Page 27 of Christmas at Wolf Creek

“And what about me?” I ask, trying to keep my voice light.

Kat grins. “You, sister dear, are our artistic director. You get to tell us if things look terrible.”

“So much power,” I deadpan, but I’m smiling.

We spend the morning unloading decorations from the SUV, creating piles that quickly overflow from the great room into the hallway. Frederick the nutcracker stands guard over the chaos, his painted expression seeming to judge our organizational skills.

I find myself helping Kane and Kori with the outdoor lights, grateful for the crisp air that clears my head. We work in comfortable silence for the most part, passing strings of lights and securing them along the doorways of the barn.

“This place is going to be visible from space when we’re done,” Kane mutters, but there’s no real complaint in his voice.

“That’s the goal,” Kori laughs, handing him another extension cord. “Christmas isn’t Christmas without the risk of blowing a fuse.”

I smile at their banter, remembering how strained things were between us all just a few weeks ago. It’s strange how quickly they’ve become family—how natural it feels to work alongside them, to share meals and memories and now, holiday traditions.

By midafternoon, the lodge’s transformation is well underway. Garlands twist up the main staircase,punctuated with red velvet bows that Wren insists are “traditional, not tacky.” Wreaths hang on every door, some simple evergreen, others elaborate creations with pinecones and berries. The outdoor lights are in place, ready to be tested once darkness falls.

But the centerpiece—the massive tree we purchased from a local farm and delivered this morning—still stands bare in the great room, waiting for its moment of glory.

“Tree time!” Kat announces, clapping her hands to gather everyone. “All hands on deck for Operation Tannenbaum!”

Nora giggles at the name, rushing to the boxes of ornaments we’ve arranged around the tree’s base. “Can I hang the first one? Please?”

“Of course you can,” I tell her, kneeling to open a box of delicate glass balls. “Which one would you like?”

She considers the options with adorable seriousness before selecting a sparkly silver star. “This one. It looks like the star we saw last night on the big tree in town.”

“Perfect choice,” Kane says, lifting her so she can reach a higher branch. “Right there looks good.”

I watch them, my throat suddenly tight with emotion. Kane holds her with such care, his large hands steady as she carefully places the ornament. There’s such tenderness in his expression—a side ofhim I suspect few people get to see.

“You okay?” Kori asks softly, appearing beside me with a box of candy cane ornaments.

I nod, not trusting my voice immediately. “Just... happy,” I manage finally. “This is all so much more than I ever expected.”

She squeezes my arm gently. “Family has a way of surprising you, doesn’t it? Even when it’s complicated and messy and found in the strangest ways.”

“Especially then,” I agree, watching as Lana and Wren debate the proper spacing of ornaments while Kat drapes tinsel with reckless abandon.

“Should we wait until Uncle Declan, Uncle Connor, and Rory come back to decorate the rest?” Nora asks, wide-eyed.

Kat’s hand freezes mid-swing, her hand full of tinsel. “Yes, I suppose we should. But if they aren’t back in two days, we decorate, deal?”

Nora grins. “Deal.”

Chapter 13

Declan

The white envelope sits on my desk like a ticking bomb. I’ve been staring at it for twenty minutes, running my finger along the sealed edge without actually breaking it. The words “CONFIDENTIAL: DNA ANALYSIS” are stamped across the front in bold red letters.

I check my watch: 2:17 AM. The MacGallan estate is silent around me, Connor and Rory having finally retired to their rooms hours ago. I pour another finger of Scotch, remembering how they caught me that night, hunched over my dad's urn like some deranged grave robber.

“What the hell are you doing?” Connor had demanded, his voice echoing in the study.

I hadn’t bothered lying. “Testing a theory,” I’d said, fingers coated in gray ash as I sifted through the remains. “I don’t think he’s dead.”

Rory had looked horrified. “Jesus Christ, Declan. That’s... that’s your father.”