The Prodigal's Christmas Reunion

Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo)

Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)

Dear Reader,

Questions for Discussion (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter One

Lucas Clayton could have driven down the streets of his hometown blindfolded.

The thought was tempting.

Because not even a moonless night and the light snow sifting onto the windshield of his pickup could conceal the silhouettes of the businesses that sagged against each other in a tired line along Railroad Street.

Jones Feed and Supply. The grocery store. The post office.

Each building held more than just sacks of grain or canned goods or stamps. Each one held a memory. Or two.

Or a hundred.

The town of Clayton, Colorado might have been named after one of his dusty ancestors, but Lucas had never taken any pride in that. Growing up, having the last name Clayton had only been one more expectation weighing him down. One more invisible shackle holding him in place.

Lucas had broken free at eighteen and left home with a beat-up canvas duffel bag, a chip on his shoulder as solid as a chunk of rock hewn from the Rockies themselves and a vow never to return.

As he traveled from job to job, eventually landing in Georgia, both the duffel bag and the chip on his shoulder had remained constant companions.

But now, after seven years, he’d broken the vow.

Not that he’d had a choice.

His grandfather, George Clayton Sr., had passed away during the summer, leaving behind a will that had caused new splits in an already fractured family. George’s brother, Samuel, and his offspring had made life unbearable for years, but they stood to inherit everything—if Lucas and his five cousins didn’t satisfy the conditions of the will.

That didn’t surprise him. Leave it to good old Grandpa George to attempt to control people’s lives from the grave—he’d certainly made a habit of it while he’d been alive. As a lawyer, George Clayton had a reputation for being ruthless, manipulative and self-serving. As a grandfather, he hadn’t been a whole lot better.

Lucas still couldn’t believe his cousins had agreed to put their lives on hold and return to Clayton for a whole year. But he was the last one to return.

Lucas hadn’t exactly had a choice about that, either.

A promise made to a dying friend had taken him to places that no sane person would have chosen to go, but loyalty to his sister had brought him back to Clayton.

Cruising through the lone signal light at the intersection, Lucas saw a soft glow in one of the windows farther down the street.

He didn’t even have to read the faded sign above the door to know which one it was.

The Cowboy Café.

Lucas struggled against a memory that fought its way to the surface. And lost.

An image of a girl’s face materialized in front of him, clear as a photograph. A heart-shaped face. Hair that glowed like the embers in a campfire, shades of bronze and copper lit with strands of gold. Wide brown eyes that had a disconcerting tendency to see straight into his soul.

Lucas’s fingers bit into the steering wheel.

He couldn’t think about Erin Fields.

Wouldn’t think about her.

She’d made her choice. Before he’d left, Lucas had asked Erin to go with him but she’d refused, choosing loyalty to her family over her love for him.

Maybe she’d been willing to put her dreams and her future on hold, but Lucas knew he wouldn’t have a future if he stayed in Clayton. The confines of the small town would have served as a mold, shaping him into something—someone—he didn’t want to be.

His father.

Vern Clayton, medical missionary and well-respected pillar of the church and the community, had died in a car accident when Lucas was a teenager, but his mother had insisted he follow in his father’s footsteps by serving God and becoming a doctor.

Instead, Lucas had turned his back on both.

Disappointing people seemed to be his gift.

As if to underscore the point, an image of Erin’s tear-streaked face returned. He could almost feel the touch of her hand on his.

I’ll always love you, Lucas. And I’ll wait for you.

Lucas pushed the memory aside.

He’d be crazy to think Erin had stayed true to the promise she’d made that night. They’d been kids. That kind of vow didn’t stand the test of time.

From his experience, not a whole lot did.

Turning onto a side street, he pulled up to the third house on the left. Completely dark. Lucas hadn’t expected a welcoming committee—especially when he hadn’t told his mother or Mei the exact date of his arrival.

Lucas’s fingers curled around the keys in the ignition, fighting the temptation to shift the truck into Drive and take off into the night. The way he had seven years ago…

A soft rustle came from the backseat.

Twisting around, Lucas summoned what he hoped was a reassuring smile. “It’s okay, Max.”

A pair of hazel eyes blinked at him from the shadows. “Daddy?” came the sleepy response.