Page 25 of Christmas at Wolf Creek
The others walk ahead of us, Kat and Wren still taking photos of the decorations while Kane and Kori walk hand-in-hand. As we approach the vehicles, I make a quick decision.
“Would you all mind if Nora and I stayed at the lodge tonight?” I ask, trying to keep my voice casual. “It’s getting late, and the roads back to our cottage can be treacherous after dark.”
Kane turns immediately. “Of course you can stay. You don’t even need to ask.”
“Yes!” Nora pumps her fist in the air. “Can I sleep in the big room with the window seat? The one where you can see the stars?”
“If that’s okay,” I say, looking at the others.
“More than okay,” Wren assures me. “We love having you both there.”
“Slumber party!” Kat declares, throwing an arm around my shoulders. “I’ll make hot chocolate with the fancy marshmallows I’ve been hiding from Kane.”
“I knew you had a secret stash,” Kane grumbles, but there’s no real irritation in his voice.
As we climb into our vehicles, I can’t shake the feeling of being watched. I scan the parking area one last time before sliding into the passenger seat of Kane’s truck, Nora already buckled in the back.
“You want to tell me what really happened back there?” Kane asks quietly as he starts the engine.
I glance back to make sure Nora is distracted with her toy reindeer before answering. “I thought I saw someone. Someone from my past.”
His hands tighten on the steering wheel. “Mikhail?”
“I don’t know,” I admit, my voice barely audible over the rumble of the engine. “It was just a glimpse. Probably nothing.”
Kane’s jaw tightens. “But enough to spook you into staying at the lodge tonight.”
It’s not a question, but I nod anyway. “Just a precaution. Our cottage is isolated, and—”
“You don’t need to explain,” he cuts in, his voice gentle despite the tension in his shoulders. “The lodge is safer. More people, better security.”
“Thank you,” I whisper, relief washing through me. The fact that he understands without me having to spell it out is more comforting than I can express.
“Don’t mention it. We’ll stop at your place to get Scout and whatever you need,” he says, and all I can do is nod.
Chapter 12
Ella
Iwake early the next morning, though "early" might be generous—the sun is already streaming through the unfamiliar windows of the guest bedroom at the lodge. Nora's warm body is curled against mine, her breathing deep and even. For a moment, I watch her sleep, cataloging the delicate sweep of her eyelashes, the slight part of her lips. Safe. She's safe.
The events of last night replay in my mind—that glimpse of a figure that may or may not have been Mikhail. My logical mind says it's impossible, that I'm jumping at shadows. But eight years of vigilance don'tswitch off easily.
I ease out of bed, careful not to wake Nora. Scout lifts his head from his position at the foot of the bed, his tail thumping softly against the comforter.
“Morning, boy,” I whisper, scratching behind his ears. “Let's get you outside.”
The lodge is quiet as I pad down the hallway in borrowed pajamas, Scout following dutifully at my heels. I'd expected everyone to still be asleep after our late night, but the scent of coffee guides me to the kitchen, where I find Kane already up, staring out the window with a steaming mug in hand.
“You're up early,” I say, my voice still rough with sleep.
He turns, offering a tired smile. “Couldn't sleep. I… Ah, opened that package that you left with Marie.”
I freeze mid-step and look at him, unable to talk as the scrapbook flashes in my mind. My small hands at seven years old, carefully pressing photos onto the thick paper. Declan as a toddler with his gap-toothed smile. Connor hugging a stuffed bear on his first birthday. Kat, as a baby, swaddled in a pink blanket—Kane’s mother, holding him just after she’d given birth. I’d treasured each memento Tomas had given me, especially that wisp of Kane’s hair I'd bound with a lock of my own using red embroidery thread. Over the years, the photos kept coming, and I kept adding to the collection. But in the back of the book, tucked in a protected plastic sleeve, was our hair and Kane’sbirth certificate with ‘MacGallan’ printed in official black ink, not ‘Murphy.’
He stands there, awkward, as I see a hint of tears in his eyes, not asking for a hug but clearly aching for it. I took a step towards him and wrapped my arms around his waist.
“I was a weird little kid,” I muttered into his shirt. “Used to stare at that scrapbook for hours, wishing we were all together.” I paused, leaned back, and looked at him as I tried to swallow the sting of unshed tears in my throat. “Did Marie tell you Tomas told me to burn all of it when I turned sixteen? Said it was time to forget childish things. I just couldn’t. So, I wrapped it up and asked her for a manila envelope and gave it all to her for safekeeping.”