Page 31 of Christmas at Wolf Creek
For the next hour, the threat hanging over us recedes as we lose ourselves in the simple joy of creating something beautiful together. Nora’s excitement is contagious as she flits between us, offering suggestions and praise in equal measure. Even Kane seems to soften, carefully hanging ornaments where Nora directs without a single complaint.
“This one’s special,” Ella says softly, unwrapping a small glass star from tissue paper. “Nora and I made it the first Christmas after we moved here.”
The ornament is simple but beautiful—clear glass with swirls of blue and silver inside, obviously handmade. There’s something poignant about it, this token of their first Christmas alone together, now incorporated into our larger family celebration.
“It should go right in front,” Nora decides, pointing to a prominent branch. “So, everyone can see it.”
Ella lifts her daughter to place the ornament, and I’m struck by the fragility of this moment—this happiness we’ve all found in each other, now threatened by ghosts from the past.
As the tree takes shape, transformed from bare branches to a glittering display of color and light, I find myself standing back, taking mental photographs of these moments: Rory lifting Nora to place the star on top; Kat and Wren arguing playfully about tinsel distribution; Kane and Kori sharing a private smile as they hang matching ornaments; Ella watching it all with a mixture of joy and what might be fear.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Mia says, appearing beside me with two mugs of something that smells strongly of rum and cinnamon.
I accept the drink gratefully. “It’s perfect,” I agree. “I can’t remember the last time I decorated a Christmas tree.”
“That’s sad,” she observes, sipping her drink. “Christmas was always a big deal in my family. Chaotic and sometimes stressful, but important.”
“The MacGallans aren’t big on tradition,” I explain. “Tomas wasn’t exactly Father Christmas.”
She snorts. “From what I’ve gathered, he wasn’t exactly father of the year in any capacity.”
“That’s an understatement,” I murmur, watching as Declan helps Nora arrange a train set beneath the tree. For all his corporate ruthlessness, my brother has taken to unclehood with surprising ease.
“Well, you’re making new traditions now,” Miasays, nudging my shoulder with hers. “That’s something.”
“Yeah,” I agree softly. “It is.”
When the last ornament is placed and the lights are plugged in, we all gather to admire our handiwork. The tree glows with warm light, each ornament catching and reflecting the colors around it. Nora claps her hands in delight, her face illuminated by the twinkling display.
“It’s the most beautiful tree ever,” she declares with absolute certainty.
“Definitely top five,” Kane agrees seriously, earning a giggle from her.
“Time for hot chocolate by the fire,” Kat announces, already heading for the kitchen. “With those little marshmallows Nora likes.”
“And then bed for certain elves,” Ella adds, smoothing Nora’s hair. “It’s getting late.”
“But I’m not tired,” Nora protests, undermined by a massive yawn that makes everyone laugh.
“How about one Christmas story by the fire, then bed?” Ella compromises, clearly recognizing the signs of an overtired child.
As the others move toward the kitchen to help with hot chocolate, Declan catches my eye and nods slightly toward the study. It’s time for the conversation we’ve been postponing all evening.
Chapter 15
Rory
Ifollow Declan and Connor into the study, trying to ignore the knot forming in my stomach. Whatever prompted our hasty return from Toronto can’t be good news. Kane joins us, closing the door with a soft click that somehow sounds ominous in the suddenly quiet room.
“Someone want to tell me what the hell is going on?” Kane asks, leaning against the massive oak desk that dominates the space. “You three look like you’re heading to a funeral, not a family Christmas.”
Declan runs a hand through his hair, a rare gestureof uncertainty from my usually composed boss. “I received a call last night. From Russia.”
The room temperature feels like it dropped by 10 degrees. Russia means Mikhail. Ella’s past. Danger.
“What kind of call?” I ask, perched on the arm of a leather chair.
“A warning. About Ella.” Declan’s voice is tight, controlled. “The caller knew she was here. Knew about Nora.”