Chapter 14
Connor
My stomach lurches as the private jet touches down on the small airstrip outside Pinecrest. The urgency of Declan’s call has left me tense for the entire flight, my mind cycling through worst-case scenarios.
Beside me, Rory’s face is drawn with worry, though he’s tried to mask it with jokes that fell increasingly flat as our journey progressed.
“Balmy,” Rory mutters, zipping his inadequate city coat higher. “Only a Canadian would call that balmy.”
Declan is already unbuckling his seatbelt, phone in hand. “Kane’s meeting us. Says there’s no immediate danger that they can see, but he’s doubled security around the property.”
“Did you tell him about the call?” I ask, gathering my carry-on.
“No,” Declan shakes his head. “Not over the phone. Some things need to be said in person.”
The jet door opens, and a blast of frigid mountain air hits us. I squint against the brightness reflecting off snow-covered peaks, following Declan down the stairs to where Kane waits beside a black SUV, breath clouding around him.
“That was fast,” he says by way of greeting, helping load our bags into the trunk. “Thought you said three more days.”
“Plans changed,” Declan replies tersely. “How’s Ella?”
“Still at the lodge with Nora. They’ve been staying with us since the tree lighting.” Kane’s expression is guarded as he slides into the driver’s seat. “What’s going on, Dec? Your text sounded urgent.”
“I’ll explain when we get there,” Declan says, claiming the passenger seat while Rory and I take the back. “I want to tell everyone at once.”
The drive to Wolfcreek Ranch passes in tense silence.
I watch the scenery change from small-town outskirts to dense forest, eventually giving way to the sprawling property we now apparently co-own.
It still feels surreal—this inheritance from a father I barely knew, a family assembled from scattered pieces of Tomas MacGallan’s complicated life.
“We’ve been busy while you were gone,” Kane says, breaking the silence as we turn onto the long drive leading to the main lodge. “The place looks different.”
That’s an understatement. As the lodge comes into view, I blink in surprise.
The formerly austere building has been transformed with twinkling lights outlining every eave and window.
Evergreen garlands wrap the porch columns, and what appears to be a life-sized nutcracker stands guard by the front door.
“Kat’s work?” I guess, unable to suppress a smile despite our mission.
“Kat’s vision, everyone else’s labor,” Kane confirms with a long-suffering sigh that doesn’t quite hide his affection. “Wait till you see inside. It’s like the North Pole exploded.”
We park beside several other vehicles—Ella’s SUV, Kori’s rental car, and what must be the ranch truck. As we climb out, I hear laughter floating from inside the lodge, a stark contrast to the tension we’ve carried with us from Toronto.
The front door flies open before we reach it, and Nora bursts out onto the porch, wearing what appears to be a homemade elf hat.
“Uncle Declan! Uncle Connor! Uncle Rory!” she shouts, launching herself down the steps toward us. “You’re back early! Now we can finish the tree!”
Declan catches her mid-leap, swinging her up into his arms with practiced ease. “Hello, troublemaker. Miss us?”
“So much!” she exclaims, beaming. “We saved the best ornaments for when you got back. And Mom made cookies shaped like stars, and Aunt Kat taught me how to make paper snowflakes, and—”
“Nora, let them at least get inside before you tell them everything,” Ella calls from the doorway, wiping her hands on a dishtowel. Her smile falters slightly when she catches sight of our expressions. “Is everything okay?”
“Just tired from the flight,” I interject smoothly, not wanting to alarm Nora. “Something smells amazing in there.”
“Gingerbread,” Nora informs us importantly as Declan sets her down. “For the people in our village. The houses are already at the bakery, but people need to live in them.”
“Makes perfect sense,” Rory agrees, following her inside. “Lead the way, Chief Elf.”
The interior of the lodge has undergone an even more dramatic transformation than the exterior.
Garlands drape every available surface, twinkling lights frame doorways and windows, and elaborate wreaths hang on interior doors.
The massive stone fireplace in the great room crackles with a welcoming blaze, stockings already hanging from the mantel—including, I notice with a pang, ones labeled with our names.
But the centerpiece is the enormous tree standing in the corner of the room, its branches still bare except for lights, boxes of ornaments scattered around its base.
“Surprise!” Kat exclaims, emerging from the kitchen with flour dusting her cheek. “We started to decorate the tree, but thought we’d wait to decorate the rest until you got. Family tradition and all that.”
“We don’t have family traditions,” I point out, though the gesture touches me.
“We do now,” she replies firmly. “And tree decorating is officially the first one. But first—” she points dramatically toward the kitchen, “—sustenance! Can’t decorate on an empty stomach.”
The others appear from various parts of the lodge—Kori with an armful of tinsel, Wren and Mia arguing good-naturedly about ornament placement strategy, Lana carrying a tray of mugs that smell of cinnamon and chocolate.
The normalcy of the scene makes the reason for our hasty return feel almost dreamlike.
But then I catch Declan’s eye, and the reality of the threat crashes back. Someone knows where Ella is—someone who might wish her harm.
“Food, then tree, then we need to talk,” Declan says quietly to Kane, who nods almost imperceptibly.
We follow the group into the kitchen, where a feast of comfort food awaits—pasta bake, garlic bread, salad, and what appears to be several kinds of cookies cooling on racks.
“We’ve gone full domestic goddess in your absence,” Kat announces, gesturing proudly to the spread. “Turns out Lana’s a secret chef.”
“I just followed recipes,” Lana balks, though she looks pleased at the praise. “Mia did the cookies with Nora.”
“They’re masterpieces,” Nora declares, already piling her plate with pasta. “You have to try the ones with the little candy pieces.”
For the next hour, we maintain the facade of a normal family reunion.
We eat, laugh at Kat’s dramatic retelling of the gingerbread village construction, and listen to Nora’s detailed account of the tree lighting ceremony.
I watch Ella throughout, noting how her eyes constantly track Nora’s movements and how she always positions herself to have a clear view of the exits—the behavior of someone who’s lived too long with fear as a constant companion.
Finally, with dinner cleared away and evening settling over the mountains, we gather in the great room for the tree decorating. Nora takes charge immediately, assigning specific ornaments to each person with the seriousness of a general deploying troops.
“Uncle Connor, you get the glass icicles because you’re tall,” she instructs, handing me a box of delicate crystal ornaments. “They go near the top, so they catch the light.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I reply solemnly, accepting my mission.
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,” Mia says, 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.