Christmas with the McCarthys (Dangerous Doms 7.50)

CHAPTER 1

Keenan

Light strains of Christmas music fill our home as the large front door opens, bringing it with it a gust of wind so fierce, I brace myself against the bitter cold. Lachlan enters, dressed in full winter gear. He grabs the handle of the door, steps inside, and shoves his whole body against the door to shut it. It closes with a bang.

“Bloody hell, Lach,” I mutter when he enters. “Did you bring winter with you from the north?”

He shakes his head, and little flakes of snow fall from his shoulders. We haven’t had snow in Ballyhock in well over a decade, since I took the throne as Clan Chief.

“Mother of God,” he mutters, unwrapping a scarf from his neck with reddened fingers. “I think I did.”

His eyes are bright, his cheeks ruddy, when mam comes trotting down the stairs.

“Lachlan, you look frozen to death, son!”

She’s wearing a bright red sweater dotted in snowflakes and a blinking necklace of Christmas baubles, prepared for our Christmas party this evening. She embraces him, and he gives her a little kiss on the cheek.

“Nothing a good shot of whiskey won’t cure,” he says with a wink. He reaches into his coat and pulls out a square box wrapped in red plaid paper. “Brought you a gift from the North, Granny.”

Mam grins as she takes the gift.

“Aw, Lach, you shouldn’t have.” She’s pleased, though.

“What is it, Granny? Did Uncle Lach bring you pressies?”

My youngest child Torin runs in from the other room and nearly collides into mam.

He’s impulsive and outgoing, the most spirited of my three children. He’s got his mother’s black hair and mesmerizing eyes, and I think he’s bewitched half the staff here to give him whatever it is he asks.

“Now, Torin, you leave Granny’s gifts alone. No doubt you’ll be spoiled rotten tonight by your aunts and uncles, hmm?”

But mam’s already tearing off the plaid wrapping.

“There’s plenty to share, Keenan,” she says gently, reaching over to ruffle Torin’s hair. “Oooooh.” She lifts the lid. She’s got a sweet tooth for the shortbread made by the Cowen family’s chef, their famous recipe distributed through all of the United Kingdom and beyond.

I shake my head. “No, ma’am, Torin will have his dessert after dinner with the rest of them.” I wink at Torin and send him off to his nanny, who’s got the children making paper chains of red and gold to decorate the large dining room.

“Oh, Maeve, what have you got there?” Caitlin comes down the stairs, her arms laded with wrapped gifts. When she reaches the landing, she walks over to me and kisses my cheek. I take the presents from her arms.

“A box of shortbread from the Scots your meanie of a husband wouldn’t let Torin have,” mam says with a smile.

Caitlin laughs. “Oh, Torin will have plenty of sweets with his brothers and sisters tonight, I’ve no doubt.”

Mam gives me a haughty look, retreating toward the kitchen with the shortbread under her arm. “I’ll see to it.”

Lachlan grins at us, and Caitlin stares at him for a moment.

“Lachlan, is that… snow?” She reaches for his shoulders and touches a dainty finger to the little flecks on his jacket.

“Aye,” he says. “There’s a right winter storm coming.”

I stifle a groan. Soon, our home will be filled with the entire Clan and their extended families. There was no talk of a storm anywhere in the forecast.

The door opens again, and Aileen and Fiona enter. Fiona grins and squeals when she sees Lachlan, her eyes lighting up like the lights on the Christmas tree. She hasn’t seen him in over a week.

“Oh, Lachlan, I didn’t know you’d be home so early!”

He rolls his eyes but grins, reaches for her, and yanks her over to him. “If you’d check your damn texts, sweet girl, you’d have known I left early to miss the storm that’s brewing.”

She squeals when he tips her back and kisses her.

“Married a few years, still mad about each other,” Aileen says with a wink toward Caitlin. “Wouldn’t know what that’s like, would we?”

“Oh, not at all.” Cormac’s booming voice comes from the direction of the sitting room. He’s leaning up against the doorway, giving her a look that makes her bite her lip and flush pink. He crooks a finger at her. “C’mere.”