Raven’s Nest was in chaos.
Hayden was up in his bedroom upstairs with the door open, playing “Little Drummer Boy” at full volume on the drum set his crazy mother and stepfather bought him for his eleventh birthday a few months earlier.
Amid the “ba-rump-bump-bump-bumps,” Drew was chasing Kip around the great room trying to retrieve the book of Christmas mystery stories his little brother had stolen from him. But since Kip was faster than anyone in the house—and knew it—Drew was having a tough time catching him.
Frank—the new border collie puppy the boys had conned Carson into getting that summer—chased after both boys, barking at this fun new game, which Carson supposed was at least a change from the dog yanking all the ornaments off the tree.
Jolie was hanging onto his leg and gabbing a mile a minute about her dolls and the snowman they made earlier and the kitty she wanted for Christmas. And Pat, who had come to spend Christmas Eve with them at Raven’s Nest, wanted to know what time they were eating and when she was supposed to take her medicine and how much it cost to heat this mausoleum.
It was Christmas Eve.
And Carson loved it.
He picked up Jolie in his arms and answered Pat. “The radiant-heat system saves a lot of money. I’m going to have to ask Jenna about your prescriptions and what time we’re eating. Hang on, I’ll be right back.”
As he headed toward the door with no small degree of relief, he snagged Kip by the collar of his holiday-patterned sweater as the boy jumped over an ottoman. “Give back your brother’s book,” he ordered.
Kip giggled but handed the book over willingly with that gap-toothed grin that had only become wider now that he was seven.
“Sorry, Drew.”
His brother made a face as he snatched the book out of Kip’s hand.
“You guys need to chill out a little, okay?” Carson said, though he knew it was a losing battle. “Santa’s going to take one look at this place and think only wild monkeys live here. And last I heard, he doesn’t make deliveries to wild monkeys.”
“Why not?” Jolie asked with a little frown on her features. “Don’t monkeys get presents from Santa?”
“Only if they’ve been good little monkeys.”
“Have I been a good little monkey?” she asked.
He smiled and kissed the top of her blond curls. “You’re always a good little monkey. You’re my good little monkey.”
He was crazy about this little girl, just as he loved her three brothers, drum sets, mischief, barking dogs and all.
“Go tell Hayden to either shut his door or save the recital for after dinner, okay?” he said to Drew as he carried Jolie with him into the kitchen.
Inside, Jenna was standing at the stove stirring something in a pan. By the looks of it, she had about four cooking projects going and his heart bumped at the sight of her, all pink and tousled and warm, just as it always did.
She looked up when they entered and her smile gleamed more brilliantly than the hundreds of lights on the huge Christmas tree in the great room.
He would never get tired of that smile. After six months of marriage, he adored it more than ever.
“Mommy, I’m a good little monkey,” Jolie said proudly.
Jenna looked amused. “You are indeed, sweetheart.”
“Put me down, please,” she directed, in her best princess-of-the-manor voice, and Carson complied. Jolie raced to the sitting area off the kitchen to play with her toys scattered there.
Carson moved behind Jenna and kissed the back of her neck. “Something smells delicious,” he said, his voice low.
She leaned against him with that sexy sigh of hers that drove him crazy. “It’s my sticky buns.”
He breathed in the scent of her, of cinnamon and vanilla and that indefinable—but infinitely sexy—scent that was plain Jenna. “Well, I do love your sticky buns,” he murmured. “But I was talking about this spot right here.”
He pressed his mouth again to that warm, sweet patch of skin at the back of her neck and she shivered, as she did whenever he touched her.
Their six-month wedding anniversary was in three days and he had a hard time remembering what his life was like before the Wheelers barreled into it.
They had changed everything.
He couldn’t help laughing at his own stupidity whenever he thought about how certain he had been a year ago that he had all he could ever want or need. This ranch, his varied business interests, the penthouse in San Francisco.
If he had to, he would gladly trade all of that to hang on to this life he and Jenna were building together.
He had no idea a year ago how much he would love being a stepfather. Helping with homework, fishing trips in the mountains above the ranch, long weekends in San Francisco so he could catch up on work he couldn’t finish long distance from Raven’s Nest.
His soul filled with a quiet contentment he never realized was missing when he was lying next to Jenna while the wind hurled snow against the windows and the fire in their bedroom fireplace burned down to cinders.
He had been given more precious gifts than he could ever have imagined.
He kissed that spot on her neck again and Jenna sighed softly. “Keep that up and you’re going to make me forget all I still have to do.”
“That’s the idea.”
She turned around, her mouth set in a mock frown. “Well, you’ll have no one to blame but yourself if your Christmas Eve dinner is ruined, then.”
He couldn’t resist kissing away that frown, pretend though it might be. “Even if we had nothing to eat but gunky orange mac and cheese or soup out of a can, Jenna Wheeler McRaven, this would still be the happiest Christmas Eve of my life.”
Her eyes softened and she gave him a vivid smile as she returned his kiss.
“Do you know what the best part is?” he asked.
She shook her head, her arms around his waist.
“I have absolutely no doubt that next year will be even better. And the year after that will be better still. And I can’t even imagine how great the year after that will be.”
She rested her head against his chest and he wanted to freeze this moment in his memory—the snow falling outside, the drums still banging away upstairs, the boys’ shrieks, the puppy barking, Jolie jabbering to her toys.
The memory album in his head was bulging at the seams.
“I wouldn’t be so confident about future Christmases if I were you,” she said with a rueful laugh. “We’re going to have teenagers by then and I’m afraid all bets are off.”
He didn’t care. All those years and Christmases stretched out ahead of them, shiny and bright and full of promise like the presents under their tree, and he couldn’t wait to unwrap every one.