Page 319 of A Merry Mountain Christmas

Tyrion sniffed around for several minutes, peeing on a couple of trees next to the neighbor’s yard, but then he went still and turned his attention to the street.

A black sedan was headed toward them, slowing down as it neared the house. Tyrion continued to watch, and a lump filled Jack’s stomach when he realized who was driving.

The car parked in front of the house, and the driver’s door opened. A distinguished older man in a tailored suit got out. He walked around the hood of his rented car and stood on the curb, his gaze scanning the house. His cold stare made Jack think he was inventorying the place, trying to figure out if it was worth his time to enter. He must have decided the pleasure he would take in making a bad party worse outweighed the possibility he’d catch some deadly disease from Finn’s half-a-million-dollar house, because he started up the sidewalk. Then, halfway up the walk, he stopped and turned to face Jack.

Prescott Buchanan’s lip curled as that cold, calculating gaze swept over his son.

Tyrion walked up beside Jack, pressing his solid body into Jack’s leg.

“Don’t worry. I have no interest in talking to you,” Jack said in disgust.

His father lifted his chin and sniffed. “I guess you’re not moving as far up in the world as you thought.” An amused look filled his eyes as he nodded toward Tyrion. “You’ve been relegated to cleaning up dog waste.”

Anger burned in Jack’s chest, and his hand tightened on the leash. “I take it you’ve never had a pet, Prescott?”

The older man gave him a confused look, somehow still full of disdain. “No.”

“I’m not surprised,” Jack said. “Pet owners are compassionate and empathetic. They treat other people with respect. You seem incapable of thinking of anyone other than yourself.”

Prescott snorted. “Respect is earned, and letting my daughter fund your little brewery escapade reeks of opportunism, not that I’m surprised.” Contempt filled his eyes. “You’re a leech, just like your white trash mother, and while my father may have given you part ownership of a run-down brewery, you turned down the only offer you’ll ever get from me.”

Good thing Jack didn’t want anything from him. A long time ago he’d wanted a father, but Prescott had made it crystal clear that wasn’t on the table, and Jack had accepted it before he’d even turned ten. His mother had arranged those early visits from Prescott, but Jack had never asked for that. He’d never asked for anything, and he wasn’t about to start now.

He opened his mouth to tell Prescott just that, but the front door opened, and Lee walked out onto the porch, his gaze firmly on his father.

“Dad. What are you doing here?” he asked in surprise.

Prescott turned his back on Jack and gave his attention to his son—the real one. “I finished my business and came by to check on things since you weren’t answering your phone.”

Lee crossed his arms over his chest. “I was busy.”

An incredulous look washed over Prescott’s face as he gestured to the house. “Busy in there…withthem?”

“I told you we had plans.”

Prescott’s gaze narrowed. “Just because your sisters and the men they have lowered themselves to associate with feel they can take a day off, doesn’t mean we can as well.”

“It’s a Saturday,” Lee said, becoming irritated. “I’m spending time with the men my sisters are planning to marry.”

Prescott’s brow lowered and he gruffly said, “Adalia isnotengaged.”

Jack was still in the side yard, and while Prescott knew he was there, Jack was fairly certain Lee didn’t. Should he make his presence known? Should he slink around the other side of the house so he didn’t interrupt them? He decided he’d been there first, so he’d stay put.

Lee shook his head. “If you paid your daughters any attention at all, you’d see that Addy’s crazy about Finn, and he’s just as crazy about her. They’re going to get married, Dad. It’s just a matter of time.”

Prescott’s cheeks reddened. “Then you need to break them up. That boy encouraged her to drag our name into that article.”

Jack nearly intervened—presumably by “that article,” Prescott meant theNew York Timespiece about Alan Stansworth, the sleazebag who’d stolen Adalia’s art—but then Lee surprised him.

“That’s not happening,” he said, shaking his head. “Finn makes Addy happy, and contrary to what you might think, she deserves happiness.”

Prescott clenched his fists at his sides. “I gave you a simple job, Lee. Put a stop to Georgie’s marriage before the engagement party tomorrow night. Have you made any progress?”

“No, Dad,” Lee said, dropping his hands to his sides. “While you might have toldme to break them up, Ineveragreed. I’ll admit I had reservations about the guy, but after talking to him, I think he really loves her.”

“Love?” Prescott asked in an ice-cold voice. “A good marriage is built on what each person has to bring to the table. Take Victoria.”

Lee shook his head with a look of disgust.

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