Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 74501 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 373(@200wpm)___ 298(@250wpm)___ 248(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74501 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 373(@200wpm)___ 298(@250wpm)___ 248(@300wpm)
Jag getting her hands free was a good call.
“Georgie!” Wilder squealed as he raced into the room.
He hit her so hard, if Dutch didn’t put a hand to the small of her back, she’d have gone down.
“Yo, bro,” she greeted, her hands smoothing back his messy dark blond hair.
He tipped his head back. “It’s Christmas Eve! Santa’s coming!”
“He sure is,” Georgie agreed.
And he sure was, because there was another bag of presents, not only for Wilder, in the truck. Presents Dutch had been forced to promise he wouldn’t bring in that he was going to go back out and get when the time came.
Presents that were from “Santa.”
He’d informed her the adults knew there was no Santa Claus.
She’d replied, “Santa only dies if you let him, and file this away, bad boy, I am never, ever gonna let Santa die.”
Since she was so cute saying that, Dutch didn’t push it any further, not even to tease her.
“C’mon.” Wilder grunted as he pulled at her hand. “Daddy and me are wrappin’ Momma’s gift and you gotta help ’cause Daddy sucks at it.”
“Boy,” Hound warned from the mouth of the hall.
“You do. You suck at it, Daddy,” Wilder declared.
“You’re right, son, I do,” Hound agreed. “I’m not talkin’ about that. I’m talkin’ about the words you’re usin’.”
“Well, how do you say someone sucks at something when they really, really suck at it?” Wilder demanded to know…loudly.
“If you two don’t give me granddaughters…I…will lose…my effing…mind,” Keely, standing in the door to the kitchen, declared Georgie and Dutch’s way.
“Momma said effing!” Wilder screamed with glee.
His baby brother was his usual hilarious.
But Dutch was thrown.
It wasn’t that Keely had not accepted Georgie. She had. From that first night.
It was that she’d been holding back.
Maybe because of how Carolyn did Jag dirty.
Maybe because she sensed Dutch was going through some shit.
Maybe it was just a Ma Thing.
But this was the first indication she’d given that she was all in.
“I hate to tell you this, Wilder, but I’m not too hot at wrapping presents either,” Georgie admitted.
“I bet you’re better at it than Daddy,” Wilder shot back.
Probably couldn’t argue that.
And Georgie didn’t.
Giving Dutch a look, she let herself be led away.
And it was not lost on Dutch that Wilder, who used to worship him, hadn’t even looked at him.
So she did that with Dutch saying, “I stole your cat, you stole my brother. This is not even.”
Which made her smile.
Massive.
But it also made Wilder stop dead.
“Where’s Murtagh?” he demanded.
“He’s at home, little bro,” Georgie told him.
Wilder finally looked to his oldest brother.
And he did that to order, “Go get him.”
“We got enough going on without a cat in the mix,” Hound declared.
Wilder looked up to his father. “But Daddy! Murtagh can’t be alone on Christmas! He’s family!”
Hound looked at his son.
Then at his other son.
That being Dutch.
And he did what he always did if it was within his power to do it.
He gave them what they wanted.
“You mind gettin’ him, Dutch?” Hound asked.
Dutch dumped the bags he was carrying and said, “Be right back.”
This bought him an even bigger smile from Georgiana before she took off to help his brother wrap a present, and Dutch took off to go get their boy.
It was much later, Wilder was finally down in a way he’d stay down (they hoped), and they were all sitting around, the men drinking whiskies, the women drinking wine, when Hound got up from the couch after a quick kiss for his wife, and loped off.
Dutch didn’t think much of it, figuring he was going to the can.
Instead, he was thinking he was glad he and Georgie got the guest bedroom, which meant Jag had to take the couch, because Wilder would probably be up in about four hours, and the first person who would get his wakeup call would be the one who was on the couch.
He was also thinking that he felt no guilt about the fact Georgie wasn’t super close to her family, so he and his family got her for Christmas.
Sure, the next day, they were heading to her dad’s house for a drink and to give him, Suzanne and Carolyn some time, but Georgie promised that would last an hour, at most two (her mother was on a cruise, something she did every year—a rare bonus from that broad, who Dutch had now met twice, and he couldn’t dilute it, she was such a haughty, disapproving bitch, this aimed at him, but mostly at Georgie, he detested her).
And Georgie had let Dutch promise Keely they’d be at her Christmas dinner table, so he knew she was serious about that.
These were his thoughts when he got early warning that Hound didn’t hit the head when he came back too soon, and Dutch felt Georgie tense against him as he did.
Then Hound stood in his own living room carrying what looked like a very thick scrapbook for only a second before he announced, “It was Georgie’s idea and I was down with helpin’ her because what she said was right. This shit’s gotta stop. If you’re doin’ it for me, or whatever reason you’re doin’ it, it’s just gotta stop.”