Page 2 of Christmas at Wolf Creek
“Tell me about them again,” she says sleepily as I smooth her hair back from her forehead. “My new uncles and aunties.”
“Tomorrow,” I promise, kissing her forehead. “You need sleep now.”
“But I like them,” she insists, fighting to keep her eyes open. “Especially the big one with the pictures on his arms. He looks like the prince in my book.”
I smile, knowing she means Kane with his tattoos. “He does, a bit. Now close your eyes, little love. Dream of princes and ponies.”
She’s asleep before I finish speaking, her breathingdeep and even. I stand watching her for a moment, marveling as I often do at this miracle I’ve created—this perfect, innocent being who knows nothing of the darkness that preceded her birth.
The cottage feels too quiet once I leave her room. I let Scout back in from his final patrol of the yard, then double-check all the locks again before making myself a cup of chamomile tea. The events of the day swirl in my mind like leaves caught in a whirlpool. The shock on my half-siblings’ faces —Declan and his wife Wren, Kat and her partner Rory, Connor and his wife Mia, and Kane and his friend Kori —when they all saw me. There was cautious hope in Kane’s eyes when our eyes met for the first time. And when he agreed to stay, I felt a burden lift off my shoulders with the knowledge that for the first time in years, I’m not alone in protecting Nora.
I settle on the sofa facing the stone fireplace, pulling a knitted throw over my legs as I reach for the book on the side table. It’s a historical romance I’ve read twice already—a guilty pleasure with a brooding hero and a plucky heroine who melts his frozen heart. Pure fantasy, but sometimes fantasy is what gets me through the long, lonely nights.
The fire crackles softly as I sip my tea and turn the pages, losing myself in a world where love conquers all and happy endings are guaranteed. Scout snores gently at my feet, occasionally twitching as he chases dream rabbits.
I reach the part where the hero confesses his love to the heroine beneath a starlit sky, and a familiar ache spreads through my chest. It’s been nine years since I felt a man’s arms around me. Since I trusted enough to let someone close. The brief, disastrous relationship with Mikhail poisoned something in me, made me wary of ever trusting my heart to another.
My eyes grow heavy as the tea works its magic. I let the book rest on my chest, too tired to make it to my bedroom. As sleep claims me, I find myself wishing, as I often do, that life could be more like fiction—that somewhere out there is a man who could see past my scars and secrets, who would love both Nora and me with the same fierce devotion as the heroes in my books.
But real life isn’t a romance novel. In real life, the men who seem too good to be true usually are. In real life, happy endings don’t come without a cost.
Still, as I drift into dreams, a small, stubborn spark of hope flickers in my heart. Perhaps having family around—real family, who one day will know the truth—will change things. Maybe I won’t always have to face the darkness alone.
Perhaps someday, I’ll find the courage to trust again.
Chapter 2
Jake
Idrive another nail into the fence post with more force than necessary, satisfaction coursing through me as the wood splinters slightly. The fence line between my property and the Wolfcreek Ranch has needed repairs for months, but I’ve been putting it off. Not because I’m lazy—hell, there’s nothing else to do out here but work—but because it means getting too close to that cottage where the redhead and her kid live.
The October wind whips across the open pasture, carrying the scent of pine and approaching snow.Alberta winters don’t mess around, and this one’s coming early. I pull my worn Stetson lower over my eyes, adjusting my work gloves before grabbing another post from the truck bed.
Movement from the cottage catches my eye. Eleanor emerges with a cardboard box in her arms, her daughter skipping behind her. The little blonde girl clutches something orange and round. A pumpkin. Halloween decorations.
My chest tightens, and I hammer another nail with enough force to bend it. Goddamnit.
Four years ago, Avril and I would’ve been doing the same thing—hanging fake spiderwebs across the porch while Melanie bounced around in her witch costume weeks before trick-or-treating. Melanie loved Halloween. Said it was better than Christmas because you got to be someone else for a day.
I yank the bent nail out and toss it aside, the metal pinging against a rock. The sound carries across the field, making Eleanor glance in my direction. She raises a hand in greeting, a tentative smile on her face.
I turn my back, focusing on the fence post. I don’t need her friendliness. Don’t need her or her daughter reminding me of everything I’ve lost.
The accident plays through my mind for the millionth time—the phone call, the ice-slicked roads, the broken guardrail. By the time I reached the hospital, Avril was already gone. Melanie hung on for three days in the PICU before the machines could dono more for her tiny, broken body.
I sold our house in Calgary the next month. Bought this run-down cattle ranch as far from civilization as I could get while still maintaining a business. Five thousand acres of solitude, broken fences, and stubborn livestock that don’t give a damn about my grief.
“Hello there!” Eleanor’s voice carries across the field. She’s walking toward the fence line, the little girl trailing behind her, still clutching that damn pumpkin. “Are you fixing the fence? We’ve had some deer coming through lately.”
I grunt in response, keeping my back to them as I position another post. The last thing I need is conversation.
Not discouraged in the least bit by my silence, she continues, “We’re just putting up some Halloween decorations.”
“I can see that,” I mutter, still not turning around.
“We’ve got extra pumpkins if you’d like one,” she offers. “Nora picked too many at the patch yesterday.”
“No thanks.” The words come out harsher than I intended, but I don’t soften them with an explanation.