roots back to the Civil War. Each generation of Boylan men enlisted. They weren’t officers, they were never famous for their exploits, but they gave to their country and had the medals to show for their courage.

Gideon had wanted to be a soldier from the time he was little, but Gabriel had wanted something else. As a boy he’d dreamed of seeing the world, of visiting great museums and studying other cultures. Gideon had been loud and athletic. Gabriel had preferred reading to playing in the tree-house fort their father had built in one of their many backyards. He’d preferred theater to baseball and debate to football.

The summer he and his brother turned fifteen, his father had taken him for a long hike. When they were alone in the woods, the older Boylan had demanded to know if Gabriel was g*y.

Gabriel knew he was different from his brother and his father, but there were other guys like him. Guys who wanted more than hitting a ball. And it had nothing to do with whether or not he liked girls.

He’d said he wasn’t and had known his father didn’t believe him. On the bright side, when Gideon got caught with a cheerleader in the back of the family car, he’d been grounded for a month. When Gabriel had been found with the pastor’s daughter in a very compromising situation, he’d gotten a slap on the back and unexpected praise. So there had been compensations.

But on the whole, it hadn’t been easy being his father’s son. Now, all these years later, as he waited in the cold for his parents to arrive, Gabriel told himself there was no need to head for the hills. Or in this case, the mountains. He might not have his brother’s Special Forces training, but he figured he could make a run at surviving for a few weeks on his own. Not that disappearing that way was an option.

They were all lined up on the porch. Even Webster, who had no idea why the pack was shivering in the cold but happy to be a part of things.

An aging Ford Explorer pulled up in front of the house and parked. Gabriel watched the couple that stepped out.

His first thought was that they were older than he remembered. It had been years and the time showed—more on his father than his mother. His second thought was that his father seemed smaller somehow. Not the imposing figure he’d always been.

It wasn’t easy to grow up with a drill sergeant for a father. There were expectations for behavior in the community that other kids didn’t have. Norman Boylan had always been more bogeyman than parent, at least when Gabriel had been young. Now, looking at the man, he realized that he was at least two inches taller. His father wasn’t a threat anymore—he was little more than a man close to sixty who had once been the center of his sons’ small world.

Gabriel’s mother, Karen, was still pretty. There’d always been a softness to her and he saw that now as she took in the sight of both her boys. Then her gaze shifted to Carter and tears filled her blue eyes.

She’d been the one who comforted, the one who tried to explain why their father had made the rules he had and enforced them with an iron fist. Gideon had accepted her hugs and kisses, then run off, healed. But Gabriel had resisted, asking why instead of apologizing for their father, she didn’t try to change him. He remembered she’d said changing a man wasn’t so easy and when he got older he would understand.

Felicia and Carter were the first ones down the stairs. Karen hugged her future daughter-in-law, then put her hands on Carter’s shoulders. Webster joined them, racing to Norman’s side. Gabriel half expected his father to ignore the bounding puppy. Instead, he crouched down and petted him, then ordered him to sit. Webster, like any young recruit, did what he was told.

“We’ll go into town and get drunk,” Gideon said as he and Gabriel started down the stairs.

“How about we get drunk in Morocco?”

Gideon flashed him a smile, then stepped onto the path and held out his hand to his father. Gabriel did the same. What they said was “Dad” but the tone was “sir.”

Norman didn’t try to hug them. He studied each of them in turn, stepping back when their mother rushed toward them.

“My boys,” she cried, holding out her arms to them and pulling them close.

She hung on for a long time. Gabriel gently patted her back, waiting for all the emotion to pass. Finally she stepped away and wiped her tears.

“I can’t believe how long it’s been since we were all together,” she said, her voice trembling. “This is so wonderful.” She turned to Felicia. “Thank you for inviting us.”

“We’re happy to have you,” Felicia murmured.

Gabriel waited. From what he’d seen, Felicia usually said more. A statement or two on the importance of the family unit or an unexpected observation about connection. But there was nothing else.