Page 2 of Home For Christmas

I winced. I didn’t know if I wanted to know what my youngest son had gotten into, but I knew I had to ask. “What markers did Carter get into?”

She shrugged. “Just the normal school ones… but he made his face look like a clown.”

I groaned and Harrison laughed. “Not helping,” I scolded my best friend. We’d been so busy lately, it had been days since I’d had any little time, aside from our bedtime routine. With the kids heading to my in-laws and Harrison as the only other person in the house that night, I was desperate for time to simply forget everything. If Colt was exhausted from the kids, though, I didn’t know if it would happen.

Harrison laughed again. “Sorry, Dare. I’m sure your plans won’t be foiled.”

Twenty minutes later, thundering footsteps down the stairs drew our attention away from the Christmas cartoon we’d been watching with Lydia. Two freshly showered and dressed boys were charging down the steps at a startling speed. It didn’t matter how often we yelled at them to walk or hold the handrail—the two never learned. They always got a stern warning while I usually ended up over Daddy’s lap while he reddened my backside. Sprain my ankle one time over a decade earlier and I still got spanked for it… not that I hadn’t purposely “forgotten” to use the handrails a number of times over the years.

Tires crunched on the gravel outside our house and the kids nearly toppled us to get to the door. I saw where we ranked compared to their grandparents and was still laughing to myself as I made it to the door they’d left hanging open.

“Hey, Derek.” Cheryl greeted me with a smile as she watched the kids scramble to climb into her car. “You guys ready for a quiet night?”

I met her at the bottom step of the porch. “You have no idea. You know you can send them back if they’re too wound up. Hopefully they’ll conk out on you before long; they’ve got school in the morning.”

Cheryl hugged me tight. “I know my son is laid back now, but he and his brother were once just as insane as these guys.”

I’d heard stories, but it was hard to imagine Sheriff Westfield ever being as crazy as my kids.

“We’ll be fine, Derek,” she assured me, then looked up and waved to Colt, who’d just made it to the door. His shirt and jeans were still wet, and he looked thankful to see his mom.

“You can take them whenever you want,” Colt said as he joined us at the sidewalk. He dwarfed his mom in size but still greeted her with a hug and a kiss on the cheek. “Thank you. They need out of the house—badly. They’re driving us nuts.”

“I used to call your Nan and say the exact same thing about you and Mitch.”

Colt let out a belly laugh. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. Mitch and I were pure angels!”

Cheryl snorted and patted him on the cheek. “You keep telling yourself that, baby. Just keep telling yourself that. We’ll see you guys after school tomorrow!” She waved as she headed back toward the car. “Stay warm, boys. It’s cold tonight!” She giggled to herself as she climbed into her car. “Not that I think you’ll have any problems figuring out how to stay warm.” Colt and I both groaned but called goodbyes as we watched her turn around in the driveway.

I sank into Colt’s embrace. It was about damn time we had a night to ourselves… well, mostly to ourselves. Harrison didn’t really count.

“Come on, buddy, let’s get you wiped down. You smell like beer.”

And just like that, the adult world started to fade away; my giggle was softer, I blushed easier, and Colt became Daddy in the blink of an eye. Then Daddy reached out and grabbed my hand to lead me into the house.

As we walked between the living room and kitchen, Harrison slid my train sippy cup across the granite counter. “I’ll make a snack while your Daddy gets you ready for bed.”

Daddy grinned. “Thanks, Harrison. It’s great to have an extra set of hands around here.”

Harrison was already turning around to dig through the fridge, and we were on our way into the bathroom.

“What have I told you about writing on yourself?” Daddy asked as he scrubbed my hands under the warm water.

I laughed—the feel of the water and Daddy’s fingers scrubbing against my palms tickled. “That I should use paper?”

“And didn’t I make sure you had a notebook with you today?”

I nodded my head.

“And where was it?”

“In my pocket.”

“Why didn’t you write on it? You had to reach in your pocket to get the pen.”

I figured telling him that writing on my hand was just more convenient wasn’t what he wanted to hear. “Um, because when I’m in the recording booth, it’s easier to look at my hand than a piece of paper?”

Daddy sighed. “Buddy, you have paper everywhere in there.”

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