Page 59 of The Mistletoe Mix-up

“Hey,” Robert barked, “was I talking to you?”

“Sorry, carry on.”

Luke shook his head. “I’m gonna piggyback on what Pete said and tell you that we’re all doing alright.”

Robert scoffed. “You guys are doing alright, huh?”

“Yeah, what’s wrong with my life?” Luke asked.

“You’re thinking about going back to school for finance, for one thing,” Robert said, surprising Wren. No one, least of all Luke, had mentioned him wanting to get out of law enforcement.

“I want to make more money for my family,” Luke growled.

“Accumulating thousands in student loan debt just to change your career path in your forties is going to get you more money?” Robert shot back, and Luke stepped forward, his fists clenched at his side.

“Financial people make mucho dinero,” Pete mumbled, but when their father glared at him, he pretended like he hadn’t said anything.

“You’re going to quit a job with a pension and retirement, all while you have a wife and kids to support?” Robert said, his voice growing louder with each word.

“I’m not going to quit until I’ve finished school and found a new job, but I’m trying to do better for my family. I’ll make twice as much and be home more.” Luke glared at his dad. “Why did Wren’s announcement suddenly become all of our issues?”

“Since Pete’s living with a bunch of roommates and crashing on his sister’s couch like a fucking freeloader,” Robert snapped.

“I pay my rent,” Pete said, heading over to the food. “It’s just expensive, and I don’t wanna buy a house until I’ve got somebody to share it with.”

“Apparently, you do have somebody to share it with,” Robert said disdainfully. “Frick and Frack. Then there’s Garrett, who seems to be doing alright for himself, except he looks like he should be driving a tractor on a farm.

Garrett looked down at his T-shirt tucked into his Carhartt pants. “What’s wrong with that?”

Their father didn’t answer, but his attention swung to Wren, who laughed bitterly.

“Oh, you’re coming for me next? Where is my criticism?” she asked.

Her father was on a tear now, and Wren had a feeling he was ready to steamroll over all of them.

“For one thing, you took off, bounced all around the country, and didn’t come back until you got shot. You’re not married. You’ve barely been in your job for six weeks, and now you’re talking about getting pregnant?” Robert shook his head. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think that bullet hit your brain instead of your ass!”

His barrel chest heaved as he ranted, but Wren was about done listening to his macho, chauvinistic bullshit.

Before she could blow her top, Pete got up and danced over to Wren, slipping his arm around her shoulder.

“We were going to have it be a surprise, but Dad’s offered to buy everyone a Christmas tree out at the Winters’ farm. After lunch, we’re going to cut down trees as a family like we used to.”

“Surprise!” Luke grumbled.

“Sounds like a blast,” Wren said.

Chapter Eighteen

It was Sunday, and since the tattoo shop was closed, Sam liked to help at the Winters’ Family Christmas Tree Farm, especially the first week after Thanksgiving when it was the busiest. Sam lifted a big Douglas fir into the back of the Andersons’ truck and tied it down with straps. They passed him a ten as a thank-you, and he told them to have a nice day before he headed back toward the tent. He noticed several trucks pull up, and he watched in horror as Wren and all her family got out of several vehicles, identical glowers on their faces except for the small child, who was grinning from ear to ear. Wren’s big dog sat by her side, watching her. The kid took hold of Wren’s hand and dragged her toward the tent.

Sam ducked into a row of trees, and Wren didn’t notice him, but her dad did. Sam gave the older man a small wave, and he responded with a slight incline of his head. They hadn’t spoken much since Sam had returned to town, and without Wren as a note of contention between them, Robert’s hostility had dissolved to mild tolerance.

Sam went back into the tent where Clark and some of the other guys were flocking trees. Clark looked up as Sam approached, watching him steadily. “Who pissed in your Cheerios?”

“No one,” Sam said.

“You look upset,” Nick Winters said, sliding a flocked tree through the net.