Brett straightened. “You haven’t told anyone about the paintings, have you, Thomas?”
“No, sir. Mr. McConachie was plain blunt with us. We’re not to tell anyone.”
“That’s good. Is Dave still in the barn?”
“Yep. He’s waiting for you.”
Hannah touched Brett’s arm. “I’ll go. Good luck with whatever you’re doing in the barn.”
“Thanks. I’ll need every ounce of luck I can find. Drive safely.”
Brett opened the driver’s door and she slid into the cab. With a heavy heart, she started the ignition and left the ranch.
***
Brett didn’t know why, but Christmas morning always felt different than every other morning. He woke to the same radio station blaring the latest weather report to everyone. Henry still crowed like an out-of-control cuckoo clock and Mrs. Bennett would, as usual, be cooking an enormous breakfast.
But this morning was different for an entirely different reason. That old feeling of being unsettled, of knowing something bad was coming had resurfaced. For most of his life, Brett had followed his gut instinct. Today, that instinct was screaming at him to be careful.
Yesterday afternoon, Fletcher Security had installed the first stage in a high-tech security system. The next rollout of features would make it nearly impossible for anyone to enter the house undetected. If Hannah was right about the value of even half of Pat’s paintings, the full security system couldn’t arrive fast enough.
Brett hauled himself out of bed and headed toward the bathroom. After he’d had breakfast and fed the cattle, he would drive Pat into town to see Ida. They’d spend a couple of hours with her before high-tailing it back to the ranch for lunch.
He didn’t need any bad vibes clouding a day that would be busy and stressful.
By the time he walked into the kitchen, Thomas and Dave were already there, devouring bacon and eggs. Anyone looking at the two teenagers would think they hadn’t eaten in weeks.
“Merry Christmas, everyone.”
Mrs. Bennett kissed his cheek. “Merry Christmas, Brett. What would you like to eat?”
He pulled out a chair beside Thomas. “I can get my own breakfast. Sit down and enjoy yours.”
“Don’t be silly,” Mrs. Bennett insisted. “I like looking after you. Besides, you might have more luck than I will at keeping these rascals out of trouble. Dave has already sampled my sweet cherry pies.”
Brett looked at the plate of pies sitting on the counter. The palm-sized, golden-crusted desserts looked delicious. “I don’t know if I’ll be much help. What if I moved them into my office for safekeeping?”
Mrs. Bennett wiggled her spatula at him. “They’re for after we’ve had lunch. What would Hannah think if I told her my boys have eaten her favorite dessert?”
“She’d think she should have stayed here last night,” Thomas said around a mouthful of toast. “That way, she could have hidden them in her studio so thatsomeonedidn’t eat any of them.”
“I would have found them,” Dave said confidently. “Mrs. Bennett’s sweet cherry pies are the best I’ve ever tasted.”
“Well,” Mrs. Bennett said as she bustled around the kitchen, “if you keep up with those comments I might just make you some pies to take home.”
“That would be great. My mom and brothers would like that.”
“I’ll have them ready by the time you leave this afternoon.” Mrs. Bennett peered at Brett over the rim of her glasses. “What did you decide to have for breakfast?”
If he didn’t let Mrs. Bennett make his breakfast, she would wave the spatula under his nose and tell him to behave. “I’ll have what the boys are eating, thanks.”
Pat came into the kitchen wearing a red Santa hat and shaking a bell. “Ho-ho-ho. Merry Christmas.”
Thomas grinned. “You look awesome. Merry Christmas, Mr. McConachie.”
“Merry Christmas to you, too, young Thomas. Here’s a little gift to set you up for the day.”
Thomas’ eyes nearly popped out of his head. “For me?”
