Page 9 of Daddies’ Holiday Toy (Kissmass Daddies #1)

REECE

Jesus. Holly’s not a little girl anymore.

That’s the first thing that hits me when I finally reconcile the women before me with the child of my memories.

While I haven’t laid eyes on her in years, it’s clear since she’s no longer the awkward little kid trailing behind Carson on fishing trips, giggling over his dumb jokes while trying to keep up with him.

Back then, I remember him telling us all about her.

Back when he thought being a dad actually meant something.

She been all scraped knees and clumsy feet in the short little videos he’d force us to watch on his phone, always tagging along right behind him as Maggie filmed despite Carson always looking half-distracted and seeming too impatient to deal with her.

I remember him bragging about how she used to treat him like he hung the damn moon, all the while never noticing how he was always far more interested in the cooler of beers we brought with us than taking her up here on our trips and throwing her up his shoulders while we hiked.

Now I’m kind of glad he never did.

Because damn. She’s all grown up.

There’s a quiet confidence about her even though I can see she’s uncomfortable as hell being surrounded by us.

For some reason, it comes across as her standing her ground, though for what, I can’t be sure.

It’s how she tries to keep her chin level while watching us, her gaze flicking quickly any time any of us moves.

Her hoodie sleeves are pushed up over slender forearms, slightly dirty from all the cleaning she’s been doing, and her hair’s pulled back in one of those loose knots women like her somehow make look effortless.

Stands of it are falling out here and there, the warm brown catching the light from the fireplace and tinting them red.

I hate to say it, hell I really hate to admit it, but she’s gorgeous.

She doesn’t stay long with us, retreating to the kitchen after her brief exchange with Jack, and disappearing to make us all dinner. Beyond the archway, I can hear the faint clatter of cabinets and the rustling of the bags we brought with us filled with food.

Then, the smell of something garlicky hits my nose and it has my mouth watering instantly.

I’d had a few bites of her cookies, and, if that was anything to go off of, we were going to be eating good tonight.

Jack and I exchange a look as Liam steps out onto the porch, his phone pressed to his ear as he tries Carson for what must be the fifth time since we arrived.

The snow’s still coming down in thick sheets, relentless now.

I can barely make out anything past our vehicles getting rapidly buried by the minute.

This is the kind of weather that says none of us are going anywhere tonight.

“You see how tiny that thing she drove in is?” Jack mutters, nodding toward the hatchback out the window. “No way she’s making it down that road tonight if this shit keeps up. Hell, even if the snow stops by the time the sun goes down, the road’s gonna need a good plowing.”

My eyes follow his gaze to peek outside the window again.

“Yeah. That little box car doesn’t stand a chance on this mountain. I could call up a guy I know. Marty. He’s still got that plow attachment on his truck. Could probably get him up here later this evening to clear out the driveway.”

Jack shakes his head, the movement slow. Next to him, the fire pops.

“No point right now. She’s here and she’s safer staying put. The town’s plow will eventually make their way up here and dig us out. They’ve got a few permanent residents up this way. If she needs to crash here overnight, then so be it. I’ll take the couch.”

“Mighty chivalrous of you,” I joke but it’s half-hearted.

The truth is that I’ll probably be the one ending up offering my room instead.

I’ve never been one to care about sleeping on a couch—I did it plenty of time in my college days.

Hell, back then, I used to sleep in worse places in worse conditions.

We both fall quiet, watching through the open archway as Holly moves around in the kitchen.

She’s not just cooking, she’s nesting.

In her own way, from the looks of it.

Straightening things that don’t need to be, folding a stray dishtowel over by the sink.

There’s this strange weight in my chest watching her, Carson’s kid , here in the middle of the mountains in a cabin I doubt she’s spent more than a weekend in her entire life, working herself to the bone making the place look like it’s straight out of a spread in Country Living.

The question comes unbidden: why’d he have her come up and do that?

Why not just hire someone instead of forcing his own kid to clean up after our past messes?

There are a dozen cleaning services in town that would’ve done the job, no problem.

Instead, he sends his own daughter who he barely sees up here, alone, to do it.

She deserves better than being sent up here alone to play maid for her old man.

“You think Carson’s gonna throw a fit when he sees her like she said he would?” I ask quietly, my eyes refusing to leave her.

Jack exhales, drawing my attention away for a brief moment, rubbing his thumb along the edge of his jaw while a small muscle in it ticks.

“Probably. But that’s on him, not her. I’ll get in the middle of it if he starts being an asshole. She’s only doing what he asked her to do. Not her fault the weather decided to be a bitch.”

I nod, but the truth is…I’m not all that convinced.

Something about how Holly carries herself doesn’t sit right with me.

It has me thinking—or rather, reminding myself—how deeply troubled Carson’s relationship with her has always been.

If he starts causing an issue, I’ll be standing there right along with Jack to shut him the fuck up.

The front door opens again and Liam stomps back inside, covered in snow.

He shivers, teeth clacking together as he swings the door shut behind him.

“Well?” Jack asks.

“Guess.” Liam’s voice is flat. Telling.

“He’s not coming.” I say.

He rolls his eyes. “Yup. Claims he’s stuck in town because of the storm, which I fucking called. Said he’ll head up tomorrow when the roads are cleared out but who knows when that’s going to happen.”

“Translation: he’s probably holed up with someone. I’m going to go out on a limb and guess Maggie.”

Liam doesn’t even argue.

He just runs a hand over his mouth, muttering something under his breath. “It’s fucking ridiculous if you ask me. Why bother inviting us up here just to ditch us?”

I glance back toward the kitchen again when I see a shadow moving out of the corner of my eye.

To my surprise, Holly’s standing in the doorway, a folded towel in her hands.

“So…is my dad not coming after all?” she asks, strangely calm.

Though, the longer I look at her, I catch it—the slight hitch in her words and the way her fingers tighten around the fabric like she’s trying to wring out all her frustration.

It’s clear she’s trying not to let it show but it’s there.

It’s the annoyance that her old man’s broken yet another promise to her.

“Looks like he’s stuck in town. Storm got too bad,” Liam tells her, though even to me he barely sounds sympathetic.

Holly’s mouth quirks in a humorless little smile. “Figures, huh? Maybe that means he won’t catch me up here after all.”

And damn if I don’t feel something twist in my gut at the sound of it.

This is Carson’s kid.

The one he used to complain about, acting like she’s some kind of burden instead of his one and only daughter.

The one Margaret fought like hell to protect when Carson got too wrapped up in his own life to bother trying anymore.

She deserves better than this.