Christmas at Wolf Creek (CHANGING OF THE GUARDS)

Chapter 1

Ella

I grip the steering wheel tighter as we wind our way through the darkened forest road leading back to our cottage on the far side of Wolfcreek Ranch.

The headlights cut a narrow path through the pitch-black night, lighting just enough of the twisting road to make me nervous.

I’ve always hated driving after sunset, especially on these remote ranch roads where the darkness feels absolute.

“Mama, can we have hot chocolate when we get home?” Nora asks from the backseat, her voice drowsy. It’s well past her bedtime, but the excitement of meeting her aunts and uncles has kept her wired all evening.

“If you’re still awake by then, sweetheart,” I answer, checking the rearview mirror. Her eyelids are already drooping, Scout’s golden head resting contentedly in her lap. “But I think someone’s about ready for dreamland.”

“Am not,” she protests, but the yawn that follows contradicts her words.

I smile despite my tension. Having the MacGallans at the main lodge has left me rattled in ways I didn’t anticipate.

Seeing Kane—the brother Tomas spoke of most often—was like looking at a ghost of my father’s younger self.

The same intensity in his eyes, the same stubborn set to his jaw.

And the others, each carrying pieces of Tomas in their features, their mannerisms.

But it’s not just the family reunion that has me on edge. It’s the talk of Mikhail, the memories dredged up by having to explain our situation. After years of careful silence, speaking his name aloud feels like summoning a demon.

Scout suddenly lifts his head in the backseat, ears perked forward, a low growl rumbling in his chest.

“What is it, boy?” I murmur, slowing the SUV slightly.

The answer comes in a heart-stopping instant—a massive shape materializing in my headlights, tall and imposing. I slam on the brakes with a startled cry, the vehicle skidding slightly on the gravel road. Nora jerks awake with a yelp as Scout barks sharply.

“Mama!” she cries out, clutching the seat belt across her chest.

My heart hammers against my ribs as the shape resolves itself into a moose—enormous and majestic, its antlers spread wide, its dark eyes reflecting my headlights like twin moons.

And beside it, a smaller shape emerges from the shadows—a calf, gangly and awkward, pressing close to its mother’s flank.

“It’s okay,” I breathe, my voice shaking as I put the car in park. “It’s just a moose and her baby. They won’t hurt us if we stay in the car.”

Scout continues to bark until I hush him firmly. The moose regards us without emotion, in no hurry to move from our path. I’ve lived here long enough to know better than to honk or try to drive around them. Moose are unpredictable at the best of times, and a mother with her calf is doubly so.

“She’s beautiful,” Nora whispers, her fear giving way to wonder.

“She is,” I agree, my pulse gradually slowing. “And very big. That’s why we always have to be careful driving these roads in the dark.”

After what feels like an eternity but is probably only a minute, the moose ambles across the road, her calf following on those spindly legs. I wait until they’ve disappeared into the trees before releasing a long, shaky breath and putting the car back in drive.

“That was scary,” Nora says, her voice small.

“Just startling,” I correct gently, not wanting to feed her fears. “Animals cross the roads all the time up here. That’s why I need to keep my eyes on the road at all times.”

But as we continue towards home, I can’t shake the jittery feeling in my stomach.

The moose was perfectly normal, yet in my heightened state, it felt like an omen.

I find myself checking the rearview mirror more often than necessary, searching the darkness behind us for headlights that aren’t there.

By the time we pull up to our cottage, a cozy two-bedroom nestled among the pines about a mile from the main lodge, I’m exhausted from the tension. The security lights flicker on as we approach, lighting the wooden porch and the small stable where we keep Nora’s pony and my mare.

“Home sweet home,” I say with forced cheer, killing the engine.

Scout bounds out the moment I open the back door, circling the yard to check his territory while Nora and I make our way inside. The cottage feels especially welcoming tonight—the scent of pine and cinnamon greeting us as I flick on the lights.

“Bath or shower?” I ask, helping her out of her coat.

“Too tired for a bath,” she mumbles, rubbing her eyes. “Can I just wash my face?”

I nod, grateful for the reprieve. “Teeth too. And pajamas, not just a t-shirt, the nights are getting chilly.”

While she trudges to the bathroom, I make a quick round of the cottage, checking locks and drawing curtains.

It’s a ritual I’ve performed every night for the past eight years.

The security system Tomas installed is state-of-the-art, with motion sensors and cameras that feed directly to the security team at the main lodge. Still, I never feel entirely safe.

“All clean,” Nora announces, appearing in her unicorn pajamas, her face damp from washing.

I guide her to bed, tucking the quilt around her shoulders. She looks so small against the pillows, so vulnerable. The fierce love I feel for her is sometimes overwhelming.

“Tell me about them again,” she says sleepily as I smooth her hair back from her forehead. “My new uncles and aunties.”

“Tomorrow,” I promise, kissing her forehead. “You need sleep now.”

“But I like them,” she insists, fighting to keep her eyes open. “Especially the big one with the pictures on his arms. He looks like the prince in my book.”

I smile, knowing she means Kane with his tattoos. “He does, a bit. Now close your eyes, little love. Dream of princes and ponies.”

She’s asleep before I finish speaking, her breathing deep and even. I stand watching her for a moment, marveling as I often do at this miracle I’ve created—this perfect, innocent being who knows nothing of the darkness that preceded her birth.

The cottage feels too quiet once I leave her room.

I let Scout back in from his final patrol of the yard, then double-check all the locks again before making myself a cup of chamomile tea.

The events of the day swirl in my mind like leaves caught in a whirlpool.

The shock on my half-siblings’ faces —Declan and his wife Wren, Kat and her partner Rory, Connor and his wife Mia, and Kane and his friend Kori —when they all saw me.

There was cautious hope in Kane’s eyes when our eyes met for the first time.

And when he agreed to stay, I felt a burden lift off my shoulders with the knowledge that for the first time in years, I’m not alone in protecting Nora.

I settle on the sofa facing the stone fireplace, pulling a knitted throw over my legs as I reach for the book on the side table.

It’s a historical romance I’ve read twice already—a guilty pleasure with a brooding hero and a plucky heroine who melts his frozen heart.

Pure fantasy, but sometimes fantasy is what gets me through the long, lonely nights.

The fire crackles softly as I sip my tea and turn the pages, losing myself in a world where love conquers all and happy endings are guaranteed. Scout snores gently at my feet, occasionally twitching as he chases dream rabbits.

I reach the part where the hero confesses his love to the heroine beneath a starlit sky, and a familiar ache spreads through my chest. It’s been nine years since I felt a man’s arms around me.

Since I trusted enough to let someone close.

The brief, disastrous relationship with Mikhail poisoned something in me, made me wary of ever trusting my heart to another.

My eyes grow heavy as the tea works its magic.

I let the book rest on my chest, too tired to make it to my bedroom.

As sleep claims me, I find myself wishing, as I often do, that life could be more like fiction—that somewhere out there is a man who could see past my scars and secrets, who would love both Nora and me with the same fierce devotion as the heroes in my books.

But real life isn’t a romance novel. In real life, the men who seem too good to be true usually are. In real life, happy endings don’t come without a cost.

Still, as I drift into dreams, a small, stubborn spark of hope flickers in my heart. Perhaps having family around—real family, who one day will know the truth—will change things. Maybe I won’t always have to face the darkness alone.

Perhaps someday, I’ll find the courage to trust again.