It Must Be Christmas: Three Holiday Stories

“I’m sure she expects everyone to feel sorry for her,” Noah said. “As though she deserves something for putting up with him. And—OMG—she still married him after he made her sign a prenup!”


Nate snorted at Noah’s mocking tone. His dad had had the nerve to actually invite him to the wedding, as if Nate hadn’t packed up his shit and run from that fucking bullshit as fast as his legs could carry him. In fact, he couldn’t get far enough away from his dad and had already been on his way to basic when the invitations went out. Syria, Iraq, Afghanistan … Nate had traveled halfway around the goddamned world and it still hadn’t been enough to wipe the memories of his father’s betrayals from his mind.

“Nate…?”

He shook himself from unpleasant memories. “What was that?” Carter had said something to him, but he wasn’t tracking.

“I said, the girls are getting antsy and I should probably take them home.”

“Oh, yeah. Sure. You don’t need to stick around. Get out of here.”

Carter’s wife, Stephanie, had died of cancer last year. It tore Nate up to think of his brother trying to get over losing the love of his life—they’d been high school sweethearts—while juggling football and five-year old twins. That was a tragedy. The people at his father’s tribute acted as though Byron kicking the bucket was some unthinkable, sudden catastrophe. Sixty-eight years old with a bad heart, an affinity for scotch and cigars, and a twenty-eight-year-old wife. Hell, it was a wonder he’d lasted this long.

“If you need anything, let me know.”

Nate should have been the one offering Carter help, not the other way around. Awesome. He was the family fuck-up. The emotionally unstable war vet who hid out at his ranch so he wouldn’t have to deal with real life. “I’ve got it under control,” Nate said. He could assemble an AR-15 in less than ten minutes. Running an oil empire couldn’t be much harder.

“All right. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“Sounds good.” Nate watched as Carter headed toward the buffet tables where his daughters, Jenny and Jane, were running in a circle with a few other kids.

“Gird your loins, brothers,” Travis said out of the corner of his mouth. “The grieving widow is headed this way.”

Great. If Nate’s brothers didn’t want his share of his dad’s fortune, he bet he could convince Miranda to take it off his hands.

“Don’t even think about it.” Noah pinned Nate with an accusing stare.

“What? You don’t want it. Carter and Travis don’t want it. Why not give it to her? I’d say she earned it.”

“She deserves shit,” Noah said. “Besides, she’s getting the house. And the cars.”

“Maybe she needs some cash, too.”

“Not a chance. She’s a deceitful, lying money-grubber and nothing else. She’d party it away in a matter of weeks. Take the money, Nate. I’m not saying you have to be the CEO of Christensen Petroleum or some shit, but you deserve it more than she does. Hell, as much as any of us does.”

Nate took a long pull from his bottle. “I don’t need it.” He had all of about seven hundred bucks in his checking account right now. But he didn’t want his life—or the people in it—to be defined by the numbers in his checkbook. Never had.

“Buy a few more cows. Hell, get a tractor. Make that sorry excuse of a ranch into something that might actually turn a profit.”

“Wouldn’t that violate dad’s make-your-own-way policy?”

Noah cocked a brow and fixed Nate with a sad smile. “Doesn’t matter now. The old man’s gone.”

*

Chloe Benson had done some crazy things to get her hooks in a high roller’s checkbook, but crashing a memorial service was a new low even for her. She didn’t have time to debate the morality of getting in line for a handout when Byron Christensen’s body hadn’t been in the ground for even a week, though. This was her eleventh hour. And if she couldn’t get her hands on some serious cash by Christmas Eve, she was as good as screwed.

Desperate times called for desperate measures.

She scanned the crowd in search of Nathan Christensen. According to the gossip mill, the oldest Christensen son was looking to off-load the substantial inheritance his father had left him. Speculation on the reasons why ranged from Nathan being mentally unstable to a falling out with his father years ago. Chloe didn’t care why he didn’t want the money. She simply wanted to be first in line when he started handing it out.

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