Page 13 of Christmas at Wolf Creek
The drive back to Pinecrest is filled with Christmas carols—some traditional, some decidedly notappropriate for eight-year-old ears until I remember to censor my lyrics. Nora joins in enthusiastically, if not always on key, while Ella watches her with a smile that makes my heart squeeze.
This is what family should be, I think. Not the cold, formal dinners of my childhood or the dutiful holiday cards exchanged with distant relatives. This chaotic, joyful mess of people who barely knew each other a month ago but are somehow becoming something real.
As we pull into Pinecrest, Ella suddenly sits up straighter. “Oh! I just remembered—Frank asked if Nora could help with the gingerbread village tomorrow. The bakery is entering a town competition.”
“Gingerbread village?” Nora’s eyes light up. “Like with candy and frosting?”
“Exactly like that,” Ella confirms. “But it’s a big project, and I’ll be working all day...”
“We’ll help!” I volunteer immediately, ignoring Wren’s side-eye. “How hard can building a gingerbread village be?”
“It’s not just any gingerbread village,” Ella warns. “It’s life-sized. Frank’s going all out this year.”
“Life-sized?” Lana repeats incredulously. “As in, human-sized gingerbread houses?”
“That’s the plan,” Ella nods. “He’s determined to beat Maggie’s Diner in the town decorating contest.”
“Oh, we are definitely helping,” I decide, already imagining the Instagram potential. “The MacGallans are officially joining Team Gingerbread.”
“Really?” Nora bounces in her seat. “You’ll all come?”
“Absolutely,” Wren confirms, catching my enthusiasm. “We’re expert gingerbread architects. Isn’t that right, Kat?”
“The best in the business,” I agree solemnly. “Our gingerbread structures are known throughout the land for their structural integrity and tasteful candy placement.”
Ella laughs, shaking her head. “I’ve created a monster. Frank will either love you or ban you from the bakery forever.”
“Only one way to find out,” I grin, already mentally planning my gingerbread construction outfit. “What time should we be there?”
“Eight AM,” Ella says, and my smile falters slightly.
“In the morning? On a Saturday?” I clarify, earning snickers from the others.
“Afraid of a little early rising, Sleeping Beauty?” Wren teases.
I straighten my shoulders with dignity. “I’ll have you know I am perfectly capable of functioning before noon when properly motivated. And gingerbread building is excellent motivation.”
We drop Ella and Nora at their cottage, promising to return tomorrow with the decorations earmarked for their place. As we drive away, I catch sight of them in the rearview mirror—Nora skipping up the path while Ella waves goodbye, looking more relaxed than I’ve seen her since we arrived.
“This was a good idea,” I say quietly to Wren. “Getting her out, making her part of things.”
Wren nods, her eyes on the road. “She’s been alone too long. Both of them have.”
“Well, not anymore,” I declare, patting Frederick the nutcracker’s wooden head where it protrudes between our seats. “They’re stuck with us now. The full MacGallan experience, Christmas edition.”
“God help them,” Lana mutters from the back, but she’s smiling too.
As we turn onto the main road leading to the lodge, I spot a lone figure on horseback watching us from the ridge above—a man in a cowboy hat, silhouetted against the setting sun. He sits motionless, observing our SUV as we pass, then turns his horse and disappears into the trees.
“Did you see that?” I ask, turning to look back, but he’s already gone.
“See what?” Wren glances in the rearview mirror.
“Nothing,” I say after a moment. “Just thought I saw something.”
But as we continue toward the lodge, I can’tshake the feeling of being watched—a sensation that clashes with the warm, festive mood of our shopping expedition. I hug the bag of tinsel closer to my chest, suddenly aware of how exposed we are out here in the mountains, how isolated.
How perfect a hiding place this would be to hide.