Page 1 of Dragged Home for Christmas

Chapter 1

Christmas Day, 2023

“Kitten in the tree again!” Mike O’Neill yelled, dashing forward to rescue the bauble-covered pine adorned with what had to be three thousand lights, as it began its graceful arc toward the floor. He caught the top, but the angel went flying, probably for the first time in its existence. Which was weird, considering how many attempts the cat had made to get it to fly. Glass ornaments shattered on the floorboards, and there was tinsel everywhere.

It looked like an explosion in a Christmas factory.

“Where is he?” Mom hurried into the room.

“Never mind the damn cat—help me get this upright again. And watch your feet. You’ll get pieces of glass in your bunny slippers.” Those things were huge, their ears way too floppy, and she was forever tripping herself up on them.

There ought to be a law against people in their fifties wearing bunny slippers.It just wasn’t right.

Helena was next to arrive. “Aw, where is the poor little kitty? He must be so scared.”

Mike rolled his eyes. “Thepoor little kittywas supposed to be in the kitchen, in his basket. You know, after he did this four hours ago?” At this rate, by the time Christmas was over, Mom would have to buy a whole new set of baubles.

Mom coughed. “That didn’t work out so well. He managed to climb into the fridge. I caught him snacking on the slices of turkey.”

He grimaced. “Remind me not to make myself a turkey sandwich.”

“What the hell is going on around here?”

Dad had apparently woken up from his post-lunch doze.

“Everything’s under control,” Mike called out.

Well, it would be, once they found the furry little fiend.

“There he is!” Helena pointed toward the window, where the tabby kitten was attempting to climb the curtains, his tiny claws hooked into the fabric.

“My drapes!” Mom shrieked. “Grab that little bastard before he does any more damage.”

Mike guffawed. “Oh, sonowit’s a little bastard? And whatever happened to ‘Watch your language when Daisy is around’?” He glanced at Helena. “Whereisyour daughter anyway?”

“Having a nap. She wore herself out.”

Mike wasn’t surprised. The toddler had finally joined the ranks of the upright, and had treated the first floor of the house as if it were her own personal racetrack. Not that Mike could blame her. Daisy had been a late developer. When she’d reached sixteen months and had shown no signs of wanting to get around without clinging to the furniture, Helena had been talking about consulting a specialist.

Mom had smiled and murmured something about newbie mothers.

The tree was standing once more, Mom was sweeping up the bits of glass, and Helena had managed to unhook the kitten’s claws from the curtains, and was holding him against her chest, crooning.

“Whose bright idea was it to give Daisy a kitten anyway?” he demanded.

Judging by Mom’s flushed face, he had his answer.

Dad walked into the living room. “Can I do anythingto help?”

Mom gave him a sweet smile. “No, dear. You’re exhausted from carving the turkey. Go take another nap.”

Dad narrowed his gaze, then headed for the liquor cabinet. “Mike? Can I get you a drink?”

“I wouldn’t say no to a whiskey.” Mike retook his seat on the couch, scanning the floor for any sparkling debris Mom might have missed.

If Daisy gets a piece in her foot, Helena will probably rush her to the emergency room.

Mike gave himself a mental kick. His sister Helena and her husband Steve had been trying for three years to conceive. Of course she was overly protective and worried about the slightest thing. Daisywasadorable, when she wasn’t scooting around the place and grabbing everything in sight.

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