Christmas with the McCarthys (Dangerous Doms 7.50)

“Come here, Keenan.” She takes my hand and leads me to the vacant chairs in front of the fireplace. “I have to speak to you.”

What is going on?

I force myself to be patient.

Caitlin speaks in a low voice. “Now, stay calm,” she says. “I won’t tell you everything. That’s for your mother to tell.”

What?

“She’s… interested in Malachy.”

“Interested in him?” I whisper back. “We’re all interested in him, Caitlin. He’s known all of us since we were little.”

She closes her eyes and blows out an exasperated breath, as if she’s reaching for patience with one of our children, then opens her eyes again. “Keenan.”

And then suddenly it dawns on me with vivid clarity, crashing with force like the waves on the shores of Ballyhock.

“Caitlin. You don’t mean—”

She smiles and nods. “I do mean.”

“Mother of God,” I mutter under my breath, shaking my head. This makes the stakes that much higher. “How long?”

“’Bout a year,” she says, “and now you’ll get nothing more out of me, Keenan.”

A year? “Why didn’t she tell me?” I ask, shaking my head. I’m bewildered.

“She didn’t want you to freak out.”

“Freak out?” I hiss. “Why would I freak out?”

She gives me a, really, Keenan? look.

I look over to mam, who’s walked back to the window. She stares out, her lip captured between her teeth. It’s never been so important to find Malachy and Daniel than it is now.

I take out my mobile, walk to a quiet part of the library, and call Lachlan. He answers immediately.

“Yes, boss?”

“What’s going on?”

I feel Caitlin’s keen eyes on me from across the room.

He’s nearly shouting into the phone to overcome the sound of the howling wind. “No sign of them yet, sir, but we think they took another route to get here.”

I don’t bother to ask him how he knows, as I trust him, and asking any questions wastes precious time.

“Where are you?”

“We’re down by the bunker.”

I nod. Ah, he came about that way, then. I wonder why he didn’t come directly from the school.

“I’m on my way.”

There’s a pause before he answers. “Did I hear you correctly, sir? You’re coming here?”

“Aye. See you in ten.”

I hang up my phone and pocket it, then turn and walk back toward Caitlin. A deep bellow of laughter comes from the fireplace, and I give one last wistful glance at the cozy picture before me. My children, my nieces and nephews, members of the Clan and their significant others, sit clustered together. Faces ruddy and smiling, little golden and silver wrapped gifts being opened by the children. Tully meets my eyes, and there’s question in them.

I nod, a silent affirmation that we’re on this. That everyone will be okay. I’ll see to it personally.

“Another drink, Keenan?” Caitlin asks. I turn to look at her, and shake my head.

“No, lass. When I get back.”

She smiles, though her eyes grow pained, and she doesn’t bother to talk me out of it this time. She nods. “I’ll walk you to the door.”

I squeeze her hand, a silent thank you for understanding. For doing what she always does—supporting me no matter the circumstances. Over the years, her steadfast and confident encouragement’s meant the damn world to me.

“Wait here, Keenan,” Caitlin says in her quiet way. “I’ll fetch your coat.”

She comes a moment later with my coat in one hand, and a woolen scarf and hat she knit for me in the other.

“Now, then,” she says. She props the coat up on a table and crooks a finger at me. “Let me fix this. You stay right there.”

I bend my head and give her a kiss on the cheek.

“So bossy,” I whisper in her ear. “I’ll have to remind you again who really gives the orders around here tonight, hmm?”

She still flushes like a schoolgirl when I tease her.

“Oh, Keenan,” she says with a little giggle. “I’ve much to do, you know. St. Nick needs help stuffing stockings and arranging presents under the tree, doesn’t he?”

“There’ll be plenty of time for all that, too. I’ve already had the staff get the presents ready and hidden. Just put some cookies out with the children for St. Nick before bed, and the rest will only take minutes.”

She grins. “Deal.”

I capture her face with my hands and hold her gaze. Over the years, those lovely eyes of hers have grown in wisdom and strength as she’s assumed the role as my wife. Her skin is soft under the roughness of my palms, and voice tender and sweet.

“Be careful, Keenan.”

“I will. You know, I may be king of the throne of McCarthys,” I say to her, my voice imbued with meaning. “But you, my love, are the queen.”

The queen.

Never has a woman been more fitting for the role, so regal and graceful.

“Thank you,” she whispers. Gently, she winds the scarf around my neck. “Now come back to me, husband.”