Page 21 of Christmas at Wolf Creek

The road back to Wolfcreek winds through denseforest, the trees heavy with fresh snow. It’s beautiful in a stark, imposing way that reminds me of why I agreed to stay here in the first place. Something about these mountains speaks to me, calls to something primal I didn’t know existed in my city-hardened soul.

“You’re quiet,” Kori observes, her voice low enough that the others can’t hear over their ongoing dessert debate.

I glance at her, then back at the road. “Just thinking.”

“About?”

“How weird this all is,” I admit, gripping the steering wheel a little tighter. “A month ago, I was drowning my sorrows in a bottle, convinced I was better off alone. Now I’m driving back from building a gingerbread village with family I didn’t know I had, about to attend a small-town Christmas tree lighting.”

“Having regrets?” she asks, and there’s a note in her voice I can’t quite read.

“No,” I say quickly, surprising myself with how true it is. “It’s just... a lot to process.”

She reaches over, her hand finding mine on the gearshift. “For what it’s worth, I think you’re handling it remarkably well.”

“That’s because you didn’t know me before,” I reply, but I turn my hand to lace my fingers with hers. “I was a disaster.”

“We’re all disasters in our own special ways,” shesays with a smile that crinkles the corners of her eyes. “Some of us just hide it better than others.”

We fall into comfortable silence as I navigate the increasingly snowy roads. The others have quieted too, Lana staring out the window while Kat and Wren scroll through photos on a phone, occasionally laughing at particularly flour-covered shots.

My mind drifts to Jake Brennan’s unexpected appearance at the bakery. There was something off about him—beyond the general unfriendliness and suspicious glares. The way he watched Ella and Nora, a mixture of longing and pain in his eyes when he thought no one was looking. And the tension between him and Lana was thick enough to cut with a knife.

I make a mental note to ask Ella about him again. If he’s going to be in our orbit, I want to know exactly what his deal is.

The lodge comes into view, warm lights glowing from its windows against the gathering darkness. Someone—probably Kat—left the outdoor Christmas lights on, transforming the imposing structure into something from a holiday greeting card. Despite my general aversion to seasonal cheer, I have to admit it looks pretty spectacular.

“Home sweet home,” Kat sighs as I pull up to the entrance. “I call first shower!”

“You always call first shower,” Wren complains, gathering her things. “And you take forever.”

“Beauty requires dedication,” Kat retorts, already halfway out the door.

“You have forty-five minutes,” I call after her. “Tree lighting’s at seven.”

Kori gives my hand a final squeeze before releasing it to gather her coat and bag. “Coming?”

“In a minute,” I reply, suddenly needing a moment alone. “I want to check something on the engine. It was making a weird noise earlier.”

She gives me a look that says she knows I’m lying, but nods anyway. “Don’t be long. It’s getting colder.”

Once they’ve all disappeared into the lodge, I sit in the silent car, watching my breath cloud in the rapidly cooling air. The reality of my new life settles around me like the snow blanketing the mountains—beautiful, overwhelming, and transformative in ways I’m still trying to understand.

I pull out my phone and scroll to a number I haven’t called in months. Before I can overthink it, I hit dial.

“MacGallan Estate, how may I direct your call?” The familiar voice of Mrs. Peterson, Declan’s new housekeeper, answers on the third ring.

“It’s Kane,” I say, my voice rough. “Is Declan around?”

“Mr. Kane! How lovely to hear from you. Mr. Declan is in his office. Shall I transfer you?”

“Please.”

There’s a click, then Declan’s voice comes through, sounding distracted. “Kane? Everything alright at the ranch?”

“Yeah, everything’s fine,” I assure him, suddenly feeling foolish for calling. “Just... checking in. How’s Toronto?”

There’s a pause, and I can almost see him leaning back in his leather chair, eyebrows raised at my uncharacteristic social call.